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ST.  NICHOLAS: 


AN 


D      M 


LLUSTRATED      IVlAGAZINE 


For  Young  Folks 


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


THE  CENTURY  CO.,  NEW  YORK 

FREDERICK  WARNE  &  CO.,  LONDON. 


Copyright,  1913,  i9i+,  by  The  Century  Co. 


The  De  Vinne  Press. 


Library,  U«t.  ef 

Not  Hi  f  "**r>J«r>» 


ST.  NICHOLAS: 


VOLUME    XLI. 


PART  I. 

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


A 


CONTENTS  OF  PART  I.  VOLUME  XLI 


PAGE 

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 


vi  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

"Fairy  Tales."    Picture.    Painted  by  J.  J.  Shannon 298 

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 


CONTENTS  vii 

PAGE 

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 


FRONTISPIECES 

"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. 


V1TI 


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


CONTENTS 

DEPARTMENTS 


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 


THE  GOSSIPS. 

FAINTED    BY   ARTHUR    RACKHAM 


Wis 


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

CONTENTS  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  FOR  NOVEMBER,  1913. 

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 

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

Drawings,  Photographs,  and  Puzzles 84 

Illustrated. 

A  Birthday  Greeting 92 

The  Letter-Box 93 

The  Riddle-Box 95 

St.  Nicholas  Stamp  Page Advertising  page 44 

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Just  Issued 


Around  -  the  -World 
Cook  Book 


AROUND 
THE-WORLD 
COOK  BOOK 


Mary  louise  barroll 


Wouldn't  you  like  a 
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The  indexes  in  the 
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Cook  Book  are  a  joy. 


By  Mary  Louise  Barroll 

Whose  life  as  wife  of  a  naval  officer  has  given 
her  expert  knowledge  of  the  delicious  dishes 
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The  author  of  the  " Around-the- World  Cook  Book" 
has  traveled  widely  for  many  years,  and  the  gathering  of 
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A'valuable  feature  of  a  work  invaluable  in  every  St.  Nicholas 
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thousand  and  one  odds  and  ends  which  come  up  constantly  in 
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A  book  which  every  American  housewife  should  have 
— equally  helpful  to  the  young  bride  trying  to  run  her 
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Octavo,  360  pages.   Price  $1.50  net,  postage  13  cents 

For  sale  by  your  bookseller.     Published  by 

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The  sales  of  Rudyard  Kipling's  books, month  after  month,  are  greater 
than  those  of  any  other  living  author,  and  are  increasing  steadily 

Kipling   Books   Published   by   The    Century   Co. 

THE  JUNGLE  BOOK 

New  Illustrated  Edition. 

An  ideal  edition  of  Rudyard  Kipling's  greatest  and  most  widely  read  book. 

Sixteen  full-page  illustrations  in  rich  color  by  the  famous  English  artists 
Maurice  and  Edward  Detmold.  Beautiful  cover  in  green  and  gold.  Text  in 
black  with  charming  margin-wide  border  in  green  on  every  page.  Octavo,  331 
pages.     In  a  box,  $2.50  net,  postage  15  cents. 

The  Jungle  Book  The  Second  Jungle  Book 

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Book,"  no  books  so  rich  in  the  magic  and  "The  Second  Jungle  Book,"  delightful  pic- 
mystery  and  charm  of  the  great  open  and  its  tures  by  John  Lockwood  Kipling,  the  author's 
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Captains  Courageous 


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  flexible  red 
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Gulliver's 
Travels 

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  "Robinson 
Crusoe,"  "Robin  Hood,"  etc.  Over  One  Hundred  Illustrations.     Svo,  Cloth,  $1.50. 

oooic  or  Indian  Diraves  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. 


Mark  Tidd 


By  CLARENCE  B.  KELLAND 

Here  is  a  splendid  story,  telling  of  the  exploits  of  four  as  natural  and  resourceful 
youngsters  as  ever  liv^d.  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  8vo,  Cloth,  $1,00  net. 


Harper's  .Begin- 
ning Electricity 

By 

DON  CAMERON  SHAFER 

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- 
ery boy  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 

By 

ALPHEUS  HYATT  VERRILL 

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  &  BROTHERS 


Harper's  Wire- 
less Book 

By 
ALPHEUS  HYATT  VERRILL 

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. 


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*  JOE* 

THE BOOK 
FARMER 


GARRARD  HARRIS 


Joe,  the  Book 
Farmer 

By  GARRARD  HARRIS 

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 
sugar-making. 

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


Young  Alaskans 
in  the  Rockies 

By  EMERSON  HOUGH 

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 


Camping  on 
Western  Trails 

By 
ELMER  RUSSEL  GREGOR 

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 

By  RAYMOND  S.  SPEARS 

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 
Lions 

By  JAMES  OTIS 

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. 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS 


The  Rainy  Day 
Railroad  War 

By  HOLMAN  DAY 

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. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 

THE  SPRAGUE  PUBLISHING  CO. 

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asaP 


Two  Little  Books  of  Unusual  Fun 


DADDY-DO-FUNNY 

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. 


LITTLE  SHAVERS 

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  CENTURY  CO. 


The  young  man  who  wishes 
to  propose  should  select  his 
opportunity. 

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." 


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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 

world. 

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 

WOMAN'S  HOME 
COMPANION 

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


II 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Two  Score  Years  of 

St.  Nicholas 


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

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. 


MARY    MAPES    DODGE 


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 


12 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
girls. 

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- 


13 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
Americausaint 
whose  cheery 
messages  were 
delivered 
through  the 
editorial  words 
of  MaryMapes 
Dodge  and  her 
collaborator 
and  successor, 
William  Fayal 
Clarke. 

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 


H 


-ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
legends. 

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 


15 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


16 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


Kemble. 


17 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


St.  Nicholas  for  1914 


Publishers'  Preliminary 
Announcement 


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- 
piness. 

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 
benefit. 

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 

18 


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: 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
illustrator. 

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. 


19 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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, 


20 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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- 


21 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


CSL 

*m|"^  ^qralfo 

Js^zJb' 

$j£TE\ 

(n 

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 
lives. 

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- 
tled. 

Then  there  is 
the  fine,  short 
story 

Black-on- 

Blue 

by 

RalphHenry 

Barbour 

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 


22 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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." 

Departments 

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? 

23 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Good 


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 


1^<>0 


^/ffr/Ttk 


l*z  g$£w£nglzsh  r .r^mmm  soap 


'All  rights  secured'1'' 

OF  ALL  SCENTED  SOAPS   PEARS'    OTTO    OF  ROSE  IS   THE   BEST 


24 


"BYE,  BABY  BUNTING." 

PAINTED    FOR   ST.    NICHOLAS   BY  ARTHUR    RACKHAM. 


ST.  NICHOLAS 


Vol.  XLI 


if 


NOVEMBER,  1913 

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

S  J  V  ©A.R. 


i 

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


No.  1 


II 


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 


THE  NURSERY  RHYMES  OF  MOTHER  GOOSE 


[Nov., 


Ill 

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*># 


1913] 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  ARTHUR  RACKHAM 


IV 


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, 

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

Gallop-a-gallop-a-trot ! 


This  is  the  way  the  farmers  ride, 

Hobbledy-hoy, 

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

Hobbledy  hobbledy-hoy! 


TRAVELING    IN    INDIA,  WHERE 
NOBODY   IS    IN   A   HURRY 

BY  MABEL  ALBERTA  SPICER 


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, 


A    BULLOCK    CART. 


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 
rice. 

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- 
vants. 

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 


TRAVELING  IN  INDIA,  WHERE  NOBODY  IS  IN  A  HURRY 


A   GROUP  OF  EKKAS  —  A   WRETCHED   SORT  OF   CONVEYANCE   USED   THROUGHOUT   INDIA. 


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 


TRAVELING  IN   INDIA,   WHERE   NOBODY  IS  IN  A  HURRY 


[Nov., 


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 


A   HAUGHTY    MEMBER    OF    THE    CAMEL    CORPS. 

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 


A    PARTY    OF   AMERICANS    MOUNTING   AN    ELEPHANT. 

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 


I9I3-] 


TRAVELING  IN   INDIA,   WHERE   NOBODY   IS  IN   A  HURRY 


7 


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 
slowest. 

Perhaps  the  bullocks,  when  they  walk,  are  the 


A  JUTKA,    A    PUBLIC   CONVEYANCE    SEEN   IN   MADRAS. 

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 


CAMEL-CAKRIAGES    OF    THE    LIEUTENANT-GOVERNOR    OF    THE    PUNJAB. 


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. 


TRAVELING  IN   INDIA,  WHERE  NOBODY  IS  IN  A  HURRY 


[Nov., 


THE    PUSH-PUSH,    A    STREET    CONVEYANCE    OF    PONDICHERRY. 


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 
moving. 

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 


I9I3-] 


TRAVELING  IN  INDIA,  WHERE  NOBODY  IS  IN  A  HURRY 


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


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


THE    FAVORITE    ELEPHANT,    IN    HOLIDAY    ATTIRE,    OF    THE    MAHARANA    OF    UDAIPUR. 


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. 


'AND    WHERE    ON    EARTH,    WE    ASK    OF   YOU,    CAN    ALEXANDER    BE,' 


WHEN  ALEXANDER  DANCES 


11 


HE    DOES    N  T    '  CARE 
FOR   DANCING.'  " 


II 

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? 

in 

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

door; 
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  ? 


IV 


"THOMAS   JONES. 


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 ! 


tH 


#f 


"HE    GRIMLY    PIROUETTED    ON    ONE    NEATLY    SLIPPERED    TOE. 


12 


WHEN  ALEXANDER  DANCES 


WE    WATCHED    IN    ADMIRATION. 


For  what  will  Alexander  do  wncu,  rirown  to 

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

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

VI 

And  as  we  spoke,  we  heard  a  noise  directly 

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

tread; 
We  flew  to  Mother's  dressing-room  as  quickly 

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

Alexander  stood  ! 

VII 

He  bowed  with  grave  politeness,  he  bounded 

to  and  fro; 
He   grimly   pirouetted   on   one   neatly   slippered 

toe. 
And  we  watched  in  admiration  as  he  piloted 

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

there. 


VIII 


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." 


IX 

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 !'" 

^       ■, 


'HE    REARRANGED    HIS    COLLAR    IN    AN    UNEMBARRASSED    WAY. 


THE    FULL-FIELD   RUN 

FROM    KICK-OFF   TO    TOUCH-DOWN 
BY  PARKE  H.  DAVIS 

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


THE  HONOR  ROLL 


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 


(Yale) 

(Harvard) 

(Lafayette) 

(Lafayette) 

(Wisconsin) 

(Army) 

(Carlisle) 

(Chicago) 

(Chicago) 

(Brown) 

(Penn.  State) 

(Williams) 

(Minnesota) 


against 


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 


13 


14 


THE   FULL-FIELD   RUN 


[Nov., 


K.    W.    WATSON'. 

(vale.) 

November,  1880.     90  yards. 


J.    H.    SEARS. 

(HARVARD.) 

November,  1886.     85  yards 


B.    WALBRIDGE. 

(LAFAYETTE.) 

November,  1897.     100  yards 


E.    G.    BRAY. 
(LAFAYETTE.) 

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 


I9T3-] 


FROM  KICK-OFF  TO  TOUCH-DOWN 


15 


E.    B.    COCHEMS. 
(WISCONSIN.) 

November,  1901.     100  yards. 


VV.    H.    ECKERSALL. 

(CHICAGO.) 

November,  1904.     106  yards. 


C.    D.    DALY. 

(army.) 

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 


16 


THE   FULL-FIELD   RUN 


[Nov., 


W.    P.    STEFFEN. 
(CHICAGO.) 

November,  1908.     100  yards. 


E.    SPKACKLING. 
(BROWN.) 

November,  1909.     105  yards. 


E.    E.    M1LLEK. 
(PENN.    STATE.) 

October,  1911.     95  yards. 


R.    E.    CAPKON. 

(MINNESOTA.) 

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 


I9I3-] 


FROM  KICK-OFF  TO  TOUCH-DOWN 


17 


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 
defenders. 

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. 


18 


THE  FULL-FIELD  RUN 


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- 
down. 

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. 


Alice 
Lovett 
Carson 


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. 


ii 

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. 


in 

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 ! 


,o^ 


"JUST  SEE  HOW  STRAIGHT  I  BURROWED  TO  THE  CENTER  OF  THAT  'NORMOUS  PILE!' 


LEAF-RAKING 

BY  MELVILLE  CHATER 


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! 


ANOTHER    MYSTERIOUS    DISAPPEARANCE. 

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.' 


A   QUESTION 
OF   COURAGE 

BY  C.   H.   CLAUDY 


"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," 


A  QUESTION   OF  COURAGE 


23 


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 
people." 

"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 
taunt. 

"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. 


24 


A  QUESTION  OF  COURAGE 


[Nov., 


"  "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 
loudly. 

"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- 
peration. 

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 
thought. 

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 
outstretched. 

"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 


I9'3-] 


A  QUESTION  OF  COURAGE 


25 


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 
mind. 


v 


"'THE    BRAVEST    PEOPLE    ARE    THOSE    THAT    HAVE    MORAL    COURAGE 
LIKE — LIKE    COLUMBUS.'  " 

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 
death. 

"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 


26 


A  QUESTION  OF  COURAGE 


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 !" 


"AS   THE   BOAT   PASSED    UNDER,    HE   CAUGHT  AT   THE   TWO    HANDS 
HELD   OUT   TO   HIM." 


"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 


CONQVERORS 


BELOVED    OF     MEN— AND     DOGS 


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 


28 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


[Nov., 


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 
vanished. 

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 
peddler." 

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 


I9'3] 


BELOVED  OF  MEN— AND   DOGS 


29 


the  painting  by  Sir  Henry  Raebu 
SIR    WALTER    SCOTT. 


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, 


30 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


[Nov., 


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 


"SCOTT  AND   TOM    PL'RDIE    USED   TO   TRAMP  OVER   THE   PLACE 
ON    WINDV    DAYS."      (SEE   PAGE   33.) 


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 


I9I3-] 


BELOVED  OF  MEN— AND  DOGS 


31 


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. 


'HOOT,    MAN,    A    RIDE    IN    THE    MORNING    IS    WARRANT    ENOUGH    FOR    A    SECOND    BREAKFAST  1 


(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 


32 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


[Nov., 


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 
prose. 

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 


THE  GARDEN  FRONT,  ABBOTSFORD. 


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 


I9I3-] 


BELOVED  OF  MEN  — AND  DOGS 


33 


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 
pursuit. 

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- 


34 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


[Nov., 


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  ! 


1913.] 


BELOVED  OF  MEN— AND  DOGS 


35 


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 


36 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


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 
white." 

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 
hands. 

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 


THE    WALLET 


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- 
ing. 

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- 
credulous. 

"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 
considers." 

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- 


38 


THE  RUNAWAY 


[Nov., 


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 
city." 

"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 
morning." 

"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- 
cally. 

"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." 


I9U-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


39 


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 
him. 

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 
dust. 

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 
Brian. 

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


40 


THE  RUNAWAY 


CNov., 


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

"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 
trees. 

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

Brian  answered  sharply:  "Don't  speak  about 
it." 

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 

THE   STRANGER  AGAIN 

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 
river. 

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 
anything!" 

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


I9I3-] 


THE   RUNAWAY 


41 


"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. 


"BRIAN    RUSHED   AT   HIM.       'GIVE   ME   THAT 

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?" 

"Wrait,"  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; 


42 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Nov., 


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- 
let." 

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


IQI3-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


43 


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 
right." 

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 
help? 

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- 


STAND   STILL!'      COMMANDED   HARRIET." 

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. 


44 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Nov., 


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 
again. 

"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- 
den. 

"The  girls?"  asked  Harriet,  keeping  pace  with 
him. 

"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- 
fust." 

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 
faster." 

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 
reappeared. 

"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 


I9I3-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


45 


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. ) 


AN  ACROSTIC 

BY  MABEL  LIVINGSTON   FRANK 


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. 

'HIS    LITTLE    PAWS   ARE  JUST   AS   GOOD   AS   HANDS 

DRAWN    BY    GEORGE   T.    TOBIN. 
46 


THE    SINGING    CLOCK 

A  legend  of  the  Black  Forest 

BY  KATHERINE  DUNLAP  CATHER 


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- 


48 


THE  SINGING  CLOCK 


[Nov., 


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 
door. 

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 


I9I3-] 


THE  SINGING  CLOCK 


49 


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 


"THEY    WERE    HAPPY    IN    THE    THOUGHT    OF    A    WONDERFUL    SECRET. 


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 
color." 

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 


50 


THE  SINGING  CLOCK 


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 
it. 

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. 


FROM  A  DOOR  UNDER  THE  FACE  A  BIRD   POPPED   OUT,  AND   CALLED,   'CUCKOO,   CUCKOO!" 

51 


MISS   SANTA   CLAUS   OF    THE    PULLMAN 

BY  ANNIE   FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

AUTHOR   OF    "THE   LITTLE   COLONEL"   BOOKS,    AND   OTHER   STORIES 


Chapter  III 

BECAUSE  OF  A  STEPMOTHER 

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 
mother! 

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 
back. 

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. 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE   PULLMAN 


53 


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 
them. 

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. 


RABBIT    DRAW!'    HE    EXCLAIMED." 


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 


54 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


[Nov., 


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 
you." 

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 


IQI3-] 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


55 


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- 


"A   LITTLE   GIRL  OF   SEVEN    POLISHING   THE   RED   CHI 
OF  A   CHUBBY   BOY   OF   FOUR."      (SEE   PAGE   56.) 

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 

A    CHRISTMAS-EVE   JOURNEY 

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 
happen." 

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 


shining 


56 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE   PULLMAN 


[Nov., 


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 
way: 

"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 


I9I3-] 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


57 


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 
journey. 

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 
seat. 

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. ) 


WHAT   BOYS  HAVE   DONE    FOR   THE  WORLD 


BY  GEORGE  FREDERIC  STRATTON 


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 


58 


WHAT  BOYS  HAVE  DONE  FOR  THE  WORLD 


59 


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. 


THE  BROWNIES  BUILD  A  BRIDGE 


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 


BY  PALMER  COX 

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, 


THE  BROWNIES  BUILD  A  BRIDGE 


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 

surprised, 
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 

neck 


62 


THE  BROWNIES  BUILD  A  BRIDGE 


[Nov., 


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, 


I9I3-] 


THE  BROWNIES  BUILD  A  BRIDGE 


63 


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. 


TAKING   CARE  OF  PRINNIE 

BY  REBECCA  DEMING  MOORE 


"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 
year. 

"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." 


64 


TAKING  CARE   OF  PRINNIE 


65 


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 


"  'COME,  GIVE   ME   YOUR   WEE   HANDS,  AND   I  'LL   JUMP  YOU   DOWN 

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 


66 


TAKING   CARE   OF   PRINNIE 


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? 


NATHALIE  S    DOLL   FAMILY  WAS   QUITE    NEGLECTED   THAT   SUMMER. 


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." 


•AND    TO-MORROW    IS   THANKSGIVING!' 
67 


•  \    '<■: 


f\         '      ;;,- 


BILLY  AND  MISTER  TURKEY 


BY  KATHARINE   M.   DALAND 


'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 ! 


BOOKS   AND    READING 

BY  HILDEGARDE  HAWTHORNE 


A  SOLDIER  OF  THE  PEOPLE 

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 
wrong. 

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- 


BOOKS  AND   READING 


71 


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. 
OLIVER    CROMWELL  AT    THE  AGE    OF    FIFTY-ONE. 


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 


72 


BOOKS  AND  READING 


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- 
pute. 

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. 


THE  BABY  BEARS'  FIRST  ADVENTURE 


BY  GRACE  G.  DRAYTON 


r>vi  \n  //>      $ 


ifV  fill   M-..L //«£/.  A 


In  a  deep  forest,  cool  and  dim, 

There  dwelt  two  bear-cubs  fat  but  trim. 


am 


vr  v-v  1ut  :ft 


llPilfl 


I^IPf 


«M':'tX»il«If«:V 


T? 


W\1 


*  'i4^ 


j'/  '.','(■ 


ferf; 


;./.'' 


One  morning,  while  they  roamed  at  play, 
They  met  an  old  fox,  lame  and  gray. 


Vol.  XLL  — io. 


74 


FOR   VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


[Nov., 


She  shared  their  luncheon,  then  did  reach 
And  gave  awishing-ring  to  each. 


\i^m\§mm\\k 


For  miles  and  miles,  they  roamed,  I  'm  told, 
Until  they  met  a  monster  bold. 


19'  3-] 


FOR   VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


75 


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  JlWf -m*G&n£t&*- 

ATURC»SCICNCC 


FOR 


YOUNG 
FOLKS 


EDWARD  F.  BIGELOW 


<&V-p  rag  v. 


afe 


A  STRANGE   COPPER-MINE 

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 
cost. 

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 


A   MOUNTAIN   OF   PORPHYRY   COPPER   ORE. 
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 


76 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FORKS 


77 


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- 
lars. 

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, 


THE    INCLINED    RAILWAY    FROM   THE    TOWN    OF    BINGHAM 
UP   TO    THE    HIGH    LINE    RAILROAD. 
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 
canon. 

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 


78 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   EOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


[Nov., 


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 


ONE    OF    THE    TRESTLES    ON    THE    HIGH    LINE    RAILROAD 
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, 
loading. 

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 
plant. 
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 


'9I3-.1 


NATURE  AND   SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


79 


do  no  fine  grinding,  the  ore  passing  from  them 
into  smaller  mills,  where  it  is  ground  as  fine  as 
corn-meal. 

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 


THE    COMPOUND    LOCOMOTIVE     OF   THE    GARFIELD   AND 

BINGHAM    RAILROAD. 

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 
side. 

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 
away. 

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- 
rated. 

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. 

HOW  THE  INSECT  CAN  WALK  ON  WATER 

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 


THE    FEATHER-LIKE    LEG    OF    A    BOAT-FLY. 

is  probable  that  these  hairs  hold  air  entangled  in 
them,  which  may  also  tend  to  prevent  the  foot 
from  sinking  below  the  surface. 

A  BASKET  COVERED   BY  A  SWARM  OF  BEES 

[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 
outline. 

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 


80 


NATURE  AND   SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


[Nov., 


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 


BEES    ON    A    BASKET. 

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. 

AN  ENGINE   MADE  OF  ORANGES 
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. 

BEAUTIFUL  SCALES  ON  THE  WINGS 
OF   INSECTS 

Most  people  are  familiar  with  the  fact  that  a 
powdery    or    mealy    substance    comes    from    the 


an  "engine     made  of  oranges. 


THE    "VEINS       OF    THE    MOSQUITO  S    WINGS    ARE 
BEAUTIFULLY   FRINGED. 

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- 


I9'3-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


11 


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. 

THE  PECULIAR  SLIPPING  OF  A 
RAILROAD  BRIDGE 

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 


THE    "SOAPROOT       PLANT. 

store.      The   photograph    shows    a    stripped    bulb 
beside  one  in  its  natural  shaggy  wrapping. 

Charles  Francis  Saunders. 


THE    RAILROAD    TRACK    THAT    SLIPPED. 

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. 

A  NATURAL  CAKE  OF  SOAP 

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. 


AN  INTERMITTENT  SPRING 

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 
flow. 

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- 


THE    SPRING    WHEN    EMPTY. 


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- 


82 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Nov., 


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 


THE    SPRING    WHEN    FULL. 


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. 

STRANGE  PLACE  FOR  A  HORNETS'  NEST 
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. 


^"BECAUSE  WE 
[WANT  TO  KNOW" 


WHAT  ARE  ECHOES 

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, 


I9I3-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


83 


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. 

DREAMS  OF  FALLING 

COXSACKIE,    N.    Y. 

Dear  St.  Nicholas:  I  have  often  heard  that,  in  dreams, 
when  you  are  falling,  if  you  strike  the  bottom,  you  will  be 
killed. 

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 


DIAGRAM   OF   A    WATCH    FACE    PLACED    WITHIN   A 
CLOCK   FACE. 

—  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. 


"^^^a»«as»ww©owvuw^gg' 


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. 


PRIZE-WINNERS,  COMPETITION  No.  165 

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. 


'DURING   VACATION."       BY    HARRIET    CUMMINS,    AGE    12. 


DURING    VACATION.  BY    DUNCAN    Ml- 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


AGE    14. 


ST.   NICHOLAS   LEAGUE 


85 


A  SONG  OF  THE  HILL 

BY    HOPE    SATTERTHWAITE    (AGE    1 5) 

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. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 

BY    GRIFFITH    M.    HARSH    (AGE    14) 

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. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 

BY     ETHEL     N.     PENDLETON     (AGE     1 5) 

"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 


'DURING    VACATION. 
AGE    14. 


BY   LAMBERT   F.    DICKENSON, 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


"I  am  so  tired,  I  wonder  what  will  happen  next — " 
Swish  !    Swish !      Poor  Mr.   Fly  soon  found   out  what 
happened  next. 


86 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Nov., 


A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA 

BY    DOROTHY    C.    SNYDER    (AGE    I 

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. 


5) 

iary,  1912) 


ray. 


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. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 
(A  true  story) 

BY    MARIE    HARJES     (AGE    13) 

(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 !" 


WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 

BY    ESTHER    FREEMAN    (AGE    1 5) 

(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 
grandchildren. 

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 


SSKN 


'DURING   VACATION. 
IRMA    SUMMA,    AGE 


I9I3-] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


87 


BY   ALICE    HOGE,    AGE    15. 


BY  MARION    ADAMS,    AGE    II. 


BY    MARION    DAWES,    AGE    14. 


BY    EDNA   LOWE,    AGE    14. 


'DURING  VACATION." 


BY    ALICE    WATKINS,    AGE    15. 


88 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Nov., 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SEA 

BY    WEARE    HOI.BROOK    (AGE    I  7) 

(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. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 

BY    ALICE    BORNCAMP    (AGE    12) 

(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 


"DURING   VACATION."       BY  ELLA    H.    SNAVELY,    AGE   16. 
(SILVER  BADGE.) 

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 
underbrush 
and  came  to- 
ward her.  At 
first  she  start- 
ed, as  if  in 
fear,  then 

turned  and  ran 
rapidly  for- 
ward. 

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. 

A  SONG  OF  THE  HILLS 

BY    GRACE   NOERR   SHERBURNE    (AGE    1 7) 

(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. 


'DURING  VACATION.    BY  YVONNE  ZENUTI, 
AGE  14. 


I9'3] 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


89 


A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA 

BY    JOSEPHINE    LYTLE    LIVINGOOD    (AGE    12) 

(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  ! 

WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 
(A   true  incident) 

BY    MILDRED    SWENEY    (AGE    15) 

(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 
campus. 

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. 


'A  WELCOME    GUEST.  BY    ISABEL 

EMORY,  AGE  15.     (SILVER  BADGE.) 


"A  WELCOME   GUEST."      BY   MIRIAM    NEWCORN,    AGE    13. 

WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 

BY    LILE   E.    CHEW    (AGE    1 7) 

(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. 


"•A    HEADING    FOR    NOVEMBER.  BY 

LOUISE  M.  GRAHAM,  AGE   14.      GOLD  BADGE. 

(SILVER    BADGE    WON    DEC,   1912   ) 


90 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Nov., 


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. 


'A   WELCOME    GUEST.  BY    FREDEH1CK    W.    AGNEW,    AGE    15. 

A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA 

BY    RANDOLPH    GOODRIDGE    (AGE    13) 

{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. 


WHAT  HAPPENED  NEXT 
{A  true  story) 

BY   NANCY   LONG  YUILLE    (AGE    II) 

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. 

THE  ROLL  OF  HONOR 

No.  i .  A  list  of  those  whose  work  would  have  been  used  had  space 
permitted. 

No.  2.     A  Hst  of  those  whose  work  entitles  them  to  encouragement. 


PROSE,  1 

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 
Breckons 


Florence  G.  Shaw 
Eleanor  North  Mann 
Margaret  Watson 
Maybelle  Louise 

Pioget 
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 

VERSE,  1 

Louise  Redfield 
Grace  N.  Helfstein 
Marian  Thanhouser 
Margaret  Tildsley 
Elsa\A.  Synnestvedt 
Flora  McDonald 

Cockrell 
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 


I9I3-] 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


91 


Bruce  T.  Simonds 
Betty  Humphreys 
Elizabeth  Reynard 
Lois  A.  Tuttle 
Elizabeth  Morrison 

Duffield 
Edith  Valpey  Manwell 
Sarah  M.  Bradley 
Helen  G.  Rankin 
Frances  E.  Burr 
Winifred  Manning 

Smith 
Adele  Chapin 
Frances  Goodhue 
Vera  McQueen 
Vernie  Peacock 
Courtenay  Halsey 
Hazel  K.  Sawyer 
Linda  Van  Norden 
Eleanor  Linton 
Dorothy  Rose 

Oppenheim 
Ruth  L.  Franc 
Katherine  G.  Batts 
Beth  M.  Nichols 
Elisabeth  Engster 
Constance  Clifford 

Ling 
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 

Royster 
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 

DRAWINGS,  i 

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 

Anderson 
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 

Voorhies 
Nora  Stirling 
Hildegarde  Beck 
Max  Wilmarth 
Emma  Glassman 
Helena  Gedney 
Longshaw  K.  Porritt 

DRAWINGS,  2 

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 

Kortheuer 
Lucy  B.  Grey 
Elizabeth  Willcox 
Alice  D.  Rukelman 
Horton  H.  Honsaker 
Elizabeth  Wood 


PUZZLES,  i 

Alberta  B.  Burton 
Henry  S.  Johnson 
Margaret  Blake 
Ethel  T.  Boas 


Chesley  Hastings 
Jean  F.  Benswanger 
Alma  Chesnut 
Daniel  B.  Benscoter 
Edith  Pierpont 
Stickney 


NOVEMBER 

"A     HEADING    FOR    NOVEMBER."      BY 

ISABELLA    STEELE,    AGE    8. 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


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 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  i 

Leroy  Salzenstein 
Erida  Louise 
Lennschner 
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 

Allcock 
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 


PHOTOGRAPHS,  2 
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 


PUZZLES,  2 

Anne  C.  Coburn 
Elizabeth  Jones 
Betty  May  Howe 
M.  Isabelle  Davis 
Tom  Winston 
Dorothy  C.  Walsh 
Hilda  Libby 


PRIZE  COMPETITION  No.  169 

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- 
hill." 

Drawing.  India  ink,  very  black  writing-ink,  or  wash. 
Subject,  " Jack-o'-Lantern  Time,"  or  a  Heading  for 
March. 

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. 

RULES 

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, 
again." 

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 
eighty. 


THE  LETTER-BOX 


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 
interest. 

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' 
houses. 

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. 


93 


94 


THE  LETTER-BOX 


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- 
gust. 

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). 


ANSWERS   TO   PUZZLES    IN    THE   OCTOBER   NUMBER 


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. 
Saxons. 

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. 
Dryer. 

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 
thirty-six. 

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 — Hi.pe  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. 


"WORD-SQUARES 

I.  1.  The  lowest  English  title  of  nobility.  2.  A  plea  of 
absence.  3.  To  clinch.  4.  Excessively  fat.  5.  Salt- 
peter. 

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). 


GEOGRAPHICAL  ZIGZAG 

(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 


PRIMAL  ACROSTIC 

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. 


96 


THE  RIDDLE-BOX 


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 


WkVai-fi 


ILLUSTRATED  NUMERICAL  ENIGMA 

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. 

NOVEL  ZIGZAG 


* 

24 

10 

23 

2 

* 

7 

* 

12 

19 

* 

6 

21 

13 

* 

9 

22 

16 

3 

11 

s 

* 

17 

8 

* 

1 

20 

14 

IS 

* 

4 

18 

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). 

CROSS-WORD  ENIGMA 

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. 

NUMERICAL  ENIGMA 

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. 

NOVEL  ACROSTIC 

(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). 
OVERLAPPING  DIAMONDS  AND  SQUARES 


I.  Upper  Diamond:  i.  In  distance.  2.  A  small  barrel. 
3.  Lukewarm.  4.  A  two-wheeled  carriage.  5.  In  dis- 
tance. 

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, 
distance. 

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 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS,  NEW   YORK. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 

fat? 
This  soup  I  know. 
Makes    youngsters 

grow. 
But  do  I  look  like  that?" 


Asparagus 

Clam  Chowder 

Pea 

Beef 

Consomme 

Pepper  Pot 

Bouillon 

Julienne 

Printanier 

Celery 

Mock  Turtle 

Tomato 

Chicken 

Mulligatawny 

Tomato-Okra 

Chicken  Gumbo(Okra) 

Mutton  Broth 

Vegetable 

Clam  Bouillon 

Ox  Tail 

Vermicelli-Tomato 

Look  for  the  red-and-white  label 


25 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 

COLGBTEl'S 

RIBBON  DENTAL  CREAM 


TRAOI       MAftK 


26 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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*    eack  m  a  seParate  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. 


27 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"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 
stores. 

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 
price. 


HOLEPROOF  HOSIERY  COMPANY,  Milwaukee,  Wisconsin 

Holeproof  Hosiery  Company  of  Canada,  Ltd.,  London,  Canada 
Holeproof  Hosiery  Company,  10  Church  Alley,  Liverpool,  England 


FOR. 


MEN.  WOMEN 


AND  CHILDREN, 


$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. 


"&aSiM 


FOR  WOMEN 


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. 


28 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


NABISCO 

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 
tins. 

ADORA 

Another  charming  confec- 
tion— a  filled  sugar  wafer 
with  a  bountiful  center  of 
rich,  smooth  cream. 

FUSTINO 

An  ever-popular  delight. 
An  almond-shaped  dessert 
confection  with  a  kernel  of 
almond-flavored  cream. 

CHOCOLATE,  TOKHNS 

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- 
olate. 

NATIONAL  BISCUIT 
COMPANY 


29 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


£3faafcaL=<LdLJL-dbdt=A^e=3e^ 


>'■■*. 


!?'t 


:  ?,^t^«! 


k.„J_-., 


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 
pair. 


O'SULLIVAN  RUBBER  CO.,  131  Hudson  St.,  New  York 

&i£utii<pan4 


HEELS 


Of  New 
Live  Rubber 


30 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Come  on, 
Boys! 


Build  a 
Railroad 
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. 


31 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


~   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. 


LOndensED 

MILK 

THE     ORIGINAL 


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." 


BORDEN'S 

CONDENSED 

MILK  CO. 

"Leaders  of  Quality" 
New  York 


RIDER  AGENTS  WANTED 

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.) 


32 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 

POND'S  EXTRACT  VANISHING  CREAM 

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. 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY 

131   Hudson  Street      -      -       New  York 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY'S  Vanishing  Cream 
— Talcum  Powder — Toilet  Soap — Pond's  Extract. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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! 


CROMWELL 

TEA 

SPOON 


"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". 


INTERNATIONAL 
SILVER  CO. 

Successor  to 
Meriden  Britannia  Co. 

MERIDEN,  CONN. 

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. 


SONNYBOYS 


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. ) 


34 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 

MECCANO 

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 

d 

[o 
c 
o 

iO 

1° 

o 
f-o 
o 
o 
o 
o 
c 

i 

o 
o 
c 

.o 
c 

o 

o 
o 
o 
o 

c 
o 
o 
o 


o    o    o    o.oooo    o 


o-   O     O     CO 


35 


Sf.  Nicholas  Advertising  Competition  No.  14.J. 


Time  to  send  in  answers  is  up  November  10.     Prize-winners  announced  in  the  January  number. 


vrV 


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- 
olas." 

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 
merit. 

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 
York. 

page  38. ) 


36 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 

NEW  ENGLAND  CONFECTIONERY  CO.,  Boston 

Makers  of  over  500  varieties  of  Necco  Sweets 


37 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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- 
lar. 

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 

THE  CENTURY  CO. 


38 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


39 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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  suapIcohrt  SHOE 

With  COWARD  EXTENSION  Heel 

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 


SOLD  NOWHERE  ELSE 

JAMES  S.  COWARD 

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. 


MOTHER COOSE 

TKcOld  Nursery  RKymes 
llla/toted  by  f        <       J 

'    .THUR  RACKHAM 


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. ) 


40 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


^1 


■ 


HARBUTT'S  PLASTICINE 

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 


•■'V 

; 

■  :>■■■>■: 


i 


sKgBy         >or  tree  booklet  and  list  01  dealers  near  yon.       1    '  -,  .  »^  I 

111      THE  EMBOSSING  COMPANY   <OVc  ThaT    IpAC' 

|||f        58  Liberty  Street,         Albany,  N.  Y..         t/  *J    11  \<\L     1V/V*~" 


CoP-strtictor- 


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  for1 
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. 


OBLONG  RUBBER  BUTTON 

Hose 
Supporter 


for  Women 
and  Children 


T'HE  fruit  of  over  thirty 
■*•  years'  study  to  produce 
a  device  of  absolute  relia- 
bility. Millions  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.) 

GEORGE  FROST  CO., 
Makers  BOSTON 


4i 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"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. 


Bonbons 


Chocolates 


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 
cents. 

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. 


42 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


\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 

dealer's 

name. 


Toy  dealers  sell  the  Mysto  Erector — $1.00 
and  up.     Ask  your  parents  to  buy  it  for  you. 

A.  C.  GILBERT,  President, 

THE  MYSTO  MFG.  CO. 

52  Foote  Street,  New  Haven,  Conn. 

Makers  of  Puzzles,  Magic  Tricks. 
Send  for  catalogue  of  hundreds — easy  and  hard. 


ESKfiYS  FOOD 

'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 


Smith, 
y       mine  &  French 
Co., 
462  Arch  Street, 
Philadelphia 

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." 

Name 

Street  and  No 

City  and  State 

43 


^^^^^^^^^^2222232223222222222222222222222222222222228223222222; 

ST.   NICHOLAS    STAMP    PAGE 


TO  FATHERS 

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 
concerned. 


SIAM 

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 

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. 


«T 


ANSWERS  TO  QUERIES 

'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. 


["FMFf 

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'j  ; 

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li[§§&£7W'||f  i 

1    K*t     mf  ■  -'T  *ftS2' 

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ilran^HoSra^: 

'llSKi£SS2SO!fl'  ' 

e22a222aa822228Z2g3^aag8gggg82S8gS8ggggggagg3g82B5SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSgSSSSSSS 


KSS^SS 


44 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP  DIRECTORY 


INTERNATIONAL  JUNIOR  STAMP 

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, 
$3.25.  

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  ; 
V9H8P'  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. 


STAMPS  100  VARIETIES  FOREIGN.  FREE.   Postage  2c 
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.  S.free.  Remit  25c  10  weeks  10c. 


50  VARIETIES  STAMPS 
FROM  50  DIFFERENT  COUNTRIES 

sent  with  our  60%  approval  sheets  for  5c. 
Palm  Stamp  Co.,  Box  174,  Arcade  Sta.,  Los  Angeles,  Cal. 


STAMPS  FREE,  100  ALL  DIFFERENT 

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., 
FREE!    WE  BUY  STAMPS. 

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. 


Don 


SOL.VE    THIS    DIAMOND   PUZZLE 

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. 


VARIETIES  PERU  FREE. 

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. 


VUCT  PnPWFT  WATERMARK  DETECTOR 
V  diJ  1  I  \_/V^l\.Ili  1  and  50  different  Stamps,  only  10c 
Burt  McCann,  323  No.  Newton   St.,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 


7fl  DIFFERENT  FOREIGN  STAMPS  FROM  70  DIF- 

■  "  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 

20th  CENTURY  DIME  SETS 

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. 

NEW  ENGLAND  STAMP  CO. 

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. 


STAMPS  108  ALL  DIFFERENT. 

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. 


RARHAINS    EACH  SET  5  CENTS. 

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  aPnrova'  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. 


CLASS  PINS 


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. 


45 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 

G.D.TILLEY,BoxZ,Darien,Conn. 


For  Sale 

Boston  Terrier  Puppies.  Ab- 
solutely safe  with  children  and 
most  affectionate  house  dog. 
We  have  some  choice  specimens 
just    now,    prices    reasonable. 

ACME  KENNELS 

P.O.  Box  285,  Waterbury,  Conn. 


Goldfish  and  Canaries 

FOR  XMAS  GIFTS 

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. 

PINE  HILL  PONY  FARM 

724  Forest  St.,  Medford,  Mass. 


SHETLAND  PONIES 

Carefully  trained  for  children's  safety.  Only 
gentle,  highly-bred  registered  ponies  in  our 
herd.     Champion  stock,  all  colors  and  sizes. 

SUNSET  HILL  FARM 

PORTSMOUTH.  N.  H. 


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. 


A  SHETLAND  PONY 

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 
catalog. 

BELLE  MEADE  FARM 
{£  ™  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. 


46 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


St.  Nicholas  Pet  Department 

to  all  those  interested  in  pets 


Addr 


Announcements  of  reliable  advertisers  only  are  ac- 
cepted.    The  department  will   gladly  give  advice 
PET  DEPARTMENT,"  St.  Nicholas,  Union  Square,  New  York. 


WHITE  SCOTCH  COLLIES 

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. 

THE  ISLAND  WHITE  SCOTCH  COLLIE  FARMS,  Oshkosh,  Wisconsin 


THE  VERY  BEST  BRED  AND  BEST  TRAINED 
POINTERS  AND   SETTERS   IN   AMERICA 

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. 
CORNUCOPIA  FARM  KENNELS,  Dept.  L,  De  Soto,  Mo. 


Scottish  Terriers 

Offered    as    companions.      Not 

given    to    fighting   or    roaming. 

Best  for  children's  pets. 

NEWCASTLE  KENNELS 

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 

SPRATTS  DOG  CAKES 

Send  2c.  stamp  for  "Dog  Culture" 

SPRATTS  PATENT  LIMITED,  Newark,  N.  J. 


KITTENS 


CATS 


PUPPIES 

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 

BLACK  SHORT  HAIRED  CATTERY 

ORADELL,  N.  J. 

DOGS 


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 

JOSEPH    H.  DODSON 
1209  Association  BIdg.,  Chicago,  111. 

(Mr.  Dodson  is  a  Director  of  the  Illinois  Audubon  Society.) 


47 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
Dictionary 
Cyclopedia 
and  Atlas 


St.N-n-ii 

The 
Century 
Co. 

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. 


48 


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


CONTENTS  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  FOR  DECEMBER,  1913. 


Page 


97 


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 

Illustrated. 

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 

Illustrated. 

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 

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

Drawings,  Photographs,  and  Puzzles 182 

Illustrated. 

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 
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tinctly marked  with  owner's  name.     Bound  volumes  are  not  exchanged  for  numbers.  PUBLISH  ED  MONTH  L  Y. 


WILLIAM  W.  ELLSWORTH, 
IRA  H.  BRAINERD, 
GEORGE  INNESS.JR. 
Trustees 


THE  CENTURY  CO. 
Union  Square,  New  York,  N.  Y. 


WILLIAM  W.  ELLSWORTH,  President 
IRA   H.  BRAINERD,  Vice-President 
10SIAH  J.  HAZEN,  Ass't  Treasurer 
DOUGLAS  Z.  DOTY,  Secretary 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADIERT1SEMKNTS 


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. 

ATi/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- 
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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. 


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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. 


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Ideal  Gift  Books  for  Any  Boy  or  Girl 


The  Biography  of  a  Grizzly 

By  ERNEST  THOMPSON  SETON 

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 
$1.50. 


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.  , 


Lady 


Jane 

By  CECILE  VIETS  JAMISON 
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 

By  JOHN  BENNETT 

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 
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of  the  very  best  hooks  for  children  ever  published. 
A  book  is  always  a  splendid  gift. 


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Fine  Books  for  the  Boys'  Christmas  Stockings 


The  Land  of  Mystery 

By  Cleveland  Moffett 


THE    LAND 
MYSTERY 


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- 
tions. 


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 
summer. 


Price 


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 
$1.50. 

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. 


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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 
happen. 

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. 


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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. 


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A  little  girl  wrote  ST. NICHOLAS  recently,  "I  just  can't  wait  to  get  '  Beatrice'  in  a  book." 

Beatrice  of  Denewood 

By  EMILIE  BENSON  KNIPE  and  ALDEN  ARTHUR  KNIPE 
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 
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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. 


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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 
setting. 


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. 


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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 

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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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The  Most  Fascinating  and  Instructive 
Book  for  a  Girl  is  the 

Mary  Frances  Sewing  Book 


Or  Adventures  Among 
the  Thimble  People 


By  JANE  EAYRE  FRYER 

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It  tells,  in  as  quaint  and  delightful  a  story  as  ever  appealed  to 
a  child's  imagination,  how  the  fairy  "Thimble  People"  teach 
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13 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


YOU  have  read  some  of 
the  curious  adventures 
of  Jim  and  Will  with  the 
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all.  There  were  far  too  many 
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"IT  HAD   ME   IN  ITS   MOUTH   AND  WAS 
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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


THE  IDEAL 

CHRISTMAS  GIFT 

or  Every  Wide -Awake  Bo 


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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


*'  It  has  proven  a  gold 
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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 
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cyclopaedia.     But  he  is  like  all  children  in  wanting  to  know. 


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most  boys  enter  the  high  school,  and  astonished  the  whole 
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' '  My  children  are  being  trained  for  final  results : 
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The  Britannica  trains  for  power.     If  you  are 

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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Gulliver's 
Travels 

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 

By 

DON  CAMERON  SHAFER 

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 

By 

ALPHEUS  HYATT  VERRILL 

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  &  BROTHERS 


Harper's  Wire- 
less Book 

By 
ALPHEUS  HYATT  VERRILL 

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. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADJ'ERTISEMENTS 


Joe,  the  Book 
Farmer 

By  GARRARD  HARRIS 

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 
sugar-making. 

Illustrated.      Post  8vo, 
Cloth,  $i .00  net. 


Young  Alaskans 
in  the  Rockies 

By  EMERSON  HOUGH 

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. 


a  CAMPING  ON 

y  1  m 


Camping  on 
Western  Trails 

By 

ELMER  RUSSEL  GREGOR 

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 

By  RAYMOND  S.  SPEARS 

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 
Lions 

By  JAMES  OTIS 

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. 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS 


The  Rainy  Day 
Railroad  War 

By  HOLMAN  DAY 

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. 

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19 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 

When  you  go  there  with  Jack  an&  Belt})  in  the  Christmas  Woman's 
Home  Companion,  you  don  t  just  read  about  it,  you  look  °t  ''•' 
— Through  the  very  door  of  the  North  Pole  that  is  closed  here. 

The  Adventures  of  Jack  and  Betty  in  the  Companion  every  month  are  delight- 
ing the  hearts  of  thousands  of  boys  and  girls,  because  they  are  the  newest 
kind  of  rainy  day  cut-outs.  And  Jack  and  Betty  is  just  one  of  the  girl  and 
boy  features  of 

The  Christmas  Number  of 

•Woman's  Home  Companion 


21 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


There  Was  A  "Dandy"  Story 

About  "  Roping  Elephants  in  the  Indian  Jungle,"  in  the  November 
number  of  TRAVEL.  Did  you  read  it?  Perhaps  not,  because  it 
was  in  a  "grown  folks"  magazine.  But  there  are  lots  of  good  things 
in  TRAVEL — lots  of  stories  about  trips  to  far  off  places — and  some 
of  the  finest  pictures  you  ever  saw  in 


"The  Magazine  That 


Travel 


Takes  You  There ' 


Ask  your  father  or  mother  if  they  know  how  good  TRAVEL  is.  It  is  one  of 
the  worth-while  magazines  that  almost  everybody  likes  the  minute  they  see  it. 
And  suggest  to  them  that  you  might  like  it  too.  It  would  give  new  meaning 
to  that  dry  history  and  geography  of  yours,  making  you  know  personally 
about  many  strange  people  in  far-off  lands. 
Merely  to  turn  through  its  big  pages,  everyone 
of  them  glowing  with  pictures,  makes  you  want 
to  go  there  yourself.  And  TRAVEL  "takes  you 
there." 

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they  will  cut  this  out  and  pin  a  dollar  bill  to  it,  we 
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(for  your  benefit)  that  November  number 
with  the  Elephants  in  it.     That  makes  six 
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Address 


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elephant  loose,  he  wi" 
come  back  after  the 
others.) 


McBride, 

Nast  & 

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Union  Square 
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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 


22 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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- 
piness. 

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 
benefit. 

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 : 


33 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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- 
ber, 

"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 
Birch. 

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 


24 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
America. 

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, 


25 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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'. 

26 


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- 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
lives. 

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 
men. 


^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- 
tled. 

Then  there  is 
the  fine,  short 
story 

"Black-on- 
Blue" 
by 
Ralph  Henry 
Barbour 

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


27 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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." 

Departments 

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? 

28 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


This  picture  by  a  Japanese  artist  slicivs  the  sacred  mountain  of  Fuji. 


Extract  from 


MR.  BAMBOO  AND  THE 
HONORABLE  LITTLE  GOD 

AS  TOLD  BY  O.  MITSU 
BY  FRANCES  LITTLE 

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. 


29 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


You  can  be  sure  of 

St.  Nicholas 


In  these  days  of  changing  standards, 
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you  can  be  so  sure  of.  Without  being 
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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 


30 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Is  this  your  introduction  to 

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31 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Baker's 
Cocoa 


IS 

Good 
Cocoa 


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 


WALTER  BAKER  &  CO.  LTD. 


Establisked  1780 


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32 


ft I  VjfeM! 


h±±^ 


WJ^ 


ti^FbJf^ 


te4 


<g^-~— —  ■ — - 


HARK,  HARK,  THE  DOGS  DO  BARK!" 

PAINTED    FOR    ST.  NICHOLAS   BY    ARTHUR    RACKHAM. 


ST.  NICHOLAS 


Vol.  XLI 


DECEMBER,   1913 

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, 

dock, 
The  mouse  ran  up 

the  clock; 
The  clock  struck 

one, 
The  mouse  ran 

down, 
\  Hickory,  dickory, 

dock. 


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. 


98 


THE  NURSERY  RHYMES  OF  MOTHER  GOOSE 


f 


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 

goes.  


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. 


J 


©»'«• 


"RAIN,  RAIN,  GO  AWAY!" 

PAINTED    FOR    ST.   NICHOLAS    BY    ARTHUR    RACKHAM. 


MISS    SANTA   CLAUS   OF    THE    PULLMAN 


BY  ANNIE  FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 

AUTHOR    OF    "THE    LITTLE    COLONEL"    BOOKS,    AND    OTHER   STORIES 


young   girl 

enough    to 

those    rosy 

beard,   sprang  out  of 

ran    after    the    boy 


Chapter  V 

MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  COMES  ABOARD 

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 


THE    OLD   GENTLEMAN  S    COAT    WAS   FUR,   AND   HIS    CAP    WAS   FUR. 


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. 
99 


100 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


[Dec, 


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- 
sciously. 

"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 


I9I3-] 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


101 


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 


'EVERYBODY   LOOKED   AGAIN   AS   SHE   WENT    UP  THE   AISLE. 


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, 


102 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


[Dec, 


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 
person. 

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 

THE    STAR-FLOWER    CHARM 

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 
for: 

"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 
help." 

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- 


1913-1 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


103 


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 
base: 

"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- 
tion. 

"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 


104 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


[Dec, 


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. 


I9I3-] 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


105 


"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- 


"MISS    SANTA    CLAUS    BEGAN    TO    TELL   THEM  A    STORY 

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 
star-flowers. 

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 


106 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE  PULLMAN 


[Dec, 


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 
door. 

"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 
star.. 

"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 


I9I3-] 


MISS  SANTA  CLAUS  OF  THE   PULLMAN 


107 


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 

THE 


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 
true. 

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. 

END. 


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. 


A  CORRECTION 


gsgsas^^Sig^jas^ss^ 


i\  IftU' 


i 
It 


JUM<&  &*  9V  wit  aunt*,  •  I  I 


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V 


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br" 


3^. 

B  ^*T    V  *  ^^' 


s 


.,<.,     £     O     R 


0.^__J3     U    T„.   U  „..,£■:  R 


"HE    DROPPED    HIS    HEAD    INTO    HIS    HAND,    AND    FELL    TO    SURVEYING 
THE   GRAVEL   WALK."      (SEE   PAGE    Il6.) 


LARRY    GOES   TO   THE   ANT 


BY  EFFIE   RAVENSCROFT 


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- 
hold. 

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 


LARRY   GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


111 


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 
again. 

"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 
sense." 

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- 
lars." 

"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 


112 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


tt)EC, 


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 
throat. 

'"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 


o 


o 


ST  NICHOLAS 

1914      CALENDAR      1914 


JANUARY 

J3_ 

T 
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25 

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5 

12 

■9 
26 

JL 

T 

zl 

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7 

£4 
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3°l 

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_4_ 
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£5 

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r9 
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s 

_7_ 
14 
21 

28) 

MARCH 

s 

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2 

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23 
3° 

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3] 

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_4_ 

1 1 
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s 

± 
£4 
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ST  NICHOLAS 

ILLUSTRATED  MAGAZINE 

FOR  BOYS  AND  GIRLS 


<.s 


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"HIS  FAVORITE  MAGAZINE 

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But.  lookino  into  it.  Hind 

St  Nicholas  suits  me  best! 


AUGUST 


M 


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T     F 


11 11 

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SEPTEMBER 

_s_ 

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,< 

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j2_ 

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_f_ 

_4_ 

II 

18 

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OCTOBER 

11 
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5 
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T9 
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7 

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910 
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APRIL 


JUNE 


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— ■ . 

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The  dates  in  the  red  circles  will  be  the 

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NICHOLAS 

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IOI.l] 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


113 


'YOU    GO    OUT    AND    HUNT    ME    UP  A  NICE    STORY    ABOUT    THE    CITY'S    FIRST    PUBLIC    SCHOOL."'      (SEE    NEXT    PAGE.) 


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, 
sir?" 

"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. 


114 


LARRY   GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


[Dec, 


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 
glowed. 

"Is  this  Mr.  Van  Deusen?"  Larry  inquired. 

"It  is,"  replied  the  superintendent  of  public 
schools ;  and  he  extended  his  hand,  but  did  not 
arise. 

"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- 


I9U-] 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE   ANT 


115 


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. 


"'THERE     S    THE    DOOR,    YOUNG    MAN,— USE    IT 


"Sit  down,  young  man,  sit  down !"  he  ex- 
claimed. 

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." 


116 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


[Dec, 


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- 


"  LARRY    SUDDENLY    STOOPED    CLOSER.  (SEE    l'AGE    II 

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 
him. 

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 
angle. 

"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 
endeavors. 

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, 


I9U-] 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE   ANT 


117 


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, 
too! 

"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 
him. 

"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- 


O,   SHE    DID    NOT    KNOW    EITHER    HIS    FIRST    NAME    OR 
HIS    PRESENT    ADDRESS."       (SEE    PAGE    120.  ) 

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  ?" 


118 


LARRY   GOES  TO  THE   ANT 


[Dec, 


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 
offering. 

"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- 


I9I3-] 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


119 


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 


\SCRE  AT  IHS  OWN'  PERFORMANCE."     (SEE  PAGE  120. 


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. 


120 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE   ANT 


[Dec, 


"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, 
inquired: 

"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- 
less. 

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 


I9I3-] 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


121 


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 
pictures." 

"What  's  that,  McCleary?  You  say  you  have 
that  story?  Impossible!"  The  colonel's  tone  was 
sharp. 

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 
it." 

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 


LARKY    SPREAD    OPEN    'THE    TRIBUNE      AND    POINTED    OUT    TO    THE    DOCTOR 
HIS    DOUBLE   PAGE."      (SEE    NEXT    PAGE.) 


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 


122 


LARRY  GOES  TO  THE  ANT 


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- 
flection. 

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 
do." 

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 
needs." 

"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     ' 


124 


BIRTHDAY  TREASURE 


[Dec, 


I9I3-] 


BIRTHDAY  TREASURE 


125 


•jGS* 


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. 


126 


ilRTHDAY  TREASURE 


"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  ! 


ANNIE    FELLOWS   JOHNSTON 

THE  BELOVED  WRITER  OF  BOOKS  FOR  YOUNG  FOLK 
BY  MARGARET  W.   VANDERCOOK 


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 


127 


128 


ANNIE   FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 


[Dec. 


"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 
Commandments. 

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 


MRS.    JOHNSTON    AND    MATILDA. 

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- 
dience. 

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. 


I9'3] 


ANNIE   FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 


129 


THE    BEECHES,'     MRS.    JOHNSTON  S    HOME    IN    KENTUCKY. 


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 


130 


ANNIE   FELLOWS  JOHNSTON 


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 
Torment." 

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 
Hollow." 

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 ; 


132 


AT  THE  SIGN  OF  THE  CHRISTMAS  TREE 


133 


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  ! 


m 


THE    RUNAWAY 


BY  ALLEN  FRENCH 

Author  of  "  The  Junior  Cup,"  "  Pelham  and  His  Friend  Tim,"  etc. 


Chapter  III 


A   HIDING-PLACE 


"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 
criminal." 

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. 
Dodd. 

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, 


THE  RUNAWAY 


135 


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- 
ing. 

It  seemed  to  her  that  her  course  was   clear. 


136 


THE  RUNAWAY 


[Pec, 


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 
pantry." 

"Oh,  come  now,  Harriet,"  protested  Brian. 
"You  know  I  'm  too  old  to  go  hunting  for 
cookies." 

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 
million?" 

"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. 
"Brian." 

"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 


I9'3-] 


THE   RUNAWAY 


137 


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 


mumbled 
it  behind 
help    you 


"PRESENTLY   SHE   TURNED   A   CORNER   AND    CAME    UPON   HIM. 

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 
working." 

"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." 
Harriet 
been  rude, 
're  rather 
garden," 
weakly. 

"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 


138 


THE  RUNAWAY 


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. 
Dodd. 

"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- 
ham. 

"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 
nothing. 

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. 


'A   GLANCE    OUT    OF   THE   WINDOW    SHOWED    PELHAM   AND    BRIAN 

ON   THE   TENNIS-COURT." 

'39 


140 


THE  RUNAWAY 


She  thrust  the  whole  back  into  its  place  in  the 
desk. 

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 
away. 

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 

SIGNS    AND  WONDERS 

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 : 

"DON'T  TRY  TO  GET  UP." 

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  YOU  WANT  ME,  RING." 

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 


BY  PARKE  H.  DAVIS 


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 


TRIPLETT    HAXALL. 
(PRINCETON.) 


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. 

(WISCONSIN.) 


142 


THE  FIELD-GOAL  ART 


[Dec, 


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. 


B.    W.    TRAFFORD. 
(HARVARD.) 


O.  D.  THOMPSON. 

(YALE.) 


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 


WILLIAM   T.    BULL. 

(VALE.) 

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- 


I9I3-] 


THE   FIELD-GOAL  ART 


143 


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- 


ARTHUR    POE. 

(PRINCETON.) 


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 
game. 

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, 


JOHN    DE    WITT. 

(PRINCETON.) 


144 


THE   FIELD-GOAL  ART 


LDec, 


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 


.•-•jAii 


From  photograph  by  The  Pictorial  News  Co. 
VICTOR  P.  KENNARD,  OF  HARVARD,  DEFEATING  YALE   BY  A  GOAL  FROM   THE   FIELD,  NOVEMBER  21,  IQOci. 


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 
action. 

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- 


19'3-J 


THE   FIELD-GOAL  ART 


145 


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 


146 


THE  FIELD-GOAL  ART 


[Dec, 


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, 


I9U-] 


THE   FIELD-GOAL  ART 


147 


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. 


THE   GREAT   GAME   ON   THANKSGIVING   DAY  —  THE    "  FOOT-BALLS  "   AGAINST   THE    "TURKEYS." 


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 ! 

148 


HE  King  of  Bungletown,  't  was 
plain, 
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. 


BUNGLERS 


149 


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 


150 


BUNGLERS 


[Dec, 


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. 


I9I3-] 


BUNGLERS 


151 


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    BRITISH    SUBMARINE    WHICH    WAS    FITTED    TO    BE    CONTROLLED    BY    WIRELESS. 


WIRELESS   WIZARDRY 


BY  ROBERT  G.   SKERRETT 


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- 
ardry. 

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 


THE  GARDNER  TORPEDO-SUBMARINE — CONTROLLED 
BY  SOUND  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- 


154 


WIRELESS  WIZARDRY 


[Dec. 


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 
work. 

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 


.L: 


Mkt 


A    FRENCH    CRUISER    PUTTING    A    WIRELESS    TORPEDO 
THROUGH    ITS    PACES. 

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  '-<■■• 


JOHN    HAYS    HAMMOND,    JR.  S,    HOUSE-BOAT,    DIRECTED 

BY    WIRELESS,    WHICH    PRECEDED 'HIS 

WIRELESS    TORPEDO-BOAT. 

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. 


1913] 


WIRELESS  WIZARDRY 


155 


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 


ose 

EvelineWTs&minercl 


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 
news. 

"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, 
Polly." 

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 


WAR  AND  PEACE  AT  THE  ROSE  ALBA 


157 


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 
baby-carriage." 

"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 
Polly. 

"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?" 


158 


WAR  AND   PEACE  AT  THE   ROSE   ALBA 


[Dec. 


"He  can't  stop  her,  dear.  He  would  if  he 
could." 

"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 
thtay?" 

"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.  Wre 
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 
satisfaction. 

"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  ?" 


I9I3-] 


WAR  AND  PEACE  AT  THE  ROSE  ALBA 


159 


"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 
dinner." 

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 


'ARE   YOU   GOING   AWAY?'    DEMANDED    PAUL." 


said    to    herself,    and    thought    no    more    about 
it. 

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 


160 


WAR  AND  PEACE  AT  THE   ROSE  ALBA 


[Dec, 


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 
Albert. 

"Then  we  '11  all  thay  thingth,"  put  in  David. 

Mildred  looked  at  him  suspiciously. 

"Remember,  we  must  be  very  polite !"  she 
warned. 

"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 


"'OH,    HOW    PERFECTLY    LOVELY!'    BREATHED    POLLY." 

"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 


19'3-J 


WAR  AND  PEACE  AT  THE  ROSE  ALBA 


161 


lighted  when  she  laughed,  and  her  keen  eyes  grew 
kindly. 

"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 
Cakes." 

"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 
home." 

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- 
faction. 

"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 
daytime." 

"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 


162 


WAR  AND  PEACE  AT  THE   ROSE  ALBA 


Riverside,  only  you  can  pick  the  trees,"  hurried 
Albert. 

"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 
Paul. 

"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 
friends." 

"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 
hall. 

"Nobody  knew  we  were  coming,"  explained 
Albert. 

"I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Frisbie,  thoughtfully.  "Well, 
I  'm  glad  you  came.  But  you  are  forgetting  your 
cookies." 

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 
customers. 

"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- 
chief. 

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 
home. 

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 


163 


164 


THE   DIM   FOREST 


[Dec, 


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- 
iously. 

"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 
know." 

"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 
know." 

"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 
triumphantly. 

"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." 


19'3-J 


THE  DIM  FOREST 


165 


"How  old  is  he?"  inquired  the  little  man, 
briskly. 

"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. 


ALICE    AND    THE    EXASPERATING    CAMEL 

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 
tree. 

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- 
ties. 

Elsie  recognized  her  at  once,  and  cried  out  joy- 
fully : 


"It  's  Alice!" 

Alice  stopped,  and  the  camel  immediately  sat 
down. 

"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 
anxiously. 

"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 


166 


THE  DIM  FOREST 


[Dec, 


the  little  gnome  popped  out  from  behind  a  rock, 
and  scurried  swiftly  down  the  path  ahead  of 
them. 

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 
him. 

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 
bag. 

"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- 
prise. 

"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. 


IQI3-] 


THE  DIM  FOREST 


167 


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. 


'MOVE   ON,    PLEASE! 


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- 
cally. 

"I  tell  her  she  can't  do  it,"  he  said,  as  the 
others  arrived. 

"Why  does  n't  she  take  off  her  cap?"  suggested 
Elsie. 

"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 
time. 

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. 


168 


THE  DIM  FOREST 


[Dec, 


"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, 

3 


THE    POLICE    SANG    AT    THE    TOP    OF    HIS    VOICE. 


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. 


I9I3-] 


THE   DIM   FOREST 


169 


"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- 
dered. 

"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. 


A   CHRISTMAS   ACROSTIC 


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. 


THE    DJINNGER    DJAR 


BY  CAROLYN  WELLS 


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  !" 


THE   BABY  BEARS'  SECOND  ADVENTURE 


BY  GRACE  G.  DRAYTON 


"  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- 


174 


FOR  VERY  LITTLE   FOLK 


[Dec, 


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. 


'9'3] 


EOH  YERY  LITTLE   FOLK 


175 


Old  Santa  Claus,  with  satisfaction, 
Heard  of  the  little  cubs'  kind  action, 


For  Christmas  morning  brought,  you  see, 
Reward  in  gifts  and  jollity. 


•PUDDING    IS    ASSOCIATED     WITH    CHRISTMAS 
TREES    AND    HOLIDAY    SPORTS. 


WHERE  PLUM-PUDDINGS  GROW 


The 


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 


'  GRAPES   THAT   PUT 
TO   SHAME.' 


MOST  OF  THE  "PLUMS 
IN  OUR  "PLUM-PUD- 
DINGS" ARE  CALLED 
CURRANTS  IN  GREECE. 
BUT  THEY  ARE  REALLY 
NEITHER  PLUMS  NOR  CUR- 
RANTS—BUT GRAPES. 
Illustration  from  the  United 
States  Department  of  Agricul- 
ture. 


two  of  the  most  beautiful  books  in  our  Bible  are 
the    Epistles    to   the    Corinthians— letters    which 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


177 


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 


A    SPRINGTIME    PICNIC   NEAR   CORINTH. 

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. 


'UPON    SUMMER    SEAS   WHERE    GENTLEST 
ZEPHYRS    BLOW." 


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. 


"THE  WORK  OVERFLOWS  INTO  THE  STREETS. 

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 


178 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Dec, 


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 


A    HUGE    BIN    FILLED    WITH    THE    CURRANTS. 


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. 


IS'3-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


179 


A    RAILROAD    TRAIN    WITH   ALL   THE    CARS    LOADED    WITH    Cl'RRANTS. 


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 
Christmas-tide. 

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. 

•■ 

WIND-ROLLED  SNOWBALLS 

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 


_ 

SOME    OF   THEM    LOOKED    LIKE    HUGE    ROLLS 
OF   COTTON    BATTING. 

all  uphill.     The  wind  had  picked  up  a  little  wisp 
of  snow  and  rolled  it  along,  much  as  a  boy  would 


180 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Dec, 


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- 


A    NEAR    VIEW    OF    ONE    OF    THE    LARGE    BALLS. 

graphs  we  are   indebted  to  the   courtesy  of  the 
"'Scientific  American." 


^"BECAUSE  WE 
[WANT  TO  KNOW" 


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- 
fessor. 

SLEEPING   WITH    THE   HEAD   TO   THE   NORTH 

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- 
lids. 

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 


I9I3-] 


NATURE  AND   SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


181 


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 
incident: 

"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." 


THE    STING    OF    A    HONEY-REE,    GREATLY    MAGNIFIED 
TO    SHOW   THE    BARBS. 

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 


WHAT  IS  AN  ECLIPSE? 

HOBOKEN,  N.  J. 

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. 


1 


,?/<a) 


n  the  ST  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE     | 


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. 


PRIZE-WINNERS,  COMPETITION  No.   166 

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. 


BY    L.   AKMSTRONG    KERN,   AGE    14.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 

"TAKEN  ON  A  HOLIDAY.' 


BY    RUSSEL   A.   REED,   AGE    13. 


ST.   NICHOLAS   LEAGUE 


183 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

BY    KATHARINE    REISER    (AGE    1 6) 

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. 


TAKEN"    ON    A    HOLIDAY.  BY    C.   NOKMAN    FIT'J'S,  AGE    ID. 

GOLD  BADGE.       (SILVER    BADGE    WON    SEPT.,   1913.) 

MY  NEIGHBOR 

BY    MILDRED    BENJAMIN    (AGE    1 5) 

(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 
experience." 

"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- 


y-VEWBS 


"TAKEN    ON    A    HOLIDAY."       BY    RICHARD    C 
RAMSEY,  AGE    16.        (SILVER    BADGE.) 


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." 

MY  NEIGHBOR 

BY    EDITH    MAYNE    (AGE    14) 

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 


TAKEN    ON    A    HOLIDAY.  BY  MARGARET 

H.   POOLEY,    AGE    1 7.       GOLD    BADGE. 
(SILVER    BADGE   WON     SEPT.,    1912.) 


184 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Dec, 


BY   JUNIOR    SCKUTON,   AGE    lb. 
(HONOR    MEMBER.) 


BY   JESSIE    B.   NOBLE,  AGE    13. 


BY    KENNETH    D.   SMITH,   AGE    16. 
(HONOR    MEMBER.) 


BY    FIDELIA    CONRAD,  AGE    15.  BY  CONSTANCE   C.  LING,  AGE    14.      (SILVER    BADGE.) 


BY    RUTH    D.   LEE,  AGE    12. 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


I9I3-] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


185 


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. 


J 

"BUSY."        BY    MARGARET    K.   TURNBULL,  AGE    17.       GOLD    BADGE. 
(SILVER    BADGE    WON    AUG.,   I909.) 

MY  NEIGHBOR 

BY  ANNA   E.    B0TSF0RD    (AGE    1 5) 

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. 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

BY    MARY    C.    SHERMAN    (AGE    15) 

(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." 

MY  NEIGHBOR 

BY    MINNIE    BRUNER    (AGE    II) 

(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 


"TAKEN    ON    A    HOLIDAY."       BY    ROSALIND    O.  ENGLISH,  AGE    IO. 
(SILVER  BADGE.) 

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 
field-mice. 

I   must   tell   you   what   Mother  Owl   looks   like.      Her 
feathers  are  of  a  yellowish  brown  color,  which  is  sprin- 


186 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Dec, 


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. 


"BUSY.  BY   WILHELMINA    R.   BABCOCK,  AGE    17.        GOLD    BADGE. 

(SILVER    BADGE   WON   JUNE,   I9I3.) 

A  CHRISTMAS  SONG 

BY    DOROTHY    C.    SNYDER    (AGE    15) 

(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. 

MY  NEIGHBOR 

BY   ALICE   CHINN    (AGE    12) 

The  neighbor  I  wish  to  tell  you  about  is  a  little  bird. 

In  the  city  in  which  I  live,  there  are  few  birds  except 
sparrows. 

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. 

A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

BY    EMILY    LEGG    (AGE    14) 

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. 


MY  NEIGHBOR 

BY    MARIAN    THANHOUSER    (AGE    14) 

(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. 


BY    ROBERT    RINGEL, 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


I9I3-] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


187 


A  CHRISTMAS  HYMN 

BY    FLORENCE   LAUER    KITE    (AGE    13) 

(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  !" 

MY  NEIGHBOR 
(As  told  by  "Aunt  Mary  Ann") 

BY    RUTH    KATHRYN    GAYLORD    (AGE    14) 

(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. 


"A   HEADING    FOR    DECEMBER.  BY   GEORGE   A.   CHROMEY, 

AGE    14.       (SILVER   BADGE.) 

"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." 


"BUSY."       BY    MADELINE    ZEISSE,   AGE    14. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  YEAR 

BY  EDYTHE    MARGARET   MURRAY    (AGE    1 3) 

(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 
poise, 
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. 

MY  NEIGHBOR 

BY    MARTHA   E.    WHITTEMORE    (AGE    17) 

(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 


188 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Dec, 


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. 


A    HEADING   FOE    DECEMBER.  BY    HENRY 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


TEALL,  AGE    17. 


THE  HEART  OF  THE  YEAR 

BY    GRACE    NOERR    SHERBURNE    (AGE    17) 

{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  ! 


NEIGHBORS 

BY    LAURA    HADLEY    (AGE    1 4) 

{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. 

THE  ROLL  OF  HONOR 

No.  i.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  would  have  been  used  had  space 
permitted. 

No.  2.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  entitles  them  to  encouragement. 


PROSE,  1 

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 

Gleason 
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, 

Jr. 
Helen  E.  Frazier 

PROSE,  2 

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 

VERSE,  i 

Barbara  Knight 
June  Wellman 
B.  Cresswell 
Richard  Donald 

Schmidt 
Alice  Trimble 


ISM3-] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


189 


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 

Duffield 
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 

Livingood 
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 

VERSE,  2 

Pauline  Lambert 
Theodora  Booth 
Skinner 


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 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  i 

Jean  Dickinson 
Gaston  A.  Lintner 
Elizabeth  White 
Elinor  Rennick 

Warren 
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. 

McLaughlin 
Dorothy  Perry 
Janet  VValdron 

Victorius 
Helen  Snook 
Frances  Goodhue 
Margaret  K.  Hinds 
Mary  Marquand 


SPECIAL  NOTICE 


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. 


PRIZE  COMPETITION 

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 


'A    HEADING    FOR    DECEMBER."       BY    EDNA    J 
BUCK,   AGE    17.        (SILVER    BADGE.) 


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 

DRAWINGS,  1 
Henry  J.  Maloy 
Julia  G.  Palmer 
Jean  Dorchester 
Leo  M.  Peterson 
Charles  Howard 

Voorhies 
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 

PUZZLES,  1 
Helen  Ziegler 
Theodore  H.  Ames 


PUZZLES,  2 
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. 

RULES 

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. 


THE   LETTER-BOX 


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). 


PHOEBE  SNOW 
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 
Montana. 


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 
content. 

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). 


190 


ANSWERS  TO  PUZZLES  IN  THE  NOVEMBER  NUMBER 


Word-Squares.     I. 
Niter.     II.   i.  Tabor. 


.   Baron. 
Above. 


Geographical  Zigzag. 
3.    Belgium.     4.   Sumatra. 
Wasatch.     9.   Orinoco.     10.  Concord 
Nepigon. 


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 


I. 


T. 


3.    Naiad.     4. 


Keg. 
Tar. 


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. 
Trample. 

Cross-word  Enigma. 


Cross-words: 
5.    Literal.     6. 


Selfish. 
Allowed. 


Ecstasy.     3. 
Egotism.     8. 


November. 

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. 


ILLUSTRATED   DIAGONAL 


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. 

QUADRUPLE  BEHEADINGS  AND  CURTAILINGS 

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. 

NOVEL  ZIGZAGS 

(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 
States. 

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). 


191 


192 


THE   RIDDLE-BOX 


ILLUSTRATED  NOVEL  ACROSTIC 

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. 


3 

4 

S 

6 

7 

8 

9 

10 

11 

12 

13   14    *     *     * 

DOUBLE  ACROSTIC 

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. 

NOVEL  NUMERICAL  ENIGMA 

(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. 

J5-  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). 
DOUBLE  ZIGZAG 

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. 

NOVEL  ACROSTIC 

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). 


11. 

12. 
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     • 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS,  NEW  YORK. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Jib 


"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." 


Asparagus 

Beef 

Bouillon 

Celery 

Chicken 

Chicken  Gumbo  (Okra) 

Clam  Bouillon 


Clam  Chowder 
Consomme 
Julienne 
Mock  Turtle 
Mulligatawny 
Mutton  Broth 
Ox  Tail 


Pea 

Pepper  Pot 

Printanier 

Tomato 

Tomato-Okra 

Vegetable 

Vermicelli-Tomato 


Look  for  the  red-and-white  label 


33 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The  Kodak 
Gift  Case 

A  quality  and 
richness  that  will 
appeal  to  the 
most  fastidious. 


Containing: 

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. 
EASTMAN  KODAK  COMPANY,  Rochester,  N.Y. 


34 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


NABISCO 

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 
tins. 

ADORA 

Another  charming  confec- 
tion— a  filled  sugar  wafer 
with  a  bountiful  center  of 
rich,  smooth  cream. 

FXSTINO 

An  ever-popular  delight. 
An  almond-shaped  dessert 
confection  with  a  kernel  of 
almond-flavored  cream. 

CHOCOLATE,  TOKENS 

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- 
olate. 

NATIONAL  BISCUIT 
COMPANY 


35 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
pliability. 


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.,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Holeproof  Hosiery  Co.  of  Canada,  Ltd.,  London,  Can. 
Holeproof  Hosiery  Co.,  10  Church  Alley,  Liverpool,  England 


AND  CHILDREN-^ 


(502) 


$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. 


"&^&M 


FOR  WOMEN 


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. 


36 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 0  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. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


— - — - 


, — 


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. 


Look/or 
this  trade  mark 


Unless  it  bears  this  Trade  Mark 


Seven  sizes,  carrying 
If  your  dealer  can't 
order  to  us  and  give 


No. 

i, 

38  in. 

long, 

$2.50 

No. 

4» 

52 

in. 

long, 

$4 

So 

No. 

2 

42  in. 

long, 

3.00 

Mo 

5, 

6, 

in. 

long, 

6 

00 

Mo. 

3. 

47  in- 

long, 

3-75 

Mo. 

°, 

10 

in 

long, 

12 

00 

Flexible  Flyer  Racer 

,56 

_n. 

long, 

$4.25 

Outlasts  three  ordinary  sleds 

The  Flexible  Flyer  is  strong  and  durable  in 
construction.  It  is  light  enough  to  easily  pull 
uphill. 

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. 


38 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"J 


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 
yourself. 

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 
Canyon. 

The  Santa  Fe  de  Luxe  —  once  a  week 
in  winter  season  —  extra  fast,  extra  fine, 
extra  fare  — -  between  Chicago  and  Los 
Angeles. 

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 


39 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 ! 

Aeroplanes 

Bridges 

Derrick 

Dirigible  Balloon 

Elevators 

Inclined  Railway 

Lighthouse 

Machine  Shop 

Motor  Cars 

Traveling  Crane 

Wagons 

Wheelbarrow 

Windmill 

Structural  Steel  Buildings 

and  hundreds  0 
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. 


40 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


Bonbons 


v 


Chocolates 


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~ — \ 

(.  '    \ 


41 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"They  even  tried  to  sell  imitations  to 

me!     I  give  away  thousands  of  boxes 

of  real 

WRIGLEYSk. 


SPEARMINT 


I  know  it's  not  the  clean,  pure, 
healthful,  genuine  unless  I  see  the 
name  WRIGLEY' Sand 
the  spear.' 


Wrigley's  is 

"springy," 

enjoyable, 

refreshes 

the 

mouth, 

brightens 

teeth, 

benefits 

appetite 

and  aids 

digestion. 

It  has  no 

aftertaste  if  it's 

WRIGLEY'! 


Be  sure 

it's 
WRIGLEY'S 


42 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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;  ^      ±JKff\  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  COMPANY 

makes 
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. 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY 

131    Hudson  Street      -      -      New  York 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY'S  Vanishing  Cream 
— Talcum  Powder — Toilet  Soap  —  Pond's  Extract. 


smm  ^HiHiiiiiiiiiHiMiiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiininnniiniB 


44 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Tfe  Eidktk  4 

WondS-        ^ 
of  tke 
World 


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. 

AMERICAN  THERMOS  BOTTLE  COMPANY 

Thermos-on-Thames 
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. 


45 


St.  Nicholas  Advertising  Competition  No.  144 


Time  to  send  in  answers  is  up  December  15.    Prize-winners  announced  in  the  February  number 


Cfohlb 


8ALM 


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- 
cation. 

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.) 


46 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


NECCO  WAFERS 


Glazed  Paper  Wrapper 


(Necco 

\    .Sweets    , 


HUB  WAFERS 

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. 

NEW  ENGLAND  CONFECTIONERY  CO. 
Boston,  Mass. 


47 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
carelessness. 

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 ! 


PRIZE  AWARDS  ARE  AS  FOLLOWS: 
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. 


48 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
prices. 


49 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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  suaprpcohrt  SHOE 

With  COWARD   EXTENSION  Heel 


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 


SOLD  NOWHERE  ELSE 

JAMES  S.  COWARD 

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. ) 


50 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


2 

"QOCEMAN 

1 
m 

: 

h 

'■■■-■■' 

si 

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.) 


FAMOUS 

PARKER 

GAMES 


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. 

PLAZA 

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. 

ROOK 

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. 
GET  ALL  THREE  GAMES 
Each   will  delight  you  in  a  different  way. 
Send  for  Illustrated  List  ai  50  Parker  Games. 
Mention  St.  Nicholas. 


PARKER  BROTHERS"^ 

SALEM,    MASSACHUSETTS 
ofFLATIRON  BLDG,  NEW  YORK 


51 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


> 


Boys  Can  Build  the  Toys 
That  Teach  Them  a  Man's  Work 

MECCANO 

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 

THE  EMBOSSING  COMPANY 
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. 
POHLSON'S  GIFT  SHOP,  PAWTUCKET,  R.I.,  Dept.31. 


JOYLAND 


(Patented) 


This  face  /^ty 
book  is  fcri^-fA 
more 


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. 


4&S3S* 


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.) 


52 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 


4P§S8^ 


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 ! 

THE  BOOK  MAN 


ESKAYS 
FOOD 

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. 

TEN  FEEDINGS  FREE 


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." 

Name 

Stre.H  and  No. 

City  and  State. 

—I'll 


53 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


$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. 

RADIOPTICAN 

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. 

H.  C.  WHITE  COMPANY 

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. 


54 


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. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Boys  and  Girls  Make  These 

Just  think  of  making  models 
of  your  own  toys,  dolls, 
soldiers,  forts,  houses,  pic- 
tures—  at  home  with 


HARBUTT*S 


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 

MURRAY  <2L  LANMAN'S 
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.    :■.    ::    :: 

ASK   YOUR  DRUGGIST  FOR  IT. 
REFUSE  ALL  SUBSTITUTES  1 

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. 


55 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 
PLANS  FOR  PAYMENT  THAT  MAKE  BUYING  CONVENIENT 

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. 


STATEMENT  OF  THE  OWNERSHIP,  MANAGEMENT,  ETC., 
OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  MAGAZINE 

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.) 


56 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The  Oblong 
Rubber  Button 


CLASS  PINS 


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. 


RIDER  AGENTS  WANTED 

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  bicyclest( 
"  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. 

JOHN    BING, 
378  Fourth  Ave.,  New  York 


ELECTRICITY 


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.) 

VOLTAMP   ELECTRIC  MFG.  CO. 
Nichol  Bldg.  Baltimore,  Md. 


THE  DOLL  HOUSE  OF  CHARACTER 

"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. 

PANEL  TOY  CO.,  Lock  Box  141,  CHICAGO 


57 


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1 

! 


ST.  NICHOLAS   STAMP    PAGE 


OUR  ILLUSTRATIONS 

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. 


CHRISTMAS 

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. 


ANSWERS  TO  QUERIES 

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. 


A  CORRECTION 

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 
millimeters. 


22Z 


i  ^22S828aS852S8e282ga:^^ggg2Sa22aga22SgS22228225SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSgSSSSSSSSS^ 

58 


! 

I 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP  DIRECTORY 


rTJNTINFNTAI  STAMP  ALBUM,  only 
*^Wm  lir* E.m  1 /\1_  10c>  8x5  inches,  heavy 
cardboard  covers,  160  pictures.  Spaces  for  546  stamps  from 
135  countries. 

SPECIAL  BARGAINS 
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 


STAMPS  100  VARIETIES  FOREIGN.  FREE.  Postage  2c. 
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. 

THE  CRESCENT  LEADER!! 

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. 


STAMPS  FREE,  100  ALL  DIFFERENT 

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 


STAMPS  108  ALL  DIFFERENT. 

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. 

CMADC  200  ALL  DIFFERENT  FOREIGN  STAMPS 
■31^**r  O  for  OD]y  10c  65  Au  Dif  xj  s  ;ncluding  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. 

FIVE  FRENCH-AFRICAN  STAMPS 

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. 


Sta 


__   115  varieties  foreign,  for  2c  postage.   Agents  75%. 
"»PS  H.  N.  Haas  (B),  440  E.  3d  St.,  Bloomsburg,  Pa. 


C    VARIETIES  PERU  FREE. 

**    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. 

50  VARIETIES  STAMPS 
FROM  50  DIFFERENT  COUNTRIES 

sent  with  our  60%  approval  sheets  for  5c. 
Palm  Stamp  Co.,  Box  174,  Arcade  Sta.,  Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

VCCT  POrifFT  WATERMARK  DETECTOR 
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. 


IDEAL  XMAS  PRESENT  FOR  BOY  OR  GIRL 

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"  stamPsso'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. 


RARHATNS  EACH  SET  5  cents. 

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 

20th  CENTURY  DIME  SETS 

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. 

NEW  ENGLAND  STAMP  CO. 

43  Washington  Building  Boston,  Mass. 


(  Continued  on  page  68.) 


59 


[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 


BARRINGTON,  ILL. 

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. 


THE  VERY  BEST  BRED  AND  BEST  TRAINED 
POINTERS  AND   SETTERS  IN   AMERICA 

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. 
CORNUCOPIA  FARM  KENNELS,  Dept.  L,  De  Soto,  Mo. 


I  CAN  LEARN  TRICKS! 

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. 

NEWCASTLE  KENNELS 

Brookline,  Mass. 


Feed  SPRATT'S  DOG  CAKES 
AND  PUPPY  BISCUITS 

They  are  the  best  in  the  world 

Send  2c  stamp  for  "Dog  Culture" 

SPRATT'S  PATENT  LIMITED 
Factory  and  chief  offices  at  NEWARK.N.J. 


Shetland  and  Welsh 
Ponies  for  sale 

THE  BEST  CHRISTMAS  present 
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. 

SHADY  NOOK  FARM 
Addison  County,  North  Ferrisburgh,  Vermont. 


SHETLAND  PONIES 

Carefully  trained  for  children's  safety.  Only 
gentle,  highly-bred  registered  ponies  in  our 
herd.     Champion  stock,  all  colors  and  sizes. 

SUNSET  HILL  FARM 

PORTSMOUTH,  N.  H. 


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. 


P""""" 


PUPPIES 


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*^wimiwi..<^     iii    ■     '■■■■■    ■    m    mm    ■ 


nt- 
ev-  I 
es"  I 

£J 


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. 
CLONTARF  KENNELS,  Bedford,  Ohio 


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. 


WELSH  MOUNTAIN  PONIES 

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. 
FKANCIS  E.  LESTEK        Dept.  TF-1S-K 

Me&illa  Park,    New  Mexico 


LJOUNDS  for  Rabbit,  Fox,  Deer, 
*■  *•  Bear,  Coon,  Wolf,  and  Blood- 
hounds.   50-page  catalog,  5  cents. 

ROOKWOOD  KENNELS 

Lexington,  Kentucky 


ENGLISH    BLOODHOUNDS 

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. 


^!l!lllll[|l!lllllllllll!lllllll|[||[||lil!|]ll|[l![||[|!N 

J  FLUFFY  ANGORA  KITTENS.  Siitlc^T  i 

=  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. 

OAK  HILL  KENNELS 

Ellis  Place  Ossining,  N.  Y. 

Tel.,  Ossining  323 


6l 


KITTENS! 


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 


THIS  IS  WANG 

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. 

PEKIN  KENNELS 
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. 

BELLE  MEADE  FARM 

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. 

ACME  KENNELS, 
P.  O.  Box  285        Waterbury,  Conn. 


V'- 


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. 

BLANCHE  E.  WATSON,  AURORA,  ILL. 


FOR 
SALE 


PETS 


FOR 
SALE 


Prairie-Dogs, 
Fancy 
Pigeons 
and 

Poultry, 
Animals 
and 

Birds  of 
every 
kind. 
Complete 
lists,  5c. 
stamps. 


Dogs  of  all  breeds.      Dept.  St.  N. 

HORNE'S  ZOOLOGICAL  ARENA  COMPANY 

KANSAS  CITY,  MISSOURI 


62 


mmwm 


r"i/,».m 


ave  Our  Native  Birds 


By  JOSEPH  H.  DODSON 


'The  Man  the  Birds  Love' 


(A  CHRISTMAS  GIFT  SUGGESTION) 

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 


63 


»t>  jaicljolas  $et  department 


Goldfish  and  Canaries 

FOR  XMAS  GIFTS 

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 
Pure 
Shetland 
Ponies 


SUNNYSIDE 

SHETLAND 
PONY  FARM 

Beautiful  and  intelligent  little 
horses  for  children  constantly 
hand  and  for  sale.    Correspond- 
ence   solicited.     Write    for    hand- 
somely illustrated  pony  catalogue  to 

MILNE  BROS. 
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. 

JO/EPH  P.  McHUGH  &  JOH 

9  W.  42D  ST.    —    OPPOSITE  LIBRARY  —   NEW  YORK 


%& 


i&M 


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. 
Apply 
ALF  DELMONT 
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. 
ALLSTONE    KENNELS,  BOUND    BROOK,  N.  J. 


'PRO' 


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. 


GRACELANE  BOARDING  &  BREEDING  KENNELS.  OSSINING,  NEW  YORK 


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. 
FRANK  McINTOSH,  FRAN  KLIN,  PA. 


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  HAKE 


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 


SHETLAND  PONIES 

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  breeding1  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. 

COLNE  KENNELS 

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. 


64 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


KATHERINE  DUNLAP  CATHER'S 

|  >  '        V    ai 

delightful  little  Black  Forest  Legend 

C  BBBij^- y  -*• 

The  Singing  Clock 

ism 

has  aroused  an  interest  in  these  quaint  clocks  of 

'f                              BHiR 

ours  all  over  the  land 

iRShp 

For  over  35  years  we  've  been  making  and  im-      | 

Willi 

porting 

^QS^K^HkflK^flBB^ 

CUCKOO  CLOCKS 

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-      | 

VSH 

keepers. 

1              ^T^ffekm  a« 

As  a  Christmas  Gift,  or  as  a  surprise  for  the  young-      j 

■MtESflP 

sters,  there  "s  nothing  at  the  same  cost  that  will  give      | 

lf*EPHr 

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 

■ 

AMERICAN  CUCKOO  CLOCK  CO., 

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. 


65 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The 

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 
diverting. 

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 


66 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 

THE  CENTURY  CO.       Union  Square       NEW  YORK 


67 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


'sans  feo^ 


Bonbons 
Chocolates 


The  Pre-eminence  of  Maillard 


URITY,  quality  and  su- 
perior merit  have  won 
for  Maillard  an  indis- 
putable pre-eminence 
— maintained   since 


Bonbons 

Chocolates 

French 
Pastries 

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. 


FIFTH 

AVENUE 


AT  35th 
STREET 


ESTABLISHED  1848 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP 
DIRECTORY 

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. 


10 


var.  U.  S.  Revenues,  catalog  25c,  free  with  trial  approvals. 
P.  M.  Elsden,  Mount  Vernon,  Washington. 


1/  1U  BAG  of  REAL  UNSORTED  MISSION  POSTAGE 
•  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., 
FREE!    WE  BUY  STAMPS. 

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. 


CHRISTMAS  PACKET.  A  $10.00  PACKET  FOR  $5.95. 

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: 

68 


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. 

THE  PET  MAN, 

St.  Nicholas  Magazine, 

Union  Square,  New  York 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


it 


TB?m  iTitH 


The  Home  of  Toys" 

ZhQ.-  SCHWARZ 

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" 


r  DAISY 


V 


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.    ^ 

PLYMOUTH,  MICH.  ^J 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 
Christmas. 

They  '11  be  glad  to  get  one  for 
you  if  you  tell  them  that  it 
will  make  you  healthier  and 
stronger. 

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 — 
today. 

The  Consolidated  Mfg.  Co. 

1762  Fernwood  Ave.,  Toledo,  Ohio 

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as  "Peter  Pan" 

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est quality  stock. 

Among   the  artists  represented    are : 

Maxfield  Parrish, 
Jules  Guerin, 
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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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in  Quality" 


WHEN  Santa  Claus  brings  Peter's,   he  brings  the  best 
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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 

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71 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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BY  THE  PROCTER  4t  GAMBLE  CO. 


«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 


72 


[The  entire  contents  of  this  Magazine  are  covered  by  the  general  copyright,  and  articles  must  not  be  reprinted  without  special  permission.] 

CONTENTS  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  FOR  JANUARY,  1914. 

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 

Illustrated. 
The  St.  Nicholas  League.     With  Awards  of  Prize's  for  Stories,  Poems, 

Drawings,  Photographs,  and  Puzzles 276 

Illustrated. 

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. 

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The  half-yearly  parts  of  ST.  N ICHOLAS  end  with  the  October  and  April  numbers  respectively,  and  the  red  cloth  covers  are  ready 
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WILLIAM  W.  ELLSWORTH,  ___,    „„„„„„  ,T    ^  ^  WILLIAM  W.  ELLSWORTH,  President 

IRA  H.  BRAINERD,  THE    CENTURY    CO.  IRA   H.  BRAINERD, Vice. President 

GEORGE   INNESS,  JR.  __     .  _  __'__,        ._     ,,  JOSIAH    I.  HAZEN,  Ass't  Treasurer 

Trustees  Union  Square,  New  York,  N.  Y.         douglas-  z.  doty,  secretary 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The  Cerf 


jstionary 
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 
events? 

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 
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V     ful  cover  picture  of  Peary  in  the  cabin 
— _-'      of  the  Roosevelt x  done  in  full  color. 

'  *     Name 

*     Street 

f     ity State 


-ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Do  You  Know  How  to 
Cook? 

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 
"fudge"! 

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 
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Signed 

Birthday Address 

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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


MY  CHRISTMAS  PRESENTS 

BY  E.  L.  McKINNEY 

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 ) 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Every  St.  Nicholas  Home  Should  Have 


The  House 
in  Good  Taste 

By  ELSIE  DE  WOLFE 

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 
income. 

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 


Around-the-World 
Cook  Book 

By  MARY  LOUISE  BARROLL 

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  Si.jo  net,  postage  ij  cents 


Other  Helpful  Books 

The  Century  Cook 
Book 

By  MARY  RONALD 

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 

By  MARIA  PARLOA 

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 

Luncheons 

By  MARY  RONALD 

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 

By  DR.  LEROY  M.  YALE  and 
GUSTAV  POLLAK 

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 


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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


ST.  NICHOLAS  NEXT  MONTH 


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? 

BILLY    AND    LOUISE 

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 
contained. 

LOUISE   IS   IMPATIENT 

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. 

A  VISIT  TO  PANAMA 

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. 

HOW  TO  COOK 

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. 

SERIAL  STORIES  AND  SERIAL  PICTURES 

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- 
ture." 

A   BALLAD   AND   A   FABLE 

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 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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. 

THE  JINGLEJAYS 

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." 

CHILDREN  AND  THE  THEATER 

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." 

BOB-SLEDDING  AND  SKATING 

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. 

NATURE   AND  SCIENCE  AND  OTHER  DEPARTMENTS 

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 
solve. 

ADVERTISING   SECTION 

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. 

ST.   NICHOLAS  AND  THE  GROWN-UPS 

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." 

II 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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 


-Tft>5 


Pushed  0 


"All  rights  secured" 

OF    JtLL    SCENTED    SOMPS    PEARS'    OTTO    OF    ROSE  IS  THE  BEST 


12 


' 


MOTHER  GOOSE. 

PAINTED    BY   ARTHUR    RACKHAM. 


ST.  NICHOLAS 


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 ! 


U^s 


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. 


193 


194 


THE  NURSERY  RHYMES  OF  MOTHER  GOOSE 


Girls  and  boys,  come  out  to  play, 
The  moon  doth  shine  as  bright  as  day; 
Leave  your  supper,  and  leave  your 

sleep, 
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 

tea. 


Jack  Sprat  could  eat  no  fat, 
His  wife  could  eat  no  lean ; 

And  so,  betwixt  them  both, 
They  licked  the  platter  clean. 


)*,n. 


PAINTED   FOR    ST.   NICHOLAS    BY   ARTHUR   RACKHAM. 


BLftCK-ON-BLUE 


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, 
eh?" 

"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 


196 


BLACK-ON-BLUE 


[Jan., 


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 
so." 

"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 
envelops." 

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 
package." 

"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. 


I9M-] 


BLACK-ON-BLUE" 


197 


"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- 


W 


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. 


"WILLARD   PASSED   THE    PACKET   ACROSS   TO    HIS   FATHER. 


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. 

ii 
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. 


198 


BLACK-ON-BLUE" 


[Jan., 


"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 
that." 

"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 
you?" 

"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 
table. 

"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 
stand. 

"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- 
lard. 

"Oh,  'splits,'  and  'blanks,'  and  surcharges,  and 
such.  Of  course,  though,  I  have  a  few  sur- 
charges." 

"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 
asked. 

"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." 


I9I4-] 


"BLACK-ON-BLUE" 


199 


"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 
me." 

"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." 


'WJI.r.ARD    WAS    UP    EARLY,    SEARCHING    AMONG   THE    CURRANT   BUSHES."      (  SEE    NEXT   PAGE.) 


"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- 


200 


"  BLACK-ON-BLUE  " 


[Jan., 


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 
them?" 

"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 !" 

in 

"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 
gasped. 

"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, 
Mother?" 

"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, 
Will?" 

"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- 
ward." 

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 
places?" 

"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. 


JQI4-] 


"BLACK-ON-BLUE" 


201 


"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. 


CHASE    WAS    STARING    AT    THE    LAST    ENVELOP    AS    THOUGH    HE 
COULD    N'T    BELIEVE    HIS    EYES."       (SEE    NEXT    PAGE.) 


"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- 


202 


"BLACK-ON-BLUE" 


[Jan., 


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 
over. 

"'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 
mind? 

"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 
evening. 

IV 

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 


1914] 


"BLACK-ON-BLUE" 


203 


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 
company." 

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 
mean?" 

"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 
Willard. 

"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 
asked. 

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!" 


RATHER    HARD 

BY  EUNICE  WARD 


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!' 


V-V 


BY  ETHEL  MARJORIE  KNAPP 

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 


QVERORS 


THE     MAGIC    TOUCH 


BAS-RELIEF  PORTRAIT 
OF   A   CHILD. 


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 
clouds. 

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 


206 


MORE  THAN   CONQUERORS 


[Jan., 


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 


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BAS-RELIEF    PORTRAIT    OF    THE    SONS    OF    PRESCOTT    HALL    BUTLER 

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 
spend." 

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 


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I9M-] 


THE  MAGIC  TOUCH 


207 


AUGUSTUS   SAINT-GAUDENS   AT   WORK. 
PAINTED   BY    KENYON   COX. 


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 


208 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


[Jan., 


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 
rushing. 

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." 


THE    FARRAGUT    MONUMENT,    NEW    YORK    CITY. 


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 


1914.] 


THE   MAGIC  TOUCH 


209 


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 


THE    SHAW    MEMORIAL,    BOS 


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 


210 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


[Jan., 


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 


1CM4-] 


THE  MAGIC  TOUCH 


211 


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 


BAS-RELIEF    PORTRAIT    OF    THE    CHILDREN    OF   JACOB    H.    SCHIFF. 


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 
away1  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- 
ment. 

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 


212 


MORE  THAN  CONQUERORS 


[Jan., 


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 
skylight." 

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. 


I5U4-] 


THE  MAGIC  TOUCH 


213 


"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 
stand." 

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 
walls." 

Then,  too,  as  long  as  he  was  able,  Cornish  gave 


THE   STATUE   OF  ABRAHAM    LINCOLN    IN 
LINCOLN    PARK,   CHICAGO. 


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." 


"NOT  INVITED."' 

DRAWN    BY    GERTRUDE    A.   KAY. 
21* 


THE    LUCKY   STONE 


BY  ABBIE  FARWELL  BROWN 

Author  of  "The  Flower  Princess, rhe  Lonesomest  Doll,"  etc. 


Chapter  I 


THE    FAIRY    HOOK 


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- 


SHE    FELL    BACK   AGAINST    THE    WALL    AND    STOOD    AT 


(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 


216 


THK   LUCKY  STONE 


[Jan.. 


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 
me." 

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 


I9I4-] 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


217 


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 
door. 

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- 
gie?" 

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 
eye." 

"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, 
Maggie?" 


218 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


[Jan. 


"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 

BONNYBURN 

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 


1914] 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


219 


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,  rounded  in  gracious  curves  and 
greenly  clothed;  and  the  green  garments  were 
full  of  pungent  perfume. 

"My!"  said  Maggie,  "what  big  hills!  They 
make  me  feel  awful  small.  I  did  n't  know  the 
country  was  so  big  and  kinder  lonesome.  I  won- 
der if  everybody  is  asleep,  and  I  've  got  to  go  and 
wake  'em  up,  like  the  prince.  Oh,  I  don't  dare 
to !  I  wish  Mr.  Graham  was  here.  He  'd  know 
what  to  do.  And  it  's  so  still— I  wish  there  'd  be 
a  noise  or  something." 


Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  her  mouth,  when 
there  came  a  strange  sound  from  somewhere 
behind  her.  "Ze-e-e-e!"  it  shrilled,  brassy, 
wicked,  and  piercing  through  the  hot  air.  Mag- 
gie jumped  up  wildly  and  looked  behind  her;  but 


"'oh!    said  she.     -enchanted  lions!    it  is  a  fairy  palace!'"    (see  PAGE  221.) 


220 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


[Jan., 


there  was  nothing  to  be  seen.  "Ze-e-e-e !"  it  came 
again  out  of  nowhere.  It  seemed  like  the  wicked 
voice  of  some  naughty  spirit,  glad  to  see  her 
unhappy. 

"It  's  the  un-fairies !"  said  Maggie  to  herself. 
"Oh,  what  shall  I  do?"  She  looked  about  her 
despairingly.  There  seemed  no  place  to  hide,  no 
one  to  help  her  in  all  this  silent  land.  She  put  her 
hand  into  her  pocket  and  grasped  the  lucky  stone 
which  Mr.  Graham  had  given  her.  "I  'm  glad  I 
brought  the  lucky  stone,"  said  she.  "I  '11  hold  on 
to  it  tight,  and  I  guess  nothing  can  hurt  me." 

Just  then,  there  came  another  sound,  the  wel- 
come rumble  of  wheels  and  a  horse's  trotting  feet. 
Maggie  turned  eagerly,  and  spied  a  carryall  hur- 
rying to  the  station.  In  it  were  a  man  and  two 
children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  and  they  were  all 
craning  their  necks  and  smiling.  Presently,  they 
drew  up  close  to  Maggie,  and  the  man  sprang  out 
onto  the  platform.  He  was  tall  and  kind-looking, 
with  red  hair  and  whiskers,  and  twinkling  blue 
eyes. 

"Wall !"  said  he,  with  a  good-natured  drawl, 
"I  guess  you  're  the  little  gal  from  the  city,  ain't 
ye,  Maggie  Price?  They  told  us  the  train  would 
be  late,  so  we  went  to  the  store  to  do  some  er- 
rands for  Mother.  And  then  the  train  come  after 
all.  Wa'n't  it  too  bad?  Must  have  seemed  kind 
of  lonesome  to  ye."  He  had  noted  the  channels 
of  tears  on  Maggie's  dusty  face  as  he  lifted  her 
into  the  back  seat  of  the  carryall  beside  the  little 
girl  who  sat  there,  bashful  but  eager.  The  boy 
on  the  front  seat,  who  held  the  reins  to  the  old 
white  horse  while  his  father  stowed  away  Mag- 
gie's suitcase,  turned  around  and  stared  at  her 
with  a  broad  grin.  He  was  a  year  or  two  older 
than  Maggie,  and  his  merry  blue  eyes  were  like 
his  father's. 

"I  was  awful  lonesome,"  confessed  Maggie. 
"And  I  was  scared  by  the  horrid  sound." 

"Sound?  What  sound?"  asked  the  farmer,  in 
surprise. 

"A  loud,  zippy  sound  that  came  just  now.  Oh, 
did  n't  you  hear  it?  I  think  it  was  something 
wicked."  Maggie  turned  big  eyes  from  one  aston- 
ished face  to  another.  "There  it  is  again !"  She 
shuddered  as  once  more  the  brassy  "Ze-e-e-e !" 
pierced  the  air  behind  them. 

"Why,  bless  ye!  That  's  only  a  locust!"  said 
Mr.  Timmins,  laughing,  and  the  children  tittered. 

"Did  n't  you  ever  hear  a  locust  before?"  asked 
Bess,  smiling.    Maggie  shook  her  head. 

"What  is  a  locust?  Is  it  a  bad  fairy?"  she 
questioned.    Bob  burst  into  a  roar. 

"It  's  a  kind  of  a  bug,"  said  Mr.  Timmins, 
laughingly;  "and  it  makes  that  noise  with  its 
wings." 


"Oh,"  said  Maggie,  much  relieved.  "I  suppose 
he  tries  to  make  a  pretty  song,  poor  thing,  and 
can't;  like  Jacopo,  on  the  floor  below  us,  who 
wants  to  sing  in  the  opera." 

The  children  looked  puzzled.  Maggie  was  con- 
tinually puzzling  them  during  the  ride  to  the 
farm.  For  everything  she  said  about  the  city 
was  as  strange  to  them  as  the  country  was  to 
Maggie.  She  kept  exclaiming  at  the  woods  and 
the  little  brooks  over  which  they  passed;  at  the 
big  trees  and  the  fields  of  grain.  She  could  not 
believe  that  the  beautiful  flowers  which  grew 
everywhere  belonged  to  anybody  who  wanted  to 
pick  them. 

As  the  old  white  horse  toiled  up  a  steep  hill, 
Bob  swung  himself  down  over  the  wheel  and 
gathered  a  sprawling  bouquet  of  clover,  heal-all, 
butter-and-eggs,  and  queen's-lace,  which  he  thrust 
into  Maggie's  hands. 

"Oh  !  Thank  you  !"  she  gasped.  "Ain't  they 
beautiful!  And  just  think!  I  can  find  'em  my- 
self, all  I  want,  for  a  whole  fortnit !  Ain't  it 
fairy-land  !" 

"Fairy-land !"  echoed  Bob,  with  a  laugh.  "No, 
it  's  just  Bonnyburn." 

"I  think  it  's  fairy-land,"  insisted  Maggie.  "It 
looks  just  like  the  pictures.  There  ain't  any 
houses,  but  there  's  plenty  of  grass  and  flowers,— 
just  what  the  fairies  like.  Did  you  ever  see  any  ?" 
She  turned  eagerly  to  Bess  with  the  question. 
Bob  and  Bess  looked  at  each  other,  and  burst  into 
shouts  of  laughter.  Mr.  Timmins's  shoulders  were 
shaking  also. 

"Fairies !"  said  Bess,  at  last.  "Why,  we  don't 
believe  in  fairies.    Do  you?" 

Maggie's  pale  cheeks  flushed.  "Yes,  I  do !"  she 
declared.  "I  know  all  about  'em !  The  folks  that 
don't  believe  in  'em  don't  know.  Mr.  Graham 
says  so.  He  tells  us  stories  at  the  Settlement- 
such  lovely  stories !"  She  clasped  her  hands  in 
rapturous  recollection.  "I  '11  bet  there  's  fairies 
here.  I  saw  a  grand  white  palace  from  the  train 
window.  It  was  up  on  a  hill,  just  like  a  picture 
in  the  fairy  books.  I  believe  a  princess  lives 
there." 

"She  must  mean  the  Park,"  said  Bob,  grinning. 
"You  can  see  that  from  the  train.  It  's  the  only 
big  white  house  in  town." 

"The  Park,"  said  Bess;  "why,  that  's  right  near 
us,  Maggie;  at  least,  one  part  of  it  is.  It  's  so 
big  !    Here  's  one  of  the  entrances  now.    See  !" 

Indeed,  just  then  they  came  in  sight  of  an  im- 
posing gateway  in  the  high  wall  which  ran  all  the 
way  up  the  hill  on  each  side  of  the  road.  There 
was.'a  high,  white  marble  arch,  with  a  coat  of 
arms  at  the  top,  and  gates  of  iron  grill-work 
through  which  one  caught  glimpses  of  lawns  and 


I9M-] 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


221 


big  trees,  with  here  and  there  a  bed  of  rhododen- 
drons. But  what  caught  and  held  Maggie's  at- 
tention were  the  two  enormous  marble  lions 
standing  grandly  on  either  side  of  the  gate. 

"Oh !"  said  she,  in  a  whisper,  clutching  Bess's 
hand  eagerly.  "Enchanted  lions  !  It  is  a  fairy 
palace  !" 

"Pooh,  pooh !"  snorted  Mr.  Timmins,  giving 
the  horse  a  flick  which  caused  him  to  start  from 
his  creeping  doze  so  suddenly  that  the  little  girls 
nearly  went  out  over  the  back  seat ;  "your  head  is 
full  of  fancies,  young  one.  Them  lions  are  jest 
stope,  and  that  there  place  belongs  to  Mr. 
Penfold,  of  Boston,  though  he  don't  scarcely 
ever  come  here.    And  't  is  a  shame." 

"Who  does  live  there  ?"  asked  Maggie. 

"Nobody,"  said  the  farmer,  "except  servants. 
There  's  always  been  somebody  to  take  care  of 
the  Park,  but  they  won't  let  anybody  else  inside 
the  gates.  It  's  a  grand  big  house  and  pretty  gar- 
dens, they  say.  It  's  forty  years  since  he  bought 
the  place.  But  I  've  never  been  inside.  None  of 
the  town  folk  has.  The  Penfolds  hain't  been  here 
for  ten  years.  They  've  got  half  a  dozen  houses 
scattered  in  different  places  round  the  hull  world ; 
but  they  can't  live  in  'em  all.     'T  ain't  right,  I 


say 


Park  now, 
I    saw    an 


"There  's  somebody  staying  at  the 
Father,"    said    Bob,    unexpectedly, 
automobile  go  in  there  last  week." 

"Who  was  in  it?"  demanded  Bess. 

"I  dunno,"  answered  her  brother,  carelessly. 
"Two  women  that  I  never  saw  before.  One  of 
'em  wore  a  black  veil  so  thick  she  looked  as  if 
she  had  n't  any  face." 

"A  veiled  princess  !"  murmured  Maggie,  under 
her  breath.  "Oh,  ain't  it  just  like  the  Arabian 
Nights  !" 

"I  guess  it  was  some  new  servants,"  said  Bess, 
practically.  "There  are  always  new  ones  coming 
and  going,  'cause  they  get  so  lonesome.  Mother 
says  she  don't  blame  'em  a  mite.  She  says  she 
would  n't  stay  there  for  anything." 

"Oh,  how  I  'd  like  to  go  inside !"  said  Maggie, 
clasping  her  hands. 

"Wall,  ye  cain't,  young  lady !" 
said  Mr.  Timmins,  with  a  twinkle. 
"That  's  one  thing  ye  cain't  do 
while  ye  're  here  with  us.  We  '11 
make  ye  as  happy  and  comfortable 
as  we  can,  to  the  farm.  That  's 
what   we    promised   Mr.    Graham. 


We  '11  fatten  ye  up  with  good  milk  and  eggs  and 
berries,  and  welcome.  And  we  '11  let  ye  run  wild 
as  an  Injun  and  do  jest  as  ye  please  all  over  our 
place.  But  ye  cain't  go  into  the  Park.  There  's 
signs  up  everywhere  sayin'  'No  Trespassin','  and 
I  don't  want  anybody  at  my  place  to  git  arrested 
for  trespassin'.  Besides,  you  could  n't  git  over 
the  wall  ef  you  tried.    So  that  's  the  end  of  it." 

Bob  and  Bess  laughed.  They  were  used  to 
their  father's  kind,  blunt  manner. 

"Maggie  won't  have  time  to  bother  with  the 
Park,"  said  Bob;  "we  've  got  so  many  things  to 
show  her,  and  such  a  lot  to  do.  Why,  two  weeks 
is  no  time  in  Bonnyburn." 

"It  's  a  long  time  in  the  tenement,"  said  Mag- 
gie, "but  that  does  n't  matter  now." 

After  a  merry  ride,  they  came  at  last  to  the 
top  of  the  hill,  and  turned  into  the  homely  door- 
yard  of  a  cottage  under  two  aged  oaks,  where 
hens  and  chickens  were  scratching  busily,  where 
a  herd  of  patient  cows  waited  behind  bars  to  be 
milked,  and  where  a  motherly  woman  in  a  clean, 
white  apron  stood  on  the  door-step  smiling  a 
welcome. 

"Well,  you  are  late !"  cried  Mrs.  Timmins. 
"Come  right  in,  Maggie,  and  get  washed  up  for 
supper.  My !  you  must  be  tired  and  hungry,  you 
poor  child.  Bess,  take  her  right  up  to  your  room, 
where  she  '11  find  warm  water  and  a  clean  towel. 
Come  down  as  soon  as  you  can,  children,  for  I  've 
got  hot  griddle-cakes  and  maple-syrup  waitin' 
for  you,  and  they  '11  never  be  any  better  than  they 
are  now." 

It  was  a  cordial  welcome,  and  Maggie's  heart 
warmed  to  it.  Bess  pulled  her  little  guest  after 
her  up  the  stairs  to  the  clean,  simple  bedroom. 

"Oh,  ain't  it  sweet !"  sighed  Maggie,  looking  at 
the  two  little  cots  side  by  side.  "Am  I  going  to 
have  a  bed  all  to  myself?  I  never  did  before. 
Won't  it  be  grand  !" 

"But  we  '11  be  near  each  other,"  said  Bess,  hug- 
ging her.     "And  you  '11  tell  me  some  of  those 
fairy  stories,  won't  you,  Maggie?" 
Maggie  looked  at  her  with  shining  eyes.    "You 
bet  I  will !"  she  cried.     "I  've  got 
my    fairy   book   in   the   bag   here. 
But  you  don't  need  'em  here  the 
way  I  do  at  home,  'cause  this  place 
is  a  fairy  tale.     And  I  know  I  'm 
in     fairy-land — everything     is     so 
clean  and  sweet,  and  everybody  is 
so  nice." 

(To  be  continued.) 


"AUNT   JO"    AND   "ONE    OF    HER    BOYS" 

A  LETTER  FROM  MISS  ALCOTT 

Perhaps    no    autograph    was    more    persistently  Numberless    copies   of   her   letters   have   been 

sought  and  longed  for  by  the  young  folk  of  a  published,  too,  in  books  and  periodicals  during 

generation  ago  than  that  of  Miss  Louisa  M.  Al-  the  last  twenty-five  years,  and  many  a  story  has 

cott,  the  beloved  author  of  "Little  Women" ;  and  been  told  of  her  thoughtful,  unselfish  kindness  to 


^S*-dc^   3> 


probably  few  autographs  are  more  familiar  to 
the  boys  and  girls  of  to-day.  Though  a  quarter 
of  a  century  has  passed  since  her  death  in  1888, 
her  signature  is  still  as  proudly  cherished  a 
treasure  or  memento  in  many  households  as  it 
was  during  her  busy  and  useful  life. 


the  girls  and  boys  who  loved  her  books  and  wrote 
to  her  concerning  them. 

A  hitherto  unpublished  letter  of  unusual  inter- 
est and  charm  has  lately  come  to  the  notice  of 
St.  Nicholas.  It  was  written  by  "Aunt  Jo"  for 
"one  of  her  boys"  in  1874,  and  it  is  here  repro- 


A  LETTER  FROM  MISS  ALCOTT 


223 


duced  both  in  print  and  in  the  handwriting  so 
familiar  to  hosts  of  Miss  Alcott's  admirers. 

Boston,  Dec.  4. 
My  dear  Miss  Tevis : 

I  have  so  many  letters  from  unknown  friends  that  I 
have  to  leave  many  of  them  unanswered  for  want  of 
time,  as  I  am  a  very  busy  woman. 

But  your  letter  gave  me  such  sincere  pleasure  that  I 
must  thank  you  for  it,  &  tell  you  how  happy  it  makes 


cheer  us  up,  for  I  often  long,  as  I  sit  alone  aching, 
for  some  one  to  ache  with  me  &  be  socially  dismal 
together. 

Now  perhaps  it  would  amuse  him  if  I  tell  something 
about  the  little  women  who  have  grown  up.  Meg  is 
living  at  home  in  Concord  Mass.  with  her  two  boys 
who  are  tip  top  little  lads.  Fred  is  "Demi"  &  a  regular 
book-worm,  reading  all  the  time ;  books  in  his  pocket, 
under  his  pillow,  by  his  plate  &  before  his  nose  as  he 
walks.  When  he  can't  get  anything  else  he  reads  the 
dictionary  &  says  "words  are  very  interesting."     Jack, 


^erw^-NXK^-y 


me  to  know  that  my  little  books  can  beguile  the  weary 
hours  of  any  one  who  suffers. 

I  know  what  pain  is  for  it  has  been  my  companion 
day  &  night  for  some  years  &  I  have  learned  what 
comforters  books  are. 

Thank  your  brother  for  his  sympathy  &  tell  him 
I  wish  I  could  see  him  &  have  a  story-telling  party  to 


or  "Daisy,"  is  a  jolly  chap  of  nine  &  a  real  worker,  for 
he  pegs  away  at  something  all  the  time,  &  is  never  so 
happy  as  when  trying  to  dig  a  well,  build  a  house,  or 
move  a  mountain.  They  have  no  father  now  but  their 
gentle  mother  lives  for  them  &  some  good  angel  seems 
to  watch  over  our  little  men. 

Old  Jo    (42   last  birthday)    has   a   room   in    Boston   & 


224 


"AUNT  JO"  AND  "ONE  OF  HER  BOYS" 


[Jan., 


^^  *-V-   *-Y 


A-*S 


o~3 — 


^^-^-xl    ^-V^_    c  o->_  N^3^y     ^r^i-    y-o-i^    ii^->  ~l%^-<s~-^*A^~2%r 


tf?^ 


O-o 


w-y 


V/O    >       >- 


-S^OkSL^   J.     K^oAlD 


>C_        ^JVJL_,  Osk_    »-*-    C->W*-= 


ff^Ji. 


^7- 


^a^-^v-^W  X_o^.   (  a^/ 


just  now  is  writing  a  serial  for  St.  Nicholas.     Beth  is  Mrs.    March   is   a   merry   old   lady   who   sits   at   home 

gone   as   in   the   story,   but   Amy,   or   May,   has   just  got  among  her  children  &  grandchildren  &  cuddles  them  all. 

home  from   Europe,  with  some  fine  pictures,  &  she  has  Papa  is  at  the  West  lecturing  &  visiting  schools  like  a 

classes  in  painting  so  that  she  can  help  some  poor  girls  wise    old    philosopher    as    he    is, — &    that    is    what    the 

through  the  Normal  School.     She  did  n't  marry  Laurie.  Marches  are  about. 


ICJI4-] 


A  LETTER  FROM   MISS  ALCOTT 


225 


Your  letter  is  dated  my  birthday,  and  as  I  cannot 
come  &  thank  you  for  it  personally  I  send  your  brother 
a  photograph  of  his  &  your  friend. 

L.  M.  Alcott. 


The  story  of  how  this  kindly  epistle  came  to  be 
penned  is  told  in  this  statement  by  Miss  Anna  A. 
Tevis,  the  sister  of  the  lad  for  whom  it  was  in- 
tended : 

It  was  during  the  winter  of  1874  that  a  friend  of  my 
brother,  Wesley  K.  Tevis,  who  was  then  thirteen  years 
of  age,  lent  him  the  books  "Little  Men"  and  "Little 
Women." 

My  brother  was  quite  ill,  confined  to  his  bed  for 
more  than  a  year,  and  could  not  move,  and  at  that  time 
we  saw  no  hope  for  his  recovery.  The  two  books  af- 
forded him  the  greatest  pleasure ;  the  characters  be- 
came to  him,  shut  in  as  he  was,  personal  friends,  and 
the  author  was,  of  course,  as  dear  as  the  imaginary 
people  she  portrayed  so  well.  My  brother  asked  re- 
peatedly if  he  could  not  get  a  photograph  of  her,  so  I 
wrote  to  her  publishers,  stating  the  facts,  and  they  for- 
warded my  letter  to  Miss  Alcott.  In  a  short  time,  an 
answer  came,  to  the  quiet  town  of  Beverly,  New  Jer- 
sey, where  we  then  lived, — a  gracious  and  tender  an- 
swer, for  Miss  Alcott  sent  not  only  a  photograph, 
prettily  inscribed,  but  a  four-page  letter  as  well,  which 
brought  untold  joy  to  the  little  invalid,  and  happiness 
to  all  the  family. 

I  am  glad  that  the  young  readers  of  St.  Nicholas 
will  have  an  opportunity  to  read  this  letter  and  its  his- 
tory, affording,  as  they  do,  one  more  example  of  the 
beautiful  spirit  of  Miss  Alcott,  whose  books  have  de- 
lighted so  many  girls  and  boys. 

The  letter  will  be  welcomed  by  all  readers  of 
"Little  Women,"  because  it  contains  a  whole 
paragraph  about  the  doings  of  "the  March  fam- 
ily" ;  and  it  is  of  especial  interest  to  readers  of 
this  magazine,  since  Miss  Alcott  states  that  she 
was  at  that  time  "writing  a  story  for  St.  Nicho- 
las." This  story  was  the  well-known  and  popu- 
lar narrative  "Eight  Cousins,"  which  was  origi- 
nally published  as  a  serial  in  1875. 

The  fact  may  not  be  generally  known  to  pres- 
ent-day young  folk— though  well  remembered  by 
their  fathers  and  mothers  — that,  in  its  earlier 
years,  St.  Nicholas  published  four  long  serials, 
and  a  score  of  shorter  stories,  written  especially 
for  it  by  Miss  Alcott.  Indeed,  nearly  all  of  the 
work  of  her  later  years  was  contributed  to  the 
pages  of  this  magazine.  The  serials  were  "Eight 
Cousins,"  "Jack  and  Jill,"  "Under  the  Lilacs," 
and  a  set  of  twelve  delightful  "Spinning-Wheel 
Stories."  These,  with  twenty  single  articles  and 
tales  of  various  sorts,  form  a  memorable  collec- 
tion in  the  library  of  the  St.  Nicholas  bound 
volumes. 

In  the  final  sentences  of  her  letter,  Miss  Alcott 
makes  mention  of  her  birthday.  Concerning  this 
date,  she  once  wrote  to  an  intimate  friend :  "The 
Vol.  XLL— 29 


same  day,  November  29,  was  my  own  father's 
birthday,  and  that  of  Christopher  Columbus,  Sir 
Philip  Sidney,  Wendell  Phillips,  and  other  wor- 
thies."     And    almost    the    last    story    which    she 


J^**^-X. 


y 


^i 


THE    PHOTOGRAPH   AND    ITS    INSCRIPTION. 

contributed  to  this  magazine — "Pansies,"  pub- 
lished in  November,  1887,  — had  for  its  motto 
this  saying  of  Sir  Philip  Sidney's :  "They  are 
never  alone  who  are  accompanied  by  noble 
thoughts"  — a  saying  that  might  be  applied  with 
equal  fitness  to  all  the  "worthies"  mentioned  and 
to  herself.  As  another  contributor  said  of  her, 
in  St.  Nicholas  for  May,  1888: 

"How  many  happy  hours  are  due  to  her  !  How 
many  young  lives  are  the  better  and  braver  for 
the  words  she  wrote  and  the  examples  she  set 
for  little  men  and  women  !"— The  Editor. 


I^oseAlba 

Jm  Eveline  Warner  jBminetd 


Business   had   not   been    going    satisfactorily 
through    the    autumn.      Paul    and    Polly    had 
usually  about  as  hazy  ideas  of  business  as  had 
Baby  Ralph.     But  this  year  they  understood  at 
least  that  something  was  wrong,  for  Paul  had  to 
leave  a  gymnasium  class  made  up  of  his  particular 
school   set,    and    Polly    came   down    from    frocks 
made  by  Aunty  Griswold,  whose  sign  read  Ma- 
dame, to  home-made-overs. 

Then  Aunt  Margaret  had  been  very  ill,  and  Mil- 
dred  and  Albert  and   David,   though  they   stole 
softly  back   to  their  own  beds  each   night,  had 
taken    their    meals    for    two    weeks    with    the 
Eatons,  and  David  had  spent  the  long  morn- 
ings with  little  Ralph.    He  had  played  softly, 
with  one  ear  always  open  for  the  ringing  of 
his   own   door-bell,   that   he   might   creep   in 
with   doctor   or   errand  boy,   and  so   catch   a 
glimpse  of  his  mother's  room,  and,  perhaps,  if 
the  door  were  wide  enough  ajar,  of  the  white 
face  on  the  pillows. 
All  these  misfortunes  would  have  been  bad  enough 
at  any  time,  but  here  it  was  a  week  before  Christmas. 
Forests  of   evergreens  had  sprung  up  over  night  on  the 
sidewalks.     Garlands,  festoons,  and  bundles  of  green  vines  and 
holly  tumbled  out  of  boxes  at  markets  and  florists'  shops.     Santa 
Claus    laughed    from    every    candy-    and   toy-store,    plummy,    shiny 
Christmas    cakes    filled   the   bakery    shelves ;    red    ribbons    made    the 
windows  riotous  with  color. 
In  the  somber  days  when  Uncle  Bert  went  late  to  the  office  and  came 
back  early,  and  when  the  doctor  looked  so  grave  that  David  slid  in 
noiselessly  behind  him  and  crept  away  before  any  one  noticed,  even 
the  children  did  not  think  much  about  the  time  of  year.     The 
Rose  Alba  flats  were  too  small  to  let  any  one  get  far  away  from 
trouble,  and  try  all  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Eaton  might  to  make  the 
days  and  evenings  natural,  not  one  of  them,  except  happy,  chubby 
Baby  Ralph,  to  whom  the  presence  of  so  many  children  meant  con- 
tinual frolics,  could  get  long  out  of  mind  the  sick-room  beyond  the  thin 
partition,  and  the  nurses  watching  there  day  and  night. 
But  on  Sunday  the  shadows  lifted.     The  doctor  and  Uncle  Bert  came  in 
smiling  while  they  were  at  dinner.     The  doctor  sat  down  to  coffee,  and  joked 
with  the  youngsters  in  his  old  fashion,  for  he  had  known  them  all  in  their  baby- 
hood, from  Paul  down  to  Ralph.  Uncle  Bert,  for  the  first  time  in  a  fortnight,  took 
two  helpings  of  pudding,  which  alone  made  everybody  feel  better.  So  after  school  on 
Monday,  although  they  quite  understood  that  their  Christmas  would  have  to  be  a 

226 


CHRISTMAS  WAITS  AT  THE  ROSE  ALBA 


227 


very  quiet  affair,  the  children  could  yet  begin  to 
enjoy  the  festivities  of  the  streets  without  any 
ill-comprehended  terror  tugging  at  their  hearts. 
But  precisely  how,  in  the  circumstances,  they 
were  to  celebrate  was  a  matter  for  discussion. 
The  doctor  said  it  would  be  two  weeks  before  the 
Kings  could  be  living  in  their  own  home  again, 
and  even  David  could  understand  that  Aunt 
Ellen,  with  all  of  them  to  feed  and  all  sorts  of  lit- 
tle things  to  do  for  the  nurses  and  his  mother, 
could  n't  attend  much  to  Christmas  presents,  even 
if  business  had  provided  for  Christmas,  which  it 
had  not. 

"We  can  hang  greens,"  said  Polly,  hopefully. 
"Maybe  Aunt  Margaret  will  be  well  enough  to 
let  us  decorate  her  room  by  Christmas  eve." 

Albert  and  David  did  not  look  satisfied  at  this 
exciting  proposal.  The  consultation  was  taking 
place  on  the  steps  of  the  Rose  Alba,  just  as  Mrs. 
Frisbie  came  down  the  street  with  a  large  roll  of 
music  in  her  hands.  They  had  become  well  ac- 
quainted with  Mrs.  Frisbie  and  her  husband  in 
these  past  weeks,  for  she  had  often  asked  them 
down  for  the  little  time  between  supper  and  bed, 
or  for  free  hours  on  Sunday.  Even  Mr.  Frisbie, 
who  was  taller  than  his  tall  wife  and  had  gray 
hair,  had  played  games  with  them  at  the  little 
dining-table,  and  seemed  positively  to  enjoy  being 
beaten.  So  when  she  stopped  on  the  steps  to  ask 
what  the  solemn  gathering  was  about,  they  were 
quite  ready  to  tell  their  troubles. 

"If  we  lived  at  Grandpa's,"  Albert  commented, 
with  discontent,  "it  would  be  all  right,  'cause 
that  's  really  a  house,  and  you  can  do  things  in 
one  part  and  not  disturb  anybody  in  the  other 
part.    Flats  are  too  little." 

"Flats  are  all  right,  Albert  King,"  defended 
Polly,  stoutly.  "Everything  's  together,  and  you 
don't  have  to  hunt  all  over  for  anybody  you 
want." 

Mrs.  Frisbie  laughed. 

"You  taught  me  to  have  a  good  time  in  a  flat," 
she  said.  "Now  it  's  my  turn  to  see  if  I  can  help 
you.  I  've  brought  home  some  songs  that  are  too 
difficult  for  my  kindergarten  children.  I  11  sing 
them  to  you  if  you  '11  come  in." 

At  the  Frisbie  door  were  heard  eager  little 
cries  and  scratches.  It  was  the  yellow  cat  that 
stationed  himself  there  daily  to  welcome  his  mis- 
tress. As  soon  as  the  door  opened  and  he  saw 
that  she  was  really  come,  he  arched  his  plumed 
tail  and  scampered  away  down  the  hall,  then 
turned  at  the  entrance  of  the  living-room  to  wait 
for  her,  his  yellow  eyes  shining  in  the  dimness 
of  the  afternoon  light. 

"He  does  this  always,"  explained  Mrs.  Frisbie, 
stooping  on  the  threshold  to  rub  his   feathered 


ears  and  run  her  hand  down  his  silky  back.  "He 
stands  just  here  till  I  come  and  pet  him." 

It  was  not  often  that  she  sang  for  them,  for  she 
had  charge  of  the  music  in  two  large  kindergar- 
tens, morning  and  afternoon,  and  was  tired  after 
her  day's  work.  But  to-day  she  lighted  the  lamp 
close  to  the  piano,  and  throwing  off  her  wraps, 
opened  her  roll  eagerly.  The  light  shone  over 
the  instrument  and  touched  a  bunch  of  checker- 
berries  that  looked  gaily  out  from  a  glass  bowl. 
In  the  window  were  sprays  of  loosely  twined 
vines  tied  together  with  red  ribbon. 

"How  pretty  !"  cried  Polly.  "Where  did  you 
get  it  loose  like  that?" 

"It  was  sent  me  from  my  home  in  the  country. 
We  always  went  out  in  the  woods  the  week  before 
Christmas  to  gather  the  ground-pine.  It  runs 
along  close  to  the  ground,  and  now  and  then,  a 
bit  of  green  will  prick  through  the  snow  or  the 
dead  leaves.  You  dig  down  and  get  hold  of  the 
stem  and  pull,  and  a  long  vine  will  tear  through 
the  winter  coverings." 

"The  country  must  be  a  great  place,"  admitted 
Paul.  "Things  you  tell  about  sound  as  if  they  'd 
be  lots  of  fun." 

"Why  do  you  hang  it  in  the  windows  ?"  said 
David,  who  was  beginning  proudly  to  manage 
his  s's.    "They  are  n't  front  ones." 

Mildred  looked  shocked  reproof  at  the  uncon- 
scious speaker.  It  was  not  etiquette  to  mention 
to  people  in  rear  flats  that  they  could  not  see  the 
street.  Even  Albert  was  conscious  that  the 
wrong  question  had  been  asked.  Only  David  and 
Mrs.  Frisbie  were  quite  at  ease. 

"Why  not?"  she  asked  brightly.  "It  's  just  a 
way  of  saying  'Merry  Christmas'  to  one's  neigh- 
bors, and  back  windows  have  neighbors.  See," 
and  she  pushed  aside  the  short  white  curtain, 
and  pointed  across  the  dingy  board  fence  that 
inclosed  the  little  yard  belonging  to  the  Rose 
Alba.  "Since  I  put  up  my  greens,  the  woman  on 
the  second  floor  over  there  has  hung  that  red  star 
of  immortelles,  and  in  the  next  house  on  the  first 
floor,  they  have  a  holly  wreath." 

"They  're  saying  'Merry  Christmas'  back 
again,"  commented  Mildred,  seriously.  "I  never 
thought  of  window  greens  that  way  before." 

"I  suppose  you  had  time  in  the  country  to  think 
things  out  like  that,"  remarked  Paul,  who  seemed 
to  regard  the  country  as  a  place  of  endless 
leisure. 

Mrs.  Frisbie  smiled  oddly. 

"Oh,  no,"  she  said,  "they  were  taught  me. 
Some  of  them  I  've  learned  only  lately,"  and  she 
patted  Mildred's  shoulder  as  she  let  the  curtain 
fall  and  turned  back  to  the  piano. 

When   all  were  settled   cozily,   with   Sunshine 


228 


CHRISTMAS  WAITS  AT  THE   ROSE  ALBA 


purring  in  the  midst,  Mrs.  Frisbie  began.  She 
sang  carol  after  carol  from  the  pile  of  music  on 
the  stand,  pausing  between  to  tell  how  many  cen- 
turies it  was  since  this  one  had  been  sung  by  the 
folk  of  Brittany  villages;  how  the  English  waits 
had  gone  about  the  towns  shouting  that  before 
their  neighbors'  doors;  and  how  another  was 
written  so  long  ago,  for  little  French  children, 
that  no  one  knew  who  was  the  author,  or  when 
or  where  he  had  lived.  Then  she  had  them  pick 
out  the  five  they  liked  the  best,  each  choosing 
one,  and  they  gathered  about  the  piano  and  sang 
together  the  one  that  Mildred  had  chosen,  she 
being  the  eldest. 

"Pretty  good,"  said  Mrs.  Frisbie,  swinging 
about  on  the  piano  seat.  "Now  if  you  would  like  to 
come  every  night  and  practise  before  dinner,  you 
can  learn  these  by  Christmas  eve,  and  we  will  ask 
your  father  and  mother,  Paul,  and  the  baby,  and 
your  father,  Mildred,  and  Aunty  Griswold,  and 
give  a  Christmas  concert  right  here." 

"Could  n't  we  go  round  singing  'em,  too,  just 
the  way  you  said  they  used  to?"  asked  Paul,  in- 
tently. 

"I  don't  believe  your  mother  would  like  to  have 
you  singing  in  the  street,  Paul,"  said  Mrs.  Fris- 
bie, reluctantly. 

"Oh,  no,"  cried  Mildred ;  "but  in  the  house. 
We  could  sing  them  on  every  floor." 

"Please,  Mrs.  Frisbie,"  pleaded  Polly,  whose 
eyes,  wide  and  shining,  were  fixed  on  her  hostess. 

"We  won't  say  anything  to  anybody,"  an- 
nounced Albert,  definitely.  "It  is  a  s'prise  for  the 
Rose  Alba." 

"Everybody  's  been  so  good  all  the  time 
Mother  's  been  sick,  and  there  was  n't  anything 
we  could  do  for  everybody,"  explained  Mildred, 
clasping  her  hands  tightly  in  her  eagerness. 

Mrs.  Frisbie's  face  took  on  a  sudden  deter- 
mination. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  idea  !"  she  said.  "We  '11  do 
it,  and  we  '11  keep  it  a  secret  from  everybody.  I 
won't  tell  even  Mr.  Frisbie,  and  Sunshine  won't 
either.  Only  you  '11  have  to  practise  very  hard, 
because  you  '11  want  to  do  it  well.  You  won't 
have  any  piano  to  help  you  on  the  landings,  you 
know." 

After  that,  the  time  was  very  crowded,  for 
school  kept  on  relentlessly  till  three  o'clock  each 
afternoon,  the  nurse  summoned  some  of  the  chil- 
dren in  for  a  daily  call  on  the  invalid,  and  Mrs. 
Eaton  was  unyielding  in  the  matter  of  the 
hours  out  of  doors,  even  though  she  could  not 
always  be  with  them,  and  they  were  then  con- 
fined to  the  safe  but  monotonous  limits  of  the 
block.  But  they  managed  to  be  waiting  at  the 
steps   each   evening   for   Mrs.    Frisbie,   and   two 


nights  when  Mr.  Frisbie  was  out,  they  came 
down  after  supper ;  so  that  by  the  day  before  the 
festival,  with  Paul's  strong  voice  for  leader,  they 
sang  very  well  together.  David  now  and  then 
became  absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  and  let 
his  notes  trail  off  in  paths  of  their  own,  but  with 
the  quartet  attending  strictly  to  business,  his 
originalities  did  not  seriously  matter. 

The  children  begged  for  an  early  supper  on 
the  twenty-fourth,  as  Mrs.  Frisbie  wanted  them 
for  something,  and  Mrs.  Eaton  was  not  to  mind 
if  they  were  out  a  little  later  than  usual.  Mrs. 
Eaton  seemed  distinctly  pleased. 

"How  kind  Mrs.  Frisbie  is !"  she  said.  "I 
don't  see  how  we  could  have  gone  through  these 
weeks  without  her  help." 

So  they  scurried  about,  with  little  of  the  usual 
chatter,  helping  set  the  table,  for  the  darkness 
was  closing  in  and  the  great  evening  was  surely 
upon  them.  In  the  center  of  the  table,  Mrs. 
Eaton  set  a  little  Santa  Claus,  holding  a  lighted 
candle  in  either  hand.  He  looked  so  jolly  and 
so  like  the  little  figures  of  other  years,  when 
there  was  a  tree  waiting  on  the  other  side  of  the 
partition,  and  when  all  the  Kings  came  in  for 
supper  with  the  Eatons,  and  then  all  the  Eatons 
went  back  with  the  Kings  for  the  great  celebra- 
tion, that  Mildred  could  hardly  help  telling  Aunt 
Ellen,  to  comfort  her,  what  a  beautiful  time  they 
were  to  have  after  all.  Albert  seemed  to  divine 
her  temptation,  for  he  gave  her  a  warning  kick 
under  the  table  as  she  started  to  introduce  the 
subject  by  some  praise  of  Mrs.  Frisbie's  singing. 

It  was  quarter-past  six  when  five  eager  young- 
sters crowded  the  narrow  hall  down-stairs.  Their 
friend  led  them  into  one  of  the  little  white  bed- 
rooms, and  held  before  them  a  wide  green  cape 
with  a  red  lining  and  a  green  cap  with  a  red 
feather. 

"What  do  you  think  of  these?"  she  demanded, 
smiling. 

"They  're  just  big  enough  for  David,"  com- 
mented Paul. 

"And  there  is  one  just  big  enough  for  each  of 
you  if  you  like  to  wear  them,"  she  said,  pointing 
to  the  bed,  where  lay  four  more  green  cloaks  and 
four  jaunty  caps.  "They  were  used  in  a  play  at 
one  of  my  schools,  and  I  borrowed  them  for  you." 

Polly  had  already  set  a  little  cap  on  her  bright 
curls  and  swung  the  cloak  over  her  shoulders. 
David,  for  thanks,  backed  placidly  up  to  Mrs. 
Frisbie,  his  arms  stretched  back  as  if  the  garment 
had  sleeves  and  he  wanted  to  get  into  it  as 
quickly  as  possible.  When  all  were  arrayed,  their 
trainer  surveyed  the  group  with  pride. 

"Fine !"  she  announced,  her  head  held  critically 
on  one  side.     "I  do  wish  David's  mother  could 


'THEY   SANG   THE   CAROL   THROUGH, 
IN   THE   FROSTY   NIGHT." 


THERE  ON  THE 
(see  next  page.) 


HOUSETOP, 


230 


CHRISTMAS  WAITS  AT  THE  ROSE  ALBA 


[Jan., 


see  you!     Now,  ready?     I  '11  start  you  with  the 
piano  on  this  floor." 

Down  the  hall  marched  the  little  procession, 
and,  leaving  the  door  open,  gathered  near  the 
Rose  Alba  entrance.  The  fresh  young  voices 
struck  up  a  little  quaveringly : 

"Shepherds,  shake  off  your  drowsy  sleep, 
Rise  and  leave  your  silly  sheep." 

But  the  chorus  came  out  strongly : 
"Sing,  Noel!    sing,  Noel!" 

Doors  had  opened  at  the  first  chords,  and  men 
and  women  stood  smiling  at  the  gaily  dressed  lit- 
tle people  singing  so  seriously  in  the  dimly  lighted 
hall.  When  the  carol  ended,  there  was  a  clap- 
ping from  the  doorways,  and  cries  of  "Thank 
you!"  and  "Merry  Christmas!"  followed  the  chil- 
dren, as,  overcome  by  shyness,  they  fled  down 
the  outer  stairway  that  led  to  the  janitor's  quar- 
ters in  the  basement. 

"I  do  hope  he  won't  be  as  cross  as  usual," 
whispered  Polly. 

"Oh,  he  will,"  returned  Albert.  "I  would  n't 
come  to  sing  here  if  it  was  n't  for  his  wife  and 
the  little  girl." 

"  'Sh-h  !"  commanded  Paul.  "Now  begin  !" 
And  they  began,  a  trifle  breathlessly,  but  with 
determination. 

"Come,  Anthony,  come,   Peter, 

Hurry,  John,  and  James,   and  all! 
Awaken  now,   awaken, 

And  be  off,  nor  lag  at  all." 

Louder  grew  their  voices  and  faster  the  words. 

"  Haste  away  now, 
No  delay  now, 

For  on  this  night, 
In  lodging  lorn 
Was  Jesus  born, 
'Neath  golden  stars  so  bright." 

The  janitor  had  flung  open  the  door  at  the  sec- 
ond line,  and  only  by  singing  fast  and  loud  had 
the  children  been  able  to  stand  unmoved  before 
his  scowl ;  but  his  face  changed  at  the  slow  soft 
words  of  the  last  lines,  and  he  called  to  his  wife: 

"Come  here,  you  and  Minnie  !  I  thought  it  was 
some  street  fellows,  but  it  's  those  top-floor  kids." 

Poor  tumbled  Mrs.  Kapinski  stood  there  smil- 
ing and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  too.  "My,  ain't  it 
pretty !"  she  said.  "Now,  Minnie,  you  just  bring 
that  piece  of  holly.  All  they  need  is  a  piece  of 
holly  for  Paul  here  to  beat  time  with." 

"Oh,  thank  you  so  much  !"  said  Mildred,  with 
presence  of  mind,  forcing  the  branch  into  Paul's 
reluctant  hand.  "We  will  sing  you  another  if 
you  like,  Mrs.  Kapinski." 


So  they  sang  another,  and  then  the  janitor  him- 
self wished  them  "Merry  Christmas,"  and  they 
all  shook  hands  with  him,  and  Mrs.  Kapinski  held 
a  light  to  guide  them  along  the  dark  outside 
stairway  again. 

"He  's  quite  a  good  man  when  you  really 
know  him,"  observed  Albert. 

On  Aunty  Griswold's  floor  they  sang  "The 
Holly  and  the  Ivy,"  because  it  was  about  out  of 
doors,  as  Polly  put  it,  and  the  dressmaker  was  so 
pleased,  as  were  the  people  in  the  other  flats,  that 
they  had  hard  work  to  get  away  at  all.  There 
were  children  on  the  next  floor,  children  who 
had  just  come  to  live  in  the  Rose  Alba,  and  their 
mother  smiled  cordially  at  the  little  singers,  rec- 
ognizing them  as  the  boys  and  girls  who  had 
raced  up  and  down  by  her  door  many  times  a 
day. 

"If  your  mothers  will  let  you,"  she  said,  "come 
in  to-morrow  afternoon  and  see  our  tree." 

"She  looks  real  kind,  and  the  children  are  about 
as  big  as  David,  so  I  guess  Mother  will  let  us 
know  them,"  said  Polly. 

"Hurry !"  said  Paul.  "I  've  got  an  idea."  And 
he  led  them  past  their  own  doors  to  the  roof. 
"See  here !  All  the  folk  liked  it  so,  and  it  's 
early  yet ;  let  's  go  down  through  the  next  house. 
Mother  won't  mind  because  we  go  there  anyway 
to  see  Annette." 

A  schoolmate  lived  in  the  Reine  Blanche, 
which  was  a  door  nearer  Amsterdam  Avenue, 
and  perhaps  deserved  its  title  rather  less  than  the 
Rose  Alba  lived  up  to  its  name. 

Mildred  agreed,  but  she  lingered  an  instant, 
looking  out  over  the  roofs,  and  up  to  the  sky,  so 
darkly  blue  that  you  had  to  stop  and  think  about 
it  to  realize  it  was  blue  and  not  simply  dark. 
The  stars  were  shining  thickly,  and  one,  brighter 
than  the  rest,  stood  above  the  house. 

"O  little  town  of  Bethlehem, 
How  still  we  see  thee  lie," 

she  began,  and  the  others  took  up  the  words  and 
sang  the  carol  through,  there  on  the  housetop,  in 
the  frosty  night.  Then  they  scrambled  over  the 
division  wall  and  down  through  the  doorway.  By 
this  time,  not  a  bit  afraid  were  they,  but  ready 
to  return  the  greetings  of  the  strangers  who 
came  with  pleased  faces  to  the  doorways.  They 
were  bewildered  for  a  moment  when  some  well- 
meaning  folk  threw  a  handful  of  coins,  and  the 
necessity  of  keeping  David  from  pocketing  these 
rather  spoiled  the  last  verse  of  "Anthony  and 
Peter."  But  for  this,  the  trip  was  a  triumphal 
progress.  Annette  Coles,  their  schoolmate,  joined 
them  on  the  top  landing,  and  if  she  could  not  sing 
the  quaint   words  of  the   songs,   she  helped   out 


1914] 


CHRISTMAS  WAITS  AT  THE   ROSE  ALBA 


231 


mightily  in  the  fun  and  greetings.     She  hurried 
them  down  the  last  flight. 

"There  's  an  old  man  on  the  first  floor  who 
plays  the  violin,"  she  explained.  '"Sing  right  in 
front  of  his  door,  won't  you?    He  'd  like  it." 

So  they  gathered  and  sang-  right  at  the  cheaply 
painted  panels  of  the  narrow 
door : 

"God  rest  you  merry,  Gentlemen, 
Let  nothing  you  dismay, 
For  Christ  the  Lord,  our  Saviour, 
Was  born  on  Christmas  Day." 

Not  till  the  last  verse  did 
the  door  open,  and  there 
stood  the  bent  old  musician, 
his  .gray  hair  tumbled,  his 
shabby  coat  sagging  from  his 
shoulders,  his  eyes  shining. 

"Come  in,  come  in,"  he 
cried.  "You  must  sing  it  with 
the  violin." 

Annette  stepped  ahead. 

"Do,"  she  encouraged.  "It 
is  all  right.  Mother  lets  me 
come  sometimes  to  see  Herr 
Grau." 

The  flat  corresponded  to 
Mrs.  Frisbie's,  but  very  dif- 
ferent it  looked.  The  walls 
were  dark,  and  made  the 
space  seem  even  narrower 
than  it  was.  The  front  room 
looked  quite  crowded  some- 
how, what  with  a  piano  and 
two  violin  cases  and  a  table, 
and  music,  music  everywhere, 
littering  chairs,  and  couch, 
and  floor.  But  in  the  center 
of  the  table,  perched  un- 
steadily on  a  mass  of  music 
and  papers,  was  a  tiny  arti- 
ficial tree,  such  as  was  to  be 
seen  in  the  windows  of  the 
cheaper  candy  stores,  The 
old  man  pointed  to  it. 

"It  was  a  leetle  Christmas,  even  here,"  he  said, 
"but  now  with  all  you  children  it  is  a  great 
Christmas.  I  haf  not  had  a  child  for  Christmas 
it  is  many,  many  years." 

He  took  up  his  violin  tenderly,  and  drew  his 
bow  across  the  strings. 

"Now,  now  !"  and  he  nodded  to  Paul. 

So  it  happened  that  when  Mr.  Eaton  and  Mrs. 
Frisbie  entered  the  Reine  Blanche  doorway,  their 
anxious  expressions  cleared  quickly,  for  the 
tones  of  a  fine  instrument  were  blending  with  the 


treble  of  the  childish  voices,  and  the  last  verse 
of  the  old  carol  rang  out  joyfully: 

"Now  to  the  Lord  sing  praises, 
All  you  within  this  place  ; 
And  with  true  love  and  brotherhood 
Each  other  now  embrace." 


NES    OF    A    FINE    INSTRUMENT    WERE    BLENDING 
WITH   THE   CHILDISH   VOICES." 

They  entered  Herr  Grau's  open  door  and,  fol- 
lowing along  the  hall,  came  upon  a  pretty  picture. 
The  six  children  were  gathered  about  the  old 
man  while  he  played  them  a  German  lullaby  for 
the  Krist  Kindlein.  But  the  violinist  saw  the 
visitors  and  quickly  came  forward,  his  precious 
violin  held  still  in  his  worn  hand. 

"You  are  looking  for  die  Kinder,"  he  said. 
"They  haf  given  me  so  much  pleasure !  And  the 
boy,  is  he  your  son?"  He  looked  eagerly  at  Mr. 
Eaton,  and  laid  his  hand  on  Paul's  shoulder. 


232 


CHRISTMAS  WAITS  AT  THE   ROSE  ALBA 


"Yes,  he  is  my  boy,"  said  Mr.  Eaton,  smiling 
at  the  lad,  who  was  a  little  disturbed  before  the 
sudden  realization  that  here  they  all  were  in  a 
strange  flat,  always  forbidden  ground. 

"But  he  has  a  voice !"  cried  Herr  Grau,  grasp- 
ing Paul's  shoulder  quite  tight  in  his  eagerness. 
"It  must  not  be  wasted.  He  must  go  to  the  Ca- 
thedral School  or  St.  Agnes.  They  haf  need  of 
such  voices,  and  they  will  train  him  well." 

The  old  man's  eyes  burned,  and  the  father 
looked  curiously  from  him  to  Paul. 

"He  sings  pretty  well,"  he  said  easily,  "but  I 
don't  think  it  is  anything  remarkable." 

"Herr  Grau  is  right,"  interposed  Mrs.  Frisbie, 
"I  am  so  glad  he  has  heard  Paul,  because  he  is  a 
judge.  You  see  I  know  you,"  she  went  on,  smil- 
ing at  the  musician.  "I  have  heard  your  violin, 
and  have  asked  about  my  neighbor." 

"And  it  is  you  who  haf  the  rooms  next,  and 
play  and  sing?"  cried  Herr  Grau,  his  face  light- 
ing. "Is  it  not  so?  You  know  the  father  and 
mother,  and  you  will  persuade  them,"  he  pleaded. 
"The  choir  master  at  the  Cathedral  is  my  friend, 
and  I  would  myself  go  with  the  boy." 

"You  are  very  kind,"  said  Mr.  Eaton,  gently, 
impressed  despite  himself  by  the  stranger's  in- 
tensity. "I  promise  you  I  will  talk  it  over  with 
Paul's  mother.  But  now  I  must  take  these  revel- 
ers home  and  put  them  to  bed." 

"Ah,  but  it  is  a  beautiful  thing  they  haf  done. 
They  haf  brought  Christmas  to  every  door,  even 
here,"  and  the  old  man  motioned  with  his  violin 
to  the  shabby,  disordered  room. 

Mrs.  Frisbie's  quick  eyes  had  seen  in  that  lit- 
tle place  more  than  had  the  excited  children. 
The  pathetic  little  tree  a-tilt  upon  a  pile  of  music 
met  her  eyes  first,  and  then  on  the  wall  above  the 
piano  she  saw  two  faded  photographs  of  a  young- 
woman  and  of  a  little  child,  with  sprays  of  holi- 
day green  stuck  awkwardly  about  them." 

"Come  back  with  me,  Herr  Grau,"  she  begged. 
"You  and  I  will  finish  the  carols  with  my  hus- 
band. Come,  you  must  not  be  here  alone  on 
Christmas  eve,  with  us  just  next  door,  you  know." 

He  hesitated,  looking  wistfully  at  the  bright 
faces  before  him,  but  fearful  of  intruding.  David 
gave  a  little  tug  at  the  down-hanging  corner  of 
the  faded  frock-coat. 

"Come,"  he  commanded,  "you  '11  see  Sunshine. 
He  's  the  very  nicest  cat  I  know." 

Herr  Grau  laughed  with  the  others.  "Since 
you  are  so  kind,  Madame,"  he  said,  bowing;  and 
taking  his  dusty  soft  felt  hat  from  the  mantel 
where  it  lay,  he  followed  them  down  the  hall. 

Paul  walked  ahead  with  his  father,  in  earnest 
consultation,  and  when  they  paused  at  Mrs.  Fris- 
bie's flat,  he  stepped  back  to  Herr  Grau. 


"Father  says  we  may  sing  before  Aunt  Mar- 
garet's door.  She  has  been  very  sick.  Could  you 
come  up  and  play  for  us?  It  is  on  the  top  floor," 
he  added  honestly. 

"Surely,  surely,"  cried  the  musician,  "but  I 
haf  played  but  one  with  you." 

"We  '11  sing  that  over,"  said  Mildred.  "Mother 
has  n't  heard  any,  so  it  's  all  right." 

Up  the  stairs  they  climbed,  and  Mr.  Eaton  rang 
the  Kings'  bell  softly.  Mildred's  father  came  to 
the  door  and  stared  out  amazed  at  the  picture — 
the  five  children  in  their  gay  red  and  green,  Paul 
in  front  waving  his  holly  branch,  and  behind 
them  all  the  old  violinist  with  his  bow  raised. 
The  nurse  in  her  blue-and-white  uniform,  a  bit 
of  Christmas  green  in  her  cap,  came  down  the 
hall  to  see  what  was  happening.  At  the  sound 
of  singing,  Aunt  Ellen  opened  her  door,  bringing 
Ralph,  who  opened  wide  his  sleepy  blue  eyes. 
The  folk  on  the  other  side  of  the  landing  looked 
out  eagerly,  and  then  called  "Merry  Christmas," 
quite  as  though  they  were  part  of  the  family. 
Then  Mrs.  Frisbie  and  Herr  Grau  went  down- 
stairs, and  Annette  Coles,  who  had  come  along 
to  miss  none  of  the  fun,  skipped  across  the  roof 
to  her  own  home.  The  nurse  beckoned  the  chil- 
dren in. 

"Your  mother  expects  you  all,"  she  said,  as 
Mildred  hesitated,  so  in  they  filed  to  where  Mrs. 
King  lay  propped  high  on  her  pillows,  and  look- 
ing brighter  than  in  many  days.  Beside  her  on 
a  stand  was  a  tiny  tree,  just  like  a  big  one,  only 
everything  on  it  was  little ;  wax  tapers  for  can- 
dles, balls,  no  larger  than  marbles,  of  red  and 
silver  and  gilt,  and  lots  of  tinsel  and  shining 
trinkets.  Five  packages  lay  within  the  reach  of 
the  thin  hands. 

"Oh,  Mother,  did  you  like  it?"  cried  Mildred. 

"Did  you  hear  the  violin?"  demanded  Paul. 

"You  heard  me,  did  n't  you,  Muvver?"  in- 
quired David,  anxiously,  coming  as  close  as  he 
thought  the  nurse,  of  whom  he  stood  in  whole- 
some awe,  would  permit. 

"I  heard  you  all,  every  one  of  you.  It  was 
beautiful,  better  than  any  present  could  possibly 
be."  And  she  looked  so  happy,  and  Uncle  Bert 
looked  so  happy,  that  Paul  felt  that  somehow  the 
evening  was  much  more  of  a  success  than  they 
quite  understood.  Then  Aunt  Margaret  handed 
each  a  package,  and  at  a  word  from  the  nurse, 
Uncle  Bert  took  up  the  tree  with  its  merry  lights 
and  bore  it  before  them  as  they  marched  out, 
with  David  trailing  along  behind,  opening  his 
bundle  as  he  went,  and  singing  "Merry  Christ- 
mas, Merry  Christmas,"  over  and  over  to  an  orig- 
inal tune,  reminiscent  of  all  that  had  been  sung 
that  evening. 


Here  is  the  picture  of  Jeremy  Dowries, 
Whose  face  shows  the  trace 
Of  a  thousand  frowns. 

He  frowned  in  his  childhood, 
He  frowned  in  his  youth ; 

His  expression  's  a  lesson, 
And  that  's  the  truth. 


Now  look  at  this  picture  of  Gregory  Miles : 

To  the  tips  of  his  lips 

He  is  beaming  with  smiles. 

Now  is  n't  this  portrait 

A  pleasanter  sight? 
Not  a  trace  on  the  face 

That  's  not  happy  and  bright. 


Vol.  XLL—  30. 


233 


hab   fo' 


Jerusalem  Artie  sat  on  the 
door-step  of  his  mammy's 
cabin,  buried  in  thought.  It 
was  a  very  unusual  condi- 
tion for  Jerusalem  Artie,  but  then,  the 
occasion  was  an  unusual  one.  The  next 
day  would  be  Christmas. 

Presently,  he  looked  up.  "Mammy," 
he  questioned,  "what  's  we-all  a-gwine 
Chris'mus  dinnah?" 

"Lan'  sakes,  chile !"  his  mammy  answered, 
"how-all  's  I  a-gwine  know  dat?  Yo'  pappy 
ain't  got  nothin'  yit,  an'  I  ain't  a-reckonin'  he 
will  git  nothin'." 

Jerusalem  Artie  looked  down,  and  was  once 
more  lost  in  thought. 

He  made  a  comical  little  figure  there  on  the 
door-step,  but  to  this  fact  both  he  and  his  mammy 
were  blissfully  oblivious.  On  his  head  he  wore 
an  old  straw  hat  which  his  pappy  had  discarded 
for  a  fur  cap  at  the  approach  of  winter  weather. 
In  the  spring,  the  exchange  would  be  made  again, 
and  Jerusalem  Artie  would  wear  the  fur.  But 
this  did  not  trouble  the  boy.  When  it  grew  too 
hot,  he  left  off  any  sort  of  head  covering;  and 
when  it  grew  too  cold,  he  wrapped  one  of  Mam- 
my's gay  bandanas  about  his  woolly  head,  and  set 
the  battered  straw  on  top  of  it. 

His  shirt,  and  one-sided  suspenders,  and  even 
the  trousers  that  he  wore,  had  also  belonged  to 
his  pappy.  As  Jerusalem  Artie  was  only  eight 
years  old,  the  trousers  were  a  trifle  long.  He 
had  once  suggested  cutting  them  off,  but  his 
mammy  had  objected: 

"  'Co'se  yo'  cain't,  chile  !  Yo'  pappy  might  hab 
to  weah  dem  pants  some  mo'  hisself  yit,  an'  how- 
all  'd  he  look  den?" 

The  question  was  unanswerable. 


"An'  what-all  'd  /  weah  den?"  he  had  queried, 
dismayed  at  the  possibility. 

"How  yo'  s'pose  I  's  a-gwine  know  dat?"  his 
mammy  had  responded.     "Maybe  yo'  skin." 

So  Jerusalem  Artie  had  rolled,  and  rolled,  and 
rolled  the  bottom  of  the  trouser  legs  till  his  little 
black  toes  emerged  from  the  openings. 

But  now,  as  he  sat  on  the  door-step,  his  mind 
was  not  upon  his  clothes,  not  even  upon  the  of- 
fending trousers.  It  was  upon  the  Christmas  din- 
ner which  did  not  exist. 

"All  de  neighbo'  folks  a-gwine  hab  Chris'- 
mus dinnahs,"  he  was  saying  to  himself.  "De 
boys  done  tol'  me  so.  An'  we  's  gwine  hab  Chris'- 
mus dinnah,  too,"  he  added,  straightening  up. 

He  got  up  from  the  door-step  and  started 
slowly  toward  the  bit  of  tangled  underbrush  that 
grew  back  of  the  cabin.  He  did  not  know,  yet, 
where  the  Christmas  dinner  was .  coming  from. 
He  had  gotten  no  further  than  the  resolve  that 
there  should  be  one. 

"Folks  hab  turkey,  er  goose,"  he  was  saying 
to  himself,  "er  chickun,  er— rabbit  pie  !"  he  ended 
with  a  sudden  whoop,  and  made  a  dash  toward 
the  tangled  brush,  for,  at  that  very  moment,  a 
rabbit's  small  white  flag  of  a  tail  had  flashed  be- 
fore his  eyes. 


JERUSALEM  ARTIE'S  CHRISTMAS  DINNER 


235 


"  '  chris'mus  pie  ! 
chris'mus  pie  ! ' 
he    squealed." 


"Hi,  yo'  Molly  Cotton- 
tail, I  git  yo'  fo'  a  pie !" 
yelled  Jerusalem  Artie,  and 
the  chase  was  on. 

Into  the  brush  dashed 
Molly,  and  after  her  came 
Jerusalem  Artie ;  and  as  he 
ran,  one  leg  of  his  trousers 
began  to  unroll.  But  there 
was  no  time  to  stop. 

Molly  Cottontail  had  the 
advantage,  but  Jerusalem 
Artie's  eyes  were  sharp,  and 
Molly's  white  flag  led  him 
on.  Molly  slid  beneath  the 
tangled  brush,  and  Jeru- 
salem Artie  made  desperate 
leap   marked   by   a   flying 


leaps   above    it,   each 
trouser  leg. 

Suddenly  Molly  doubled  on  her  tracks,  for  her 
pursuer  was  close  at  hand.  Jerusalem  Artie  at- 
tempted to  do  the  same,  but  his  free  foot  became 
entangled  with  the  elongated  leg,  and  down  went 
Jerusalem  Artie— squarely  on  top  of  Molly  Cot- 
tontail. 

It  pretty  well  knocked  the  breath  out  of  both 
of  them,  but  Jerusalem  Artie  recovered  first, 
naturally,  for  he  was  on  top. 

"Chris'mus  pie  !  Chris'mus  pie  !"  he  squealed, 
as  he  wriggled  one  hand  cautiously  beneath  him 


and  got  a  good  firm  hold 
of  Molly's  long  ears. 
Then  carefully  he  got 
upon  his  feet. 

The  rabbit  hung  limp 
from  his  hand.  "Knocked 
yoah  breaf  clean  out  fo' 
suah  !"  he  exclaimed,  de- 
liberately surveying  his 
prize. 

Then  slowly  he  made 
his  way  to  the  road,  for 
the  chase  had  taken  him 
some  distance  from  the 
cabin,  and  the  dragging 
trouser  leg  made  walking 
difficult. 

Reaching  the  roadside,  he  held  aloft  the  still 
limp  rabbit.  "Reckon  she  's  done  fo'  as  suah  as 
I  's  a  niggah  chile,"  he  soliloquized,  and  laying 
his  Christmas  dinner  on  the  grass  beside  him,  he 
proceeded  to  roll  up  the  entangling  trouser  leg. 

While  he  was  in  the  midst  of  this  occupation, 
there  was  a  startling  "honk,  honk,"  close  at  hand, 
and  a  big  red  motor-car  flashed  into  sight. 

The  sudden  noise  startled  Jerusalem  Artie.  It 
also  startled  Molly  Cottontail.  Her  limp  and  ap- 
parently lifeless  body  gathered  itself,  leaped,  and 
cleared  the  roadway,  barely  escaping  the  wheels 
of  the  big  red  car. 


KNOCKED   YOAH    BREAF 
CLEAN   OUT   FO' 
SUAH  !'  " 


'JERUSALEM    ARTIE    ROSE    TO    HIS    FEET    AND    SHRIEKED  I     '  MAH    CHRIS'MUS    DINNAH  ! 
MAH    CHRIS'MUS   DINNAH  !' " 


236 


JERUSALEM  ARTIE'S  CHRISTMAS  DINNER 


Jerusalem  Artie  rose  to  his  feet,  the  trouser  leg 
half  rolled,  and  shrieked:  "Mah  Chris'mus  din- 
nah  !  Mah  Chris'mus  dinnah  !"  for  Molly  Cotton- 
tail had  disappeared. 

As  he  stood  looking  helplessly  after  the  offend- 
ing cause  of  his  loss,  a  man  in  the  back  seat 
turned,  laughed,  and,  leaning  over  the  side  of  the 
car,  threw  something  bright  and  shining  back 
into  the  road. 

Jerusalem  Artie  pounced  upon  the  spot,  dug 
with  his  disentangled  toes  in  the  dust,  and  brought 
to  view  a  silver  half-dollar. 

"Chris'mus  dinnah  yit,"  he  exclaimed,  ''as  suah 
as  I  's  a  niggah  chile !" 

Then,  with  the  half-dollar  held 
hard  between  his  teeth,  he  finished 
rolling  up  the  leg  of  his  trousers. 


"Mammy !"  he  cried,  a  moment  later,  as,  dusty 
and  breathless,  he  reappeared  in  the  cabin  door- 
way, "see  what-all  I  foun'  in  de  road." 

And  Mammy's  look  of  dark  suspicion  faded  as 
Jerusalem  Artie  recounted  his  brief  and  tragic 
adventure  with  Molly  Cottontail. 

'Yo'-all  's  a  honey  chile,"  said  Mammy,  when 
he  had  concluded ;  "an'  we-all  's  a-gwine  right 
now  an'  git  a  plumb  fat  chickun." 

The  next  day,  as  Mammy  cleared  away  the  re- 
mains of  the  Christmas  dinner,  she  said:  "Now, 
chile,  yo'  c'n  tote  dese  yere  chickun  bones  out  on 
do  do'-step  an'  pick  'em  clean.     An',  Je- 
em  Artie,  yo'  pappy  says  yo'  c'n  cut 
e  laigs  o'  dem  pants,  an'  hab  'em  fo' 
'f." 


THE    NEW   SCHOOLMASTER 


BY  PAULINE  FRANCES  CAMP 


Are  you  ready  for  "Nineteen  fourteen"? 

Are  your  pencils  in  order?  slates  clean? 
For  he  '11  set  you  some  sums,  as  soon  as  he 
comes, 

Not  easy  to  answer,  I  ween. 

'If  two  little  boys  are  at  play, 

How  many  are  needed,"  he  '11  say, 

'A  quarrel  to  make?"     You  '11  make  no 
mistake 
If  you  work  this  the  Golden  Rule  way. 

'If  idle  Penelope  Pratt 

Wastes  her  study-time  teasing  the  cat, 
How  long  will  it  be  ere  a  dunce  you  will  see?" 

Can  you  give  him  an  answer  to  that? 

'If  every  kind  word  that  you  speak 
Were  added,  the  end  of  the  week, 


Would  their  sum  be  ahead  of  the  cross  words 
you  've  said?" 
Here  is  surely  a  problem  unique. 

"If  Algernon  Chesterfield  Gray 
Gives  half  of  his  goodies  away, 
How  much  of  the  joy,  that  belongs  to  this  boy, 
Will  be  doubled,  on  every  new  day?" 


'If  work  that  dear  mother  must  do 
Were  always  divided  by  two, 

Would  the  quotient  of  this  be  a 
kiss? 
And  would  it  be  given  to  you?" 


dad,  rested 


Are  you  ready  for  "Nineteen  fourteen"? 

With  his  questions  so  searching  and  keen  ? 
If  you  answer  aright,  his  smile  will  be  bright ; 

And  a  year  of  content  that  will  mean. 


WITH    MEN   WHO   DO   THINGS 

PART  TWO 

BY  A.  RUSSELL  BOND 

Author  of  "  The  Scientific  American  Boy  "  and  "  Handyman's  Workshop  and  Laboratory  " 


Chapter  I 


A  DISASTROUS  MORNING 


If  any  one  had  told  me,  when  Dr.  McGreggor  so 
unexpectedly  offered  to  send  me  to  college,  that 
inside  of  a  week  I  would  be  begging  to  be  let  off, 
I  should  have  told  that  person  that  he  had  soften- 
ing of  the  brain,  or  something  to  that  effect. 

A  course  in  college  was  the  one  thing  above  all 
others  that  I  had  longed  for,  and  when  I  realized 
that  my  dream  was  about  to  come  true,  there  was 
not  a  happier  boy  in  the  whole  world.  All  that 
day,  I  was  "treading  air,"  as  the  saying  goes,  and 
Will  seemed  almost  as  delighted  as  I  was. 

"By  George!"  he  kept  saying;  "it  's  great,  Jim. 
I  was  sure  that  Uncle  Edward  would  send  me, 
and  I  did  hate  to  think  of  going  to  college  alone 
after  we  had  been  chums  so  long.  I  had  a  feeling 
all  the  time  that  maybe  Uncle  Edward  would  foot 
your  expenses  too,  and,  you  see,  he  would  have, 
if  Dr.  McGreggor  had  n't  got  ahead  of  him." 

We  stayed  up  until  the  small  hours  of  the  night, 
talking  over  the  splendid  times  ahead  of  us,  and 
getting  ready  to  leave  on  the  following  after- 
noon. There  was  one  more  thing  we  expected  to 
see  before  leaving  the  city.  In  the  aqueduct  tun- 
nel, on  the  Brooklyn  side,  there  was  a  curious 
shoveling  machine  that  did  the  work  of  a  whole 
gang  of  men  in  clearing  away  the  broken  rock 
after  a  blast.  Mr.  Jack  Patterson,  the  superin- 
tendent at  Shaft  21,  had  promised  to  take  us  over 
and  show  us  this  novel  machine.  We  were  rather 
sorry,  now,  that  the  trip  had  been  arranged ;  for, 
with  the  opening  of  college  only  eight  days  off, 
we  were  impatient  to  get  home. 

Shaft  21  was  just  at  the  brink  of  the  East 
River,  on  the  New  York  side,  a  deep  hole,  al- 
ready 550  feet  down,  and  still  to  be  sunk  150  feet 
or  more  before  turning  at  right  angles  to  go  un- 
der the  river  to  Brooklyn.  When  we  arrived  at 
the  shaft,  we  learned  that  there  was  trouble  on 
hand.  The  last  blast  had  uncovered  a  subterra- 
nean stream  that  came  pouring  in  so  fast  that, 
before  the  pumps  could  be  installed,  the  water 
stood  fifteen  feet  deep,  and  was  steadily  growing 
deeper. 

They  were  just  getting  ready  to  lower  a  shaft- 
sinking  pump  when  we  came  upon  the  scene.  The 
"sinker,"  as  Mr.   Patterson  called  it,  was  a  big 

Copyright,  1913,  by  A.  Russell  Bond.  237 


brute  of  a  machine,  weighing  two  tons.  At  one 
end  was  the  compressed-air  engine,  whose  piston 
drove  the  plungers  of  the  water-pump  at  the 
opposite  end.  A  short  length  of  rope-wound  hose 
hung  down  from  the  intake  end  of  the  machine, 
while  from  one  side  near  the  middle  extended  an 
outlet  hose,  eight  inches  in  diameter,  and  between 
five  and  six  hundred  feet  long,  for  it  was  to  reach 
all  the  way  from  the  water-level  to  the  top  of  the 
shaft.  The  "sinker"  was  suspended  in  slings  from 
a  derrick. 

"Jump  on,  boys,"  called  Mr.  Patterson.  "You 
are  just  in  time  to  have  a  ride  to  the  bottom  of 
the  shaft." 

We  accepted  the  invitation  with  alacrity,  and 
clambered  aboard  the  broad  back  of  the  machine, 
holding  on  to  the  slings  while  the  derrick  lifted 
us  up  over  the  shaft  and  then  down  into  the 
yawning  hole.  When  the  "sinker"  touched  the 
water,  Mr.  Patterson  turned  on  the  compressed 
air  that  was  led  down  to  the  machine  through  a 
rubber  hose,  and  the  pump  began  to  chug. 

"My,  but  there  must  be  an  enormous  pressure 
in  that  hose  !"  cried  Will.  "Look  at  the  way  she 
stiffens  out." 

"A  five-hundred-foot  column  of  water  must 
weigh  something,"  I  remarked. 

"Yes,  siree;  there  must  be  a  pressure  of  at 
least  two  hundred  pounds  to  the  inch." 

Will  and  I  were  standing  at  one  side  of  the 
hose,  while  Mr.  Patterson  and  his  assistant  were 
on  the  opposite  side.  I  was  just  about  to  turn 
toward  the  intake  end  of  the  pump,  when,  sud- 
denly, without  any  warning  at  all,  the  hose  burst 
loose  with  a  roar.  That  huge  eight-inch  hose 
lashed  around  like  the  tail  of  a  harpooned  whale, 
and  knocked  Will  off  the  pump,  while  the  torrent 
that  poured  out  of  it  nearly  swept  my  feet  out 
from  under  me,  and  would  have  carried  me  over- 
board too,  had  I  not  clung  desperately  to  the 
cable  sling.  Will  was  hurled  clear  across  the 
shaft,  ricochetting  on  the  water,  like  a  shell  from 
a  thirteen-inch  gun,  until  he  struck  heavily 
against  some  timbers,  and  then  sank  out  of  sight. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  Mr.  Patterson 
jumped  in  after  him,  not  even  stopping  to  take  off 
his  coat  or  shoes  (fortunately  he  was  wearing 
shoes  instead  of  boots).  The  deluge  that  gushed 
out  of  the  squirming  hose,  like  a  young  Niagara, 


238 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


[Jan., 


did  not  simplify  his  task  in  the  least.  Will  did 
not  come  to  the  surface,  and  Mr.  Patterson  had 
to  dive  in  search  of  him.  The  shaft  was  fairly 
well  lighted  with  a  cluster  of  electric-light  bulbs, 
but  they  made  little  impression  on  the  black  wa- 
ter below.  Nevertheless,  I  could  not  stand  by  idly 
with  my  chum  drowning,  so  I  slung  off  my  coat  and 
shoes,  and  plunged  in,  without  giving  a  thought 
to  submerged  timbering  or  any  other  obstacles  I 
might  strike.  It  was  impossible  to  see  anything 
under  the  surface.  All  I  could  do  was  to  grope 
blindly.  At  length,  Mr.  Patterson  came  up  with 
Will's  unconscious  body.  In  the  meantime,  the 
assistant  superintendent  had  signaled  for  the 
bucket.  In  this  my  chum  was  placed,  and  we  were 
hauled  quickly  to  the  surface  with  him. 

As  Will  was  being  lifted  out  of  the  bucket,  I 
noticed  that  his  leg  hung  down  like  a  rag,  and 
I  pointed  it  out  to  the  doctor  who  came  running 
up  just  then.  He  looked  very  grave  and  shook 
his  head,  but  he  bent  his  first  efforts  to  restoring 
his  patient  to  consciousness.  Then,  as  Will  began 
to  breathe,  he  cut  away  his  clothing  and  found  a 
compound  fracture  of  his  leg.  While  he  admin- 
istered some  sort  of  an  opiate  to  allay  the  intense 
suffering,  as  Will  was  now  entirely  conscious, 
Mr.  Patterson  hurried  off  to  summon  an  ambu- 
lance. 

"If  he  has  any  folks  around  here,  you  had  better 
send  for  them,"  the  doctor  said  to  me  in  a  low 
voice,  so  that  Will  could  not  hear  him. 

"The  only  one  in  the  city  that  I  know  of  is 
his  uncle,"  I  replied. 

"Telephone  to  him  to  meet  you  at  the  hospital. 
It  is  a  bad  break.  He  '11  be  laid  up  for  two  months 
at  least,  maybe  three." 

"Three  months  !"  I  gasped. 

"  'Sh-h  !"  The  doctor  held  up  a  warning  finger. 
"There  is  no  use  in  his  knowing  it  just  yet." 

"But  he  is  going  to  enter  college  next  week." 

"Oh,  no,  he  is  n't !"  the  doctor  contradicted  me. 
"He  will  have  to  forget  about  college  for  a  while." 

It  was  with  a  sinking  heart  that  I  went  to  the 
telephone  to  call  up  Uncle  Edward.  As  luck 
would  have  it,  he  was  out ;  but  the  man  at  the 
other  end  of  the  wire  said  he  would  make  every 
effort  to  find  him.  At  any  rate,  he  would  be  able 
to  catch  him  at  the  club  at  one  o'clock. 

I  had  barely  changed  my  wet  clothing  for 
some  dry  togs  that  belonged  to  Mr.  Patterson, 
when  I  heard  the  bell  of  the  ambulance  clanging 
madly  as  the  vehicle  raced  through  the  crowded 
East  Side  streets.  As  it  entered  the  yard,  a 
swarm  of  people  pressed  in  after  it,  and  it  was 
all  I  could  do  to  shoulder  my  way  through  the 
press,  but  I  was  determined  to  board  the  ambu- 
lance, and  ride  with  Will  to  the  hospital. 


At  the  hospital,  I  was  headed  off  into  a  sort  of 
reception-room,  while  Will  was  hurried  into  the 
operating-room.  There  I  waited  ages  before  an 
attendant  beckoned  to  me,  and  conducted  me  to 
a  room  in  the  private  ward  where  poor  Will  lay 
motionless  on  a  cot. 

"He  is  just  coming  out  of  the  ether,"  a  nurse 
informed  me. 

I  sat  down  beside  him.  It  made  me  grit  my 
teeth  and  feel  sick  all  over  to  hear  him  moan, 
now  and  then,  and  beg  half  deliriously  for  water. 

But  finally,  "Jim,"  came  faintly  from  my  help- 
less chum. 

"Yes,  old  chap.     Here  I  am." 

"Jim,"  he  faltered  again,  "how  long  am  I  laid 
up  for?" 

I  tried  to  reassure  him.  "You  '11  be  out  before 
very  long.    Your  leg  is  banged  up  some." 

He  was  silent  for  a  while,  then,  "It  's  broken?" 
he  asked  in  a  weak  whisper.    I  nodded. 

A  sudden  twinge  in  his  broken  limb  forced  an 
involuntary  cry  of  pain  from  him. 

"Oh,  don't  take  it  so  hard,  Will,"  I  remon- 
strated. "The  doctor  has  fixed  it  all  up,  and 
you  '11  be  well  almost  before  you  know  it."  I 
was  stretching  the  truth  to  the  limit,  and  Will 
knew  it. 

"It  's  a  bad  break,  I  know,  and  I  '11  be  laid  up 
for  four  months,  just  as  my  cousin  was,  and—" 

"Not  more  than  three  months,  the  doctor  says," 
I  interposed. 

"And,"  he  went  on,  "next  week,  you  will  be  in 
college,  while  I  —  " 

"Will,  you  old  chump,  I  'm  not  going  to  col- 
lege this  year."  I  made  up  my  mind  on  the  in- 
stant just  what  I  was  going  to  do.  "It  's  all 
settled.  I  am  going  to  wait  over  until  next  year. 
Do  you  suppose  I  would  go  and  leave  you  here 
all  alone  ?  No,  siree  !  We  are  going  through  col- 
lege together,  just  as  we  did  through  prep 
school."  I  was  talking  very  bravely,  without 
knowing  what  Dr.  McGreggor  would  have  to  say 
to  my  plan. 

"Jim,  you  're  all  right,"  said  Will,  "but—" 

Just  then  Uncle  Edward  came  in  and  inter- 
rupted Will's  remonstrances. 

It  was  with  no  little  trepidation  that  I  rang 
Dr.  McGreggor's  door-bell  that  night.  I  even 
forgot  to  say  good  evening,  when  I  saw  him,  but 
burst  right  in  with  my  question :  "Dr.  McGreg- 
gor, would  it  make  any  difference  to  you  if  I 
should  put  off  college  for  another  year?" 

"Eh?  How  's  that?  Are  you  afraid  you  can- 
not enter?" 

"No;  it  is  n't  that.  Will  has  broken  his  leg, 
you  know,  and  is  laid  up  in  the  hospital  for  three 
months—"     I  paused. 


I9I4-] 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


239 


"Yes;  very  un fortunate  indeed.  But  what  has 
that  to  do  with  you  ?" 

"Why,  he  won't  be  able  to  enter  this  year,  and 
you  know  we  have  always  been  chums  in  school, 
and  we  cannot  bear  to  be  separated  in  college;  we 
want  to  be  classmates,  and—" 

Dr.  McGreggor  did  not  relax  his  stern  look. 
"Young  man,  what  are  you  going  to  do  in  the 
meantime?  Are  you  going  to  hang  around  on 
your  father's  hands,  or  do  you  expect  me  to  fur- 
nish your  keep?" 

I  flushed  with  anger,  and  could  not  help 
saying,  "I  am  no  beggar,  Dr.  McGreggor;  I 
am  going  tci  support  myself.  Surely  I  can  find 
some  sort  oi  a  job  h  re  in  the  city,  and  if  I  can't, 
why,  I  '11  &     lome  and  work  in  the  paper-mill." 

To  my  'urprjse,  Dr.  McGreggor's  stern  face 
broke  out  i  o  a  kindly  smile,  and  I  realized  that 
he  had  been  nerely  putting  me  to  a  test. 

"You  '11  d  > !"  he  said,  patting  me  on  the  shoul- 
der. "Go  afioad,  and  take  care  of  yourself.  My 
offer  will  kee'i«  five  years,  if  necessary." 

Chapter  II 

OVE/:  THE  SiiA  BY  RAIL 

Not  because  I  cou'd  n't  find  a  job  in  New  York, 
but  because  Mother  thought  that  I  had  been 
away  quite  long  eno  igh,  I  returned  home  a  few 
days  after  the  events  recounted  in  the  previous 
chapter.  But  I  stuck  to  the  resolution  made 
before  Dr.  McGreggor,  and  found  a  job  in  the 
office  of  a  paper-mill  about  a  mile  up  the  river 
from  our  house. 

Will's  leg  mended  very  slowly.  I  did  not  hear 
from  him  often,  for  he  never  was  much  of  a  hand 
at  letter-writing. 

Time  sped  by  faster  than  I  had  any  idea  it 
could.  When  Thanksgiving  Day  arrived,  who 
should  walk  in  but  Will  with  his  Uncle  Edward, 
and  Will  walked  without  the  trace  of  a  limp,  al- 
though he  still  carried  a  cane.  I  was  taken  com- 
pletely by  surprise.  But  there  was  an  even  greater 
surprise  coming. 

"What  do  you  suppose,  Jim?"  Will  burst  in 
as  soon  as  he  saw  me.  "We  're  going  to  Panama 
to  see  the  canal !" 

"Are  you  really?"  I  exclaimed.  "My,  but  that 's 
great !" 

"But  I  mean  we  are  going,  you  and  I,  all  by 
ourselves,"  explained  Will. 

"Yes,  it  's  true,"  broke  in  Uncle  Edward,  laugh- 
ing at  my  astonishment.  "But  don't  thank  me. 
It  is  Dr.  McGreggor  again.  He  has  taken  a  great 
fancy  to  your  boy,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
Mother  and  Father.  "A  man  came  into  our  office 
a  couple  of  weeks  ago,  and  said  he  had  just  spent 


a  month  at  Panama,  going  over  the  work  in  de- 
tail ;  and  his  twelve-year-old  son,  who  accom- 
panied him,  was  almost  as  enthusiastic  as  he 
over  the  trip.  That  seemed  to  set  McGreggor 
thinking,  and  three  or  four  days  later,  he  asked 
me  how  soon  Will  would  be  on  his  feet  again. 
'He  is  walking  around  now,'  I  told  him.  'Well,' 
he  said,  'why  don't  you  send  him  to  Panama  to 
recuperate?'  'That  's  exactly  what  I  decided  to 
do,  three  days  ago,'  I  replied.  'And  Jim  will  have 
to  go,  too,'  he  said.  'Certainly,'  I  answered.  'I 
have  already  written  to  his  parents  about  it.'  At 
which  he  flared  up  and  actually  had  the  nerve  to 
call  me  down  for  meddling  in  his  affairs.  'If  Jim 
can  go,'  he  declared,  '/  will  send  him  !'  So  here, 
Jim,  is  a  letter  to  you  from  him.  He  could  n't 
very  well  deliver  his  message  in  person." 

The  letter  was  very  characteristic  of  Dr.  Mc- 
Greggor, short  and  to  the  point,  informing  me,  in 
very  businesslike  language,  that  he  had  arranged 
to  give  me  a  trip  to  Panama  and  such  places  as 
I  might  wish  to  see  on  my  way  there  and  back, 
and  that  he  hoped  Will  and  I  would  comport  our- 
selves as  creditably  on  this  outing  as  we  had 
during  our  summer  vacation. 

I  was  simply  overwhelmed  with  delight.  Will 
had  brought  time-tables  and  guide-books  along, 
and  we  sat  down  right  then  and  there  to  plan 
our  trip.  "When  can  we  start?"  I  asked  Uncle 
Edward,  in  breathless  excitement. 

"To-morrow,  if  you  like,"  he  laughed;  "to-day, 
if  you  must." 

We  did  n't  waste  much  time  getting  ready.  A 
week  later,  you  could  have  found  us  aboard  the 
"Oversea  Limited,"  racing  along  the  spine  of 
Florida  and  down  the  kinky  tail  of  coral  reefs 
that  reaches  a  hundred  miles  out  to  sea.  We  had 
come  overland  just  to  see  this  "ocean-going  rail- 
road." 

According  to  schedule,  we  were  to  leave  the 
mainland  at  about  four  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
arriving  at  Key  West  at  8:30  a.m.  Will  and  I 
were  determined  to  see  it  all,  even  if  we  had  to 
rise  two  hours  before  dawn  and  view  it  by  star- 
light. When  we  did  tumble  out  of  our  berths  at 
five,  instead  of  four,  and  rush  out  to  the  observa- 
tion platform,  we  were  disappointed  to  find,  in- 
stead of  a  roaring  ocean  around  us,  nothing  but 
an  endless  stretch  of  marshland,  with  a  wide 
canal  on  each  side  of  the  road-bed. 

There  was  one  man  evidently  as  anxious  as  we 
were  to  view  the  scenery.  "Is  n't  it  wonderful !" 
he  exclaimed,  as  we  sat  down  beside  him. 

"What,  this?"  I  asked  in  astonishment.  "I 
don't  see  anything  very  wonderful  about  this 
swamp.  I  thought  we  were  to  cross  the  ocean, 
or,  at  least,  a  part  of  it." 


240 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Jan., 


"We  have  n't  reached  the  ocean  yet,"  the  man 
replied.  "Fortunately,  the  train  is  two  hours 
late,  and  we  shall  have  a  chance  to  see  the  spec- 
tacular part  in  broad  daylight.  But  there  is  much 
to  admire  right  here." 

We  thought  he  must  be  out  of  his  head,  but  he 
went  on  to  explain :  "These  are  the  Everglades, 
you  know,  the  queerest  kind  of  country  you  ever 
heard  of.  A  man  once  told  me,  'There  is  not 
enough  water  in  'em  for  swimmin',  and  dee- 
cidedly  too  much  for  farmin'.'  " 

"I  should  n't  think  they  could  do  much  farm- 
ing in  a  marsh,"  commented  Will,  "except  to 
raise  salt  hay." 

"But  this  marsh  is  not  anything  like  the  kind 
we  have  up  north.  The  water  in  it  is  not  salt  or 
stagnant,  but  good,  pure,  sweet,  drinking  water 
that  is  flowing  all  the  time.  Do  you  see  these 
canals  on  each  side  of  us?  They  were  dug  to 
furnish  the  road-bed  we  are  traveling  over.  The 
quickest  way  to  dig  a  canal  is  to  dredge  it.  But 
there  was  not  water  enough  to  float  a  dredge,  so 
what  did  they  do  but  dig  holes  in  the  ground, 
which  immediately  filled  with  water,  of  course, 
after  which  they  built  dredges  in  these  holes. 
Then  these  dredges  began  a  march  to  the  sea, 
eating  their  own  channel  through  the  mud  and 
sand,  and  throwing  up  the  material  they  ex- 
cavated to  build  this  roadway  between  them." 

"Pretty  clevtr,"  we  commented. 

"Yes,  but  it  was  not  all  as  easy  as  that.  Once 
in  a  while,  they  struck  a  ledge  of  rock.  How  do 
you  suppose  they  got  around  that  difficulty?" 

"Could  n't  they  haul  the  dredges  over?"  I 
asked. 

"A  dredge  is  a  pretty  heavy  proposition.  No, 
they  did  something  smarter  than  that.  They 
built  locks  over  the  ledges,  regular  canal-locks. 
The  dredge  would  enter  the  lock,  the  gate  would 
be  closed  behind  it,  water  would  be  pumped  into 
the  inclosure  until  it  was  deep  enough  to  float 
the  dredge  over  the  rock,  and,  then,  after  the 
water  in  the  lock  had  been  lowered  again,  the 
dredge  would  be  let  out  of  the  gate  at  the  oppo- 
site end." 

While  the  method  of  laying  the  road  through 
the  Everglades  was  interesting,  the  scenery  was 
monotonous.  But  our  new  acquaintance  whiled 
away  the  time  by  telling  us  about  the  man  who 
had  conceived  this  wonderful  railroad  over  the 
sea,  about  the  young  engineers  who  had  carried 
the  work  through  in  the  face  of  almost  insuper- 
able difficulties,  and  about  the  surveyors  who  got 
lost  for  days  at  a  time  in  the  maze  of  reefs. 

We  passed  a  station  just  then,  and  saw  on  a 
siding  a  train  of  flat-cars,  each  with  a  huge 
wooden  tank  on  it. 


"That  is  the  water  train,"  explained  our  en- 
thusiast. "They  have  to  transport  all  the  water 
from  the  mainland  along  the  line  of  the  railroad, 
because  they  cannot  get  any  decent  water  on  the 
keys.  The  water  and  food  problem  was  a  pretty 
serious  one  when  they  first  started  building  the 
line.  Sometimes  it  took  the  supply-boat  half  a 
day  to  make  its  way  around  the  reefs  from  one 
key  to  another  only  a  mile  off." 

Presently,  we  left  the  mainland  and  crossed 
over  a  drawbridge  to  the  first  of  the  keys;  but 
still  there  was  very  little  of  the  ocean  to  be  seen, 
except  for  a  glimpse  now  and  then. 

"I  suppose  it  must  be  pretty  shallow  along  the 
keys,"  I  remarked,  "or  they  would  never  have 
dared  to  build  this  line." 

"That  is  true  enough  along  here,"  he  informed 
us;  "but  farther  down,  in  some  •  laces,  it  is 
thirty  feet  deep  at  low  tide.  Yes,  w.  len  they  first 
started  building  along  here,  they  hought  that, 
in  such  shallow  water,  fills  would  Jo  as  well  as 
bridges.  So  they  dredged  up  mud  ind  sand  from 
the  bottom  and  piled  it  up  to  m;.ke  a  roadway. 
Then  they  dumped  riprap,  or  lar  ^e  rocks,  along 
each  side  of  the  fill  to  protect  it  from  the  waves 
in  stormy  weather.  Then,  one  day,  a  hurricane 
came  along  and  began  to  amuse  itself  with  the 
work  those  industrious  men  had  been  at  for  a 
year  and  a  half.  That  was  a  real  hurricane,  and 
it  instilled  into  the  workmen,  and  engineers  as 
well,  a  wholesome  respect  for  West  Indian 
storms.  Many  of  the  men  were  housed  in  quar- 
ter-boats, and  it  was  supposed  that  they  could 
ride  out  the  storm  at  anchor  in  sheltered  places 
offshore.  But  it  was  soon  found  that  the  flat 
keys  offered  no  shelter  at  all.  One  boat  with  a 
hundred  and  forty-five  men  on  board  was  torn 
from  its  moorings,  carried  out  into  the  boiling 
sea,  and  wrecked  on  a  reef.  There  was  an  en- 
gineer aboard,  and  he  was  a  hero— Bert  A.  Parlin 
was  his  name.  Most  of  the  men  were  in  a  panic, 
and  huddled,  terror-stricken,  in  the  cabin.  The 
wind  was  tearing  the  upper  structure  to  pieces, 
and  they  were  in  peril  of  falling  timbers.  Those 
with  cooler  heads  stayed  outside  on  a  balcony,  to 
windward,  where  no  flying  timbers  were  likely  to 
hit  them.  But  the  young  engineer,  even  though 
he  knew  the  risk  he  ran,  went  below  to  calm  the 
frightened  men  and  urge  them  to  come  out. 
When  the  boat  broke  up  he  perished,  as  did  every 
man  in  the  cabin,  while  the  others  clung  to  bits 
of  wreckage.  A  number  of  them  were  picked  up 
by  steamers  and  carried  to  various  ports  all  the 
way  from  Liverpool  to  Buenos  Aires.  There 
were  many  heroes  who  perished  that  night.  One 
man  was  all  alone  on  a  barge  that  carried  an 
electric-light  plant.     He  kept  up  his  courage  by 


I9I4-] 


WITH   MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


241 


stoking  up  his  furnaces  and  keeping  every  light 
burning.  People  on  shore  watched  the  illumina- 
tion through  that  dreadful  night,  until  suddenly 
the  lights  were  quenched,  and  the  watchers  knew 
that  the  relentless  storm  had  swallowed  the 
barge,  and  with  it  a  brave  man. 

"After  the  storm  had  cleared,  the  engineers 
went  over  the  sad  wreck  it 
had  left  in  its  wake.  All  the 
fills  had  been  washed  away. 
The  water  had  dashed  over 
the  riprap,  and  the  receding 
waves  had  sucked  out  the 
filling  of  sand.  Even  in  the 
shallowest  places  the  fills 
had  disappeared.  Evidently 
a  different  form  of  construc- 
tion would  have  to  be  de- 
vised." 

"Is  n't  this  a  fill  we  are 
going  over  now?"  asked 
Will.  We  were  passing  over 
a  narrow  lane  built  right  out 
in  the  water.  It  was  a  most 
fascinating  sight  in  the  light 
of  the  dawning  sun. 

"Yes,  this  is  a  fill,"  went 
on  the  enthusiast ;  "but,  you 
see,  there  is  no  riprap  at 
each  side." 

He  was  right.  The  side 
of  the  fill  looked  like  a 
smooth  white  beach. 

"That  is  a  calcareous  marl 
that  they  discovered  here. 
It  is  soft  and  putty-like  when 
fresh,  but  it  hardens  on  ex- 
posure to  the  air.  When  it 
is  plastered  over  the  fills,  it 
makes  such  a  smooth  finish 
that  the  waves  can  do  noth- 
ing with  it.  When  first  put 
on,  that  marl  had  a  terrible 
odor.  The  stench  that  went 
up  from  those  fills  attracted 
a  host  of  turkey-buzzards 
who  puzzled  for  days  trying 
to  locate  the  cause  of  it. 

"The  next  hurricane  that 
struck  the  keys  found  the  men  ready.  They 
scuttled  their  boats  and  took  to  dry  land,  because 
they  realized  that,  in  that  region,  the  only  safe 
harbor  for  their  boats  was  under  water,  where 
neither  wind  nor  wave  could  reach  them.  As  for 
the  fills,  they  stood  the  ordeal  splendidly.  The 
waves  wrestled  long  and  vigorously  with  the 
smooth  marl  beaches,  but  when  the  ocean  finally 
Vol.  XLI.— 31. 


acknowledged  its  defeat  and  calmed  down,  it  had 
made  little  impression  on  them." 

"But  all  the  gaps  between  the  keys  are  not 
closed  with  fills,  are  they?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  my,  no !  There  are  eighteen  miles  of 
bridges,  mostly  heavy  concrete  arches,  tied  down 
with  wooden  piles  driven  into  the  rock." 


THAT   EIGHT-INCH    HOSE   LASHED   AROUND   LIKE   THE   TAIL 
OF  A   HARPOONED    WHALE." 


"Wooden  piles  driven  into  rock  !"  I  gasped. 

"Yes,  like  everything  else  in  this  queer  place, 
the  rock  is  very  peculiar.  It  is  a  sort  of  coraline 
limestone  that  has  a  hard  crust,  but  underneath 
is  quite  soft.  What  they  did  was  to  punch  holes 
through  the  crust  with  a  steel  punch,  and  then 
drive  the  piles  through  the  holes  into  the  soft 
rock  with  a  steam-hammer." 


242 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Jan.,. 


"You  mean  a  pile-driver?"  suggested  Will. 

"No ;  a  steam-hammer  which  gives  quick,  sharp 
blows.  If  they  had  used  a  pile-driver,  the  piles 
would  have  sprung  too  much.  With  the  steam- 
hammer  they  drove  those  piles  in,  twelve  or  fifteen 
feet.  But  before  the  piles  were  driven,  they 
cleared  all  the  sand  off  the  rock  at  the  site  of  the 


A    CONCRETE    CEXTII'EI 


pier  and  sunk  a  coffer-dam  over  the  spot.  The 
coffer-dam  in  this  case  was  a  big  box  without 
top  or  bottom.  When  this  had  been  sunk,  the 
piles  were  driven.  Then  a  layer  of  concrete  was 
laid  on  the  rock  to  seal  the  bottom  of  the  coffer- 
dam so  that  they  could  pump  out  the  water." 

"Do  you  mean  they  laid  the  concrete  under 
water?" 

"Why,  certainly.  Concrete  will  set  under 
water  as  well  as  in  air,  provided  the  water  does 
not  wash  away  all  the  cement  before  it  hardens. 
They  used  'tremies'  for  the  purpose." 

It  was  unnecessary   for  him  to  ask  us  if  we 


knew  the  definition  of  "tremie."     The  question- 
mark  showed  only  too  plainly  in  our  faces ;  so  he 
went  on  to  explain  that  a  tremie  is  a  pipe  through 
which  concrete  is  let  down  under  water  to  the 
bottom  of  the  coffer-dam.     "The  first  batch  that 
goes  down  the  tremie,  acts  as  a  piston  to  clear 
out  the  water  in  the  pipe.     As  it  spreads  out  on 
the  bottom,  it  may  lose  much 
of  its  cement,  but  that  does 
not   matter,  because  it   is  to 
serve  merely  as  a  cover  for 
the     concrete     that     follows. 
The  end  of  the  tremie  runs 
almost  to  the  bottom,  so  that 
as      fresh      concrete      comes 
down  the  pipe,  it  pours  out 
under  this  cover,  and  is  not 
affected  by  the  water. 

"After  the  coffer-dams 
were  sealed  with  a  layer  of 
concrete  three  to  five  feet 
thick,  the  water  was  pumped 
out  and  the  piles  were  sawed 
off  well  below  low-water 
level.  Then  the  coffer-dams* 
were  filled  solid  with  cement 
up  to  the  'springing'  line, 
that  is  the  line  from  which 
the  arch  was  to  spring,  and, 
after  that,  they  put  in  the 
forms  for  the  arches." 
The  first  big  bridge  we  struck  was  the  Long 
Key  Viaduct,  a  noble  structure  over  two  and  a 
half  miles  long,  made  up  of  180  semi-circular 
arches  of  fifty-foot  span,  that  carried  us  over  the 
open  sea,  thirty  feet  above  high-water  mark. 
But,  of  course,  we  could  see  none  of  the  gran- 
deur of  this  bridge,  as  it  was  all  underneath  us. 
We  were  running  straight  out  into  the  ocean. 
We  might  just  as  well  have  been  on  a  very 
steady  steamer.  To  the  north  was  the  Gulf  of 
Mexico ;  south  of  us  the  broad  Atlantic,  as  quiet 
as  a  mill-pond,  giving  no  hint  of  the  fury  it  could 
lash  itself  into  when  driven  by  the  winds. 


SETTING    I'P    THE    FORMS    FOR    THE    FIFTY-FOOT    CONCRETE    ARCHES. 


I9M-] 


WITH   MEN   WHO   DO  THINGS 


243 


LONG    KEY    VIADUCT,    OVER   TWO    AND    A    HALF    MILES    LONG. 


By  this  time,  many  other  passengers  had 
crowded  out  upon  the  observation  platform, 
which  we  were  almost  selfish  enough  to  resent. 
The  man  who  had  been  giving  us  all  our  informa- 
tion did  not  seem  to  care,  though,  and  went  on 
shouting  his  story  above  the  roar  of  the  train. 
Soon  he  had  an  interested  group  around  him, 
even  though  he  addressed  all  his  remarks  to  us. 

"It  's  all  wonderful,"  said  . 
our  guide,  "but  wait  until 
we  get  to  the  big  Knight's 
Key  Viaduct."  And  that 
proved  well  worth  waiting 
for.  Seven  miles  of  prac- 
tically unbroken  water  was 
enough  to  make  any  one 
marvel.  The  indomitable  en- 
gineer had  actually  mastered 
the  ocean. 

A  turn  in  the  road  gave  us 
a  chance  to  see  what  we 
were  riding  over.  A  large 
part  of  the  bridge  was  made 
up  of  steel  spans.  This  was 
a  concession  to  the  ocean. 
The  piers  for  the  spans  could 
be  made  narrower  and  could 
be  spaced  farther  apart  than  the  piers  of  the  con- 
crete arches,  thus  offering  less  resistance  to  the 
waves  in  time  of  storm. 

"What  if  a  hurricane  should  strike  a  train  on 
this  bridge?"  I  asked. 

"If  it  were  a  real  hurricane,  I  am  afraid  it 
would  be  'Good-by  train.'  But  such  a  thing  could 
not  happen.  This  road  is  in  touch  with  the 
Weather  Bureau,  and  warnings  are  sent  out  well 
in  advance  of  a  serious  storm.  When  such  warn- 
ings are  received,  the  train  service  is  halted. 
Then,  too,  there  is  a  block-signal  system  auto- 

(To  be  continued.) 


matically  controlled  by  wind  gages  that  show  a 
danger-signal  when  the  wind  over  any  of  the 
bridges  reaches  or  exceeds  fifty  miles  an  hour." 
A  few  miles  farther  on,  we  ran  upon  another 
viaduct,  only  a  mile  long,  but  an  important  one 
because,  at  that  point,  the  water  was  thirty  feet 
deep.  From  there  on,  the  formation  of  the  keys 
seemed  to  change.    They  ran  across  our  path  in- 


A   STEEL   BRIDGE    WHERE    THE   OCEAN    BATTLES   MOST    FIERCELY. 

stead  of  lying  in  the  line  of  the  railroad.  There 
were  many  short  bridges  and  fills  that  took  us 
from  key  to  key,  until,  finally,  we  reached  Key 
West,  the  end  of  the  line.  We  had  traveled  106 
miles  off  the  mainland,  using  thirty  keys  as  step- 
ping-stones to  take  us  to  the  most  southerly  city 
in  the  United  States. 

Our  train  took  us  out  to  the  end  of  a  pier 
where  a  boat  was  waiting  to  carry  us  the  rest  of 
the  way  over  the  sea.  Not  until  then  did  we 
realize  that  we  had  had  no  breakfast,  and  here  it 
was  five  minutes  after  ten  ! 


Oh,  list  to  the  ballad  of  Belle  Brocade, 
A  mere  little,  dear  little,  queer  little  maid. 
She  had  in  her  wardrobe  a  marvelous  stock 
Of  every  description  of  gown,  dress,  or  frock ; 
But  wben  she  was  asked  to  go  to  the  fair, 
She  dolefully  said:  "I  have  nothing  to  wear." 

Now,  Miss  Belle  Brocade  had  no  reason  for 

frowns ; 
She  had  chic  Paris  costumes,  and  smart  London 

gowns. 
She  had  outing  frocks,  tailor-mades,  chiffons, 

and  tweeds. 
For  all  sorts  of  functions,  and  all  sorts  of  needs. 

She  had  velvet  and  voile,  she  had  linen  and  lace, 
For  every  occasion,  and  every  place. 
She  had  a  charmeuse  with  Bulgarian  sash ; 
She  had  a  tub  gown  of  an  oyster-hued  crash. 

She  had  a  pink  satin  with  black  velvet  bows ; 
She  had  a  white  linen  with  bands  of  old  rose. 
A  gay  Dolly  Varden,  with  pannier  effect ; 
A  lovely  white  voile,  short-sleeved  and  Dutch- 
necked  ; 

A  one-piece  affair  of  straw-colored  ratine, 
And  a  stunning  eponge  of  deep  emerald  green. 
An  exquisite  gown  of  pink  meteor  crepe ; 
And  a  pale  yellow  tissue  with  gold-spangled 
cape; 

A  dear  little  frock  of  frilled  Brussels  net ; 

And  a  blue  messaline — the  prettiest  yet ! 

But  Miss  Belle  Brocade,  when  a  gown  she  would 

don, 
Declared  she  had  nothing  at  all  to  put  on. 


This  one  was  too  heavy,  and  that  was  too  light; 
And  this  was  too  somber,  and  that  was  too 

bright. 
And  this  was  too  fussy,  and  that  was  too  plain ; 
And  this  was  too  fragile  — in  case  it  should  rain. 

Then  one  was  too  short  and  one  was  too  long, 
And  one  had  the  trimming  adjusted  all 

wrong. 
And  one  was  eccentric,  and  looked  like  a  fright ; 
And  .one  never  did  seem  to  fit  her  just  right. 

That  glaring  red  check  was  a  positive  freak ; 
And  the  gray  crepe  de  chine  was  too  awfully 

meek. 
The  Persian  embroidered  one  looked  too  bizarre  : 
And  the  black-and-white  plaid  was  too  common 

by  far. 

Miss  Belle  Brocade  tossed  them  aside  in 

despair, 
And  vowed  she  had  nothing  whatever  to  wear. 
So,  though  it  was  lovely  and  pleasant  outside. 
Miss  Belle  Brocade  frowned,  and  she  stormed, 

and  she  cried. 

'Not  one  of  my  frocks  is  fit  to  be  seen  !" 
She,  whimpering,  said;  "and  I  do  think  it  's 

mean  ! 
I  have  n't  a  thing  that  is  decent  to  wear ; 
And  I  '11  just  simply  have  to  stay  home  from  the 

fair  !" 


Now  guess  at  the  moral,  my  dear  little  maic 
That  's  hid  in  this  ballad  of  Belle  Brocade. 


THE    RUNAWAY 


BY  ALLEN   FRENCH 

Author  of  "  The  Junior  Cup,"  "  Pelham  and  His  Friend  Tim,"  etc. 


Chapter  V 


THE  PROBLEM 


The  boy  smiled  faintly.  He  felt  far  removed 
from  himself,  and  not  really  concerned  with  the 
smile ;  still,  the  voice  was  cheerful,  and  it  was 
pleasant  to  hear.  But  in  a  moment  he  forgot  all 
about  it,  and  was  surprised  to  see  a  figure  at  his 
bedside.  It  recalled  him  from  the  beginning  of 
another  sleep.  Why  was  the  man  bowing  and 
jigging  so?  He  frowned,  waked  himself  again, 
and  the  figure  stood  still. 

The  man  was  tall  and  lean,  bronzed  and  active. 
Keen  eyes  smiled  down  at  the  lad,  and  a  hard 
but  not  ungentle  hand  was  laid  upon  the  fore- 
head.   "H-m !"  said  the  man.    "Better,  ain't  ye?" 

"I  think  so."  To  himself,  the  boy's  voice 
sounded  as  if  it  came  from  another  room. 

"Well,"  said  his  nurse,  "I  've  been  expecting 
your  arrival  any  time  to-day.    The  broth  is  warm 

—  I  '11  bring  ye  some." 

Presently,  the  boy  found  himself  accepting 
spoonfuls  of  an  appetizing  liquid,  which  slipped 
down  easily.  "More,"  he  said,  when  the  supply 
ceased. 

The  man  shook  his  head.  "Enough  's  enough. 
Now,  are  ye  comfortable?" 

The  boy  struggled  with  his  ideas.     "I  've  been 

—  sick?" 
"Rather." 

"There  's  a  bandage  on  my  head?" 

"We  '11  have  that  off  to-morrow." 

"What  's  wrong  with  my  hand?" 

"Another  bandage." 

"Something  happened  to  me  ?" 

"Look  here,"  said  his  nurse,  "the  doctor  said 
you  're  not  to  talk.    Jes'  lie  still,  won't  you?" 

"But  I  don't  remember  —  " 

"Don't  try." 

The  boy  nodded  and  said  no  more,  but  lay  still. 
Drowsiness  came,  and  he  willingly  yielded  to  it. 

For  another  day  continued  periods  of  sleeping 
and  waking.  He  was  visited,  fed,  and  grew 
stronger.  But  he  asked  no  more  questions  about 
himself.  Still  another  day  went  by,  and  even 
when  the  doctor  came  and  examined  his  wrist, 
the  lad  asked  no  questions  about  it.  On  the  third 
day,  in  the  middle  of  the  morning,  he  waked 
from  a  cloze  to  see  two  persons  by  his  bed  looking 
down  at  him.  One  was  his  nurse,  Nate,  but  the 
second  was  a  stranger. 


Nate  bent  over  the  bed.  "Here  's  Mr.  Dodd, 
come  to  see  you." 

Mr.  Dodd,  stocky  and  grizzled,  and  quite  as 
keen  of  gaze  as  Nate,  sat  down  beside  the  bed. 
"How  do  you  do  this  morning,  Wilson?"  he 
asked. 

The  boy  was  plainly  surprised.  "Wilson  ?"  He 
looked  at  Nate.  "Is  that—  ?"  He  was  strug- 
gling with  ideas. 

"Is  n't  that  your  name?"  asked  Nate. 

The  boy  doubtfully  shook  his  head,  and  looked 
appealingly  at  Mr.  Dodd.  "My  name  —  "  He 
hesitated.     "I—" 

He  was  painfully  groping  in  thought,  when  the 
doctor,  who  had  just  entered,  interposed.  "Don't 
worry  him,"  he  said  briskly.  "My  boy,  we  waked 
you  from  a  nap.  You  'd  better  finish  it."  He 
turned  away  from  the  bedside,  and  the  others 
followed  him  into  the  next  room.  There  for  a 
moment  their  voices  murmured  faintly ;  but  when 
the  three  became  interested,  and  forgot  caution, 
the  sounds  floated  clearly  to  him. 

"Then  you  'd  rather,  Doctor,  that  we  did  n't 
ask  him  about  himself?" 

"I  'd  rather,"  replied  the  doctor,  "that  he  was 
n't  urged  to  try  to  remember.  A  question,  care- 
lessly put,  might  perhaps  be  asked  once  in  a 
while.  If  he  has  lost  his  memor_>,  from  the  blow 
on  his  head,  or  fever,  or  both,  it  is  probably  only 
temporarily.  Since  the  first  day,  he  has  n't  asked 
about  himself,  and  does  n't  seem  to  think  of  how 
he  came  here.  Let  him  alone.  He  '11  come  to 
himself  gradually." 

"The  name  Wilson  did  n't  seem  to  suggest  any- 
thing to  him." 

"If  his  memory  's  lost,  it  would  n't,  even  if  it 
were  his  name.  But  you  must  consider  that  this 
may  not  be  the  boy  that  got  off  the  train.  It  's 
ten  days  ago,  and  the  man  Wilson  has  n't  been 
heard  from.  He  's  found  his  brother,  I  'm  con- 
vinced." 

"Yet  somebody  must  be  worrying  about  this 
lad." 

"True,"  admitted  the  doctor.  "But  equally  true 
that  no  boy  is  reported  missing.  Since  no  one  is 
inquiring  about  him,  what  can  we  do  but  wait? 
Would  you  advertise?" 

"'Found,  a  boy!'"  laughed  Mr.  Dodd.  "No, 
they  know  all  about  the  lad  over  at  Farnham  and 
Winton,  and  can  tell  about  him  to  any  one  that 
inquires.     On  the  other  hand,  if  the  newspapers 


246 


THE  RUNAWAY 


247 


'■> 


report  the  loss  of  a  boy,  we  shall  see  it.    But  with     me  run  in  and  take  a  last  look  at  the  lad,  Mr. 
the  boy  himself  what  shall  we  do?"  Dodd,  and  then  we  '11  go  back." 

"Feed  him,  nurse  him,  let  him  come  to  himself.         In  a  moment,  he  came  tiptoeing  from  the  room. 
If  his  memory  is  wrong,  don't  appear  to  worry     "Asleep." 

about  it,  or  you  '11  worry  him.    Let  him  see  your         But  when  the  doctor's  carriage  had  gone,  car- 
son   and   your   nephew  — the   sight    of   them   may     rying    Mr.    Dodd,    and    when    the    thumping    of 

Xate's  machinery  had  begun, 
the  boy  in  the  chamber 
opened  his  eyes.  Then  he 
turned  his  head  so  that  he 
could  look  out  of  the  win- 
dow, and  now  he  lay  gazing 
into  the  landscape,  while  his 
brow  was  thoughtfully  knit. 

Chapter  VI 

THE   BOYS    MEET    AGAIN 

It  was  three  days  later,  and 
the  lad  'had  just  had  his 
breakfast.  He  was  at  last 
able  to  feed  himself,  al- 
though clumsily,  having  but 
one  good  hand.  When  he 
had  finished,  he  lay  back  on 
his  pillows  and  looked  at 
Nate. 

"I  Ye  never  asked,"  he 
'  said,  "what  is  the  work  I 
hear  you  doing." 

"Now  you  're  talking !" 
exclaimed  Nate.  "It  's  nice 
to  have  you  show  interest. 
You  know  the  mills  down  in 
the  valley?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  lad. 
"I  hear  their  whistle  four 
times  a  day." 

"Well,"  explained  Nate, 
"they  make  cordyroy,  velvet, 
and  plush.  Now  I  do  some 
of  their  dyein'.  That  ma- 
chine you  hear,  she  runs  my 

"Jigger?"  asked  the  lad. 
"My  dyein'  machine,"  said 
Nate.     "I  '11  show  it  to  you 
soon.       You    '11    be    movin' 
about  before  long." 
"I   can  get  out  of  bed  to-day,"   answered  the 
boy.    "I  've  been  living  on  you  long  enough.    It  's 
time  I  was  — moving  on." 

Nate,   who   was   about   to   go   away   with   the 
breakfast  dishes,  turned  and  set  them  down  upon 
the  bureau.     Then  he  came  and  stood  beside  the 
bed,  looking  attentively  at  the  boy. 
"Meaning?"  he  asked. 


"'HOW   DO  YOU   DO   THIS   MORNING,    WILSON?'    MR.    DODD   ASKED 

bring  him  to  himself.  Another  thing— let  him 
see  Harriet." 

"Well—"    Mr.  Dodd  was  doubtful. 

"She  says  they  spoke  together,"  explained  the 
doctor.  "She  brought  him  his  coat.  To  see  her 
may  be  just  enough  to  jog  his  memory." 

"We  '11  try  the  boys  first,"  said  Mr.  Dodd. 

"Certainly,"  agreed  the  doctor.     "Now  just  let 


248 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Jan., 


The  boy  returned  his  gaze  firmly.  "I  must  be 
going." 

"All  right,"  said  Nate,  with  sudden  willingness. 
''Here,  I  '11  help  you." 

The  boy's  eyes  flew  wide  open  with  surprise ; 
then,  slowly  flushing,  he  let  them  drop.    "I  know," 


"PLUMPING    DOWN    ON    THE    GRASS    BESIDE    TH 
PELHAM   BEGAN    TO   TALK."      (SEE   PAGE 


he  mumbled,  "that  I  'ye  been  a  lot  of  trouble — 
and  expense.     But  I  mean  to  repay  it." 

"Don't  mention  it,"  responded  Nate,  heartily. 
"You  're  welcome,  I  'm  sure.  But  I  don't  like  to 
keep  fellers  in  my  house  that  don't  want  to  stay. 
Come,  let  me  help  you  up." 

The  boy  looked  at  him  first  suspiciously,  and 


then,  as  Nate  met  his  look  steadily,  with  a  touch 
of  resentment,  "How  do  you  know  that  I  don't 
want  to  stay?"  he  demanded. 

"You  said  you  wanted  to  go,"  replied  Nate,  un- 
disturbed.    "Come  — up  she  goes  !" 

He  lifted  the  lad's  shoulders  as  he  spoke,  and 
turned  him  in  bed.  Clumsily 
the  boy  swung  his  feet  out  of 
bed,  found  the  floor,  and 
slowly  rose.  He  stood  for  a 
moment,  apparently  asking 
himself  if  he  were  steady, 
and  then  took  a  step  for- 
ward. But  instantly  he  cried 
out,  and  had  not  Nate  caught 
him,  would  have  fallen. 

Nate  lifted  him,  laid  him  in 
bed,  and  covered  him  over. 
Then  he  looked  at  him  quiz- 
zically.    "Goin'  far?" 

"My  ankle  's  hurt !"  ex- 
claimed the  boy. 

"Of  course,"  answered 
Nate.  "What  for  do  I  rub  it 
three  times  a  day  ?  Clean 
dislocated  when  we  got  you 
home.  But  don't  fret.  It  's 
almost  back  to  its  natural 
size,  and  before  long  you  can 
hobble  about.  I  've  made  a 
crutch  for  ye." 

Turning  his  face  aside,  the 
lad  closed  his  eyes ;  but  from 
under  their  lids  trickled  two 
tears. 

"There,  there !"  soothed 
Nate,  kindly.  "Stick  it  out! 
It  won't  be  very  much 
longer." 

"I  thought,"  said  the  boy, 
huskily,  "that  you  wanted  to 
get  rid  of  me." 

"Jumpin'  Jehoshaphat !" 
cried  Nate.  "I  thought  the 
same  of  you.  Well,  then, 
ain't  we  square?" 

The  boy  nodded.  But  then 
he  murmured :  "I  ought  to  be 
going." 

"Where?"  demanded  Nate. 
Still  with   his   eyes  closed,  the  boy   shook  his 
head.     "Just  going." 

Nate  sat  down  upon  the  side  of  the  bed.  "I 
s'pose  you  've  got  an  appointment  somewhere,  or 
with  some  one.  Can't  I  send  for  him  to  come 
to  you?" 

"No,"  said  the  other.    "It  is  n't  that." 


E    INVALID 
2SO.) 


I9I4-] 


THE   RUNAWAY 


249 


"You  're  restless,  of  course,"  soothed  Nate. 
"But  take  it  easy  for  a  time  longer.  It  '11  pay  in 
the  end." 

The  boy  showed  a  little  vexation.  "I  've  got 
to." 

"Never  spoke  truer,"  agreed  Nate.  "Settle  to 
it,  then."  He  took  up  his  tray  and  turned  to  go, 
then  turned  back  once  more.  "Say,"  he  asked, 
"what  shall  I  call  you  ?" 

The  boy's  eyes  flew  open,  but  he  did  not  look 
at  Nate.  Doubt  showed  on  his  forehead.  He 
looked  out  of  the  window,  and  slowly  shook  his 
head. 

"I  mean,"  asked  Nate,  "can't  we  jes'  make  up 
a  name  between  us,  for  convenience  ?  I  don't 
want  to  say  'Here,  you/  or  'Say.'  S'posin'  we  call 
you  Jack,  or  Jim." 

The  boy  spoke  in  a  voice  low,  but  clear.  "Call 
me  Rodman." 

"Good,"  agreed  Nate,  heartily.  "Might  be  a 
fust  name,  or  a  last.  If  ever  you  think  up  an- 
other name  to  go  behind  it,  or  in  front,  jes'  let 
me  know.  We  can  use  the  combination  for  your 
post-office  address.     Good-by— Rodman." 

In  a  half-hour,  Nate  came  back,  carrying  an 
armful  of  clothes.  "Might  as  well  get  up,"  he 
said.  "It  '11  be  more  cheerful  than  lyin'  here." 
He  assisted  Rodman  to  dress,  and  then  brought 
him  a  crutch.  "Thar,"  he  said,  "thet  crutch  is 
lighter  an'  stronger  than  anythin'  you  '11  find  in 
the  stores.    And  now,  young  man,  hobble  !" 

Rodman  looked  about  him  as  he  went.  The 
next  room  was  a  kind  of  sitting-room,  with  a 
desk  in  one  corner.  Next  was  a  little  kitchen. 
An  open  door  beyond  showed  the  interior  of  a 
shed  in  which  were  bands  and  pulleys  above  a 
square  tub  that  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
"The  workshop,"  explained  Nate,  waving  his  hand 
in  that  direction.     "But  we  '11  go  outside." 

Out  on  the  grass  stood  a  chair  on  which  Rod- 
man's attention  immediately  fastened.  The  back 
sloped  at  an  easy  angle,  and  was  intended  to  hold 
the  sitter  in  a  half-reclining  position.  It  was 
made  of  natural  wood,  the  frame  being  of  im- 
peded sticks  skilfully  bent,  and  the  back  and  seat 
of  thin  strips  of  wood,  with  the  bark  on,  cleverly 
woven  together. 

"Good,  ain't  it?"  asked  Nate,  frankly.  "I  made 
it  myself." 

Rodman  looked  at  the  chair.  "It  looks  com- 
fortable," he  agreed.    "But  it  's  quite  new." 

"Certainly,"  said  Nate.  "I  thought  you  'd  need 
one.  It  's  better  than  store  chairs— fits  your 
back  better." 

Slowly,  carefully,  the  boy  sat  down.  He  lifted 
his  leg  into  position,  and  settled  himself  so  as 
to  put  no  strain  on  the  ankle.  But  all  the  time, 
You.  XLL—  32. 


though  he  said  nothing,  his  face  was  working. 
And  again  two  tears  stood  on  his  cheeks. 

"Cheerfully!"  warned  Nate. 

Rodman  looked  up  into  his  face.  "You  do  a 
great  deal  for  me.  And  I  'm  a  perfect  stranger 
to  you." 

"Are  ye?"  inquired  Nate,  shrewdly.  "How  do 
you  know  that?" 

The  boy's  face  flushed;  he  was  startled.  Nate 
laughed.  "Of  course  you  're  a  stranger,"  he  said. 
"Otherwise  I  should  know  your  name.  Do  you 
like  the  chair?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  lad,  still  confused.  "I 
never  saw  a  better  in  a  city  store." 

"Boston?"  inquired  Nate. 

Again  the  look  of  doubt.  "New  York— 1 
think." 

"It  's  no  consequence,"  Nate  said.  "Now  the 
doctor  wanted  you  to  be  in  the  sun  for  a  while, 
and  outdoors  as  long  as  you  can  stand  it.  The 
sun  will  be  on  you  for  half  an  hour  or  so,  but  not 
in  your  eyes.  When  it  's  gone,  I  "1  bring  a  book. 
If  I  was  you,  I  'd  sleep  if  I  could."  He  went 
away. 

Rodman  could  not  sleep ;  his  pleasure  was  too 
keen.  To  be  free  of  the  house,  to  feel  the  breeze 
on  his  cheek,  to  see  the  birds  and  the  hillside  and 
the  valley,— all  this  was  pure  enjoyment.  Again, 
his  heart  was  warmed  by  the  kindness  which  sur- 
rounded him.  He  had  fallen  among  friends.  He 
was  so  satisfied  that,  even  when  Nate  brought 
him  a  book,  he  did  not  read.  And  there  was  the 
valley  to  look  at,  a  narrow  place,  to  be  sure,  but 
much  larger  than  his  world  of  the  last  fortnight. 
Below  him  fields  alternated  with  woods ;  the  mill- 
pond  was  broad  and  still;  the  town  itself  had  so 
many  shade-trees  that  it  seemed  to  stand  in  a 
grove ;  and  even  the  mill  buildings,  covered  with 
vines  and  standing  among  elms,  were  scarcely 
to  be  distinguished.  Out  of  the  tree-tops  rose  a 
spire  and  a  belfry,  a  pair  of  cupolas,  and  perhaps 
a  couple  of  dozen  roofs.  There  must  be  dozens 
more  that  he  could  not  see,  and  even  the  streets 
were  completely  hidden. 

He  could  see,  however,  the  roads  that  led  away 
from  the  town.  There  were  four  of  them,  run- 
ning to  four  quarters  of  the  compass  until  lost  in 
woods.  He  fell  to  watching  passers  on  them, 
men  or  boys  on  foot  or  in  wagons  of  all  kinds. 
At  length,  he  noticed  a  light  carriage  which, 
drawn  by  a  single  horse,  was  coming  in  his  direc- 
tion. The  occupants  he  could  not  make  out.  He 
had  discovered  that  this  road,  as  it  reached  the 
bottom  of  the  hill,  turned  aside,  and  after  run- 
ning for  a  hundred  yards  in  woods,  again  ap- 
peared, to  skirt  the  base  of  the  ridge.  The  car- 
riage   disappeared,    but    though    he    counted    on 


250 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Jan., 


seeing  it  emerge  before  long,  to  his  regret  it  did 
not  reappe?;.  "It  went,"  he  thought,  "to  some 
house  that  I  cannot  see." 

But  presently,  to  his  satisfaction,  he  noticed 
the  horse's  head  and  the  upper  part  of  the  car- 
riage coming  diagonally  up  the  hill.  "I  've 
learned  a  new  road,"  he  thought. 

There  were  two  persons  in  the  carriage ;  not 
women,  certainly.  He  narrowed  his  eyes.  "Men  ! 
And  one  is  citified."  One  of  them  was,  indeed, 
wearing  a  stiff  straw  hat  and  a  tall  white  collar. 

Then  the  carriage  turned,  and  came  quartering 
up  the  hill  in  a  different  direction.  The  truth 
came  to  him  at  once :  "The  road  zigzags,  and 
they  're  coming  here  !" 

He  looked  about  him  as  if  for  escape;  he 
thought  of  calling  Nate.  As  if  brought  by  sym- 
pathy, Nate  came  out  and  looked  at  him.  "All 
right  ?"  he  asked.  He  saw  in  the  boy's  face  what 
others  had  already  noted  there,  the  hunted  look, 
the  desperation  mingled  with  appeal.  "Why, 
what  's  wrong?" 

"That  carriage  is  coming  here  !" 

Nate  looked  down  the  hill.  "Sure  enough,  it 
is." 

"It  's  some  one  after  me  !"  cried  Rodman. 

"After  you?"  asked  Nate,  looking  at  him  nar- 
rowly. The  boy  was  white.  Nate  put  his  hand 
on  his  shoulder.  "It  's  only  visitors.  Friends  of 
mine." 

"One  of  them  is  from  the  city,"  insisted  Rod- 
man. His  breath  was  coming  quickly,  and  he  be- 
gan to  try  to  rise. 

"Surely,"  answered  Nate.  "But  ye  need  n't  be 
afraid  of  him.  It  's  Brian  Dodd,  and  if  he  is 
rather  citified  in  his  dress,  it  don't  mean  nothin'. 
He  ain't  half  so  smart  as  his  cousin  Pelham,  that 
comes  with  him." 

Rodman  sank  back.  "Oh,  that  's  who  they 
are?" 

Nate  nodded.  "Pelham  's  sixteen;  jes'  about 
your  age.  His  father  was  here  the  other  day; 
he  owns  the  mills.  The  other  feller,  he  's  out  of 
New  York.  Half  a  year  older,  maybe.  Stayin' 
here  for  the  summer." 

Rodman  looked  again  at  the  approaching  trav- 
elers. Now  that  they  were  nearer,  he  saw  clearly 
that  they  were  boys. 

"If  you  don't  feel  up  to  seein'  'em,"  said  Nate, 
"I  '11  send  'em  back.  But  if  I  was  you,  I  'd  see 
'em.  It  ain't  no  disgrace  to  be  sick,  not  as  I  've 
learned  yet.    An'  perhaps  the  visit  '11  set  you  up." 

Rodman  appeared  to  pull  himself  together. 
"All  right,"  he  said.  "Tell  me  what  they  're 
like." 

"Pelham,  he  's  all  right,"  answered  Nate. 
"That  city  chap  — well,  you  can  jedge  as  well  as 


I.  I  ain't  seen  much  of  him."  Nate  went  again 
into  the  house. 

Presently,  coming  around  the  corner  of  the 
house,  the  two  boys  approached  on  foot.  Pelham 
came  first,  with  an  eager  and  interested  look.  He 
went  straight  to  the  invalid  and  held  out  his  hand. 
"I  'm  Pelham  Dodd,"  he  explained.  "My  father 
told  me  that  perhaps  you  'd  like  company.  So  I 
came  with  my  cousin.     Brian,  this  is—" 

He  paused,  embarrassed.  The  lad  spoke  for 
himself.     "Nate  is  going  to  call  me  Rodman." 

"Rodman,  then,"  said  Pelham,  relieved.  "This 
is  my  cousin  Brian." 

With  elaborate  ease  Brian  shook  Rodman's 
hand.  He  was  a  little  taller  than  Pelham,  a  little 
softer  and  slower.  He  dressed  in  an  older  fash- 
ion, as  Rodman  had  already  seen  at  a  distance ; 
he  had  more  of  a  manner,  and  spoke  as  to  a 
younger  boy,  saying,  "Sorry  you  're  ill."  He 
went  and  leaned  against  a  near-by  tree. 

In  justice  to  Brian,  it  must  be  considered  that 
the  meeting  was  a  difficult  one.  He  and  Pelham 
had  been  carefully  instructed  not  to  question 
Rodman  about  his  past ;  they  were  not  to  suggest 
that  they  had  met  him  before,  they  were  simply 
to  take  him  for  granted.  All  this  was  not  easy, 
especially  when  both  the  boys  had  been  full  of 
their  knowledge  concerning  the  lad,  of  curiosity 
to  know  whether  he  was  the  boy  of  the  railroad 
story,  and  when  now  at  first  glance  they  recog- 
nized him.   . 

Pelham  threw  himself  into  the  breach.  Plump- 
ing down  on  the  grass  beside  the  invalid,  he 
began  to  talk.  "Nice  place  this,  up  here.  Good 
view,  is  n't  it?" 

"Very  good,"  agreed  Rodman. 

"Lots  of  times  I  've  sat  here  with  Nate  and  the 
boys,"  went  on  Pelham.  "If  ever  we  chaps  are 
out  in  the  woods,  we  usually  try  to  come  home  by 
Nate's,  so  as  to  spend  half  an  hour  here,  talking 
with  him.  Best  view  in  the  town,  I  think,  and 
best  man  to  talk  to.     Don't  you  like  his  stories?" 

Rodman  smiled  and  shook  his  head.  "I  've  not 
heard  any  yet,  but  I  '11  make  him  tell  me  some." 

"It  's  worth  it,"  said  Pelham.  "And,  see  here 
—  if  you  say,  I  '11  bring  the  whole  gang  up  here 
to  see  you  on  Saturday  morning.  You  ought  to 
know  them." 

Rodman  smiled.     "Thanks." 

"We  play  ball  that  afternoon,"  explained  Pel- 
ham.    "Perhaps  you  could  get  down  to  see  us." 

"Perhaps,"  agreed  Rodman. 

"And  later  you  can  play  with  us,"  Pelham  went 
on,  warming  with  enthusiasm.  "We  have  a 
match  every  Saturday,  when  we  can  arrange  it. 
Any  fellow  can  get  a  place  on  the  nine  who  plays 
well  enough.    You  do  play,  of  course  ?" 


1914] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


251 


"Of  course,"  said  Rodman. 

Brian  spoke  suddenly.  "Where  have  you 
played?" 

Rodman,  flushing,  hesitated  for  an  answer. 
Pelham  struck  in  quickly:  "What  's  the  differ- 
ence? And  say,  Rodman,  there  's  swimming,  and 
hare  and  hounds.    We  have  pretty  good  times." 

Rodman  spoke  slowly,  and  with  evident  reluc- 
tance. "I  suppose  my  ankle  will  be  well  again 
soon,  and  my  wrist.  But,  you  know,  I  can't  spend 
my  time  playing,  for  I  have  n't  any  money.  I 
can't  live  on  Nate  here,  I  must  go  to  work." 

"Whew !"  whistled  Pelham.  But  he  raised  no 
objection.  He  knew  plenty  of  lads  in  the  town 
who,  though  no  older  than  himself,  were  begin- 
ning their  work  in  the  mill.  Nevertheless,  Rod- 
man seemed  not  that  kind  of  boy.  Surely  he  was 
better  bred  than  they.  "What  shall  you  do?"  he 
asked.  "There  's  work  in  the  mill,  of  course,  and 
you  're  above  legal  age.  I  'm  sure  Father  would 
give  you  a  job.  But  you  would  n't  care  for  that 
sort  of  thing." 

"I  've  done  worse,"  stated  Rodman.  "I  've 
been  waiter  in  a  city  restaurant— hot,  greasy, 
doleful  work !" 

"I  should  think  so  !"  agreed  Pelham,  heartily. 

"Where  was  the  restaurant?"  demanded  Brian. 

Again  came  the  hesitation  to  answer,  and  again 
Pelham  interposed:  "The  mill  would  be  better 
than  that.  Or  you  might  find  light  work  out- 
doors." 

Nate,  approaching  from  the  house,  heard  the 
last  remark.  "Rodman  's  going  to  stay  here  with 
me,"  he  said  positively.     "I  can  give  him  work." 

"You!"  cried  Pelham.  "Why,  Nate,  you  've 
always  refused  to  take  any  one  to  work  with 
you !" 

"  'S  all  right,"  declared  Nate,  sturdily.  "I 
never  before  saw  a  feller  I  could  believe  in. 
Every  one  that  ever  applied  to  me  was  of  the 
kind  that  only  wanted  to  learn  my  secrets  in  or- 
der to  sell  'em.  But  I  know  when  I  can  trust ; 
and  Rodman,  he  can  work  with  me  if  he  wants 
to."  He  looked  at  the  boy.  "We  have  holidays 
here  whenever  we  want  'em.  The  air  's  better 
here  than  in  the  mill,  an'  the  pay  's  jes'  as  good." 

"Will  you  take  me  in?"  laughed  Pelham. 

"Cert',"  answered  Nate.  "But  first  you  ask 
your  pa  if  he  'd  let  you  come.  And  now—" 
His  hand,  which  he  had  been  holding  behind  his 
back,  he  suddenly  revealed  as  holding  bottles. 

"Root-beer !"  cried  Pelham,  springing  up.  "Oh, 
Nate !" 

"One  for  you,"  said  Nate,  smiling.  "Rodman, 
he  had  n't  better  have  some  till  next  week.  But 
your  cousin  can  have  the  other  bottle,  if  he  's 
willin'  to  drink  out  of  it." 


"I  'II  try  it,"  said  Brian,  ginger'v. 

"Drank  only  a  couple  o'  swallers  of  it !"  grum- 
bled Nate,  a  half-hour  later,  when  the  boys  had 
gone.  He  emptied  the  bottle  upon  the  grass. 
"Fust  boy  I  ever  see  that  did  n't  like  my  root- 
beer.  Rodman,  I  guess  you  an'  I  will  agree  on 
that  young  gentleman." 

On  his  way  homeward,  Brian  tried  to  make 
Pelham  agree  with  him  about  Nate.  "Confound 
his  root-beer,"  he  said.    "I  never  drink  the  stuff." 

"Then  you  need  n't  have  spoiled  a  bottle  for 
him,"  suggested  Pelham.    "We  all  like  it." 

"I  don't  see  what  you  can  find  in  him,"  went  on 
Brian.     "He  's  quite  rough  and  uncultivated." 

"Of  course,"  laughed  Pelham.  "Otherwise  he 
would  n't  be  Nate.  But,  Brian,  why  did  you  try 
to  make  Rodman  recollect  about  himself?  Fa- 
ther specially  told  us  not  to." 

"That  fellow  has  n't  lost  his  memory,"  declared 
Brian.  "If  he  remembers  what  he  has  done,  he 
can  remember  where  and  when  he  did  it." 

"Not  necessarily,"  retorted  Pelham.  "Did  n't 
you  hear  the  doctor  explain  last  night  that  a  man 
could  remember  the  one  and  forget  the  other? 
Persons  and  places,  names  and  dates,  he  will  for- 
get, while  he  will  remember  that  he  can  do,  or 
even  that  he  has  done,  one  thing  or  another." 

"How  are  we,"  asked  Brian,  "to  know  that  he  's 
forgotten  things  unless  we  ask  him?" 

"If  he  gets  to  worrying  about  his  memory," 
replied  Pelham,  "he  's  much  less  likely  to  get  it 
back.  That  's  why  they  want  us  to  ask  him  noth- 
ing." 

"Why  does  n't  he  ask  about  himself?"  de- 
manded Brian. 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  answered  Pelham.  "I  think 
such  things  are  none  of  our  business.  And  I  tell 
you  again,  Brian,  that  if  once  you  really  run  up 
against  Father,  you  '11  get  a  jolt." 

Pelham  spoke  good-naturedly,  but  the  warning 
was  plain.  Brian  gave  one  last  grumble :  "I 
think  he  's  putting  it  all  on." 

Chapter  VII 

NATE  HAS  A  PLAN 

"You  see,  it  's  this  way,"  said  Nate. 

The  others,  with  one  impulse,  turned  to  attend 
more  closely.  It  was  in  the  living-room  of  the 
Dodd  house,  and  Nate,  in  speaking  with  Mr. 
Dodd,  lifted  his  voice  a  little  higher  than  he 
needed  to.  Mrs.  Dodd,  who  had  been  standing 
listening  by  her  husband's  chair,  drew  up  another 
and  sat  down.  Brother  Bob  came  out  of  his 
newspaper,  Pelham  emerged  from  his  book,  and 
Brian,  carelessly  lounging  nearer,  leaned  against 
the  mantel.     Even  Harriet,  retiring  as  she  often 


252 


THE   RUNAWAY 


was,  laid  down  her  sewing,  and  came  and  stood 
by  her  mother's  chair.  Nate,  looking  around 
upon  them  with  a  smile,  turned  to  Mr.  Dodd. 

"If  you  'd  rather  we  talked  this  out  by  our- 
selves—" 

Mr.  Dodd  hesitated.  He  could  say,  "Run 
away,  youngsters,"  and  so  could  have  the  room 
to  himself  and  his  wife,  with,  perhaps,  Bob  also. 
But  the  younger  ones,  as  he  knew,  were  intensely 
interested  in  the  boy  up  at  Nate's,  and  he  wished 
Pelham  and  Harriet  to  hear  what  was  to  be  said. 
Further,  he  trusted  absolutely  to  their  secrecy, 
for  he  had  long  ago  trained  his  children  to  say 
nothing  of  what  went  on  in  the  family  circle.  He 
wanted  them,  therefore,  to  stay.  It  was  Brian 
that  he  doubted.  He  did  not  know  his  nephew 
very  well,  and  was  not  sure  whether  closer  ac- 
quaintance would  make  him  think  better  of  the 
boy,  or  worse.  But  for  that  very  reason,  he  did 
not  wish  to  show  doubt  of  him.  And  again,  was 
there  any  great  need  of  secrecy?  Probably  not. 
He  said,  therefore,  "Oh,  this  is  all  right." 

Nate  nodded.  "Well,"  he  began,  "this  boy 
Rodman,  he  wants  to  go  away." 

They  all  exclaimed  in  surprise.  "I  thought," 
said  Mr.  Dodd,  "that  the  boys  said  he  was  going 
to  work  with  you." 

"We  talked  of  it  when  they  was  there,"  agreed 
Nate,  "but  you  know  you  can't  really  settle  things 
when  others  is  about.  He  did  n't  say  nothin' 
about  it  for  two  days  more ;  but  I  noticed  him 
a-tryin'  of  his  ankle  every  little  while.  It  's 
been  gittin'  well  fast,  an'  he  seemed  to  be  takin' 
a  lot  of  satisfaction  in  that.  So  I  says  to  him  last 
night,  'What  's  your  awful  hurry  to  git  well?' 

"He  would  n't  tell  at  first.  He  'llowed  's  any 
one  wants  to  git  well,  and  things  o'  that  sort. 
But  I  kep'  at  him,  fur  I  suspicioned  the  real 
reason,  an'  at  las'  he  admitted  it.  He  says  he 
wants  to  go." 

"Did  he  give  a  reason?"  asked  Mr.  Dodd. 

"No,  he  jes'  wants  to  go.  Whether  he  's  ner- 
vous here,  a-wantin'  to  git  to  some  remoter 
place  —  " 

"Remoter  from  what?"  interrupted  Mr.  Dodd. 

"Don't  ask  me,"  replied  Nate.  "Still,  I  've  got 
it  in  my  head  that  he  's  nearer  to  somethin'  than 
he  likes  to  be.  It  ain't  any  of  us,  's  I  can  see. 
He  says  we  've  all  been  mighty  nice  to  him.  I 
says,  then  why  go  away  from  us?     An'  he  jes' 


comes  back  to  the  same  idee,  he  wants  to  git 
away." 

"What  shall  you  do?"  asked  Mr.  Dodd. 

"I  ?"  asked  Nate.  "I  ain't  got  no  say  in  the 
matter.  If  he  wants  to  go,  I  can't  stop  him. 
Still,  I  feel  so  bad  I  thought  I  'd  ask  his  owner 
to  come  up  an'  see  what  can  be  done." 

"His  owner?"  inquired  Mr.  Dodd.  "Who  is 
that?" 

"Harriet  captured  him,"  answered  Nate. 
"He  's  her  property,  if  he  's  any  one's.  I  thought 
I  'd  ask  her  to  come  up  an'  take  a  look  at  the 
situation." 

Harriet,  with  all  eyes  on  her,  felt  that  she 
turned  scarlet.     "Why,"  she  gasped,  "I  — I  —  " 

"But,  Nate  !"  began  Mr.  Dodd,  a  little  impa- 
tiently. Then  he  stopped.  Nate  usually  knew 
what  he  was  about. 

"I  was  jes'  foolin'  about  her  ownin'  him,"  ex- 
plained Nate.  "Wanted  to  make  her  feel  a  little 
responsibility  for  him,  that  's  all."  He  smiled  at 
Harriet,  but  continued  addressing  Mr.  Dodd. 
"What  I  'm  really  after  is  this:  you  know  the 
doctor  said  that  seein'  her  might  bring  back  Rod- 
man's memory.    Well,  I  want  to  see  if  it  will." 

"But  there  's  no  hurry,"  objected  Mr.  Dodd. 

Nate  shook  his  head.  "I  'm  not  so  sure.  I 
feel  's  if  I  might  wake  some  mornin',  when  once 
he  's  rightly  got  the  use  of  his  leg,  an'  find  him 
gone.  Seems  's  if  I  could  n't  bear  it  if  he  got 
away  without  our  makin'  this  last  try." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  slowly,  "her  mother 
shall  go  up  with  her." 

"Askin'  your  pardon,"  persisted  Nate,  "I  'd 
rather  not  have  grown  folks  around.  They  two 
ought  to  meet  sorter  natural,  an'  entirely  by 
themselves.  Why,  Mr.  Dodd,  you  can  trust  Har- 
riet with  me  !" 

"Of  course,"  agreed  Mr.  Dodd.  "But  I  don't 
know  anything  about  this  boy." 

"Rodman  's  all  right,"  declared  Nate,  em- 
phatically. "I  can't  say  more  than  that  about 
anybody." 

Mr.  Dodd  looked  at  his  wife.  She,  who  had 
been  listening  thoughtfully,  slowly  nodded.  "I 
like  what  I  've  seen  of  him,"  she  said.  "Let  her 
go.    Nate  will  be  there." 

Nate  looked  at  Harriet.  "I  ain't  proposin'  to 
be  eavesdroppin',"  he  exclaimed,  "but  I  '11  be 
handy.     Harriet,  will  ye  go?" 


( To  be  continued. ) 


THE    BROWNIES   AND 
THE    RAILROAD 

BY  PALMER  COX 


At  dusk,  as  they  were 

passing  by, 
The  band  a  village  chanced 
to  spy. 

The  town  itself  was  well  enough, 
And  nestled  by  a  wooded  bluff, 
But  when  the  railroad  was  surveyed, 
In  order  to  avoid  a  grade 
And  thus  insure  a  speedy  trip, 
They  almost  gave  the  place  the  slip, 
Thinking  't  would  make  their 

business  pay 
To  place  the  track  some  miles 

away. 
Said  one,  as  he  glanced  o'er 

the  space 
Between  the  station  and  the 

place : 
'We  're  here  to  aid  the  human 

kind, 


And  move  the  railroad 

track  to-night. 
I  know  their  business 

through  and  through — 
There  's  not  a  train  till  morning  due. 
Our  mystic  power  will  help  us  out, 
We  '11  swing  the  whole  concern  about. 
We  '11  change  the  track  from  straight  ahead, 
And  make  a  sweeping  curve  instead ; 
Of  grade  we  '11  take  but  little  heed, 


To  note  the  want,  to  ease  the  mind ; 
The  more  we  serve,  believe  me  still, 
The  better  we  our  mission  fill." 
Another  said :  "Right  well  I  know 
What  's  in  your  mind.    We  '11  not  be  slow 
To  act  upon  the  hint  so  bright 


But  move  the  ties  and  rails  with  speed, 

The  signals  and  the  switches  lift 

And  rearrange  to  suit  the  shift. 

We  '11  let  the  track  rest  where  it  should, 

Near  by  the  town  for  service  good. 

Who  wants  to  run  a  mile  at  least 


254 


THE  BROWNIES  AND  THE   RAILROAD 


[Jan., 


To  catch  a  train  if  going  east? 
Who  wants  to  race  and  sprint  his  best, 
Then  lose  his  train,  when  going  west? 
Before  the  sun  looks  o'er  yon  hill, 
Where  pine  and  spruce  are  growing  still, 
We  '11  work  a  change,  and  make 

a  move 
That  will  to  all  a  blessing 

prove." 
We  're  not  prepared  with  time, 

or  strength, 
To  give  each  separate  act  at 

length. 
Enough  to  say  that  shovels 

flew, 
That  picks  were  plied,  that 

spikes  they  drew. 
The  rails  were  bent  and  newly 

laid, 
And  some  attention  paid  to 

grade, 
Though  certain  things  they  had 

to  slight 
To  finish  all  ere  morning 

light. 
Said  one :  "When  war  is  under   |  j 

way, 
Some     tracks     are 

without  delay, 
And     armies     make     a 

hasty  move, 
Their  chance  of  victory 

to  improve ; 
But,   in  the  piping  time 

of  peace, 
Plain        people's 

comfort  to  in- 
crease, 
Not       often       is 

track-laying 

done 
Between    the    set 

and      rise      of 

sun." 

They  moved  the  railroad-crossing  sign 
And  switch,  to  suit  their  own  design ; 
They  changed  the  signal  boards  that  clear 
Directions  give  the  engineer — 
Just  where  to  toot,  slow  up,  or  bide, 
Or  where  to  pull  the  throttle  wide. 
To  some  the  work  was  strange  and  new, 
But  all  were  there  to  buckle  to, 
And  each  was  willing  to  improve, 
To  lend  a  hand,  to  shove,  or  move. 
A  busy  half-hour's  time  was  spent 
In  moving  wires  that  danger  meant, 
For  all  with  currents  strong  were  charged, 


Which  much  the  Brownies'  risk  enlarged; 
At  times,  a  tumble  to  the  ground 
Would  seem  to  bring  the  stars  around. 
But  it  must  be  a  quick  affair 


UUJ 


That  takes  a  Brownie  unaware, 

And,  though  some  plans  were  broken  through, 

No  injury  befell  the  crew. 

'T  was  fortunate  no  iron  span 

Or  wooden  bridge  was  in  the  plan ; 

A  culvert,  and  a  pipe  or  two 

To  let  the  water  ripple  through, 

Was  all  they  found  to  cause  delay, 

Except  a  bed  of  sand  and  clay. 

And,  as  the  stars  made  their  escape, 

The  curve  took  on  a  better  shape, 

And  by  the  time  the  dawn  began 

To  crowd  itself  on  drowsy  man, 


1914] 


THE  BROWNIES  AND  THE  RAILROAD 


255 


When  next  the  train  came  down  that  way, 
There  was  some  doubt,  if  not  dismay, 
When  no  familiar  points  were  seen, 
For  which  the  eye  is  ever  keen. 
With  hands  upon  the  wheel  in  dread, 
The  brakeman's  eyes  stood  from  his  head ; 
The  poor  conductor,  rattled  more, 
Was  punching  tickets  o'er  and  o'er. 
The  engineer,  who  thought  he  knew 
The  road  as  well  as  I  know  you, 
Was  puzzled  much  to  find  so  great 
A  curve  where  all  had  been  so  straight. 
He  blew  the  whistle,  strained  his  eyes, 
Put  on  the  brakes  in  great  surprise, 
Shut  off  the  steam,  and  was  about 
Upon  the  point  of  jumping  out, 
Believing  in  his  heart  it  led 
To  some  deep  ditch  or  river-bed ! 
But  when  it  stopped,  as  he  could  see, 
Close  to  the  town  where  it  should  be, 
He  hardly  knew  what  should  be  done— 
Stay  in  the  cab,  or  jump  and  run. 
The  company,  of  course,  were  wild, 
And  blamed  the  town,  and  papers  filed, 
And  would  have  gone  to  law,  no  doubt, 


If  they  had  proof 
But,  havingnothing 
They  very  wisely 
For  there  was 
If   any,    could   see 


to  help  them  out ; 
of  the  kind, 
changed  their  mind- 
mystery  that  few, 
fairly  through. 


And  early  birds  commenced  to  sing, 
The  railroad  was  a  finished  thing. 
Now  folks  could  step  forth  from  the 

door 
Of  private  home,  hotel,  or  store, 
And  take  the  train  at  leisure  there, 
And  still  have  time  and  breath  to  spare. 


And  so  the  bags  of  mail  were  dropped 
And  baggage  where  the  train  had  stopped, 
And  then  the  station  was  moved  down, 
And  stands  to-day  beside  the  town. 


TWO    MEN   WITH    BRAINS 


One  was  an  engineer  serving  under  the  Emperor 
Napoleon,  the  other  was  the  great  general  himself. 

The  engineer  found  himself  summoned  one 
day  into  the  presence  of  his  commander.  Napo- 
leon stood  on  the  bant  of  a  wide  river  gazing 
across  to  where  the  enemy  had  planted  batteries, 
which  he  desired  to  attack  with  artillery. 

"How  wide  is  that  river?"  was  the  question 
put  to  the  engineer. 

"Let  me  get  my  instruments,"  was  the  reply, 
as  he  turned  to  go  for  them. 

"I  must  know  at  once,"  the  emperor  insisted. 

The  engineer  went  down  to  the  level  bank  of 
the  river,  and,  standing  erect,  gradually  bent  his 
head  forward  till  the  edge  of  his  hat-brim  just 
touched  the  line  from  his  eyes  to  the  water-line 
at  the  opposite  bank  of  the  river.  Then,  keeping 
his  head  bent  as  it  was,  he  wheeled  a  quarter- 
turn  till  his  eyes  looked  along  the  hat-brim  and 
met  the  land  at  a  point  on  the  same  side  of  the 
river  on  which  he  stood.  Here  he  noted  a  rock 
or  tree  near  the  point  at  which  his  eyes  met  the 
ground,  and,  calling  a  soldier,  directed  that  a 
stake  be  driven  near  that  point,  as  he  should  di- 
rect. Then,  by  motioning  just  where  to  drive  the 
stake,  he  fixed  the  point  at  which  the  line  from 


hat-brim  and  eye  reached  the  bank.  Turning  to 
the  emperor,  "Your  Majesty,"  said  he,  "the  dis- 
tance from  where  I  stand  to  the  stake  is  the 
width  of  the  river." 

And  so  it  was,  as  you  can  readily  see.  If  the 
emperor  did  not  promote  that  officer— why,  then 
the  story  does  not  end  as  it  should ! 

That  the  general  was  as  quick-witted  as  any 
of  those  he  commanded,  is  evident  from  the  well- 
known  story  of  his  cleverness  in  escaping  from 
the  Red  Sea  when  crossing  with  his  staff.  The 
ford  was  lost,  and,  as  it  was  dusk,  there  was  no 
landmark  to  guide  the  party. 

Gathering  his  officers  in  a  circle,  Napoleon 
made  them  all  ride  outward  from  himself  as  a 
center,  as  if  they  were  following  the  spokes  of  a 
great  wheel.  So  all  the  paths  were  tried,  and  the 
right  one  was  found. 

In  reading  such  stories  as  these  two  it  is  most 
important  to  see  the  idea  in  them,  as  the  mere 
way  of  telling  them  differs  with  every  author. 
In  fact,  the  same  stories  are  often  told  of  differ- 
ent men.  But  whoever  was  clever  enough  to 
think  of  these  things,  it  is  well  for  us  to  remem- 
ber the  facts  themselves. 

The  moral  is:  "Use  your  brains!" 

Tudor  Jenks. 


to  you  and  many  of  tliem." 


THE    HOUSEKEEPING    ADVENTURES   OF 
THE   JUNIOR    BLAIRS 

BY  CAROLINE  FRENCH  BENTON 

Author  of  "A  Little  Cook  Book  for  a  Little  Girl,"  "  Margaret's  Saturday  Mornings,"  etc. 


The  Blairs  were  a  particularly  nice  family.  That 
is  what  the  neighbors  always  said  of  them,  and, 
to  tell  the  truth,  the  Blairs  believed  it.  That  is, 
the  father  and  mother  thought  the  children  were 
particularly  nice,  and  the  children  thought  their 
father  and  mother  and  each  other  particularly 
nice;  and  so,  of  course,  they  all  must  have  been 
very  nice  indeed. 

Saturdays  and  Sundays  and  vacation  days  were 
all  holidays  to  them,  and  they  did  such  interest- 
ing things,  and  laughed  so  much  as  they  did 
them,  that  everybody  said,  "What  good  times 
those  Blairs  do  have  !" 

Jack  and  Mildred  Blair  were  named  after 
their  father  and  mother,  and  Brownie,  whose  real 
name  was  Katharine,  was  named  for  her  grand- 
mother; so  to  avoid  getting  everybody  mixed,  the 
children  were  called  the  Junior  Blairs  by  everybody. 

Now  it  happened  that  there  were  ever  so  many 
uncles  and  aunts  and  cousins  who  were  Blairs, 
too,  but  most  of  them  lived  a  long  way  off,  and 
they  were  very  seldom  able  to  get  together  for  a 
family  party ;  but  this  winter,  ten  of  them  were 
coming  to  spend  Christmas  with  the  real  Blairs, 
and,  as  five  of  them  were  between  fourteen  and 
Vol.  XLL— 33.  2 


twelve,  the  ages  of  Mildred  and  Jack,  and  some 
more  about  nine,  like  Brownie,  they  were  all 
planning  to  have  the  very  nicest  sort  of  a  time, 
and  everybody  was  as  excited  as  could  be. 

Christmas  was  only  two  days  away,  when,  sud- 
denly, it  began  to  snow.  And  how  it  snowed ! 
The  flakes  came  down  steadily  hour  after  hour, 
and  soon  the  sidewalks  were  covered,  and  the 
steps  were  buried,  and  the  piles  of  snow  almost 
covered  the  gate.  Everybody  said  that  all  the 
trains  were  delayed;  and  it  was  not  long  before 
the  little  Blairs  began  to  whisper,  "Whatever 
shall  we  do  if  they  can't  get  here  in  time  for 
Christmas?"  Mother  Blair  guessed  what  the 
trouble  was,  and  said  cheerfully  that,  of  course, 
the  snow  would  stop  falling  before  long,  and  the 
trains  would  be  on  time  in  the  morning. 

"And  a  beautiful  white  Christmas  is  the 
loveliest  thing  in  the  world,"  she  added.  But  the 
children  looked  out  of  the  window  and  were 
afraid,  deep  down  in  their  hearts,  that  something 
dreadful  might  happen. 

"If  we  only  had  something  nice  to  do  right 
now,"  groaned  Jack,  "so  we  could  forget  the 
snow.     But  we  can't  trim  the  tree  till  everybody 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OB'  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


[Jan. 


comes  to  help,  and  the  presents  are  all  tied  up,  this  Mother  Blair  pulled  out  and  pushed  across 
and  there  is  n't  anything  nice  and  Christmasy  the  room  to  a  nice,  empty  place.  Then  she  wrote 
to  do  that  /  can  think  of."  out    very   plainly   a   little   recipe,   and   under  this 


MILDKED    RUBBED     THE    BUTTER    AND    SUGAR    WHILE    BROWNIE    BEAT    THE    EGG. 


"Why  not  cook?"  suggested  Mother  Blair. 
"There  are  lots  of  nice  things  to  make  — Christ- 
mas things,  you  know." 

Mildred  began  to  brighten  up.  "If  we  could 
cook  things  all  alone,  I  'd  like  that,"  she  said. 

"Boys  don't  cook,"  Jack  said  scornfully,  still 
looking  out  of  the  window. 

"Boys  make  pop-corn,  though,"  laughed  his 
mother.  "And  then  suppose  you  make  that  up 
into  nice  balls,  and  have  them  all  ready  when  the 
cousins  come.  And,  Mildred,  I  think  Norah 
would  give  you  and  Brownie  one  corner  of  the 
kitchen,  and  let  you  cook  all  by  yourselves." 

So  Jack  took  the  corn-popper  and  went  down 
to  the  furnace,  and  when  he  opened  the  door,  he 
found  a  great  bed  of  red  coals  waiting  for  him ; 
and  Mildred  and  Brownie  put  on  their  big  ging- 
ham aprons  and  went  out  into  the  kitchen. 

Underneath  the  large  table  was  a  smaller  one; 


she  explained  exactly  how  to  put  things  together; 
this  she  pinned  on  the  wall  over  the  table. 
"There  !"  she  said.  "Now  you  can  go  right  to 
work."    This  was  what  was  on  the  paper: 


CHRISTMAS  CAKES 

34  cup  of  butter.    ]/?.  cup  of  sugar. 

J4  cup  of  milk,     i  egg.     i  cup  of  flour. 

i  teaspoonful  of  baking-powder. 
x/i  teaspoonful  of  vanilla. 

Put  the  butter  and  sugar  in  a  bowl,  and  rub 
them  together  till  smooth  and  creamy.  Beat  the 
egg  without  separating  it,  and  put  that  in  next  ; 
beat  all  together,  then  add  the  milk,  a  little  at  a 
time.  Put  a  rounded  spoonful  of  baking-pow- 
der in  the  flour  and  stir  it  well,  and  add  that 
slowly,  mixing  as  you  do  it;  and,  last,  put  in 
the  vanilla.  Grease  some  little  scalloped  tins, 
and  fill  them  half  full ;  bake  till  brown. 


igi4.] 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


259 


Mildred  rubbed  tbe  butter  and  sugar  while 
Brownie  beat  the  egg ;  they  took  turns  putting  in 
the  other  things,  and,  last,  Norah  set  the  tins  in 
the  oven  for  them.  Then  the  two  girls  rushed 
into  the  sitting-room  and  said,  "That  's  all  done, 
Mother  Blair !  Now  something  else  to  cook, 
please  !" 

"But  don't  forget  to  watch  your  cakes,"  said 
Mother  Blair,  as  she  handed  them  a  second 
recipe.  "Open  the  oven  door  every  little  while 
just  enough  to  peek  in  at  them;  if  you  forget 
them,  they  will  surely  burn." 

The  second  recipe  was  for 

OATMEAL  MACAROONS 

2^  cups  of  rolled  oats. 
25^  teaspoonfuls  of  baking-powder. 
^2  teaspoonful  of  salt. 

3  level  table-spoonfuls  of  butter. 

1  cup  of  sugar. 

3  eggs,  beaten  separately. 

1  teaspoonful  of  vanilla. 

Put  the  butter  and  sugar  in  a  bowl  and  cream 
them;  beat  the  yolks  of  the  eggs,  put  them  in, 
and  beat  again  ;  mix  the  oatmeal  with  the  bak- 
ing-powder and  salt,  and  add  this  next,  a  little 
at  a  time;  then  put  in  the  vanilla,  and,  last,  the 
stiff  whites  of  the  eggs.  Have  ready  a  shallow 
pan,  greased,  and  drop  the  batter  on  this  in  tiny 
bits,  no  larger  than  the  end  of  your  thumb,  and 
two  inches  apart.  Bake  in  an  oven  that  is  not 
very  hot.  When  they  are  brown  on  the  edges, 
they  are  done  ;  remove  them  from  the  pan  while 
they  are  still  warm. 

While  Mildred  was  mixing  these,  Brownie  took 
a  last  peep  into  the  oven,  and  found  the  cakes 
were  baked.  Norah  helped  her  take  them  out,  and 
she  herself  took  them  from  the  pans  and  put 
them  on  a  platter  to  cool.  Then  it  was  not  long 
before  the  first  panful  of  macaroons  was  done, 
too,  and  these  came  out  all  crisp  and  delicious. 

Just  as  they  were  finishing  them,  their  mother 
came  out  into  the  kitchen.     "Oh,  how  lovely  !" 


"Lovely?  Of  course  they  are.  And  I  've  such 
a  bright  idea  about  those  cakes,  too  \" 

"Oh,  what?"  cried  both  the  girls  together,  be- 
cause Mother  Blair's  bright  ideas  were  always 
particularly  nice,  just  like  herself. 

"I  've  been  looking  over  the  boxes  of  Christ- 
mas candy,  and  I  find  we  have  lots  of  candied 
cherries.  And,  Norah,  you  had  some  of  the  cit- 
ron left  from  the  plum-pudding,  had  n't  you?" 

Norah  said  she  had  a  large  piece  put  away. 

"Well,  then,  suppose  we  cut  the  citron  into  thin 
slices,  and  cut  those  up  into  little  bits  of  green 
leaves,  and  cut  some  of  the  cherries  into  tiny 
bits  to  look  like  berries;  then  we  will  ice  the  little 
cakes  and  around  each  one,  right  on  top,  we  will 
make  a  green  holly  wreath  with  holly  berries  in 
it.    Won't  those  be  pretty?" 

"Oh,  Mother,  let  me,  let  me  !"  Brownie  begged. 

"Very  well,  you  make  the  leaves  and  berries 
while  Mildred  ices  the  cakes,"  said  Mother  Blair. 

So  while  Mildred  mixed  the  icing,  Brownie 
took  some  small  scissors  and  cut  up  the  citron 
and  the  cherries.  At  first  her  scissors  bothered 
her  by  getting  sticky,  but  Norah  showed  her  how 
to  dip  them  in  water  often  and  wipe  them  dry, 
and  after  she  tried  that  way,  she  had  no  trouble. 

Mildred's  rule  for  icing  was  this; 

ICING 

The  white  of  one  egg. 

1  teaspoonful  of  cold  water. 
1  cup  of  powdered  sugar. 
l/2  teaspoonful  of  flavoring. 

Put  the  white  of  the  egg  in  a  bowl,  add  the 
water,  and  beat  till  light ;  stir  in  the  sifted  sugar 
and  the  flavoring,  and  spread  on  the  cakes  while 
they  are  still  a  little  warm  ;  smooth  over  with 
the  blade  of  a  knife. 

After  the  cakes  were  iced,  the  leaves  were  laid 
in  a  wreath  around  the  edges,  with  the  tiny  red 
berries  among  them ;  and  they  were  the  prettiest 
things  for  Christmas  anybody  ever  saw. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    CAKES. 


she  exclaimed.     "I  never,  never  saw  anything  so  When,  at  last,  they  were  put  away,  Norah  told 

good  as  those  macaroons.     Perfectly  delicious !"  them   she   had   some  bits   of  pie-crust   left  over 

"But   see   the   scalloped   cakes,    Mother,"    said  from  her  mince-pies  that  they  could  have,  if  they 

Brownie.    "Are  n't  they  lovely,  too?"  wanted  it.     Brownie  dashed  into  the  hall,  shout- 


260 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


[Jan., 


ing,  "Mother,  Mother  !     What  can  we  make  with 
pie-crust?    Norah  says  we  can  have  some." 


"Tartlets,"  called  Mother  Blair  from  up-stairs. 

So  Norah  showed  them  how  to  flour  the  board 
a  very  little,  and  how  to  roll  out  the  crust  as  thin 
as  they  could  and  press  it  into  the  same  little  scal- 
loped tins  they  had  used  for  the  cakes.  Then  she 
got  a  big  needle.  "Now  prick  holes  all  over  the 
bottom  of  each,"  she  told  them.  "If  you  don't, 
the  crust  will  come  up  in  bubbles  and  spoil  them." 
So  they  pricked  the  crust  carefully,  and  cut  off 
the  edges  of  the  tops  smoothly  with  a  knife,  and 
put  them  in  the  oven ;  in  ten  minutes  they  were 
done.  Norah  told  them  that  the  very  first 
luncheon  after  the  party  came,  they  might  fill  the 
little  tartlets  with  jelly,  but  they  must  wait  till 
then,  so  they  would  be  crisp  and  fresh. 

Just  as  the  tarts  disappeared  in  the  pantry,  Jack 
came  up  with  his  pans  of  pop-corn. 

"Real  cooking  is  just  for  girls,"  he  said,  with 
his  mouth  full  of  a  stolen  macaroon.  "It  's  all 
right  for  boys  to  make  pop-corn  balls,  though. 
Only  how  do  you  do  it  ?"  His  mother  told  him  to 
wash  his  hands  well,  and  then  gave  him  this  rule: 

POP-CORN  BALLS 

i   cup  of  molasses. 
]/2  cup  of  sugar. 

2  teaspoonfuls  of  vinegar. 
}/2  teaspoonful  of  soda. 

2  teaspoonfuls  of  butter. 

Boil  fifteen  minutes,  stirring  all  the  time. 
Pour  a  little  over  a  pan  of  corn,  and  take  up  in 
your  hands  all  that  sticks  together,  and  roll  it  into 
a  ball.  Keep  the  candy  hot  on  the  back  of  the 
stove,  and  pour  on  more  till  it  is  all  done. 


This  made  a  great  dishful  of  lovely  balls,  and 
they  set  them  away  in  a  cold  place ;  and  then 
Norah  told  them  they  must 
run  out  of  the  kitchen,  be- 
cause she  wanted  to  get 
luncheon  ready. 

After  lunch,  Jack  had  to 
go  and  shovel  out  paths 
again,  because  those  he  had 
made  had  all  disappeared. 
Mildred  and  Brownie  dressed 
a  tiny  doll  for  a  cousin  they 
were  afraid  might  not  have 
quite  as  many  as  she  would 
want,  and  when  that  was 
done,  they  said  they  wanted 
to  cook  some  more. 

Their  mother  told  them 
she  had  one  very,  very  nice 
recipe  meant  especially  for 
holidays,  which,  strangely 
enough,  had  Brownie's  name. 
"Because  you  are  so  very, 
very  nice  yourself,"  she  said  with  a  hug,  "per- 
haps you  can  make  these  all  by  yourself,  too." 

BROWNIES 

3  squares  of  chocolate. 

2  eggs,  beaten  together. 
x/z  cup  of  flour. 

2  cups  of  sugar. 
54  cup  of  butter. 

i   cup  of  chopped  English  walnuts. 

Cream  the  butter  and  sugar  together,  and  add 
the  eggs,  well  beaten  without  separating ;  then 
add  the  flour.  Melt  the  chocolate  by  cutting  it 
up  into  small  bits  and  putting  it  in  a  little  dish 
over  the  steam  of  the  tea-kettle.  Put  this  in 
next,  and,  last,  the  nuts.  Lay  a  greased  paper 
on  the  bottom  of  a  shallow  pan,  and  pour  the 
cake  in,  in  a  thin  layer.  Bake  twenty-five  min- 
utes ;  mark  off  into  squares  while  warm,  and  cut 
before  removing  from  the  pan.  These  should 
be  as  thick  as  cookies  when  done. 

"Don't  you  want  me  to  help  you  make  them, 
Brownie?"  Mildred  asked,  as  she  read  the  recipe 
over.  "You  see,  I  could  beat  the  eggs  for  you, 
and  you  know  how  hard  it  is  for  you  not  to  tip 
the  bowl  over  when  you  beat  them  !" 

"Well,"  Brownie  said  slowly,  "I  might  let  you 
do  just  that  one  thing,  Mildred,  but  Mother  said 
I  was  to  make  these  cakes  all  alone." 

"But  let  me  help  just  a  tiny  little  bit,"  Mildred 
coaxed;  "they  do  sound  so  interesting!" 

So  in  the  end  the  two  made  the  cakes  together, 
all  delicious,  and  just  the  thing  for  company. 

While  they  were  still  fresh  from  the  oven,  in 
came  a  pretty  grown-up  neighbor,  whom  all  the 


I9I4-] 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


261 


Blairs,  big  and  little,  loved  very  much,  because 
she  always  was  ready  for  a  good  time  with  them. 

"Fee-fy-fo-fum  !"  she  exclaimed,  wrinkling  up 
her  little  nose.     "I  smell  something  good  to  eat !" 

"Oh,  dear  Miss  Betty,"  Brownie  cried,  "it  is 
Christmas  cooking !     Come  and  see  it." 

So  Miss  Betty  saw  all  the  lovely  little  holly 
cakes,  and  the  tartlets,  and  the  macaroons,  and 
the  Brownies,  and  ate  little  crumbs  off  wherever 
she  could  find  one.  Then  she  said,  "I  want  to 
cook  too!     May  I,  Norah?" 

"Sure  you  may,"  said  Norah,  who  thought  Miss 
Betty  was  the  nicest  young  lady  in  the  world. 

Then  Miss  Betty  wrote  out  this  recipe,  and 
pinned  it  up,  and  everybody  helped  her  make 

GINGERBREAD  MEN 

2  cups  of  molasses. 

i  cup  of  equal  parts  of 
butter  and  lard, 
mixed. 

i  level  table-spoonful 
of  ginger. 

i  teaspoonful   of  soda. 

Flour  to  mix  very  stiff. 

Melt  the  butter,  add  the 
molasses  and  ginger,  then 
the  soda,  dissolved  in  a  tea- 
spoonful  01  boiling  water ; 
stir  in  flour  till  the  dough  i.s 
so  stiff  you  cannot  stir  it 
with  a  spoon;  take  it  out 
on  the  floured   board,   and 

roll  a  little  at  a  time,  and  with  a  knife  cut  out  a  man  ; 

press  currants  in   for   eyes  and  for  buttons   on   his   coat. 

Bake  in  a  floured  pan. 

"These  are  going  to  be  Santa  Clauses,"  said 
Miss  Betty.  "Jack,  if  you  will  cut  me  some  tiny 
cedar  twigs,  we  will  stick  them  in  the  right  hands 
— one  in  each."  So  Jack  whittled  down  the  ends 
of  some  little  twigs  till  they  were  very  sharp,  and 
while  the  men  were  warm  and  soft,  they  put  a 


GINGERBREAD    MAN. 


twig  in  the  right  hand  of  each,  and  they  were  as 
funny  as  could  be. 

"Now,  Jack,  I  've  something  lovely  for  you  to 
make!"  said  Miss  Betty.  "I  came  over  on  pur- 
pose to  tell  you  about  it." 

"Boys  don't  cook  !"  said  Jack,  loftily. 

"Boys  would  be  perfectly  wild  to  make  these," 
laughed  Miss  Betty,  "if  only  they  knew  how;  but 
of  course  if  you  don't  care  to  —  " 

"What  are  they?" 

"Christmas  elves,  and  the  cunningest  things 
you  ever  saw."  She  opened  a  box  and  showed 
them  a  dear,  droll  little  figure,  brown  and  fat. 
It  made  the  children  laugh  to  look  at  him. 

"We  will  make  one  for  each  person  at  the 
Christmas  dinner,  and  stand  them  at  the  plates 
with  cards  in  the  hands,  to  show  where  every- 
body is  to  sit.     Now,  Jack,  do  you  want  to  try?" 

Jack  instantly  was  hard  at  work. 

CHRISTMAS  ELVES 

Take  a  square  of  thin  wood  and  drive  two 
long,  slender  nails  through  it ;  these  are  the 
legs  of  the  elf.  Turn  it  upside  down  and  push 
two  large  raisins  on  each  nail,  and  then  a  fig  on 
both  —  these  are  the  legs  and  the  body.  Take 
a  wire  about  four  inches  long,  and  put  two 
raisins  on  each  end,  twisting  up  the  ends  to 
hold  them.  Lay  this  across  the  fig  body  and 
press  it  down  to  hold  it  firm.  Put  a  marshmal- 
low  on  a  wooden  toothpick,  and  put  that  on  top 
for  a  head,  and  half  of  a  fig  for  a  cap.  Draw 
eyes,  nose,  and  mouth  on  the  face  with  pen  and 
ink,  and,  if  you  choose,  brush  a  little  melted 
chocolate  on  the  sides  of  his  head,  for  hair.  Put 
a  sprig  of  Christmas  green  in  his  cap. 

Just  as  the  elves  were  put  in  a  row  on  the  table. 
Miss  Betty  exclaimed,  "Children,  it  's  stopped 
snowing !  It  will  be  all  clear  to-morrow,  and 
everybody  will  get  here  in  time,  after  all !" 

They  rushed  to  the  window  to  look,  for  sure 
enough,  the  storm  was  over,  and  everybody  was 
going  to  hjaye*  A  -"M erry  Christmas .' 


THE    CHRISTMAS    ELVES. 


BOOKS  AND   READING 

BY  HILDEGARDE  HAWTHORNE 


The  "Merry  Monarch,"  as  Charles  II  was  called, 
came  back  to  the  throne  of  England  amid  shouts 
of  joy  from  the  entire  nation:  a  nation  grown 
weary  of  the  solemn  Puritan  ways  that  had 
■,  obtained  so  long ;  a  nation  that  wanted  to  get 
back  its  May-poles  and  country  dances,  its  nut- 
brown  ale  and  gay  petticoats  and  bonnets ;  a 
nation  that  seemed  to  want  the  pomp  and  splen- 


FroM  the  painting  by  S.  Ivanowski. 
"  I.ORNA    DOONR." 


dor  of  court  life  in  its  center  once  again,  and  to 
be  quite  careless  of  the  liberty  it  had  bought  with 
so  much  blood  and  bitter  suffering. 

But  after  all,  England  was  not  quite  so  mad 
for  him  as  Charles  imagined  her  to  be.  She 
wanted  a  king  in  Whitehall,  to  be  sure.  But  she 
had  no  intention  of  restoring  to  that  king  the 
power  which  had  gone  to  the  block  with  Charles 


I.  She  wanted  a  king  for  ornament,  not  for  real 
governorship. 

Parliament  had  become,  and  was  to  remain 
henceforth,  the  true  ruler  of  the  English  people. 
So  firmly  was  this  fact  established  in  men's 
minds,  that  it  scarcely  dawned  upon  them  that 
their  easy-going  king  could  have  a  different  idea. 
All  he  appeared  to  ask  was  perfect  liberty  to 
follow  his  whims.  So  much  the  country  rejoiced 
to  give  him ;  the  more  extravagant  Charles's  de- 
mands, the  more  the  court  and  the  nation  ap- 
plauded and  smiled.  No  Puritan,  this  witty 
monarch  — and  they  wanted  nothing  that  hinted 
at  the  somber  past,  still  so  recent. 

Charles  is  described  as  "a  pleasant  brown- 
faced  gentleman  playing  with  his  spaniels,  draw- 
ing caricatures  of  his  ministers,  flinging  cakes 
to  the  water-fowl  in  the  park,"  and  in  particular, 
according  to  one  of  his  courtiers,  delighting  in 
"a  bewitching  kind  of  pleasure  called  sauntering." 
Besides  these  idle  joys  which  Charles  practised 
to  perfection,  he  possessed  a  charming,  bantering 
manner,  a  democratic  bearing,  plenty  of  humor, 
and  a  pretty  wit.  One  of  his  courtier's  sayings, 
that  the  king  "never  said  a  foolish  thing  and 
never  did  a  wise  one,"  fitted  him  perfectly. 

Yet  this  smiling,  chaffing  man  was  by  no  means 
content  to  be  simply  a  pet  king,  as  it  were.  He 
wanted  actual  power,  even  if  he  detested  work. 
He  desired  to  command,  to  choose  his  own  min- 
isters, and  make  his  own  laws. 

The  story  of  his  reign  is  very  interesting, 
therefore,  with  its  plots  and  its  playfulness,  its 
lazy  luxury,  its  secret  ambition  and  open  war- 
fare. '  Scottish  and  Irish  wars  broke  out,  and 
there  was  mighty  fighting  with  the  Dutch. 
There  were  political  happenings  that  lent  much 
color  and  incident  to  the  times  — altogether,  there 
is  plentv  of  material  for  romance  and  adventure 
during  the  reign  of  the  Merry  Monarch,  and 
many  a  good  story  has  been  written  around  his 
times. 

In  addition  to  the  king's  and  the  nation's  ac- 
tions, the  story-tellers  have  the  great  plague  and 
the  disastrous  fire  to  draw  upon  for  excitement. 
The  plague  was  a  terrible  visitation,  and  appeared 
likely  to  sweep  the  entire  population  of  London 
from  the  face  of  the  world  — might  have  done  so, 
if  the  fire  had  not  purified  the  great  dirty  city  at 
so  fearful  a  cost.  For  though  England  was  rap- 
idly becoming  a  modern  nation,  people  had,   as 


262 


BOOKS  AND    READING 


263 


From  the  painting  by  M.  Munkacsy,  in  the  New  York  Public  Library. 
JOHN    MILTON    DICTATING    "PARADISE    LOST"    TO    Ills    DAUGHTERS. 


yet,  no  least  idea  of  proper  hygiene  nor  of  sanita- 
tion ;  even  the  splendid  court  waded  about  in  a 
state  of  general  untidiness,  to  put  it  very  mildly, 
which  we  can  hardly  imagine  to-day.  It  needed 
a  lesson  as  fearful  as  that  of  the  plague  to  teach 
the  people  the  value  of  cleanliness  in  their  daily 
life;  a  lesson  we  are  still  learning  to-day,  and 
constantly  improving  upon. 

A  book  by  Hope  Graham  that  tells  of  the 
early  days  of  the  Restoration,  is  "My  Lord  Win- 
chester." The  scenes  are  almost  entirely  in  Lon- 
don, and  you  get  a  lively  picture  of  the  bustling 
city,  with  its  varied  population,  its  gaiety  and 
carelessness,  and  the  revelry  of  its  court  life. 

An  old  and  famous  story  that  covers  the  same 
time  is  Harrison  Ainsworth's  "Old  St.  Paul's." 
There  is  a  most  dramatic  description  of  the 
great  fire  in  this  story,  with  plenty  of  careful 
detail  concerning  the  life  of  the  people,  while  the 
story  itself  is  thrilling  in  the  true  Ainsworth 
fashion.  You  can  get  the  book  in  most  libraries, 
though  it  is  often  hard  to  find  at  a  book-shop. 

Two  books  by  Sir  Walter  Scott  are  laid  in  this 
part  of  the  seventeenth  century,  one  of  them, 
"Old  Mortality,"  being  considered  by  many  as  his 


best  novel.  You  may  find  it  a  little  slow  at  first, 
but  once  well  into  it,  you  are  sure  to  enjoy  it. 

The  generally  disturbed  state  of  politics,  and 
people's  views  on  what  was  or  was  not  worth 
while,  made  plenty  of  outlaws  in  Charles's  Eng- 
land. "White  Friars,"  by  Emma  Robinson,  is  a 
story  of  these  highwaymen,  who  were  a  singular 
mixture  of  gallant  and  criminal.  Claude  Duval 
was,  perhaps,  the  most  famous  of  these  desperate 
men,  and  he  figures  in  Miss  Robinson's  story, 
with  others. 

The  great  Monmouth  rebellion  against  Charles 
is  told  from  various  viewpoints  and  with  differ- 
ent sympathies  by  several  good  story-writers. 
There  is  Blackmore's  beautiful  book  "Lorna 
Doone,"  which  I  hope  you  have  n't  read  yet,  be- 
cause you  will  have  such  a  treat  before  you  in 
reading  it  now.  It  is  one  of  the  world's  best 
stories,  related  with  infinite  skill,  with  one  of  the 
most  charming  women  in  all  romance  for  its 
heroine.  There  is  not  a  great  deal  of  history  in 
it,  but  it  gives  a  fine  idea  of  the  temper  and  the 
character  of  the  country  people,  and  shows  you 
what  a  splendid  young  manhood  England  had  to 
boast  of  after  her  Puritan  years. 


264 


BOOKS  AND   READING 


Still  another  excellent  story  of  this  particular 
period  in  the  reign  of  Charles  is  Conan  Doyle's 
well-known  "Micah  Clarke."  I  dare  say  you 
have  all  read  it,  but  it  is  one  of  the  books  that 
bears  re-reading,  and  you  will  find  it  fits  in  so 
well  with  the  others  on  this  list,  that  you  will  be 
glad  to  take  it  up  again.  What  a  story  it  is,  and 
what  a  man  is  Micah  ! 

There  were  many  famous  men  in  seventeenth- 
century  England,  chief  perhaps  being  Sir  Isaac 
Newton.  He  is  one  of  the  characters  of  the  first 
book  I  spoke  of,  "My  Lord  Winchester."  Milton 
and  Bunyan  also  belong  to  the  seventeenth  cen- 
tury. Miss  Manning  has  a  book  on  Milton  and 
his  daughter  that  is  extremely  worth  reading, 
"Deborah's  Diary"  (Scribner's).  It  belongs 
before  Charles's  day,  to  be  sure,  but  you  should 
not  miss  it. 

As  for  Bunyan,  he  wrote  a  book  you  have 
surely  read,  and  though  he  tells  nothing  of  the 
history  of  his  day  nor  of  himself,  he  tells  you 
indirectly  a  great  deal  of  the  Puritan  and  un- 
popular side  of  his  England.  His  "Pilgrim's 
Progress"  was  written  in  prison,  where  he  was 
sent  at  the  age  of  thirty-two,  and  forced  to  leave 
behind  him  wife  and  children,  one  of  whom  was 
blind.  It  was  the  thought  of  the  suffering  that 
might  come  to  this  blind  little  girl  that  bore 
heaviest  on  Bunyan,  as  his  writings  show. 

Two  good  books  are  S.  R.  Crockett's  "The 
Men  of  the  Moss-Hags,"  and  Edna  Lyall's  "In 


the  Golden  Days."  "  They  are  not  long,  and  you 
will  like  them. 

Charlotte  Yonge  has  a  story,  "The  Reputed 
Changeling,"  that  begins  in  the  time  of  Charles  II 
and  goes  on  through  to  William  and  Mary.  I 
have  not  read  the  book,  but  all  Miss  Yonge's 
stories  are  entertaining  and  well  told,  with  plenty 
of  historical  flavor. 

James  was  a  man  very  different  from  his 
brother,  totally  lacking  in  charm  of  manner;  and 
unpopular  in  the  country.  So  much  so  that  when 
James  came  to  Charles  with  a  doleful  story  of  a 
plot  against  the  latter's  life,  Charles  smiled  and 
said,  "Rest  easy,  James.  They  will  never  kill  me 
to  put  you  on  the  throne." 

When  Charles  died,  James  succeeded  him,  since 
he  was  next  in  line,  but  the  brother's  remark 
proved  to  be  justified.  England  did  not  want 
James.  Before  very  long,  he  was  deposed,  and 
William  of  Orange  was  offered  the  crown  of 
England. 

There  is  another  story  by  S.  R.  Crockett  that 
covers  these  last  Stuart  years,  "The  Standard 
Bearers."  Like  all  the  Crockett  books,  it  is  spir- 
ited reading. 

And  this  will  do  for  the  present.  I  have  told 
you  of  more  than  one  or  two  books  touching 
upon  the  different  incidents  of  this  last  half  of  the 
century.  It  was  so  picturesque  a  time,  that  many 
writers  have  been  tempted  to  set  their  stories  in 
it,  and  there  are  more  than  I  have  mentioned. 


THE    MEN   WHO   TRY 

BY  WHITNEY  MONTGOMERY 


I  was  never  a  great  believer 

In  the  thing  that  men  call  "luck," 
It  takes  hard,  downright  digging 

Ere  the  vein  of  gold  be  struck. 
Dame  Fortune  may  be  fickle, 

But  none  of  us  can  deny 
That  she  loves  to  lay  her. treasures 

At  the  feet  of  the  men  who  try. 


I  've  read  the  records  closely, 

I  've  watched  life's  battle  too; 
They  've  taught  me  one  good  lesson 

That  I  would  teach  to  you : 
Fate  cannot  build  a  barrier 

So  rugged  or  so  high, 
But  it  can  be  surmounted 

By  the  men  who  try,  and  try. 


I  honor  the  man  of  learning, 

I  honor  the  genius  too ; 
The  strong  man,  and  the  brave  man- 

I  honor  them  all,  —  don't  you? 
But  when  in  the  great  procession 

Of  life  they  pass  me  by, 
I  lift  my  hat  the  highest 

To  the  men  who  try,  and  try. 


THE    BABY   BEARS'    THIRD  ADVENTURE 


BY  GRACE  G.  DRAYTON 


<- 


One  day,  when  playing  in  the  snow, 
They  heard  a  tramping  to  and  fro. 


It  was  the  snow  man,  come  to  life, 
And  in  his  hand  a  wooden  knife. 


Vol.  XLL—  34. 


265 


266  FOR  VEHY  LITTLE   FOLK 


[Jan., 


'  I  want  a  bear-steak  nice  and  sweet," 
Says  he,  and  caught  them  by  the  feet. 


'I  wish  it  was  a  summer's  day," 
Sobs  Susie;  "then  he  'd  melt  away." 


FOR  VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


267 


She  rubbed  her  ring  — and  flake  by  flake 
The  snow  man  turned  into  a  lake. 


At  once  they  wished  it  cold  again, 
And  slid  on  him  with  might  and  main. 


THE    HUGE    CRYSTALS    AT    NAICA,    MEXICO. 
When  the  crystals  are  struck,  they  produce  musical  sounds 

CRYSTALS  SMALL  AND  LARGE 

This  is  the  month  in  which  nature  is  profuse  in 
the  number  of  tiny  crystals  that  she  produces. 
On  some  mornings,  we  may  find  frost  crystals  on 
all  the  dried  vegetation,  the  fences,  and  the  trees 
—  in  fact,  on  almost  everything  out  of  doors. 
Some  of  these  forms  are  wondrously  beautiful, 
and  are  well  worth  our  careful  study,  not  only 
with  our  unaided  eyes,  but  with  the  microscope. 
It  will  be  interesting  to  take  into  consideration, 
in  examining  these  very  small  crystals,  the  gigan- 


tic crystals  that  nature  sometimes  produces  from 
minerals.  Recently,  crystals  of  gypsum  five  feet 
high  and  a  foot  thick  have  been  found  filling  a 
series  of  caves  in  the  mining  district  of  northern 
Mexico.  N.  Degoutin,  in  "La  Nature,"  Paris, 
tells  us  of  pockets  or  caves  incrusted  with  vari- 
ous minerals  and  ores.  Only  a  few  years  ago,  in 
similar  mines  of  Naica,  south  of  Santa  Eulalia, 
near  Chihuahua,  the  huge  crystals  were  discov- 
ered that  are  illustrated  by  our  artist  in  this 
month's  heading  of  "Nature  and  Science."  Some 
fine  specimens  of  these  huge  crystals  may  be 
seen  among  the  exhibits  in  the  American  Mu- 
seum of  Natural  History,  New  York  City. 

By  permission  of  "The  Literary  Digest,"  we 
here  reprint  its  translation  from  "La  Nature"  de- 
scribing these  crystals  from  Naica : 

A  photograph  will  give  one  but  "a  feeble 
idea  of  the  truly  extraordinary  aspect  presented 
by  these  different  grottoes.  They  are  entered 
through  one  of  the  principal  galleries  of  the  mine, 
and  the  visitor  finds  himself  first  in  cavities  filled 
with  ordinary  deposits  of  a  mineral  known  as 
carbonate.  Below  this  first  grotto,  the  descent 
is  by  ladders  over  enormous  crystals  of  gypsum, 
reaching  almost  the  size  of  a  man."  (Our  illus- 
tration gives  some  idea  of  these.)  "Some  are  five 
feet  long  and  nearly  a  foot  thick.  Finally,  a  sec- 
ond and  then  a  third  grotto  are  reached,  which 
ends  the  series. 

"Within  somewhat  restricted  distances,  these 
three  grottoes  offer  quite  varied  aspects;  the  crys- 
tals themselves  are  of  many  forms.  Sometimes 
the  wall  seems  studded  with  threatening  daggers, 
sometimes  there  is  a   forest  of  colorless  prisms 


NATURE   AND  SCIENCE   FOR   YOUNG   FOLKS 


269 


VARIOUS   FORMS   OF  CRYSTALS:      I   AND  2,    DIAMOND;    3  AND   4,    GARNET. 


whose  upper  faces  are  covered  with  a  white  crys- 
talline deposit,  as  if,  despite  the  heat  that  reigns 
in  these  caverns,  a  fall  of  snow  rested  eternally 
there.  .  .  .  Finally,  all  these  crystals  are  planted 
on  a  hard  and  sonorous  crust  that  covers  the  rock, 
and  at  the  slightest  shock  they  give  out  a  clear 
and  agreeable  sound;  the  simple  friction  of  pass- 
ing produces  a  sort  of  music,  and  if  a  stick  is 
drawn  over  them,  as  boys  do  over  a  picket-fence, 
there  is  a  real  chime,  whose  tones  are  reinforced 
by  the  very  form  of  the  caverns. 

"There  have  been  previously  found,  in  some 
other  parts  of  the  world,  grottoes  with  beautiful 
crystals  of  gypsum— for  example,  at  Laurion, 
Greece,  and  at  Gamala,  Syria.     But  nowhere,  to 


our  knowledge,  has  the  phenomenon  reached  pro- 
portions to  be  compared  with  that  of  the  caves  of 
Nai'ca." 

Many  crystals  grow  so  fast  that  the  increase  in 
size  may  be  watched  not  only  from  day  to  day 
but  from  hour  to  hour,  or  even  from  minute  to 
minute.  A  growth  similar  to  that  familiar  to  all 
in  the  frost  forms  may  be  made  experimentally 
with  many  solutions.  Try  putting  a  small  amount 
of  a  solution  of  tartaric  acid,  alum,  or  even  com- 
mon salt  on  glass  and  letting  the  water  evaporate. 
Many  other  crystals  are  produced  by  the  chemist ; 
but  beautiful  forms  may  also  be  made  simply 
by  breathing  on  a  piece  of  glass  on  a  very  cold 
day. 


VARIOUS   FORMS   OF   CRYSTALS:     5,    RUBY,    SAPPHIRE;   6,    TOPAZ;    7,    EMERALD. 


270 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Jan., 


VARIOUS   FORMS   OF   CRYSTALS:     8,    ROCK-CRYSTAL;    9,    ROCK-SALT'    IO,    MICA;    II,    SULPHUR.      ] 


A  SHAFT  OF  PINE  PIERCING  AN  OAK-TREE 
Mr.  P.  C.  Bradford,  of  Blue  Mountain,  Arkan- 
sas, sends  us  the  accompanying  photographs  of  a 


A  QUARTZ   CRYSTAL   EIGHTEEN   INCHES   IN    LENGTH. 


tree  on  Mt.  Magazine,  near  Bine  Mountain. 
These  show  the  heart  of  a  large  oak-tree  pierced 
by  a  shaft  of  pine. 


I9I4-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


271 


"THE    I'INE    SHAFT    IS    SOME    THIRTY    FEET    LONG. 


It  is  supposed  that  the  pine  fell  in  the  fork  of 
the  oak  when  the  latter  was  young,  and  gradually 
the  oak  grew  around  the  pine,  leaving  the  shaft 
entirely  in  mid-air.  It  is  some  thirty  feet  long 
and  perfectly  sound. 

AN  ENGLISH  SPARROW  STRANGELY 
TRAPPED 

This  photograph  shows  an  English  sparrow  im- 
prisoned in  a  hard  roll.  He  was  picked  up  by  a 
workman,  on  the  White  House  grounds,  and  was 
brought  to  me  in  a  paper  bag.  I  photographed 
him,  and  then  broke  the  ridge  of  bread  over  his 
back  which  held  him  fast,  and  allowed  him  to  fly 
away.  At  first  he  seemed  rather  stiff,  and  I 
thought  he  had  been  injured. 

It  would  seem  that  many  of  the  sparrow's  fel- 
low-birds must  have  had  a  good  meal,  for  the 
entire  interior  of  the  roll  was  eaten  out,  leaving 
only  the  hard  crust. 


The  fact  probably  was  that  the  bird  had  pushed 
within  the  crust  to  get  the  softer  bread. 

Louis  E.  Browne. 

"A  LITERARY   PIANO" 

Many  of  the  earliest  accounts  o-f  the  type-writer 
refer  to  it  as  "a  literary  piano"  because  the  let- 
ters were  operated   from   a  keyboard   similar   in 


I  p^sS^^B 

V 

mm  "                            / 

^^^W^^^"^      ^B^^^"^^^_- 

AN    ENGLISH    SPAKKOW   IN    A   HARD    ROLL. 


AN    EARLY   FORM    OF   TYPE-WRITER,    HAVING 
THE    PIANO   KEYBOARD. 

arrangement  and  appearance  to  that  of  a  piano. 
Mares,  in  "The  History  of  the  Type-writer,"  says 
that  the  piano  keyboard  idea  possessed  a  fatal 
fascination  for  many  inventors,  and  that  there 
was  no  doubt  that  the  production  of  the  perfect 
machine  was  thus  delayed,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  one  of  the  early  inventors  used  the  silken 
ribbon  saturated  with  coloring  matter,  a  carriage 
that  was  pulled  along  by  means  of  a  spring,  and 
a  center  guide  through  which  the  types  struck. 


272 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Jan., 


%'BECAUSE-  WE 
[ WANT  TO  KNOW" 


WIND  AND  ICE-BOAT 

New  York  City. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   For  a  long  time,  I  have  had  a  dis- 
cussion with  a  friend  of  mine  as  to  whether  an  ice-boat  can 
go  faster  than  the  wind,  and,  if  so,    how.      Would  you  be 
so  kind  as  to  answer  this?      I  am  always 

Your  most  interested  reader, 

A.    C.   Neave  (age  14). 

An  ice-boat  sailing  straight  before  the  wind 
will  not  go  quite  as  fast  as  the  wind  itself,  be- 
cause there  is  a  little  friction  of  the  runners  on 


"it  may  go  much  faster  than  the  wind. 

the  ice ;  but  since  the  friction  is  very  slight,  it 
will  go  almost  as  fast  as  the  wind.  On  the  other 
hand,  if  the  ice-boat  is  steered  at  a  considerable 
angle  from  the  direction  of  the  wind,  it  may,  on 
account  of  the  very  slight  friction,  go  much  faster 
than  the  wind.  This  can  be  understood  from  the 
simple  diagram  in  the  next  column. 

Suppose  the  wind  to  blow  straight  across  from 
the  line  A  to  the  line  B.  If  the  ice-boat  goes 
straight  before  the  wind,  it  will  travel  along  the 
direction  of  the  arrow  S,  and  can  go  only  as  fast 


as  the  wind  (if  there  were  no  friction).  But  if 
the  ice-boat  goes  in  the  diagonal  direction  of  the 
arrow  D  (supposing  again  that  there  were  no 
friction),  the  wind  will  carry  it  from  the  line  A  to 
the  line  B  in  the  same  time  as  before ;  and,  since 
the  distance  D  is  greater  than  S,  it  will  go  faster 
than  the  wind.  Notice  that  the  sail  must  be  so 
placed  in  each  case  that  the  wind  shall  strike  it 
A . 


pos/r/OH  ) 

OF  SAIL' 


DIAGRAM    ILLUSTRATING    THE    ACTION    OF    THE    WIND 
ON    AN    ICE-BOAT. 

squarely,  as  shown  by  the  dotted  lines.  This  po- 
sition of  the  sail  gives  the  greatest  power,  but  on 
the  slanting  course  it  may  be  changed  somewhat, 
to  avoid  capsizing,  without  changing  the  result. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  an  ice-boat  on  a  "reach" 
as  shown  in  the  diagram  may  travel  considerably 
faster  than  the  wind,  but  in  "beating"  against  the 
wind,  the  speed  is  certainly  not  as  great  as  on  the 
"reach,"  on  account  of  wind-friction. 

It  is  interesting  to  observe  that  the  skilful  ice- 
boatman  does  not  steer  a  straight  course  in  going 
in  the  direction  of  the  wind ;  he  goes  off  at  an 
angle  until  a  high  speed  is  attained,  then  he  steers 
down  the  wind  and  goes  faster  than  the  wind 
while  the  speed  lasts,  doing  this  again  and  again. 

seeing  our  breath 

Oakfark,  III. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:    Why,  on  a  cold  day,  can  we  "  see 
our  breath  "  ? 

Your  interested  reader, 

Irene  A.  Knight. 

We  see  our  breath  on  a  cold  day  because  the 
breath  has  moisture  in  it,  and  the  cold  air  con- 
denses the  moisture  into  a  small  cloud  of  parti- 
cles of  water  or  of  snow.  If  the  breath  is  di- 
rected against  a  cold  window-pane,  ice  will  be 
formed  there.  — H.  L.  W. 

FREEZING  DOES  NOT  ALWAYS  KILL  A  FISH 

Long  Branch,  N.  J. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:   If  a  fish  is  frozen  in  a  solid  piece 
of  ice,  will  it  revive  again  sometime  after  ?     For  how  long 
a  time  can  this  suspended  animation  of  the  fish  go  on  ? 
Yours  truly, 

P.  Kahn. 

Dr.  H.  F.  Moore,  of  this  Bureau,  remembers 
seeing  in  his  boyhood  goldfish  apparently  frozen 


I9I4-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


273 


solidly  in  the  ice  covering  the  Schuylkill  River 
at  Philadelphia.  These  fishes,  in  several  cases, 
were  cut  out  of  the  ice  and  revived,  and  lived 
after  being  thawed  out  in  cold  water.— H.  M. 
Smith,  Commissioner,  Bureau  of  Fisheries, 
Washington. 

INTERESTING  EXPERIENCES  "WITH  UNCAGED  BEARS 

Williston,  N.  Dak. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  For  a  part  of  our  summer  vacation 
we  took  a  trip  through  the  Yellowstone  National  Park. 
Bears  make  their  summer  homes  near  the  hotels  and 
camps  along  the  way,  and,  as  you  know,  sleep  all  winter 
and  come  back  again  in  the  spring.  Sometimes  they  can 
hardly  walk  for  the  lack  of  food.  No  one  is  allowed  to 
shoot  the  bears,  and  that  is  the  reason  they  are  not  afraid. 
At  one  of  the  camps,  a  bear  walked  into  the  cook's  tent 


safer  up  a  tree  about  twenty  feet  from  the  ground.  After 
feeding  the  mama  bear  a  big  chunk  of  meat  and  making 
the  people  stand  back,  a  man  finally  got  the  three  out  in 
an  open  space,  and  just  then  the  sun  came  out  from  behind 
a  cloud,  and  every  one  could  hear  the  click,  click,  click  of 
the  many  cameras  as  they  "shot"  the  bears.  My  father 
took  their  picture,  and  I  am  sending  you  a  copy  of  it  with 
my  letter.      It  looks  just  as  the  bears  did. 

Ada  Claire  Brownson. 

why  shooting-stars  "shoot" 

Echo  Lake,  Penn. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  Will  you  please  tell  me  why  the 
shooting-stars  move  ? 

Your  reader, 

Horace  Beitzel. 

Each  so-called  shooting-star  is  merely  a  cold 


"IT  TOOK  A  GREAT  DEAL  OF  COAXING  TO  GET  THE  THREE  BEARS  TOGETHER. 
FATHER  TOOK  THEIR  PICTURE." 


and  grabbed  the  newly  baked  bread.  The  cook  chased 
him  out  with  her  broom.  The  bears  stand  on  their  hind 
feet  and  eat  out  of  the  garbage  cans,  and  sometimes  out 
of  people's  hands. 

In  the  night,  the  bears  push  the  flaps  of  the  kitchen  tent 
apart  and  help  themselves.  Sometimes  they  climb  to  the 
top  of  a  tree  and  jump  on  the  top  of  the  tent,  of  course 
falling  through.  At  one  camp  they  did  this,  and  carried 
away  ten  hams  in  one  night.  They  are  very  fond  of  sweet 
things,  and  people  feed  them  candy  by  the  boxful.  Once 
in  a  while,  a  bear  will  get  angry  and  chase  you.  They 
generally  bother  the  camps  at  night. 

It  was  at  noon  on  the  second  day  of  our  tour  that  we 
came  to  the  Gibbon  Lunch  Camp.  It  had  been  raining 
all  the  forenoon,  but  the  clouds  broke  away  a  little  as  we 
came  to  the  camp.  Just  after  lunch,  an  old  bear  came 
down,  accompanied  by  her  two  cubs,  one  black  and  the 
other  brown.  It  took  a  great  deal  of  coaxing  to  get  the 
three  bears  together.  One  cub  especially  seemed  much 
Vol.  XLL—  35. 


little  meteor  which  is  moving  around  the  sun  in 
its  own  path,  just  as  the  immensely  larger  comets 
and  planets  are  doing.  On  the  average,  these 
particles  are  moving  about  twenty-six  miles  a 
second  when  they  are  at  the  distance  from  the 
sun  that  the  earth  is,  and,  as  the  earth  itself  is 
moving  eighteen  and  one  half  miles  a  second,  the 
two  bodies  are  sure  to  collide  with  each  other 
with  a  high  velocity.  If  the  earth  runs  into  the 
particle  in  such  a  way  as  to  overtake  it,  it  will 
strike  our  air  with  a  speed  of  only  about  eight 
miles  a  second;  if  they  meet  "head  on,"  so  to 
speak,  they  may  come  together  with  a  speed  of 
forty-four  miles  a  second.  In  either  case  the 
friction  of  the  air  on  the  cold  particle,  as  this 


274 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


(Jan., 


plows  through  the  air,  instantly  heats  it  up  to  a 
heat  so  great  that  it  is  vaporized  and  appears  to 
us  as  a  shooting-star. 

The  reason  why  the  little  meteoric  particles  are 
moving  so  very  swiftly  in  the  first  place  is  simply 
because  they  are  falling  toward  the  sun.  Every 
world  and  sun  attracts  everything  near  it  by  vir- 
tue of  the  wonderful  force  known  as  "gravita- 
tion." You  "weigh"  something,  or  feel  heavy, 
simply  because  the  great  earth  is  pulling  you  to- 
ward itself,  and  when  you  drop  a  stone  from  your 
hand,  it  falls  because  the  earth  is  pulling  upon  it. 
If  you  could  carry  the  stone  many  millions  of 
miles  away  from  the  earth  and  there  let  it  drop, 
it  would  begin  to  fall  toward  the  earth  very 
slowly,  but  as  it  fell,  it  would  continually  move 
faster  and  faster,  until  when  it  finally  struck  the 
earth,  it  would  be  moving  no  less  than  seven  miles 
in  each  second.  Now  in  exactly  the  same  way, 
each  of  the  little  meteoric  particles  away  off  in 
space  began  long  ago  to  feel  the  pull,  or  "gravita- 
tion," of  our  sun,  and  to  fall  toward  that  body. 
If  the  meteorite  and  the  sun  had  both  been  at  rest 
at  first,  the  meteorite  would  have  simply  fallen 
into  our  sun;  but  as  our  sun  is  moving  through 
space  at  the  rate  of  eleven  miles  in  each  second, 
the  meteorite  will  not  hit  it  exactly,  but  will  miss 
it  and  begin  to  swing  around  it  in  a  curved  path. 
As  the  sun  is  so  much  larger  than  the  earth,  its 
pull  is  very  much  greater.  If  you  could  visit  the 
sun,  you  would  find  when  there  that  you  weighed 
more  than  twenty-seven  times  as  much  as  you 
weigh  on  the  earth;  that  is,  the  sun  would  pull 
you  down  twenty-seven  times  as  hard  as  the  earth 
does.  If  you  weigh  one  hundred  pounds  here, 
you  would  weigh  twenty-seven  hundred  pounds 
there,  and  be  crushed  by  your  own  weight.  This 
great  pull  of  the  sun  on  each  of  the  meteorites 
makes  them  fall  very  swiftly  indeed ;  it  is  be- 
cause the  pull  is  so  strong  that  when  they  have 
fallen  toward  the  sun  to  the  place  where  the  earth 
is,  we  find  them  moving  some  twenty-six  miles  in 
a  single  second.  —  E.  D. 

what  is  printers  ink? 

Springfield,  Mass. 
Will  you  kindly  tell  me  what  print- 


Dear  St.  Nicholas 
er's  ink  is  made  of? 


Yours  truly, 

Donald  McAllister. 


Printing-inks  are  mainly  composed  of  pigments 
and  varnish  ground  together  in  proper  relation 
to  one  another  to  suit  the  different  grades  of 
work  for  which  they  are  intended.  Pigments 
furnish  the  color  and  the  varnish  the  "binder," 
which  holds  the  color  to  the  paper.  Pigments  are 
mineral,  vegetable,  and  animal.    Many  of  the  pig- 


ments used  in  the  making  of  printing-inks  are 
from  artificial  mineral  sources,  derived  through 
chemical  action,  and  include  such  colors  as  ver- 
milion, artificial  ultramarine  blue,  Chinese  white, 
pure  scarlet,  and  emerald  green.  Almost  any 
pigment  can  be  closely  duplicated  by  artificial 
means. 

The  varnishes  used  are  mainly  linseed-  and 
rosin-oil,  the  former  being  used  in  the  better 
grades  of  ink  on  account  of  the  property  it  pos- 
sesses for  absorbing  oxygen.  When  spread  out 
into  a  thin  film,  it  forms  a  smooth  hard  coating 
which,  after  drying  a  few  hours,  does  not  rub  off. 
The  rosin  varnish  does  not  dry  so  rapidly.  It  is 
used  in  the  cheaper  inks,  and  is  intended  for 
softer  paper  that  easily  absorbs  the  ink. 

Every  ink  manufacturer  has  certain  secret  for- 
mulas of  his  own,  and  it  is  only  by  long  experi- 
ence that  he  knows  when  and  how  to  add  to  the 
pigment  and  varnish  certain  materials,  as  tallow, 
soap,  castor-oil,  and  beeswax,  which  assist  the  ink 
in  overcoming  certain  difficulties.  —  "The  Ameri- 
can Printer,"  New  York  City. 

MANY  EGGS,  BUT  NOT  A  WELL- KEPT  NEST 

Malden  Bridge,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   I  was  walking  in  the  garden,  and 
discovered   under  a  big  apple-tree   thirty-three    speckled 
brown  eggs  of  a  guinea-hen.     They  were  scattered  on  the 


THE    CURIOUSLY    SCATTERED    EGGS    OF   A    GUINEA-HEN. 

ground  in  no  nest  whatever,  and  were  apparently  deserted. 
I  send  a  photograph  which  I  took  of  the  eggs,  hoping  it 
will  interest  your  readers. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Jane  Elizabeth  Hammond. 

The  guinea-hen  is  a  very  careless  bird,  judging 
by  the  appearance  of  her  nest.     She  has  never 


ICU4-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


275 


been  fully  domesticated,  and  is  still  so  wild  that 
she  hides  her  nest,  and,  though  she  lays  many 
eggs,  readily  deserts  it  when  it  is  discovered  or 
when  she  is  frightened. 

WHAT  CAUSES  SNORING 

Atlantic  City,  N.  J. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:    Will  you  please  tell  me  why  a  per- 
son snores  ? 

Your  interested  reader, 

Estelle  Stagedorn. 

Snoring  is  usually  due  to  some  obstruction  of 
the  nose  or  upper  air-passages,  which  limits  the 
normal  opening.  Sometimes  it  is  due  simply  to 
extreme  relaxation  of  the  muscles  which  support 
the  lower  jaw.  People  then  breathe  partly 
through  the  mouth  instead  of  through  the  nose 
alone.  If  they  breathe  through  the  mouth  when 
wide  awake,  the  muscles  of  the  throat  are  con- 
trolled, and  there  is  no  snoring.  When  one  is 
asleep,  these  muscles  of  the  throat  are  all  re- 
laxed, and  some  of  them  keep  falling  in  the  way 
of  the  double  current  of  air— part  coming  through 
the  nose  and  part  through  the  mouth.  — Dr.  Rob- 
ert T.  Morris. 

WHICH  IS  THE  MORE  INTELLIGENT— A  DOG 
OR  A  HORSE? 

Kansas  City,  Mo. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Will  you  please  tell  me  which  is 
the  more  intelligent,  the  dog  or  the  horse  ?     The  dog  al- 
ways seemed  so  to  me,  but  I  never  could  decide. 
Your  interested  reader, 

Mary  Bess  Meservey. 

Undoubtedly  the  dog  is  the  more  intelligent. — 
Guy  Richardson. 

why  'wind  blows  in  a  courtyard 

Berlin,  Germany. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   I  write  to  ask  what  makes  the  wind 
blow  inside  of  a  courtyard  with  high  walls  ? 
Yours  truly, 

Katherine  Whitehead. 

Of  course  it  is  not  the  same  wind  that  blows 
from  one  hilltop  to  another  and  through  the  long 
streets  of  the  city,  but  it  is  the  little  currents  of 
air  stirred  up  by  the  wind  that  go  round  and 
round  inside  the  courtyard,  or  inside  of  a  room, 
or  in  the  lee  of  any  dwelling.  If  the  cold  air  at 
night-time  settles  down  into  a  valley  and  stays 
there  quietly  during  the  early  morning  hours 
before  the  sun  warms  the  soil,  there  may  still  be 
blowing  overhead  a  steady  upper  current;  but 
this  upper  wind,  being  made  of  warmer  air  than 
that  in  the  valley,  is  not  likely  to  descend  and 
mix  up  with  the  lower  air  until  the  latter  rises 
after  being  warmed  up  by  the  warm  soil.  A  wind 
is  something  large  and  steady  compared  with  the 
innumerable  whirls  and  gusts  that  we  ordinarily 
feel.     So  also  we  speak  of  the  steady  current  of 


a  river,  ignoring  the  many  vortices  and  uprushes 
and  downrushes  of  water  that  belong  to  what  is 
called  the  tumultuous  flow.  A  bit  of  paper  in  the 
air,  or  a  bit  of  wood  in  the  river,  or  the  whirls 
of  smoke  behind  a  chimney,  give  us  some  idea  of 
the  irregularities  in  the  flow  of  water  and  air 
caused  by  small  obstacles  in  what  would  other- 
wise be  a  steady  flow  of  water,  or  a  steady  wind 
in  the  atmosphere.  The  swirls  of  air  inside  the 
courtyard  are  the  results  of  wind,  but  not  the 
wind  itself.— Cleveland  Abbe. 

two  kinds  of  leaves  on  one  plant 

Waterbury,  Conn. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:   I  was  looking  at  our  honeysuckle 
vine,  and  found  these  two  leaves  on  one  branch,  or  twig. 


TWO    KINDS    OF   HONEYSUCKLE    LEAVES. 

The  funny  one  was   farther   down  than  the  straight  one, 
which  was  on  the   end.      Will  you  kindly  explain   to  me 
what  makes  the  difference  between  the  two  leaves  ? 
Your  loving  reader, 

Harriet  de  Lancey. 

I  do  not  know  "what  makes  the  difference  be- 
tween the  two  leaves,"  but  such  differences  are 
common.  I  have  an  example  near  home  in  the  ivy 
which  covers  our  university  buildings.  The  leaves 
at  the  bottom  of  the  plant  are  compound,  while 
the  rest  are  simply  lobed.  The  first  leaves  of  a 
pine  are  needle-like  and  short  and  single,  but  the 
later  leaves  are  long  and  in  two's,  three's,  or 
five's.  In  arbor-vitse  (Thuja),  the  first  leaves 
are  short  and  needle-like,  while  later  leaves  are 
much  flattened. 

In  these  two  cases  (also  the  ivy),  many  of  us 
believe  the  earlier  leaves  indicate  an  ancestral 
condition ;  e.g.,  that  our  ivy  has  come  from  an 
ancestor  which  had  three  leaflets. 

As  a  mere  case  of  mechanics,  entire  leaves  are 
produced  when  the  veins  and  pulpy  portions  of 
the  leaves  grow  with  equal  rapidity;  if  the  veins 
grow  faster,  the  various  margins  are  produced — 
serrate,  lobed,  and  even  compound  leaves. — Chas. 
J.  Chamberlain,  The  University  of  Chicago. 


I  NICHOLAS  •  LEAGUE 

•  JANUARY    A    1914  • 


CRPGIUK 


"A    HEADING    FOR   JANUARY."       BY    CHARLES    PK1LIK,  AGE    16. 


As  a  fitting  celebration  of  the  New- Year  and  the  fifteenth 
birthday  of  the  St.  Nicholas  League,  our  young  verse- 
writers  and  photographers,  artists  and  puzzle-lovers,  have 
fairly  outdone  themselves.  Even  with  a  whole  page  added 
to  its  usual  limits,  the  space  allotted  cannot  begin  to  hold, 
this  month,  more  than  a  tithe  of  the  really  remarkable 
contributions  received;  and  many  of  those  here  printed 
have  never  been  surpassed  in  the  fourteen  years  of  the 
League's  history.  Read  for  instance  the  poems  —  for  true 
poems  they  are — -that  won  the  gold  and  silver  badges,  and 
those  by  Honor  Members  on  pages  278  and  281,  and  see 


that  your  fathers  and  mothers,  uncles  and  aunts,  and 
cousins  and  chums  read  them  also.  Show  them,  too,  the 
prize-winning  drawings  and  photographs — and  ask  them 
if  anywhere  in  the  world  can  be  found  another  collection 
of  the  work  of  boys  and  girls  to  surpass  or  eo^al  that  of 
our  beloved  League  pages. 

So  long  is  the  list  of  prize-winners  that  room  is  left 
for  only  the  briefest  of  introductions.  But  no  other  is 
required.  The  editor  need  only  say,  as  the  curtain  rises, 
"  Here    they    are  !      Behold    them    and    judge    for   your- 


PRIZE-WINNERS,  COMPETITION  No.  167 

In  making  the  awards,  contributors'  ages  are  considered. 

VERSE.     Gold  badges,  John  C.  Farrar  (age  17),  Burlington,  Vt.;  Vernie  Peacock  (age  15),  Rockford,  111. 
Silver  badges,  Alice  Lindley  (age  14),  Minneapolis,  Minn.;  Francesca  White  Moffat  (age  13),  New  York  City;  Eu- 
genia B.  Sheppard  (age  14),  Columbus,  O.;  Elizabeth  Campbell  Dukes  (age  n),  West  Lafayette,  Ind. 
PROSE.     Silver  badges,  Edith  Mabel  Smith  (age  16),    London,  England;  Mamie  Levy  (age  12),  New  York  City; 
Margaret  Laughlin  (age  15),  Paris,  111. 

DRAWINGS.  Gold  badges,  E.  Theodore  Nelson  (age  16),  Brooklyn,  N.  Y.;  Welthea  B.  Thoday  (age  17),  Nan- 
tasket,  Mass. 

Silver  badges,  Virginia  B.  Bradfield  (age  15),  Pontiac,  Mich.;  Lucile  G.  Robertson  (age  12),  Barrington,  111.;  Leo  M. 
Peterson  (age  16),  Chicago,  111.;  M.  Betty  Watt  (age  14),  Wellesley,  Mass. 
PHOTOGRAPHS.     Gold  badge,  Duncan  Mellor  (age  i4),Plainfield,  N.  J. 

Silver  badges,  Robert  Redfield  (age  15),  Chicago,   111.;  Lucy  G.  Plumb  (age  17),  New  Milford,  Conn.;  Patrino  M. 
Colis  (age  16),  East  Pleasantville,  N.  Y.;  Martha  Robinson  (age  16),  Wollaston,  Mass.;  Henry  M.  Just,  Jr.  (age  14), 
Cape  May,  N.  J.;   Marion  W.  Dorsey  (age  14),  St.  Paul,  Minn.;  Willard  Robinson  (age  14),  Guthrie  Center,  la. 
WILD  CREATURE  PHOTOGRAPHY.     Class  "  D"  prize,  James  C.  Maples  (age  15),  Port  Chester,  N.  Y. 
PUZZLE-MAKING.     Gold  badges,  Jessica  B.  Noble  (age  13),  Los  Angeles,  Cal.;  Ida  Cramer  (age  12),  Reinbeck,  la. 
Silver  badge,  Irene  Glascock  (age  12),  Culver,  Ind. 

PUZZLE  ANSWERS.  Gold  badges,  Eleanor  E.  Carroll  (age  16),  West  New  Brighton,  N.  Y.;  Alfred  Hand,  3d 
(age  15),  Scranton,  Pa.;  Lothrop  Bartlett  (age  15),  Barnstable,  Mass.;  Arnold  Guyot  Cameron,  Jr.  (age  n),  Prince- 
ton, N.  J.  Silver  badges,  Katharine  Chapman  (age  14),  Kensington,  Md.;  J.  Whitton  Gibson  (age  14),  Norristown, 
Pa.;   Ruth  V.  A.  Spicer  (age  13),  Washington,  U.  C. 


BY  WILLARD  ROBINSON,    AGE    14 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


'COME 


276 


(SILVER    BADGE.) 


AGE    15. 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


277 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CITY 
(A  symphony) 

BY    JOHN    C.    FARRAR    (AGE    I  7) 

(Gold  Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  February,  19 1 3) 
(andante) 
Beneath  the  tawny  sky  where  the  misty  housetops  lie, 
The  cock,  with  tousled  feathers,  gives  the  city's 
muezzin  cry  : 

"Awake!  awake!     The  day!  the  day!" 
Then,  from  their  dingy  hovels,  come  men  with  picks 

and  shovels, 
Who  tramp  with  slow,   accustomed   feet  upon  the   fast- 
awakening  street, 
And  hear  the  morning  knelling,  with  steel  voice  ever 
telling  : 

"To  work!  to  work!     Obey!  obey!" 

(allegro) 
From  a  hushed  diminuendo  to  a  gradual  crescendo, 
Comes  the  whirring,  roaring  tune  of  the  city's  heart  at 

noon. 
Pale  faces,  red  faces,  faces  streaked  with  care, 
Foul  hearts,  cunning  hearts,  hearts  pure  and  fair, 
Rushing  on,  rushing  on,  merciless  and  swift, 
Evermore,  evermore,  human  atoms  drift. 

(scherzo) 
The  tune  of  the  night  when  the  lights  are  bright 
Sings  with  gaiety  and  hilarity  ; 
Filled  with  the  sound  of  dancing  feet, 
Catching  the  laughter  that  fills  the  street, 
Marked  with  the  rhythm  of  passion's  heat, 
And  rolling  out  in  a  human  song 
The  wonderful  battle  of  right  and  wrong. 

(larghetto) 
Sounds  of  the  night,  sounds  of  deep  emotion, 
Strike  upon  the  stars  to  capture  peace  ; 
Hush  thy  vain  and  clamorous  commotion, 
Hush,  and  with  the  midnight  echoes,  cease  ! 


"COME    ALONG."       BY    DUNCAN    MELLOR,    AGE    14.       (GOLD   BADGE. 
SILVER    BADGE   WON    NOV.,   1913.) 

THE  ROAD  TO  SUCCESS 

BY    BETTY    HUMPHREYS     (AGE    12) 

(Honor  Member) 
There  the  little  girl  sat,  on  the  hill  of  Success,  by  the 
fountain  of  Happiness,  thinking  over  her  travels.  It  had 
been  a  hard  road,  the  one  on  which  she  came,  and  she 
might  never  have  come  had  she  not  had  such  good 
friends  to  help  her.  First  of  all,  there  was  the  River 
Work,  and  the  road  went  all  the  way  beside  it.  The 
river  had  served  as  music  and  drink.     Then  there  was 


Prince  Hope,  who  had  slain  the  dragon,  Despair,  who 
blocked  her  way.  And  without  the  beautiful  fairy  Pa- 
tience, she  could  never  have  climbed  the  Hills  of  Dis- 
couragement that  stood  so  boldly  in  front  of  her.  And 
the  sprite  Conscience  prevented  her  going  on  the  wrong 
road,   Lazy   Lane.     When   the   rushing  torrent,    Danger, 


COME    ALONG.  BY    LUCY    G.    l'LUMB,   AGE    17. 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 

confronted  her,  she  crossed  safely  on  the  bridge  of 
Courage.  And  then,  when  the  road  was  very,  very 
rough,  she  built  a  boat  of  the  trees  of  Thought,  and 
sailed  quietly  along  on  River  Work.  (She  called  her 
boat  Wisdom.) 

Yes,  the  road  was  hard,  but  her  friends  were  good, 
and  they  await  any  other  traveler  who  may  travel  the 
road  to  Success,  if  only  he  is  willing  to  use  them. 

THE  ROAD  TO  SUCCESS 

BY   MAMIE  LEVY    (AGE    12) 

(Silver  Badge) 

There  is  one  sure  road  to  success — work.  Even  the 
greatest  men  who  are  known  all  over  the  world,  have 
only  reached  sticcess  after  hard  work. 

A  living  exam- 
ple of  this  is 
Thomas  Edison, 
one  of  the  great- 
est men  of  this 
age.  He  and  some 
of  his  friends 
were  once  talking 
about  his  recent 
inventions,  when 
one  of  them  said  : 

"You  must  have 
had  a  great  deal 
of  inspiration  to 
be  able  to  do  all 
this." 

■  Edison  replied  :  "Yes,  two  per  cent,  inspiration,  but 
ninety-eight  per  cent,  perspiration." 

Dishonest    work,    although    it    may.    bring   the    worker 


A    FRIEND    OF    THE    FAMILY. 
MARY   B.     MESERVEY. 


278 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Jan., 


great   success,    does    not    bring    with    it    any    feeling   of 
victory. 

In  many  cases  when  an  author  reaches  fame,  people 
exclaim,  "What  luck  I"  They  do  not  know  the  work 
that  was  done  before  that  author  attained  his  success. 


QL 


ANUARY 

1914. 


"A    HEADING    FOR    JANUARY."       BY    E.   THEODORE    NELSON,  AGE    16. 
(GOLD    BADGE.       SILVER    BADGE   WON    APRIL,    1912. ) 

Dickens   worked  many  years,  as  an  unknown   reporter, 
before  he  won  his  triumphs  as  an  author. 

From  these  examples  we  can  see  that  work  is  the  sure 
road  to  success. 

THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

BY    LUCILE   ELIZABETH    FITCH    (AGE    17) 

(Honor  Member) 

There  is  a  city  by  such  splendor  swept, 
Its  very  name  enraptureth  the  ear : 
Ah,  Venice,  how  the  arts  thou  soughtest  to  rear 

Have,  round  thy  grandeur  once  unquestioned,  crept ! 

A  poem  wert  thou  then  ;  and  in  thee  slept 
Music  and  love.     These  did  thy  gondolier 
Combine  in  native  song  when,  hushed  to  hear, 

It  seemed  thine  own  blue  waters  sighed  and  wept. 

That  was  the  old,  discarded  for  the  new. 

'    Thou  still  art  great,  but  far  less  fair  to  see. 

Venetian  gondoliers  there  are  but  few, 

And  motor-launches  shrill  modernity. 

Must  progress  and  advancement  lift,  e'en  now, 

The  coronal  of  beauty  from  thy  brow? 


DEER.       BY   JAMES   C.    MAPLES,  AGE    15.       (WILD    CREATURE 
PHOTOGRAPHY  PRIZE,  CLASS    "D.") 

THAT  ENTERTAINMENT 

BY    EDITH     MABEL    SMITH    (AGE    16) 

(Silver  Badge) 
"I   'm   sure  to  forget  that  poem  when  the  time  comes,1 
said  Beth  Brownlie. 


"You  won't  forget  it,"  Connie  Elliot  replied  ;  "you  've 
said  it  perfectly  quite  four  times  to-day." 

It  was  the  evening  of  the  breaking-up  concert,  and 
Beth  was  to  recite.  The  two  girls  descended  into  the 
rapidly  filling  hall.  Beth's  fingers  twitched  nervously  as 
she  repeated  "The  Slave's  Dream"  to  herself. 

The  chords  of  the  opening  duet  startled  her.  The 
concert  had  begun !  She  listened  with  interest  until 
Connie  nudged  her.     "You  're  next,"  she  said. 

"Me  !"  cried  Beth,  almost  aloud. 

She  ascended  the  platform  steps,  bowed,  and  began  : 
"  'The  Arrow  and  the  Song,'  by  Longfellow." 

Her  schoolmates  looked  up  in  astonishment.  They 
all  knew  the  piece  ;  they  had  learned  it  in  class. 

Beth  said  the  poem  perfectly  ;  calls  of  "Encore  !  en- 
core !"  rang  through  the  hall,  so  that  she  had  to  recite 
again.  She  went  slowly  up  the  steps,  bowed  as  before, 
then  recited  "The  Slave's  Dream."  This  also  she  said 
faultlessly,  and 
another  burst  of 
applause  greeted 
the  last  word. 

"Why  did  n't 
you  say  that  first  ?" 
Connie  asked. 

"Because,"  said 
Beth,  "when  I  got 
on  the  platform,  I 
could  n't  remem- 
ber who  wrote  it. 
I  knew  Longfel- 
low wrote  the 
other  one,  and 
when  I  was  half 
through,  I  re- 
membered he  was 
the  author  of  'The 
Slave's  Dream'  as 
well,  so  I  gave  that 
as   the   encore." 

The  rest  of  the  entertainment  went  smoothly,  then  at 
the  end  came  the  prizes.  Beth  was  quite  sure  she  had 
not  won  a  prize  until  the  principal  read  out :  "The 
Mayor's  special  prize  for  recitation  :   Beth  Brownlie." 

Beth  ran  up  the  steps,  and  bowed,  or  rather  bobbed,  to 
the  gentleman  as  he  handed  her  a  crisp  five-dollar  bill. 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CITY 

BY    MARY    DENDY    (AGE    15) 

Oh,  what  is  it  that  bids  us,  when  summer  's  nearly  o'er, 
Look  with  longing  eyes  about  us,  and  be  frolicsome  no 

more  ? 
What  makes  us  take  the  railway  guide,  that  volume  fuil 

of  doom, 
To  find  the  trains  that  bear  us  back  to  work,  to  dirt, 

and  gloom  ? 

Every  worker  in  the  city  knows  the  city's  dreaded  call, 
It  comes  to  you,  it  comes  to  me,  it  comes  to  one  and  all. 
We  must  leave  those  pleasant  places,  we  must  leave 

that  sunny  sea, 
We  must  leave  those  breezy  uplands,  we  must  leave  that 

grassy  lea. 

For  the  city  now  is  calling,  and  its  voice  must  be 

obeye'd, 
For  all  our  happy  times  there  is  a  price  that  must  be 

paid. 
We  must  toil  and  we  must  labor,  through  every  dreary 

day. 
With  thoughts  of  past  vacations  to  cheer  us  on  our  way. 


'HOW    THEY    RIDE. 
AGE 


I1Y    MARY    LYON, 


I9I4-] 


ST.   NICHOLAS   LEAGUE 


279 


A    FRIEND    OF    THE    FAMILY.  BY 

MARTHA    ROBINSON,  AGE    16. 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


FRIENDS    OF    THE    FAMILY.  BY    ALICE    MOORE, 

AGE    16. 


'A    FRIEND    OF   THE    FAMILY.  BY 

PATR1NO    M.    COLIS,    AGE    16. 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


'A    FRIEND    OF   THE    FAMILY.  BY    HENRY    M.    JUST,  JR. . 

AGE    14.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 


'A    FRIEND    OF   THE   FAMILY."       BY    VIRGINIA    STERKY, 
AGE    II. 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

BY    ALICE    LINDLEY    (AGE    14) 

(Silver  Badge) 
Mary  Ann  is  lovely  and  new, 
With  rosy  cheeks  and  eyes  of  blue, 
And  golden  hair  which  waves  and  curls, 
And  teeth  like  pearls. 

But  when  I  play  with  Mary  Ann, 
I  have  to  be  careful  as  I  can  ; 
For  if  I  should  happen  to  let  her  fall, 
There  would  be  no  doll. 

Isabella  is  old  and  worn, 
With  faded  cheeks  and  eyes  forlorn  ; 
I  cannot  say  much  of  her  hair  ; 
For — 't  is  not  there  ! 

But  when  with  Isabella  I  play, 
I  need  n't  be  careful,  the  least  bit,  I  say  ; 
For  if  I  should  happen  to  let  her  fall 
'T  would  n't  matter  at  all. 

I  don't  know  which  I  like  best  of  the  two, 
Isabella  so  old,  or  Mary  Ann  new ; 
But  I  've  thought  it  over  until  I  'm  blue, 
So  I  '11  leave  it  to  you. 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CITY 

BY    FRANCESCA    WHITE    MOFFAT    (AGE    13) 

(Silver  Badge) 
I  hear  it  in  my  sick-bed  as  I  lie 
A-listening  to  the  people  passing  by. 
It  is  always  moaning  over  the  same  tune  : 
'If  you  want  to  fill  your  money-bag  up  soon, 
You  must  always  hurry,  haste, 
Here  you  have  no  time  to  waste  !" 
I  grow  tired  of  the  sameness  of  the  tune. 

I  hear  it  in  the  passing  of  the  crowd, 

I  hear  it  in  their  busy  footsteps  loud, 

As  they  leave  work  at  the  close  of  afternoon  : 
'If  you  want  to  fill  your  money-bag  up  soon, 
You  must  always  hurry,  haste, 
Here  you  have  no  time  to  waste  !" 

Do  they  never  cease  from  chanting  that  same  tune  ? 

I  hear  it  in  the  midnight  soft  and  low 
As  the  rich  folk  from  their  pleasures  homeward  go. 
Like  the  poor  who  stop  to  eat  and  rest  at  noon, 
They  say,  "I  must  make  still  more  money  soon  !" 
Though  they  need  not  hurry,  haste, 
And  they  have  their  time  to  waste, 
Yet  they  never  cease  from  humming  that  same  tune. 


280 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Jan., 


THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CITY 

BY   ELIZABETH    CAMPBELL  DUKES    (AGE    II) 

(Silver  Badge) 
I  can  hear  the  city  calling! 
Oh,  the  music  is  enthralling, 

Where,  through  shining  plate-glass  windows,  colored 
bonbons  gleam  ; 
There  are  most  bewitching  dolls, 
Dressed  in  gorgeous  folderols, 

And  the  people  fill  the  streets  in  a  stream. 
There  are  playbills  everywhere, 
Notices  of  some  great  fair, 

Photographs  and  jewels  rare — wondrous  seem! 

Oh,  the  fresh-baked  cakes  and  pies, 
How  they  tantalize  my  eyes  ! 

And  the  frosted  buns  a-lying  in  the  pan, 
While  a  sugar  bride  and  groom  walk  where  candied 

roses  bloom — 
Oh,  the  city's  voice  I  '11  answer  when  I  can. 

THAT  ENTERTAINMENT 

BY    FRANKLIN   DEXTER,   JR.    (AGE  8) 

Once  I  went  to  a  circus.     It  was  not  an  ordinary  circus. 
We  all  dressed  up  in  things. 

There  was  a  fat 
man,  and  a  clown, 
and  a  man  dressed 
up  like  a  robber. 

First  there  were 
gymnastics. 

Then  they  had 
flowers  and  things 
to  sell.  They  had 
a  pony  that  a  man 
drove,  and  a  pony 
that  you  could  ride. 
They  had  a  phono- 
graph that  played 
when  we  marched. 
The  masks  were  very  stuffy.  We  played  on  the  grass 
before  the  audience,  and  did  all  sorts  of  funny  things. 
We  beat  the  drums.  One  of  them  pulled  a  little  pony- 
cart,  it  was  only  a  play  one.     There  was  one  girl  that 


was  dressed  up  like  a  Chinaman.     This  circus  was  for 
the  floating  hospital.     I  think  they  made  twenty  dollars. 


'HOW    THEY    RIDE.  BY    LUCY 

AGE    13. 


HOLT, 


THE  OLD  AND 
THE  NEW 

BY   EMANUEL   FARBSTEIN    (AGE    16)     

(Honor  Member) 
When  learned  men 
Would  wield  the  pen 

In  days  of  old.  gone  by  ; 
And  essays  wise, 
Of  endless  size, 

Would  write  on  subjects  dry, 
In  what  they  wrote 
They  'd  always  quote 

A  dozen  lines  of  Greek, 
And  here  and  there 
Would  ever  flare 

What  Latin  they  could  speak. 

But,  nowadays, 
Another  craze 

Has  seized  the  learned  few  ; 
That  done  by  sage 
In  former  age, 

Our  wise  men  will  not  do  ; 
Their  works  must  be 
Completely  free 

From  all  such  dry  harangue  ; 
They  use  instead 
Of  tongues  long  dead 

The  very  latest  si 


FRIEND    OF   THE    FAMILY." 
ISABELLA    R.   REA,    AGE    16. 


'COME   ALONG 


BY    MARION    \Y.    1 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


AGE    14. 


"A    FRIEND   OF   THE    FAMILY." 
LOUISE    BILLSTEIN,  AGE    IO. 


I9'4-] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


281 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

BY    VERNIE    PEACOCK    (AGE    1 5) 

(Gold  Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  November,  1912) 

(By  a  small  boy) 
Yes,  I  'm  as  mad  as  I  can  be,  and  you  will  soon  see 

why, 
And  if  I  were  a  sissy-girl,  I  'm  very  sure  I  'd  cry; 
For,  up-stairs,  sleeping  in  my  crib,  is  "Papa's  little 

Pearl"— 
The  "something"  I  am  mad  about — a  brand-new 

baby  girl ! 

Just  yesterday  the  nurse  came  down  with  something 

in  her  arm, 
I  wondered  what  on  earth  it  was,  and  if  't  would  do 

me  harm  ; 
But  Nurse  just  smiled  her  sweetest  smile,  and  said  : 

"Now  come  and  see 
Your  little  baby  sister !"     Well,  it  surely  did  shock 

me  ! 

And  now  I  must  n't  holler,  and  I  must  n't  bang  the 

doors ; 
I  must  n't  play  with  playthings  that  make  noise  upon 

the  floors  ; 
And  when  I  go  up-stairs  at  all,  I  have  to  tiptoe  round 


Oh,  well,  perhaps  while  "Pearl"  is  small,  I  '11  try  and 

not  demur  ; 
But  just  you  wait  till  she  grows  up — I  '11  have  it  out 

with  her  ! 


"A    HEADING  FOR  JANUARY."      BY    LUC1I.E    G.  ROBERTSON, 
AGE    12.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 


THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

BY   ELEANOR    HINMAN    (AGE    13) 

(Honor  Member) 
The  old  home  hid  itself  in  trees  that  made  a  mist  in 

May; 
The  blooming  branches  seemed  to  light  the  boards  of 

weathered  gray  ; 


As  if  I  were  an  angel,  and  was  treading  holy  ground.      I  watched  the  sunrise  touch  their  tops,  and  then  I  rode 

away. 
The  perfume  of  the  orchard  bloom  was  wafted  on  the 

breeze, 
The  dew  lay  thick  upon  the  grass  and  flowers  beneath 

the  trees, 
But  all  my  veins  were  fired  with  a  painful,  strange 

unease. 

I  whipped  my  horse  to  gallop,  and  I  watched  the 

glowing  sky ; 
My  mother  rode  beside  me,  but  not  a  word  spoke  I 
Till  we  reached  the  little  station,  and  then  I  sobbed, 

"Good-by  !" 
(In  thought  I  see  the  meadows  still,  and  smell  the 

new-plowed  sod  ; 
Still  see  the  dashing  brooklet  where  the  early  flowers 

nod  ; 
And  watch  that  little  farm-house  send  its  incense-smoke 

to  God  !) 

Oh,  when  I  sought  a  new  home  in  the  city's  crowded  air, 
I  saw  but  dingy  walls  around  that  rise  up  bleak  and 

bare 
To  meet  a  faded  heaven  that  looks  down  with  empty   • 

stare 
To  see  a  Godless  people  sell  their  very  souls  for  bread, 
And  a  place  whose  every  byway  hides  at  night  a 

nameless  dread, 
And  an  air  so  full  of  striving,  peace  abides  but  with  the 

dead. 


"HOW  THEY    RIDE."      BY   M.    BETTY  WATT,    AGE    14. 
(SILVER  BADGE.) 


And  if  I  make  a  fuss  to  Nurse,  she  shakes  her 

finger,  so, 
And  says,  in  bossy  fashion,  "Now,  my  dear,  you 

surely  know 
That  your  sister  is  the  baby  ;  you  have  not  that  honor 

now ; 
So  you  must  be  a  real  good  boy,  as  good  as  you 

know  how  !" 


I  am  wrong  ;  it  must  be  even  here  that  homes  are  blest ; 
God  would  never  let  His  people  fall  so  far  from  what  is 

best ; 
But  my  heart  is  sick  and  weary,  and  my  frame  cries  out 

for  rest, 
And  I  seek  and  cannot  find  it ;  I  must  live  from  day  to 
day ; 
Huh  !  so  she  thinks,  just  because  I  'm  old,   I  should      And  the  town  is  hard  and  cruel,  though  I  thought  it 

give  in  with  grace  bright  and  gay. 

To  that  new  one,  who,  in  perfect  bliss,  has  taken  up      Little  farm-house,  mine  no  longer,  tell  me  why  I  rode 
my  place  ;  away  ! 

Vol.  XLL— 36. 


282 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Jan., 


Ni-*  ^-           ]J 

t\W 

(Mr 

i 

"A    HEADING    FOR   JANUARY.  BY    BEATRICE    BROWN,    AGE    I4. 

THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

BY    EUGENIA    B.    SHEPPARD    (AGE    14) 

(Silver  Badge) . 
Dim  was  the  drawing-room,  lights  soft  and  tender 
Caressed  the  gold  harp-strings  and  shone  on  the 

fender, 
While  in  the  soft  shades  o'er  the  mantelpiece  wide, 
Two  old-fashioned  pictures  hung  still  side  by  side. 
A  quaint    maid  was  one,  in  whose  hair,  soft  and 

gleaming, 
A  red  rose  was  caught ;  those  eyes,  bright  and  beaming, 
Long  years  ago  watched  that  slow,  graceful  dance 
The  minuet  called  ;  those  small  feet,  perchance, 
Trod  many  a  measure,  led  many  a  ball, 
Yet  now  they  are  silent,  and  perished  are  all 
Who  once  prized  the  beauty  of  Anthea  Kyle. 
And  still  in  those  deep  eyes  there  lingers  a  smile. 

But  now  in  this  hour  of  mystic  twilight, 
'Cross  the  shadowy  floor  steals  a  figure  so  slight ; 
At  the  fireplace  she  pauses,  in  the  silence  it  seems 
That  the  face  which  she  lifts  is  the  spirit  of  dreams 
Yet  undreamed  ;   while  the  hair  and  the  eyes  are  the 

same 
As  the  portrait  above,  the  colonial  dame. 
Now  the  real  child  speaks  softly  :  "Dear  Anthea,"  her 

cry, 
"To  be  worth  your  fair  name  every  day  do  I  try." 
Then  their  eyes  met  in  tryst,  away  turned  the  child, 
Reigned  the  darkness  and  shadows — but  the  portrait 

still  smiled. 

THAT  ENTERTAINMENT 

BY    MARGARET    LAUGHLIN     (AGE    1 5) 

(Silver  Badge) 
(Taken  from  "The  Bugville  Daily  Newsleaf") 
"All  Bugville  is  in  a  state  of  excitement.  Last  evening, 
the   New  Rose  Theater  was  torn  from  its  stem  in  the 
course    of   the    entertainment    given    by    Miss    Ladybug 
and  Mr.  Cricket." 

(Miss  Ladybug  and  Mr.  Cricket  were  natives  of  Bug- 
ville who  had  been  studying  interpretative  dancing  at 
the  Butterfly  Hall,  and  had  returned  to  Bugville  to  give 
their  initial  performance.) 

"The  theater,  which  was  seen  fully  lighted  for  the 
first  and  last  time,  was  very  beautiful.  The  curtain  rose 
promptly  at  eight  o'clock.  Miss  Ladybug  and  Mr. 
Cricket  surpassed  the  highest  expectations,  and  proved 
themselves  quite  skilled  in  the  art  of  interpretative  dan- 
cing. 


"At  the  beginning  of  the  second  act,  a  slight  tremor 
was  felt  throughout  the  theater.  It  was  immediately 
followed  by  one  stronger  and  more  terrifying.  By  this 
time,  the  audience  was  greatly  alarmed,  and  rushed  for 
the  stem-escapes.  They  were  followed  by  Miss  Lady- 
bug  and  Mr.  Cricket,  who  reached  safety  just  as  the 
theater  was  lifted  upward  into  space. 

"Astronomers  have  been  busy  with  reedscopes  trying 
to  ascertain  the  cause  of  this  terrible  disaster,  and  as 
this  paper  goes  to  press,  it  is  thought  by  Professor  Po- 
tato-bug to  have  been  caused  by  one  of  those  immense 
moving  bodies  called  men." 


THAT  ENTERTAINMENT 

BY    MARGARET    M.    BENNEY    (AGE    16) 

(Honor  Member) 
The  most  interesting  entertainment   I   ever  saw  was  a 
Parsee  wedding.     They  all  start  at  sunset,  and  continue 
nearly  all  night. 

At  the  one  which  I  am  describing,  the  men  were 
dressed  in  full  skirts,  and  wore  stiff  hats  ;  while  the  wo- 
men were  clothed  in  beautiful  white  silk  sari,  em- 
broidered in  colored  flowers  and  silver. 

In  the  center  of  the  floor  was  a  square  of  white  cloth, 
on  which  were  placed  two  chairs,  for  the  bride  and 
groom. 

The  bride  was  placed  on  a  foot-stool,  and  her  new 
relatives  presented  her  with  their  gifts,  and  went 
through  several  ceremonies.  Then  there  was  a  blast  of 
music,  and  the  groom,  who  was  the  most  important 
member  of  the  wedding,  entered  with  a  large  bouquet 
of  flowers  and  a  shawl,  which  were  his  gifts  for  the 
bride.     He  sat  down  on  one  of  the  chairs,  while  some 


HOW   THEY    RIDE.  r>V    VIRGINIA    P.    HRADKIEI.D,    AGE    15. 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


other  men  stretched  a  piece  of  white  cloth  in  front  of 
him.  The  bride  was  then  brought  in  and  placed  on  the 
other  chair,  opposite  him,  on  the  other  side  of  the  mus- 
lin, for  they  were  supposed  to  have  never  seen  each 
other.  Under  this  they  joined  hands,  and  the  priests, 
chanting  all  the  while,  wrapped  a  rope  around  their 
hands,  and  seven  times  around  their  bodies.  At  last, 
the  cloth  was  removed,  and  the  bride  and  groom,  seated 
side  by  side,  received  the  advice  and  blessings  of  the 
priests,  who  kept  throwing  rice  over  them. 


I9I4-] 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


283 


After  that,  there  was  a  long  feast  out  in  the  yard,  and 
everybody  was  decorated  with  garlands  of  roses,  and 
presented  with  great  bunches  of  flowers. 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  CITY 

BY  ANITA   L.    GRANNIS    (AGE    1 3) 

{Honor  Member) 
I  wandered  in  the  Ghetto's  noisy  streets, 

And  on  the  crowded  pavement,  playing  there, 
I  saw  young  Jacob  of  the  noble  brow, 

And  slender  Rachel,  with  her  raven  hair. 
By  eddying  streams  of  thoughtless  passers-by, 

I  saw  their  only  playground  swept  away  ; 
And  watched  them  seek  another  one,  in  vain — 

Just  one  small  spot  where  children  twain  might  play. 
And,  as  I  gazed,  I  saw,  or  seemed  to  see, 

Two  other  children  playing,  long  ago, 
In  wide  green  fields,  where  breezes  fresh  and  sweet 

Were  bending  tall  lush  grasses' to  and  fro 
Beneath  the  spreading  sky.     I  looked  again 

At  those  poor  little  children,  standing  there — 
And  oh  !  a  voice  within  me  swelled  and  spake  : 

Can  this  be  fair? 

THE  OLD  AND  THE  NEW 

BY   MARION    MCCABE    (AGE    15) 

Poor  Sarah  Jane  sat  lone  and  sad 
While  down  she  drooped  her  head. 

A  dolly  fair,  with  golden  hair, 
Lay  in  her  little  bed. 

In  came  the  mother  of  the  twain, 

With  eyes  of  sparkling  blue  ; 
She  smiled  in  glee,  and  kissed  Marie, 

And  even  hugged  her  too. 


Lucy  E.  Cooke 
Henrietta  L.  Perrine 
Annie  H.  Potter 
Ruth  Dagnall 
Laura  Wild 
Muriel  Irving 
Dorothy  Holt 
Jane  Lattimer 
Constance  G.  Cameron 
Marian  Shaler 
Elizabeth  Macdonald 
Edith  Brodek 
Douglas  C.  Abbott 
Anna  De  Witt 
W.  Hermas  Stephenson 
Alice  L.  Chinn 
Dorothy  M.  Nield 
Tillie  Rosen 
Helen  Bull 
Ann  Hastings 
Jean  G.  Justice 
Lavinia  Janes 
Julia  Sherman 
Katharine  Brown 
Irene  M.  Evans 
Lauretta  Wheat 
Edith  M.  Levy 
Helen  A.  Winans 
Margaret  Lautz 
Helena  E.  Perin 
Nell  Upshaw 

PROSE,  2 

Ethel  N.  Pendleton 
Dorothy  Duncan 
Nell  F.  Hiscox 
Rose  Kadishevitz 
Emilie  Stuart 
Elise  Houghton 
James  S.  Valentine 
Mildred  Dauber 
Michael  Glassman 
Alice  Levy 
Ruth  Cohn 
Laura  B.  Thompson 
Eunice  C.  Herendeen 
Dorothy  Reynolds 
Elizabeth  Ziegenfelder 


Eleanor  F.  Dyer 
Nell  Adams 
Joan  M.  Waterlow 
Mary  B.  Ashworth 
Nina  M.  Ryan 
Elsa  A.  Synnestvedt 
Muriel  Ives 
Isabel  W.  Harper 
Lidda  Kladinko 
Ruth  E.  Sherburne 
Helen  D.  Church 
Herbert  A.  Harris 
Anne  Ashley 
Margaret  P.  Sutphen 
Dorothy  Wood 
Olga  van  S.  Owens 
Margaret  Sherwin 
Fannie  W.  Butterfield 
Beth  M.  Nichols 
Lucile  H.  Quarry 
Katharine  W.  Ball 
Ruth  D.  E.  Flinn 
Eleanor  Johnson  , 
Hazel  K.  Sawyer 
Elizabeth  P.  Smith 
B.  Cresswell 
John  B.  Main 
Eleanor  Linton 
John  Perez 
Flavia  Waters 
Margaret  H.  Laidlaw 
Edith  V.  Manwell 
Grace  C.  Freese 
Helen  P.  Loudens- 

Iager 
Jessie  M.  Thompson 

VERSE,  2 

Priscilla  Fraker 
Robert  J.  Cohn 
A.  B.  Blinn 
Mary  Porter 
Katharine  Gerry 
Bobbie  Arbogast 
Jeannette  Rustin 
Terence  Clark 
Sarah  F.  Borock 
Hugh  Winchley 


Susie  Scheuer 
Gilliland  Husband 
Loena  King 
Dorothy  Hughes 
George  Feldman 
Emma  Knapp 
Helen  G.  Barnard 
Emily  C.  Acker 
Ralph  G.  Demaree 
Donald  Kennedy 
Gretchen  Hercz 
Madeline  Zeisse 
Julia  S.  Marsh 
Copeland  Hovey 
Lucy  R.  Curtis 
Rosalie  L.  Hall 

DRAWINGS,  2 

Ruth  Kupfer 
Helen  T.  Stevenson 
Hilda  L  Hulbert 
Elizabeth  E.  McCahan 
Nora  Sterling 
Mavis  Carter 
John  Reich 
Harry  E.  Sharpe 
Louise  J.  Spanagle 
John  W.  Haley* 
Genevieve  R.  Bartlett 
Venette  M.  Willard 
Dorothy  L.  Macready 
Ruth  Hays 
Richard  Sias 
Margaret  M.  Thomas 
Sarah  M.  Bradley 
Sebastian  Gubbs 
Ruth  C.  Harris 
Anita  Marburg 
Jean  H.  Crepin 
Margaret  Clute 
Ruth  L.  Briggs 
Alta  I.  Davis 
Wilhelmina  Boon 
Ruth  W.  Tiffany 
Peyton  Rowan 
Jack  Field 
Esther  Lowell 
Henrietta  H.  Henning 


But  one  fine  day,  it  came  to  pass 

That  Carlo  spied  Marie. 
His  joyous  bark  proclaimed  a  lark, 

But  not  for  her,  you  see. 

'T  is  Sarah  Jane,  the  lucky  doll, 

Escaped  from  doggie's  paws. 
Not  so  Marie,  from  grand  Paree, 

She  hung  from  Carlo's  jaws. 

Now  Sarah's  heart  bounds  light  and  free, 

Because  of  Dotty's  kiss. 
She  's  glad  it  's  she,  and  not  Marie, 

Enjoying  all  the  bliss. 

THE  ROLL  OF  HONOR 

No.  1.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  would  have  been  used  had  space 
permitted. 

No.  2.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  entitles  them  to  encouragement. 


"HOW  THEV  RIDE."      BY  LEO    M.    PETERSON,    AGE    16.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 


PROSE,  1 

Berenice  Hill 
Elsie  P.  Briggs 
Lucy  O.  Lewton 
Mildred  Longstreth 
Jeannette  E.  Lows 
Eleanor  O.  Wells 
Griffith  M.  Harsh 
Lois  Hopkins 
Robert  Wormser 
Helen  Thane 
Travis  Shelton 
Helen  G.  Rankin 
Edith  Galley 
Francis  D.  Hays 
Elizabeth  A.  W. 

Campbell 
Dorothy  M.  Russell 


D.  Q.  Palmer 
Claire  H.  Roesch 
Esther  I.  Tate 
Marjorie  E.  Moran 
Maria  B.  Piatt 
Celia  M.  Carr 
Courtenay  W.  Halsey 
Alice  Hibbard 
Thyrza  Weston 
Caroline  F.  Ware 
Eugene  Scott 
Aileen  Daugherty 
Wyatt  Rushton 
Margaret  A.  Blair 
Loury  A.  Biggers 
Mildred  Hudson 
Mary  K.  Fagan 
Sally  Thompson 
Rose  Fischkin 


Christina  C.  McMurtin 
Hope  Satterthwaite 
Alfred  S.  Valentine 
Hester  A.  Emmet 
Katharine  Owers 
Agatha  Gilbert 
Mary  E.  Clapp 
Sydney  R.  McLean 
Frances  Cherry 
Alice  M.  Towsley 
Helene  M.  Roesch 
Richard  M.  Gudeman 
Anna  Michaels 
Anna  M.  Sheldon 
Mildred  Benjamin 
Dorothy  Levy 
Margaret  Pennewell 
Barbara  Loeb 
Eleanor  W.  HaasiS 


Hester  T.  Sheldon 
Gladys  M.  Smith 
Louise  Taggart 
Helen  W.  Piaget 
Laura  Hadley 
Ruth  Hooper 
Francis  P.  Squibb 
Anna  Carvey 
Carryl  Z.  Straus 
Elizabeth  C.  Carter 
Jeannette  Fellheimer 
Glenn  Codding 
Josephine  P.  January 

VERSE,  1 

Helen  D.  Hill 
Elizabeth  Morrison 

Duffield 
Katharine  Keiser 
Eunice  Eddy 
Elsie  L.  Lustig 
Alice  Trimble 
Frances  B.  Ward 
Jack  Flower 
Rachel  E.  Saxton 
Emily  S.  Stafford 
Mary  S.  Benson 
Rose  M.  Davis 
Emily  T.  Burke 
Irene  Mott 


Mildred  G.  Wheeler 
Dorothy  Wilcox 

DRAWINGS,  1 

Hildegarde  Beck 
Eleanor  David 
Miriam  Newcorn 
Alene  S.  Little 
Helen  C.  Jaeger 
Jacob  White 
Rolf  Ueland 
Edgar  Marburg,  Jr. 
Elizabeth  Thompson 
Armstrong  W.  Sperry 
Wilhelmina  R. 

Babcock 
Schofield  Handforth 
Margaret  Couffer 
S.  Dorothy  Bell 
Arnulf  Ueland 
Jeanette  B.  Daly 
Margaret  E.  Nicolson 
M.   Shannon   Webster, 

2d 
Zelina  de  M.  Comegys 
Wilhelmina    Dykmans 
Florence  Fisk 
G.  MacClark 
Margaret  Ager 
Wiard  B.  Ihnen 


AnnaD.  Hall 
Mary  Winslow 
John  Focht 
Edwin  A.  Bohl 
Paul  Sullivan 
Robert  P.  Robbins 
Margaret  C.  Bolger 
Richard  A.  Cutter 
Hester  B.  Curtis 
Marion  Norcross 
Margery  Andrews 
Emily  P.  Bethel 
Amelia  I.  Rianhard 
Virginia  L.  Moberly 
Ruth  Gibbs 
Frederick  W.  Agnew 
Frances  Badger 
Clifford  McBride 
Katharine  Pomeroy 
Margaret  Ufford 
Helen  Dennett 
Mabel  M.  Coutts 
John  M.  Johnston 
Dorothy  C.  Seligman 
Edith  Turtle 
George  A.  Chromey 
Dexter  Cheney 
Harold  Drake 
Ruth  C.  Robinson 
Virginia  M.  Bliss 
Mildred  V.  Preston 


284 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


Marian  E.  Deats 
Alice  M.  Hughes 
Rose  Ziffer 

Frank  E.  Huggins,  Jr. 
Phyllis  Harrown 
Olive  M.  Lyford 
Martha  E.  Whittemore 
Amelia  Winter 
Jennie  E.  Everden 
Muriel  W.  Curtis 
James  G.  King,  Jr. 
Marie  Sanderson 
Catherine  Doolittle 
Alice  C.  Marden 
Catherine  Corcoran 
Helen  D.  Baker 
Sadie  R.  Corcoran 
Julia  Sabine 
Mary  Wise 
Harrison  W.  Gill 
Robert  Martin 
Barbara  Lee 
Margaret  V.  Metcalfe 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  i 

Janet  Malnek 
Ruth  Englis 
Elizabeth  Richardson 
Herbert  Cohen 
Marion  Hahn 
Marian  G.  Wiley 
Walter  R.  Brewster 
Martha  E.  Trotter 
Margaret  M.  Horton 
Donald  Reed 
John  Langdon 
Eleanor  Vishno 
Frances  G.  Osborn 
Emy  Hofmann 
Helen  McDonald 
,Lucile  J.  Cerf 
'  Glenora  A.  Brewer 
Gerald  H.  Loomis 
Elsie  Nichols 
Nellie  R.  Albert 
Ruby  Burrage 
Dorothy  Steffan 
Katharine  H.  Clark 
Dorothy  Hull 
Ailcie  H.  Glenn 
Stuart  Robinson 
Eleanor  Pelham 
Grace  H.  Parker 
Dolly  Thompson 
Daniel  JB.f  Benscoter 
Clara  L.  Berg 
Howard  R.  Sherman 
Delaware  Kemper 
Adelaide  L.  White 
Katharine  F. 
Woodward 
Elizabeth  C.  Bates 
Helen  E.  Camp 
Katherine  Habersham 
Henry  G.  Langdon 
Donald  Chamberlin 
Irma  Sum  ma 
Dorothy  von  Olker 
Susan  P.  Hadsell 
Ruth  Yoerger 
Beatrice  Emerson 
Rosa  Marimon 
Helen  Stuart 
Jasper  Cragwall 
Grace  H.  Wilder 
Josephine  McQueen 
Blanche  B.  Shaw 
Mary  Drury 
Katherine  G.  Batts 
Adelaide  White 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  2 

Frances  Kinghorn 
Lydia  Burne 
Clarence  S.  Fisher 
Margaret  C.  Screven 
Ralph  A.  Monroe 
Harriot  A.  Parsons 
Emily  Kimborough 
Edward  C.  Parker 
Elizabeth  Huff 
Theodora  R.  Eldredge 
John  W.  DeWitt 


Mina  Dosker 
Grace  Bryant 

Hubbard  Larkin 
Robert  D.  Clark 
Annie  Bainbridge 
Archie  G.  MacDonald 
Hazel  S.  Wichern 
Ethel  Schmelzel 
Jerome  Gray 
Margaret  K.  Hinds 
Elizabeth  B.  Dudley 
Paulyne  F.  May 
Louise  S.  May 
Priscilla  Wilde 
Elberta  Esty 
Angela  Machado 
Alice  Richards 
Florence  Kirkpatrick 
Anne  W.  Williams 
Nellie  B.  Jackson 
Mildred  Rhodes 
Gladys  H.  Pew 
Ruth  M.  Bratton 
Alice  C.  Greene 
Wilbur  Little 
Alethea  Carpenter 
Katharine  Small 
Elise  N.  Stein 
Helen  H.  Wilson 
Almerin  M.  Gowing 
Audrey  Noxon 
Dorothy  Rand 
Hertha  Fink 
Jean  N.  Flanigen 
Virginia  M.  Allcock 
Cornelia  S.  Jackson 
Paul  Feely 
Mildred  Henderson 
Robert  D.  Sage 
Isabel  Coleman 
Phyllis  P.  Fletcher 
Herbert  L.  Pratt,  Jr. 
Ruth  Lee 

Beatrice  Barrangon 
Dorothy  V.  Tyson 
Irene  W.  de  la  Puerta 
Elizabeth  Armstrong 
Elizabeth  Spicer 
Caroline  Ingham 
Helen  D.  Alexander 
Harriette  Harrison 
Ruth  V.  A.  Spicer 
Elwyn  B.  White 
Helen  L.  McClure 
Winifred  Jelliffe 
Isidore  Wershub 
Julia  M.  Hicks 
Dorothy  V.  Fuller 
Adee  Greenbury 
J.  Sherwin  Murphy 
Frances  Roberts 
Constance  Cohen 
Marjorie  Shurtleff 
Marion  E.  Taylor 
Almeda  Becker 
Dorothy  Powell 
William  S.^Biddle 
Marjorie  C.  Huston 
Dorothy  D,  Gleason 
Ethel  Cox 
Humphrey  Lloyd 
Marion  A.  Hunter 
Nannette  Kennedy 
Eleanor  A.  Janeway 
Helen  Sachs 
Miette  Brugnot 
Jean  Patterson 
Alice  S.  Nicoll 
Elizabeth  H.  Baker 
Marjory  Woods 
Flora  Ros 
Marie  Riviere 
Alice  B.  Young 
Marian  Dawes 
Gladys  Edmondson 
C.  Norman  Fitts 
Carol  Lee  Johnson 
Audrey  McLeod 
Isabel  K.  Boyd 
C.  Douglas 
Henry  S.  Johnson 
Louise  Baldwin 
Ralph  ingersoll 
Winifred  Capron 
Rossabel  Dodge 


SPECIAL  NOTICE 

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  mo?tth.  For- 
tunately for  League  ?nembers,  this  change  iji 
the  date  of  publication  enables  us  to  extend  the 
limit  of  closing  the  League  competitions  by 
about  two  weeks.  The  closing  of  each  cotnpe- 
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. 


Beatrice  C. 

Collingwood 
A.  M.  Greene 
Margaret  Frazee 
Viola  Nordin 

PUZZLES,  1 

Wyllys  P.  Ames 
Margaret  Warburton 
Gustav  Diechmann 
Dorothy  Wilcox 
Duncan  Scarborough 
Edith  Pierpont 

Stickney 
Margaret  E.  Cohen 
Ethel  J.  Earle 
Gladys  Blakely 
Sherwood  Buckstaff 
Theodore  H.  Ames 
Elizabeth  E.  Abbott 
P.  Ernest  Isbell 
Margaret  Blake 
Douglas  Robinson 
Wilella  Waldorf 
Jean  F.  Benswanger 
Ferris  Neave 
Leslie  J.  Bowler 
Tilse  Elise  Daniels 
Margaret  Anderson 
Margaret  L.  Milne 
Mildred  Sweney 

PUZZLES,  2 

Beryl  M.  Siegbert 
Bessie  Radlofsky 
Eugenia  Towle 
Hortense  Miller 
Barrett  Brady 
Leonora  Andrews 
Ruth  E.  Prager 
Raymond  Ford 
Armand  Donaldson 
Dorothea  Morelock 
Joe  Earnest 
Gladys  S.  Conrad 
Elizabeth  Hayes 
Ruth  Browne 
Katharine  Bull 
Lucy  Hunt 
Elizabeth  Hammond 
Sylvia  F.  Wilcox 
Martha  Lambert 
Virginia  M.  Thompson 
Ottflie  Morris 
Janet  Danforth 
Salvatore  Mammano 
Edith  P.  Lewis 
Marguerite  T.  Arnold 
Virginia  L.  Conner 
Agatha  Brademeir 
Elizabeth  Bennick 
Elizabeth  B.  Field 
Gertrude  Bendheim 
Dorothy  W.  Dunning 
Katharine  Crosby 
Marjorie  Cohn 
Eleanor  Thrum 
Fanny  Marx 
Dorothy  B.  Marx 
Mary  Lillian  Ellis 
Fred  Floyd,  Jr. 


PRIZE  COMPETITION 
No.  171 

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.  171  will 
close  January  24  (for  for- 
eign members  January  30). 
Prize  announcements  will  be 
made  and  the  selected  contributions  published  in  St. 
Nicholas  for  May. 

Verse.  To  contain  not  more  than  twenty-four  lines. 
Subject,  "An  Old  Melody." 

Prose.  Essay  or  story  of  not  more  than  three  hundred 
words.     Subject,  "  Mother's  Best  Story. " 

Photograph.  Any  size,  mounted  or  unmounted  ;  no  blue 
prints  or  negatives.      Subject,  "  The  Winter  World." 

Drawing.  India  ink,  very  black  writing-ink,  or  wash. 
Subject,  "  Something  Wrong,"  or  a  Heading  for  May. 

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. 
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. 

RULES 

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  contributio7i  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. 


THE  LETTER-BOX 


Omaha,  Neb. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Different  members  of  our  family 
have  been  taking  you  for  sixteen  years. 

I  believe  I  have  not  missed  reading  you,  every  month, 
since  I  have  been  old  enough  to  understand  stories. 

I  have  been  up  on  a  ranch  all  summer.  For  my  birth- 
day, my  uncle  gave  me  a  horse  and  a  saddle  with  a 
bridle.     I  named  my  horse  "Queenie." 

The  name  of  my  favorite  dog  was  "Fanny."  It  used 
always  to  hunt  eggs  with  me. 

Once  my  cousin  and  I  went  way  up  in  a  windmill. 
We  shut  ft  off  before  we  climbed  it,  but  when  we  were 
up  there,  all  of  a  sudden  the  wheel  above  us  began 
turning ;  we  had  to  lie  down  upon  the  platform  for  some 
time  till  my  uncle  came  and  turned  it  off  again.  It  was 
very  dangerous  up  there  because  the  wheel  might  have 
knocked  us  off. 

I  have  been  so  interested  in  "The  Land  of  Mystery" 
and  "Beatrice  of  Denewood,"  and  am  very  sorry  that 
they  have  ended. 

Your  faithful  reader, 

Gertrude  C.  Peycke  (age  12). 


Nenana,  Alaska. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  We  have  read  so  many  letters  and 
many  interesting  things  in  St.  Nicholas  that  I  thought 
you  would  like  to  hear  from  us,  too. 

We  have  heard  more  about  Eskimos  than  the  Alaskan 
Indians. 

The  Eskimos  are  different  from  us.  They  wear  skin 
clothes,  and  have  huts  in  winter,  and  they  wear  canvas 
parkas  in  the  summer.  But  we  people  up  here  have 
log-cabins  and  tents.  We  live  in  cabins  in  the  winter, 
and  live  in  tents  in  summer,  because  it  is  so  warm  most 
of  the  time.  We  wear  the  same  kind  of  clothing,  but 
some  of  us  have  parkas  in  the  winter. 

Our  special  food  in  the  summer  is  fish.  The  people 
build  lots  of  fish-wheels  out  of  lumber  and  wire  in  the 
spring,  and  have  them  ready  in  July,  when  the  salmon 
come.  The  people  cut  them  and  dry  them  to  store  for 
winter,  so  they  don't  have  to  get  out  of  food.  In  the 
winter,  the  people  go  out  camping  to  hunt  for  moose, 
caribou,  fox,  bear,  and  many  other  animals.  Just  be- 
fore Christmas  they  come  back  to  have  a  nice  time. 
After  New- Year's,  they  all  scatter  everywhere  to  hunt 
again.  The  winters  are  sometimes  warm,  and  some- 
times very  cold  and  long,  with  three  months  of  dark- 
ness. We  had  much  snow  last  winter,  and  we  wonder 
what  kind  of  a  year  we  are  going  to  have  this  year. 

In  the  summer,  we  do  many  kinds  of  things  besides 
cutting  fish.  Some  of  the  women  usually  go  for  berries, 
if  they  feel  like  it. 

These  are  the  kinds  of  berries  we  have  in  this  coun- 
try :  blueberries,  raspberries,  high-bush  cranberries,  low- 
bush,  and  some  kind  of  berries  that  look  like  fuchsias. 
I  am  certainly  glad  when  the  spring  comes,  for  I  know 
we  will  be  soon  going  for  berries,  arid  eating  all  the  ber- 
ries we  want. 

The  autumn  is  here.  The  leaves  are  falling  from  the 
trees.  In  August  it  snowed.  We  all  thought  it  was  too 
early  yet  for  snow  to  come.  Now  there  is  not  a  snow- 
flake  to  be  seen. 

Everybody  in  this  country  has  dogs.  The  trails  are 
narrow  and  hard  for  horses  to  travel.  And  that  is  the 
reason  why  the  people  do  not  have  horses.  It  is  very 
easy  for  dogs,  but  in  some  places  it  is  hard.     In  some 


places,  the  ice  is  thin,  and  if  the  horse  should  go  in 
places  like  that,  why,  the  poor  creature  would  go  right 
through. 

The  people  in  winter  have  sleds.  They  make  them 
out  of  birch-trees  and  finish  them  on  the  sides  with 
moose  hide.  If  you  once  get  into  a  cozy  sled,  all  fixed 
up  in  blankets,  you  would  not  like  to  get  out  of  it.  If 
they  want  to  go  anywhere,  they  hitch  the  dogs  with  dog 
harness.  The  little  dogs  sometimes  have  to  travel 
eighty  or  ninety  miles  in  a  day.  The  people  have  to  cut 
lots  of  fish  in  summer,  for  the  dogs  in  the  winter.  They 
have  little  caches  to  store  their  fish  in. 

We  all  live  in  the  mission.  There  are  about  sixteen 
boys  and  ten  girls.  I  tell  you  I  think  we  are  a  happy 
lot.     Some  of  the  children  are  playing  games. 

The  school  opened  the  eighth  of  September,  and  we 
are  going  to  school  every  day  now. 
Your  friend, 

Julia  Albert. 


Columbus,  O. 
Dear  St.   Nicholas  :   Santa  Claus  was  so  good  to  me 
when   he   brought  you  to   me  last   Christmas  !      I   could 
never  give  you  up.     I  have  no  brothers  or  sisters,  but 
you  take  that  place. 

Nine  of  us  girls  have  a  club,  and  we  gave  a  play.  It 
was  "Everygirl,"  the  one  published  in  the  October  St. 
Nicholas.  The  play  went  off  beautifully.  I  was  so 
pleased,  because  I  suggested  it.  We  have  tried  to  have 
plays  before,  but  none  came  off,  and  this  one  did  be- 
cause it  was  published  in  you.  I  love  your  stories,  and 
am  much  interested  in  the  League.  I  have  sent  two 
pieces  in,  and  am  waiting  anxiously.  I  hope  to  see  my 
name  on  the  Roll  of  Honor. 

I  don't  know  of  any  magazine  that  is  better  than  you. 
I  don't  know  what  I  would  do  without  you. 
Your  constant  reader, 

Georgea  Backus  (age  13). 


Denver,  Col. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  think  that  the  gold  badge  is  even 
prettier  than  the  silver  one,  although,  when  I  received 
the  silver  badge,  I  deemed  that  impossible.  The  poem 
was  written  while  I  had  the  mumps.  You  see,  I  had 
swelling  of  the  inspiration  as  well  as  of  the  glands  ! 

St.  Nicholas  is  the  Saint  of  Magazines  in  my 
opinion. 

I  live  out  in  Colorado.  It  is  a  beautiful  State,  but  I 
think  I  would  rather  live  in  the  East.  I  have  been  in 
Colorado  Springs  most  of  my  life,  and  have  seen  the 
Garden  of  the  Gods,  Manitou  Springs,  Pike's  Peak,  and 
other  interesting  scenery,  which  I  will,  perhaps,  try,  to 
describe  in  another  letter. 

With  many  good  wishes  for  the  League,  I  must  close. 
Doris  Wilder  (age  12). 


Youngstown,  O. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  I  am  a  little  girl  eleven  years  old. 
I  have  taken  your  magazine  for  over  five  years.  I  look 
forward  to  your  magazine  every  month,  and  greatly 
enjoy  reading  it.  I  live  in  Youngstown,  Ohio,  a  very 
dirty  manufacturing  town,  but  some  of  the  nicest  people 
in  the  world  live  in  it,  I  think.  I  have  no  brothers  or 
sisters,  and  so  I  play  most  of  the  time  by  myself. 

I  love  to  read,  and  among  my  favorite  books  are  "Lit- 


285 


286 


THE  LETTER-BOX 


tie  Women"  and  Dickens's  "David  Copperfield"  and 
"Dombey  and  Son."  I  have  seen  the  play  of  "Little 
Women,"  and  liked  it  better  than  any  play  I  have  ever 
seen,  it  was  so  realistic  and  homy. 

I  have  a  dear  little  canary  named  "Peter  Pan,"  which 
was  one  of  my  Christmas  presents.  He  is  a  German 
canary,  and  a  beautiful  singer.  Sometimes  I  speak  Ger- 
man to  him,  and  he  answers  "peep,"  just  as  if  he  un- 
derstood. Truly  yours, 

Sally  Rayen  Davis  (age  n). 


Larchmont  Manor,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  think  I  have  written  you  before, 
but  I  can't  help  writing  to  you  to  tell  you  how  much  I 
love  the  two  stories  "Beatrice  of  Denewood"  and  "The 
Land  of  Mystery."  I  think  they  have  both  ended  beau- 
tifully, but  I  am  so  sorr3'  to  see  them  end.  I  don't  know 
what  I  shall  do  without  them  to  read.  I  am  not  the 
only  one  in  our  family  that  enjoys  them ;  my  father 
always  reads  them  aloud  to  my  mother,  brother,  and 
myself.  I  know  I  shall  enjoy  Mrs.  Johnston's  story, 
though,  for  the  "Little  Colonel"  books  are  my  favorites. 

I  am  a  member  of  the  League,  and  I  enjoy  reading 
about  it  immensely ;  but  I  have  never  sent  anything 
much  myself. 

I  like  to  make  up  puzzles  and  answer  others  very 
much,  and  I  enjoy  the  advertising  competitions  espe- 
cially. 

I  have  taken  you  for  two  years,  and  I  am  sure  there 
is  not  a  more  interesting  magazine  for  girls  or  boys. 
Your  interested  reader, 

Florence  Rogers  (age  13). 


Amity,  Ore. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  am  a  Chicago  girl,  but  about  six 
months  ago,  we  came  out  west.  We  had  a  grand  trip, 
as  we  went  through  the  Rockies,  the  Gorge,  past  Salt 
Lake,  and  many  other  interesting  places.  Portland  is  a 
beautiful  city,  but  we  stayed  there  only  ten  weeks.  Now 
we  live  about  fifty-seven  miles  south  of  Portland. 
Amity  is  an  old  place,  in  fact  it  had  a  post-office  before 
Portland.  The  Indians  fought  a  great  battle  two  miles 
up  the  river,  and  there  are  lots  of  arrow-heads  and 
beads  to  be  found  there.  There  is  a  great  big  old  oak 
just  the  other  side  of  our  boundary  fence,  and  under 
it  the  treaty  of  peace  was  signed.  In  the  woods  here, 
not  far  from  our  land,  there  are  the  ruins  of  an  old  In- 
dian fort.  The  Indians  founded  the  town,  and  called  it 
"Amity,"  which  is  the  French  for  "Friendship." 

I  had  to  give  up  high  school  when  we  came  here, 
because  it  is  too  far  to  walk.  But  in  a  year  or  so  I 
expect  to  go  to  Oregon's  Agricultural  College  at  Cor- 
vallis  (nineteen  miles  from  here). 

I  have  some  of  the  very  first  volumes  of  you,  bound. 
And  since  I  was  eight  years  old,  I  got  the  bound  books 
every  year  at  Christmas. 

Wishing  you  all  good  luck  in  the  future,  I  am 
Yours  sincerely, 

Dora  E.  Starke  (age  15). 


London,  England. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   I  enjoy  your  magazine  so  much, 
especially  the  League  and  Letter-Box. 

I  live  abroad  in  summer  and  in  New  York  in  winter. 
I  have  already  traveled  through  France,  Germany,  Eng- 
land, Italy,  Switzerland,  Holland,  Belgium,  Scotland, 
Austria,  and  Hungary. 

When  the  St.  Nicholas  comes,  it  is  devoured  from 
cover  to  cover,  after  which  we  read  it  all  over  again. 
How   often   have   I   just   escaped   being   late    for   school 


because  St.  Nicholas  was  brought  in  to  the  breakfast- 
table  with  the  other  mail !  I  have  thought  of  trying  to 
earn  the  year's  subscription,  but  everybody  I  know  takes 
and  loves  the  St.  Nicholas.  I  took  your  magazine  for 
several  years  before  I  was  old  enough  to  enjoy  it,  and 
now  what  a  treasure  those  old  magazines  are  ! 
Your  devoted  little  reader, 

Haroldine  Humphreys  (age  11). 


Alameda,  Cal. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  I  am  seven  and  three  quarter  years 
old,  and  so  is  my  sister.  We  have  many  pets.  We  have 
a  pony,  a  dog,  and  three  cats,  and  once  we  had  two 
canary-birds  whose  names  were  Dick  and  Fluffy,  but 
the  cats  ate  them,  whose  names  are  Peter  and  Sophia 
and  Susan. 

We  buy  the  St.  Nicholas  every  month,  but  we  love 
it  just  as  if  we  took  it.  We  like  "For  Very  Little 
Folks"  best,  and  our  big  sister  reads  it  to  us.  We  made 
up  a  poem  to-day.     Here  it  is : 

The  summer  is  warm, 

The  winter  is  cold  ; 
I  will  love  St.  Nicholas 

Until  I  am  old. 

This  is  from  me.     This  is  from  my  sister : 


The  sky  is  blue,  the  world  is  bright, 
I  read  St.  Nicholas  day  and  night. 


Good-by. 


Your  loving  friends, 

MABEf.  and  Alice  Littleton. 


INTERESTING  and  welcome  letters  have  been  received 
also  from  Ruth  Smalley,  Eunice  Cole,  Mary  Louise 
Black,  Elizabeth  Dudley,  Dorothy  M.  Parsons,  Julia 
Borden  Hutton,  Gladys  Kathrine  Hallford,  Edwin  Bar- 
nett  Gilbert,  Emma  A.  Faehrmann,  Louise  B.  Cohen, 
Margaret  Tooley,  Joseph  Denison  Elder,  Lucia  K.  Sher- 
man, Jessie  L.  Fuller,  Peggy  Waymouth,  Mary  Wilkins 
Rustin,  Helen  W.  Unverzagte,  Edward  M.  Douglas, 
Caro  Williamson,  Vera  Cates,  Harry  Iselin,  Helen 
Morris,  Barbara  Coyne,  Marjorie  Covert,  John 
Churchill  Newcomb,  Dorothy  Trunkfield,  Myrtle  Dubbs. 
John  Perez,  Jr.,  Jean  Bergner,  Elizabeth  Butler, 
Elizabeth  Silber,  Priscilla  L.  Hoopes,  Eliza  J.  Beattie, 
Myra  Van  Vleck,  Helen  C.  McCoy,  Florence  M. 
Thomas,  Phyllis  Radford,  Lucile  Luttrell,  Caroline 
Shields,  Margaretta  A.  Sharpley,  Shelby  McKnight, 
Marian  B.  Mishler,  Claire  E.  Ginsburg,  Marion  H. 
Weinstein,  Lillian  E.  Sauer,  Maxine  Elliot,  Mary  Vir- 
ginia Harris,  Avis  Sherburn,  Benita  Levy,  Harvey 
Eagleson,  Eliza  Wood,  Rosalind  Gould  Higgins,  Flor- 
ence Van  Auken,  Jarvis  Kerr,  Dorothy  Smith,  Annette 
N.  Wright,  Jennie  Slaughter,  "Susie  and  Billie  and 
Dick,"  Mae  M.  Bradford,  Louis  Case,  Elizabeth  D. 
Gardner,  Leona  May  Hole,  Susanne  and  Vivian  Van 
Brunt,  Nathalie  E.  Harvey,  Elizabeth  Pierce,  Anthony 
Tyson,  Ruth  Wood,  Margaret  H.  Wardlage,  Hazel 
Hodgson,  Beatrice  Marks,  Nell  Kerr,  Evelyn  June  Web- 
ster, Eleanor  S.  Hearne,  Georgene  Davis,  Grace  and 
Florence  Knox,  Alice  S.  Vail,  Corinne  Lesshofft,  Eliza- 
beth Owen,  Albert  W.  Chapman,  Jane  Thrift,  B.  E. 
Schumacher,  Thomas  Blair,  Frances  H.  Compton,  Agnes 
Cliff,  Elsie  Boehringer,  Marjorie  Stebbins,  Lydia  Burne, 
Mollie  Boyd,  Sarah  Baxter,  Millicent  Williams,  Denny 
Godwin,  Dixie  I.  Charnock,  Dorothy  von  Olker,  Nelly 
Linn,  Alice  A.  Woodward,  Katharine  Cowles,  Alexan- 
der L.  H.  Darragh,  Annie  H.  Potter,  Lucia  and  Lucius 
Eastman,  Bonnie  E.  Galbreath,  Flora  Otis,  Mildred 
Graham,  Gertrude  Pembleton,  Nellie  Grane,  Norman 
Johnson,  and  Kathleen  Rodgers. 


ANSWERS   TO   PUZZLES    IN   THE  DECEMBER   NUMBER 


Illustrated  Diagonal.  Holly,  i.  Heart.  2.  Dolls.  3.  Palms. 
4.   Balls.     5.  Candy. 

Quadruple  Beheadings  and  Curtailings.  Renaissance.  1.  Cate- 
rpi-llar,  rip.  2.  Both-era-tion,  ear.  3.  Inat-ten-tion,  net.  4.  Unde- 
rta-king,  art.  5.  Pers-ist-ence,  its.  6.  Deva-sta-tion,  sat.  7.  Tran- 
sma-rine,  Sam.  8.  Subs-tan-tive,  ant.  9.  Desp-ond-ency,  nod.  10. 
Aris-toc-racy,  cot.     11.   Exon-era-tion,  ear. 

Novel  Zigzags.  Wilson,  Dallas,  Monroe,  Hamlin,  Arthur,  Mor- 
ton. 

Cross-words :  1.  Balsam.  2.  Pillow.  3.  Wooden.  4.  Gallon.  5. 
Callao.  6.  Debris.  7.  Conrad.  8.  Poison.  9.  Marble.  10.  Ham- 
let. 11.  Raisin.  12.  Harden.  13.  Gather.  14.  Armful.  15.  Anchor. 
16.   Mortar.     17.  Boston.     18.  Muslin. 

Illustrated  Novel  Acrostic.  Boston  Tea  Party.  1.  Bowls.  2. 
Stork.     3.  Onion.     4.  Tents.     5.  Apple.     6.  Arrow.     7.  Types. 


Double  Acrostic.  Primals,  Napoleon  ;  finals,  Waterloo.  Cross- 
words: 1.  Narrow.  2.  Armada.  3.  Patent.  4.  Oracle.  5.  Litter. 
6.   Enamel.     7.  Overdo.     8.  Nuncio. 

Novel  Numerical  Enigma. 

Just  at  the  age  'twixt  boy  and  youth 

When  thought  is  speech,  and  speech  is  truth. 

Double  Zigzag.  Primal  zigzag,  Mozart;  final  zigzag,  Chopin. 
Cross-words:  1.  Mace.  2.  Noah.  3.  Zion.  4.  Lamp.  5.  Rein.  6. 
Eton.  , 

Novel  Acrostic.  Date,  December  twenty-first.  From  1  to  29,  The 
Landing  of  the  Pilgrim  Fathers;  30  to  38,  Mayflower;  39  to  46,  Ply- 
mouth ;  47  to  59,  Massachusetts.  Cross-words:  1.  Dealt.  2.  Eager. 
3.  Corps.  4.  Ether.  5.  Minds.  6.  Bindsr  7.  Ethic.  8.  Reefs.  9. 
Timid.  10.  Whiff.  11.  Elate.  12.  Nudge.  13.  Towel.  14.  Yacht. 
15.  Foamy.     16.  Impel.     17.   Ratch.     18.   Suits.     19.   Thyme. 


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  October  Number  were  received  before  October  10  from  Carl  Maedje — Eleanor  E.  Carroll — Dun- 
can Scarborough — May  Voorhis — Theodore  H.  Ames — P.  Ernest  Isbell — Margaret  Macdonald — Henry  Seligsohn — Lothrop  Bartlett — Alfred 
Hand,  3d — Florence  M.  Treat — J.  Whitton  Gibson — Blanche  Baumann — Katharine  Chapman — Max  Stolz — Ruth  V.  A.  Spicer — Sophie  Rosen- 
heim— Caryl  Dunham — Arnold  Guyot  Cameron,  Jr. — Eleanor  Manning — "Allil  and  Adi  " — Evelyn  Hillman — Claire  A.  Hepner — "Chums" — 
Florence  P.  Carter — "  Terrapin  " — No  name. 

Answers  to  Puzzles  in  the  October  Number  were  received  before  October  10  from  Dorothy  Berrall,  7 — Phyllis  S.  Rankin,  7 — Mary  L. 
Ingles,  7 — Eloise  Peckham,  7 — E.  Barrett  Brady,  7 — Alvin  E.  Blomquist,  6 — Marjorie  Gibbons,  6 — Janet  B.  Fine,  6 — Dorothea  Lynch,  6 — Mar- 
garet Lynch,  6 — No  name,  6 — Elizabeth  Jones,  5 — Matilda  Van  Siclen,  4 — Amy  Erlandsen,  3 — Carl  S.  Schmidt,  3 — M.  Turner,  2 — M.  Maurer, 
2 — R.  Williams,  2 — E.  H.  Baumann,  2 — L.  E.  Worthington,  1 — H.  Turrell,  1— J.  O.  Gayle,  1 — C.  A.  Deyo,  1— F.  Fuss,  1  — L.  Bucknall,  1— L. 
H.  Holland,  1 — D.  Kingman,  1 — B.  Singer,  1 — M.  M.  Barr,  1 — J.  Smith,  1 — L.  Glorieux,  i — Yvonne  Moen,  1. 


NEW-TEAR'S  ACROSTIC 

My  primals  spell  an  eighteenth-century  writer  who  was 
born  on  New- Year's  Day  ;  my  finals  spell  her  most  im- 
portant book. 

Cross-words  (of  equal  length)  :  1.  To  ape.  2.  A 
place  of  public  contest.  3.  A  pictured  riddle.  4.  Un- 
suitable. 5.  To  abolish.  6.  Select.  7.  Dismal.  8.  A 
feminine  name.  9.  Treating  of  morals.  10.  To  inflict. 
11.  A  water-willow.  12.  To  plunder.  13.  A  sign.  14. 
To  frequent. 

ruth  kathryn  gaylord  (age  14),  Honor  Member. 

TRIPLE  BEHEADINGS  AND  TRIPLE  CURTAILINGS 

{Gold Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  May,  1912) 

Example  :  Triply  behead  and  curtail  benefit,  and  leave 
an  insect.     Adv-ant-age. 

1.  Triply  behead  and  curtail  exerting  force,  and  leave 
a  common  rodent.  2.  Triply  behead  and  curtail  absorb- 
ing, and  leave  a  sphere.  3.  Triply  behead  and  curtail 
trial,  and  leave  a  flying,  insectivorous  animal.  4.  Triply 
behead  and  curtail  menacing,  and  leave  to  conclude.  5. 
Triply  behead  and  curtail  to  make  acquainted,  and  leave 
a  measure  of  length.  6.  Triply  behead  and  curtail  a 
great  body  of  land,  and  leave  a  metal.  7.  Triply  behead 
and  curtail  a  peculiarity  of  the  language  of  the  rabbis, 
and  leave  a  big  box.  8.  Triply  behead  and  curtail  per- 
taining to   Saturn,  and  leave  a  vase.     9.  Triply  behead 


and  curtail  marriage,  and  leave  a  border.  10.  Triply 
behead  and  curtail  the  property  of  being  magnetic,  and 
leave  a  snare.  11.  Triply  behead  and  curtail  feeling, 
and  leave  was  seated. 

When  the  foregoing  beheadings  and  curtailings  have 
been  rightly  made,  the  initials  of  the  eleven' little  words 
remaining  will  spell  the  name  of  a  famous  lyric  poet 
who  was  born  in  January,  more  than  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago.  jessica  b.  noble  (age  13). 

NOVEL  DOUBLE  DIAGONAL 


7 
12 


4     8 


13 


14 


The  diagonals,  from  the  upper,  left-hand  letter  to  the 
lower,  right-hand  letter,  and  from  the  upper,  right-hand 
letter  to  the  lower,  left-hand  letter,  each  name  a  coun- 
try of  Europe.  The  letters  represented  by  the  figures 
from  1  to  8  and  from  9  to  14  spell  an  important  city  in 
each  of  these  countries. 

Cross-words  :  1.  Ravines.  2.  A  dealer  in  cloths.  3. 
To  come  forth.  4.  Harbors.  5.  To  divide  into  two.  6. 
A  recess  in  a  room. 

J.  whitton  Gibson  (age  13),  League  Member. 


287 


288 


THE  RIDDLE-BOX 


ILLUSTRATED  DIAGONAL 

Each  of  the  six  pictures  may  be  described  by  a  six- 
letter  word.  When  these  are  rightly  guessed  and  writ- 
ten one  below  another,  the  diagonal  (from  the  upper, 
left-hand  letter  to  the  lower,  right-hand  letter)  will 
spell  the  name  of  a  famous  man  who  was  born  in  Janu- 
ary, many  years  age;.  His  calling  is  hinted  at  in  the 
following  numerical  enigma. 

I  am  composed  of  forty-seven  letters,  and  form  a 
quotation  from  Auerbach. 

My  13-7—23  is  a  common  verb.  My  35-25-19-47  is 
to  fret.  My  41-31-30-10  is  a  dandy.  My  6-28-12-44- 
38  is  a  creature'of  the  deep.  My  21-36-42-37-15  is 
weighty.  My  1-34-2-8-29  is  a  small  quadruped.  My 
46-14-4-27-9  is  fidelity.  My  32-20-18-17—40  is  a  short 
narrative.  My  1 1-26-45-5-22  is  a  thin  piece  cut  off. 
My  16-39-24-3-33-43  is  chilly. 


A  DOUBLE    WORD-SQUARE 

Five-letter  Square:  i.  Fleshy.  2. 
Strength.  3.  Furnished  with  ears. 
4.  A  Scandinavian.     5.  Finished. 

Included     Three-letter     Square  : 
1.     Uncooked.       2.     A    verb.       3.     To 
marry. 
eugene  scott  (age  14),  Honor  Member. 


WORD-SQUARE 

1.   A  social  order.  2.  To   regard  with  horror 

emit  rays  of  light.  4.   Bracing.     5 
an  upright  position. 

edith  sloan  (age  16),  League  Member. 


3-   To 
To  raise  and  set  in 


A  ROMAN  DIAGONAL 

{Silver  Badge,  St.  Nicholas  League  Competition) 

All  of  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number 
of  letters.  When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another,  the  diagonal  (from  the  upper,  left-hand  letter 
to  the  lower,  right-hand  letter)  will  spell  the  name  of  a 
great  general  who  opposed  the  armies  of  Rome. 

Cross-words  :  1.  The  scene  of  a  victory  of  Pyrrhus, 
king  of  Epirus,  over  the  Romans,  280  B.C.  2.  The  or- 
ganizer of  a  famous  conspiracy.  3.  The  scene  of  a 
famous  victory  by  the  Romans  under  Fabius  in  235 
B.C.  over  the  allied   Samnites  and  Gauls.     4.   A  famous 


Roman  matron.  5.  The  scene  of  two  famous  battles 
fought  in  42  B.C.  in  which  Octavius  and  Mark  Antony 
were  victorious.  6.  Part  of  the  name  of  the  son  of 
Tarquinius  Priscus.  7.  The  "Restorer  of  the  Roman 
Empire."     8.  The  highest  of  the  seven  hills  of  Rome. 

IRENE    GLASCOCK    (age    1 2). 

NOVEL  ACROSTIC 

(Gold Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  November,  1913) 

All  of  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number 
of  letters.  When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another,  the  initials  will  spell  a  twelve-letter  word,  and 
another  row  of  letters  will  spell  a  word  of  the  same 
length.  When  these  two  words  are  read  in  connection, 
they  will  form  a  famous  announcement  made  in  Janu- 
ary, more  than  fifty  years  ago. 

Cross-words  :  i.  Void.  2.  Low,  wet  ground.  3. 
Audibly.  4.  Daintier.  5.  A  mark  of  punctuation.  6.  A 
statue.  7.  Cougars.  8.  A  notice  of  danger.  9.  Com- 
plete. 10.  A  simpleton.  11.  Scents.  12.  A  feminine 
name.  ida  cramer  (age  12). 

OBLIQUE  RECTANGLE 


In  solving,  follow  the  above  diagram,  though  the  puzzle 
has  twenty-six  cross-words. 

Cross-words  (beginning  with  the  upper  single  let- 
ter) :  1.  In  answer.  2.  A  little  demon.  3.  Vigorously. 
4.  Heaps.  5.  At  no  time.  6.  Of  a  dark  reddish  brown 
color.  7.  To  plunder.  8.  A  notice  of  danger.  9.  Mis- 
take. 10.  A  grinding  tooth.  11.  A  native  prince  of 
India.  12.  Swift.  13.  The  habitations  of  honey-bees. 
14.  To  prevent  by  fear.  15.  The  watery  part  of  animal 
fluids.  16.  An  East  India  silver  coin.  17.  A  measure 
of  length.  18.  To  obliterate.  19.  A  trial.  20.  Made 
quiet.  21.  To  long.  22.  To  draw  off  gradually.  23. 
Nothing.  24.  Saltpeter.  25.  A  limb.  26.  In  answer. 
anthony  fabbri  (age  16),  League  Member. 


THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS,  NEW   YORK. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


You'd  know  Campbell's  Tomato  Soup  with 
your  eyes  shut. 

You'd  know  it  from  other  tomato  soups  by  its  fragrant 
aroma,  its  delightful  racy  flavor  and  its  wholesomeness. 

It  is  cooked  just  enough.  It  is  not  over-sweet.  It  has 
the  smacking  relish  of  a  sound  red-ripe  tomato  fresh- 
picked  and  perfectly  seasoned. 

Blended  with  other  choice  materials,  according  to  the 
exclusive  Campbell  formula,  it  combines  delicacy  with  a 
nourishing  richness  peculiar  to  itself. 

In  short,  there's  no  tomato  soup  like  Campbell's. 
Why  not  enjoy  it  again  today? 

21  kinds        10c  a  can 


Asparagus 

Beef 

Bouillon 

Celery 

Chicken 

Chicken-Gumbo  (Okra) 

Clam  Bouillon 


Clam  Chowder 
Consomme 
Julienne 
Mock  Turtle 
Mulligatawny 
Mutton  Broth 
Ox  Tail 


Pea 

Pepper  Pot 

Printanier 

Tomato 

Tomato-Okra 

Vegetable 

Vermicelli-Tomato 


"Boo!    I  say  to  needless 

care 
Which  Campbell's   Soups 

will  banish. 
A  daily  share  of  this  good  1  1    •  1       1         1 

And  halt  your  troubles      Look  for  the  red-and-  white  label 


}fanffiML  Soups 


13 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The 

new  Way 

I 

berier 
Way 


Jtlwcrys 
pure 

Always 
Weight 


14 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


NABISCO 

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 
tins. 


^ 


ADORA 

Another  charming  confec- 
tion— a  filled  sugar  wafer 
with  a  bountiful  center  of 
rich,  smooth  cream. 

FILSTINO 

An  ever-popular  delight. 
An  almond-shaped  dessert 
confection  with  a  kernel  of 
almond-flavored  cream. 


CHOCOLATE  TOKENS 

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- 
olate. 


NATIONAL  BISCUIT 
COMPANY 


15 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Polly  and  Peter  Ponds 

have  gone  away  to  school.     Their  letters 
will  appear  in  this  magazine  each  month 

Dear  Peter  : 

Je  vous  remercie  beaucoup  pour 
votre  lovely  Christmas  present.  You 
see  how  much  French  I  have  learned. 
My,  but  Mademoiselle  makes  us  study 
hard!  And  we  have  to  talk  it  at 
dinner.  It  sounds  just  like  a  cage 
of  parrots. 

Well,  I   must   tell   you   all   about 

what  your  present  did  to  us.      Most 

of  the  girls  had  never  seen  a  toboggan 

before,  and  they  all    wanted  a   ride 

right   away.      So  yesterday  morning 

we  all  skipped  out  bright  and  early 

for  Snyder's  hill,  which  is  about  half 

a  mile  from  school.      Miss  Minkum 

saw  us  go  and  looked  daggers  at   us, 

but  she  didn't  say  a  word.      I  think 

she  would  have  liked  to  go  too,  but 

she  did  n't  dare  be  undignified. 

Well,  the  snow  was  hard  and  smooth  as  glass,  the  air  was  nippy  and  the  sun  shining 

like  anything.      Dolly  Smith  and  I  got  on  the  toboggan  first  and  the  other  girls  pushed 

us  off,  and  down  we  went  just  like  the  wind  and   out   for  miles   it   seemed  over  the 

pond  at  the  bottom. 

Then  we  just  ran  back  to  the  top  and  Mamie  Williams  wanted  to  go  next.  But 
after  she  got  on  behind  me  she  got  awfully  scared  and  said,  "I  want  to  get  off",  Polly, 
I  'm  afraid."      But  I  said,  "You  've  just  got  to  go  now.      It  won't  hurt  you." 

When  we  were  about  half-way  down  and  going  just  like  anything  she  got  scareder 
still  and  started  to  jump  off.  Well,  that  made  the  toboggan  go  crooked,  2nd  the  next 
thing  we  knew  we  were  all  mixed  up  in  a  lot  of  little  trees  and  were  rolling  and  slid- 
ing in  every  directions  once.  When  I  got  my  wits  together  I  was  up  to  my  waist 
in  snowrand  all  I  could  see  of  Mamie  was  a  foot  and  an  arm  waving  wildly  out  of  a 
snow-bank.  Well,  we  dug  her  out  and  she  was  more  scared  than  hurt,  but  we  had  to 
take  her  back  to  the  dormitory.      My  wrist  felt  funny  and  hot,  and  I  rushed  for  the 

POND'S   EXTRACT 

outfit  and  bandaged  it  up  and  soaked  it  with  Pond's  Extract  and  rubbed  P.  E.  Vanishing  Cream 
on  my  face  and  hands,  and  I  was  all  right  that  very  afternoon.  But  Mamie  would  n't  let  me 
give  her  any  and  she  was  lame,  she  could  n't  get  up  this  morning,  and  when  Miss  Minkum  found 
out  what  was  the  matter,  she  was  awfully  mad  and  said,  "Mamie,  you  should  have  informed  me 
at  once  of  the  extent  of  your  injuries.  I  should  have  applied  Pond's  Extract  to  them  immediately, 
and  you  would  have  been  in  perfect  condition  this  morning."  Well,  I  just  had  to  laugh  up  my  sleeve — 
The  bell  is  ringing  for  the  French  period  and  I  must  stop.      Write  me  tout  de  suite. 

Votre  sceur  tres  amiable,  Polly. 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY 


Hudson  Street 


New  York 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY'S  Vanishing  Cream 
—  Talcum  Powder  —  Toilet  Soap  —  Pond's  Extract. 


16 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Can  you  solve  this  ? 


My  first  is  put  in  stoves — 

My  second  will  admit  you  to  a  garden — 

My  third  was  taken  from  Adam — 

My  fourth  is  French  for  "  good  " — 

My  fifth  is  a  wild  animal's  home — 

My  sixth  is  high — 

My  seventh  comes  from  milk  — 


Seven  syllables  describing  a  help  to  Good  Teeth — Good  Health 

If  you  will  send  us  your  solution  of  this  acrostic 
we  will  mail  to  you  (free)  a  trial  tube  of 

C0LG6TE1'S 

RIBBON  DENTAL  CREAM 

—  the  delicious  dentifrice  that  means  so  much  to 
your  teeth  and  your  health. 

Used  twice  a  day  Colgate's  helps  wonderfully 
in  keeping  the  teeth  clean  and  sound. 

You  too  should  use 


Perhaps  you  would  like  us  to  send 
along  at  the  same  time  our  funny- 
animal  rhyme-book  for  the  children 
called    "The    Jungle     Pow-Wow." 


Colgate  &  Co.,  Dept.  60,  199  Fulton  St^  New  York 


l7 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


JlV* 


Bonbons 
Chocolates 


The  Excellence  o/"Maillard 


THE  excellence  of  all  the  good  things  pro- 
duced by  Maillard  reflects  the  purity 
and  quality  of  every  ingredient  used, 
and  the  skill,  care  and  attention  bestowed 
in  the  making.  "  This  excellence,  too,  is 
the  secret  of  Maillard's  world-wide  repu- 
tation —  maintained    for     over     sixty    years. 


Bonbons 

Chocolates 

French 
Pastries 

Ice  Creams 


Maillard  Candies  packed 
i?i  French  Bonoonnieres 
(Exclusive  Importation) 
or  Fancy  Boxes  to  order, 
and,  taken  requested,  made 
ready  /or  safe  delivery 
to  airports  of  the  ivorld. 


FIFTH  AVE.  AT  35TH  ST.,  NEW  YORK 


ma 


:,l  llii 


£^**j?f'/ 


Splendid  Oil 
in  a  Handy  Can 

The  handiest  thing  a  man  cani 
have  within  hands'  reach  is  a  Handy 
Oil  Can  of  3-in-0ne.  With  it  he  can 
ease"  a  tight  bearing,  clean  and  polish  steel 
or  wood,  and  "slip  one  over"  on  rust  and 
tarnish  anywhere. 

3-in-One  oil 

makes  everything  go  easier  and  look  better. 
All  housefurnishing  stores,  drug  stores,  gro- 
cery, hardware  and  general  stores  keep  it.  10c  for 
1  oz.  bottle;  25c  for  3  oz. ;  50c  for  8  oz.  ('A  pt.) .  The 
Handy  Oil  Can  shown  above  holds  3'A  oz.  and  sells  for 
25c.  If  your  dealer  hasn't  it,  we'll  send  one  by  par- 
cel post,  full  of  good  3-in-0ne,  for  30c. 
A  Library  Slip  with  every  bottle. 

FRFF A    generous    sample    and    the 

riYEiEi       3-in-0ne  Dictionary  by  mail. 

THREE-IN-ONE  OIL  CO. 
42  QF  Broadway  New  York 


A  happy,  happy  New  Year  to  you  all ! 

And  here  's  hoping  also  that  Christmas  was 
so  full  of  good  cheer  and  gladness  that  they 
will  go  with  you  through  all  the  New  Year  ! 

Do  you  realize,  quite,  any  of  you  boys  and 
girls  growing  up  so  fast,  with  so  many  inter- 
esting things  to  do  and  see  and  learn  and  talk 
about — do  you  realize  how  much  the  books  you 
read  have  to  do  with  the  happiness  of  your 
New  Year  and  the  joy  of  your  Christmas? 
Every  worth-while  book  you  read  adds  very 
definitely  to  your  storehouse  of  treasure ;  every 
worthless  or  foolish  book  leaves  your  mental 
health  and  happiness  with  a  little  less  vitality. 

Many  interesting  letters  are  coming  in  to  the 
Book  Man  from  St.  Nicholas  readers,  both 
boys  and  girls.  Some  of  these  letters  ask  for 
lists  of  books  on  a  certain  subject;  and  some 
tell  of  favorite  books.  The  Book  Man  has  his 
own  favorite  books— ones  that  he  read  when  he 
was  a  boy  and  has  re-read  since.  What  is 
your  favorite  book?  It  would  be  most  inter- 
esting to  know  what  is  the  best-loved  book 
among  St.  Nicholas  readers,  so  get  a  postal 
card,  write  the  name  of  the  book  on  it,  and  put 
below  it  your  name,  address,  and  your  age. 

One  young  Canadian  reader  asked  recently 
where  he  could  get  a  book  about  dogs  of  all 
kinds,  their  diseases  and  how  to  treat  them. 
He  had  an  idea  that  there  was  such  a  book,  but 
no  definite  information  of  the  title  or  publish- 
ers. The  Book  Man  was  able  to  trace  down 
just  the  book:  "Dogs  of  Great  Britain,  Amer- 
ica and  Other  Countries,"  by  John  Henry 
Walsh,  who  has  written  much  under  the  pen- 
name  of  "Stonehenge"— taking  the  name  from 
that  historic  monument  in  Salisbury  Plain, 
Wiltshire,  England.  Other  boys  and  girls  may 
be  glad  to  know  of  this  book,  and  also  of  that 
admirable  little  volume  of  "Stories  of  Brave 
Dogs,"  retold  from  St.  Nicholas. 

A  New  Jersey  friend  of  the  Book  Man  asked 
him  about  books  of  trees,  and  flowers  and  pets, 
and  these,  too,  are  subjects  in  which  many 
readers  of  the  Book  Man  have  keen  interest. 

(Continued  on  page  19.) 


18 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Some  of  the  very  best  stories  about  animals 
ever  written  are  included  in  "Cat  Stories," 
"Stories  of  Brave  Dogs,"  "About  Animals,"  all 
retold  from  St.  Nicholas  ;  each  book  with 
many  pictures.  The  price  of  each  is  65  cents. 
Then  there  is  Dallas  Lore  Sharp's  very  charm- 
ing "A  Watcher  in  the  Woods"  which  costs 
only  60  cents.  It  would  make  a  delightful  gift 
for  any  friend  interested  in  wild  life.  Another 
book  good  to  know  about  is  "Wild  Flowers 
Every  Child  Should  Know,"  by  Frederick  Wil- 
liams Stack. 

If  you  want  some  interesting  and  wholesome 
books  dealing  with  knights  and  Indians,  as  did 
another  young  reader  of  these  columns,  try 
Rupert  Sargent  Holland's  "Knights  of  the 
Golden  Spur"  and  those  admirable  collections 
of  some  of  the  best  stories  ever  published  in 
St.  Nicholas,  "Indian  Stories,"  "Stories  of 
Chivalry,"  and  "Stories  of  the  Middle  Ages." 

Are  you  going  to  Panama  some  time  in  the 
next  few  months?  If  so,  you  must  read  the 
book  which  of  all  books  yet  written  pictures 
the  Canal  Zone  and  its  life  most  vividly.  If 
you  are  not  going,  don't  you  want  to  read  a 
book  which,  it  has  been  said  over  and  over 
again,  is  the  next  best  thing  to  a  trip  to  and 
through  the  Canal  Zone,  and  which  gives  a 
really  better  idea  of  behind  the  scenes  than 
most  tourists  get? 

Do  you  know  why  the  building  of  the  Canal 
is  one  of  the  greatest  engineering  feats  of  all 
times?  Do  you  know  what  the  United  States 
Government  has  done  to  make  life  in  that 
tropical  belt  both  safe  and  healthy?  Do  you 
want  to  read  a  story  of  actual  experiences 
and  adventures  down  there  which  is  as  fasci- 
nating as  any  story-book  you  ever  read  and 
which  makes  the  Panama  Canal  and  all  its 
myriad  workers  very  real  and  very  vivid? 
Then  read  Harry  A.  Franck's  "Zone  Police- 
man 88." 

Harry  A.  Franck  is  a  fine  young  American 
whose  love  of  travel  has  taken  him  all  over 
the  world.  He  went  through  college  on  money 
earned  in  his  vacations,  and  then  for  several 
years  he  taught  modern  languages  in  different 
boys'  schools.  But  always  he  traveled  in  the 
summer,  and  the  books  he  has  written  of  his 
experiences,  "A  Vagabond  Journey  Around 
the  World,"  "Four  Months  Afoot  in  Spain," 
and  "Zone  Policeman  88,"  show  that  he  had 
most  wonderful  times.  He  makes  friends 
easily  with  every  one  he  meets,  and  he  sees 
the  humorous  side  of  every  experience.  The 
result  is  a  book  which  makes  delightful  and 
worth-while  reading. 

Again — a  New  Year  full  of  joy  to  each  and 
every  one  of  you.  And  write  me,  soon  and  often. 

THE  BOOK  MAN, 
St.  Nicholas  Magazine, 

New  York. 


Also  gives  Perfect 

Freedom  and  the 

Longest  Wear 

Sold  Everywhere 

Child's  Sample  Fair,  16  c.  postpaid  (give  age) 

GEORGE  FROST  CO.  -  MAKERS,  BOSTON 


Game  Laws  in  Brief 

AND 

Handbook  for  Sportsmen 

Edited  by  William  George  Beecroft 

Containing  Game  and  Fish  Laws  of  United 
States  and  Canada,  arranged  so  compre- 
hensively as  to  enable  even  the  novice  to 
know  at  a  glance  just  where  he  is  at. 

Indispensable  information  for  sportsmen, 
such  as  care  of  shooting  dogs,  backwoods 
surgery,  camp  equipment,  camp  cookery, 
notes  for  fishermen,  hints  for  sportsmen, 
and  innumerable  other  things  concerning 
rod  and  gun,  together  with  the  best  places 
for  shooting  and  fishing,  with  guides  in 
each  section.  As  the  first  edition  is  only 
10,000  copies,  order  now,  direct  or  from 
your  sporting-goods  dealer  or  bookman. 

Price,  Twenty-Five  Cents 

Bound  in  Waterproof,  Durable  Cover 


A  Book    for   Every    Sportsman's   Library 


Forest  and  Stream  Publishing  Co. 


22  Thames  Street 


New  York  City 


19 


St.  Nicholas  A  advertising  Competition,  No.  145. 
Time  to  send  in  answers  is  up  to  January  20.     Prize-winners  announced  in  the  March  number. 


ICHOU 

J\ elver  [\s\ 


No. 


LompeUtio 


IX 


Yes,  yes.  We  know  it.  You  are  criticizing  the 
position  of  the  golf-player  above.  But  don't 
be  hasty.  If  he  were  trying  to  make  a  straight 
drive,  no  doubt  he  would  have  put  himself  into 
the  right,  regular,  and  correct  attitude. 

This  time,  however,  he  has*  sqme  very  un- 
usual and  remarkable  shots  'to  make,  and  so  he 
vhas  to  twist  himself  irfto  an  attitude  that  to  you 
skilful  drivers  seems  exceedingly  out  of  kilter. 
And  here  is  the  reason  therefor. 

He  is  trying  to  solve  the  puzzle,  and  to  do 
-that  he  has  to  send  the  little  ball  so  as  to  hit  a 
letter  in  column  1,  >then  another  in  column  2, 
and  so  on  till  he  has  gone  far  enough  to  spell 
an  article,  not  a  book,  advertised  in  space  of  a 
quarter  page  or  larger,  in  the  December  St. 
Nicholas.  There  are  at  least  eighteen  and  you 
are  to  find  the  letters  for  each,  beginning  with 
column  1,  and  going  on,  taking  a  letter  from 
the  columns  in  regular  order  till  the  article  is 
spelled  out.  One  of  the  articles  has  but  five 
letters,  another  has  twenty,  and  the  others  range 
between  these. ,  So  when  you  have  spelled  out 
an  article  you  need  not  go  farther  than  is 
necessary.  That  is,  a  seven-letter  article  ends 
in  column  7,  and  so  with  the  others.  Several 
of  them  begin  with  the  word  "The,"  but  only 
where  this  word  is  given  as  the  article  appears 
on  the  December  advertising  pages. 

Having  found  the  eighteen  or  more  adver- 
tised articles,  put  them  in  alphabetical  order, 


number  them,  and  you  will  have  solved  the 
puzzle. 

Then,  since  more  than  a  few  of  you  will  no 
doubt  find  all  the  answers,  and  so  may  rank 
equal  as  puzzlers,  send  with  your  list  a  letter 
250  words  in  length  or  less,  telling  what  line  of 
study  interests  you  most  and  what  school  you 
^would  attend  if  you  could  go  on  studying  un- 
til you  were  20  years  old. 

By  the  way,  Alexander  has  gone  to  South 
America. 

As  usual,  there  will  be  One  First  Prize,  $5.00,  to  the  sender 
of  the  correct  listand  the  most  complete  and  interesting  letter. 

Two  Second  Prizes,  $3.00  each,  to  the  next  two  in  merit. 

Three  Third  Prizes,  $2.00  each,  to  the  next  three. 

Ten  P'ourth  Prizes,  $1.00  each,  to  the  next  ten. 

Note :  Prize-winners  who  are  not  subscribers  to  St. 
Nicholas  are  given  special  subscription  rates  upon  im- 
mediate 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.  Pro- 
spective contestants  need  not  be  subscribers  to  ST.  NICHOLAS 
in  order  to  compete  for  the  prizes  offered.  There  is  no  age 
limit,  and  no  endorsement  of  originality  is  required. 

2.  In  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  your  list  give  name, 
age,  address,  and  the  number  of  this  competition  ( 145  ). 

3.  Submit  answers  by  January  20,  1914.  Do  not  use  a 
pencil. 

4.  Write  your  letters  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.  145, 
St.  Nicholas  Magazine,  Union  Square,  New  York. 


(See  also  page  22.) 


20 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


66 


Have  You  a  Little  Tairy 

in  Your  Home? 


♦» 


OORTIFY 

-L  the  children 
against  the  effects 
of  sun,  wind  and 
cold  upon  the  skin 
and  complexion, 
just  as  you  may 
fortify  yourself,  by 
using  for  all  toilet 
and  bath  purposes 


Clt  is  good  soap 
—  clean,  white, 
pure  and  sweet. 
We  couldn't  make 
it  cost  you  more 
without  adding 
expensive  perfum- 
ery which  would 
hide  the  excellence 
of  its  ingredients. 
C.The  oval  cake 
floats  and  wears 
to  the  *^&*  thin- 
nest H  Bwafer 
with-  yfL3»  out 
break-H    M    ing. 


r* 


;.  -        «;5 


J~J 


'  liBZEiL  FAI RBAN  K  company] 

CHICAGO 


.v^ 


■*■--    :.•' 


/ 


j. 


21 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 

Report  on  Advertising  Competition  No.  143 


The  elderly  stern-eyed  Judge  glanced  at  me 
over  his  spectacles  when  I  asked  him  what  the 
result  of  the  competition  was  this  month,  and 
said  kindly,  "  I  am  afraid  our  youngsters  are 
getting  careless,  because  a  large  number^  this 

.month  failed  on  account  of  small  errors  which 
might  easily  have  been  avoided.  Here  are 
Helen,  Edith,  Frank,  and  Walter,  who  neg- 
lected to  number  the  answers.  Ruth,  Howard, 
Josephine,  and  David  forgot  to  put  the  answers 
in  alphabetical  order,  and  Williard,  Harold, 
Marion,  and  Henrietta  forgot  that  their  name, 
age,  address,  and  number'  of  the  competition 
were  to  be  placed  in  the  upper  left-hand  corner. 
The  greatest  number  of  mistakes,  however,  oc- 
curred in  the  failure  to  underline  the  words 
'Fairy  Soap''  and  to  quote  the  phrase  '  Swift's 
Premium  Ham.'      When  you  make  out  your 

.report  just  tell  John,  Mary,  William,  and  Dorothy 
thaf  they  ought  to  look  sharply  at  the  form  of 

'  advertised  articles  when  writing  them." 

In  talking  further  with  him  I  learned  that  he 
1  was  willing  to   overlook  the  careless  mistakes 

vbecause;so  many  of \  you  submitted  beautiful 
papers  with  leaves  finely  d^awn,  and  colored, 
and  one  young  lady  submitted  a  proposed  ad- 
vertisement  with  her  answer  which  is  exceed- 
ingly good.  One  of  the  other  Judges  said 
many  of  the  letters  were  fine  enough  to  win 
prizes,  but  the  lists  were  incorrect. 

In  glancing  oyer  the  letters  01  the  prize-win- 
ners I  find  that  several  of  them  did  a  very 
sensible  thing.  To  find  out  why  the  grown-ups 
read  St.  Nicholas,  they  did  not  guess  or  im- 
agine reasons  why,  but  instead  went  to  the  elder 
ones  and  asked  them.  I  believe  this  is  why 
advertising  in  St.  Nicholas  is  so  successful. 

•  When  you  boys  or  girls  see  an  article  advertised 
in  St.  Nicholas  that  you  want  to  know  more 
about,  you  do  the  most  common-sense  thing  and 
ask  about  it.  If  you  are  especially  pleased  with 
the  advertisement,  it  makes  us  feel  very  happy 
if  you  write  and  tell  us  about  it.  I  do  not  think 
half  of  you  realize  how  glad  we  are  to  get  let- 
ters from  you,  and  how  much  it  helps  us  with 
our  work.      Some  of  our  advertisers  complain 


that  you  boys  and  girls  don't  write  to  them 
about  their  catalogues,  etc.  If  you  are  inter- 
ested in  anything  advertised  in  St.  Nicholas, 
don't  be  afraid  to  write  to  the  St.  Nicholas 
advertisers — they  want  to  get  acquainted.  If 
you  are  one  of  those  who  have  not  yet  helped 
St.  Nicholas  by  some  suggestion  in  a  letter  to 
us,  just  sit  down  the  first  chance  you  get  and 
write  us.  You  will  be  surprised  to  see  how  glad 
we  will  be  to  answer  your  note. 

Best  wishes  for  a  Happy  New  Year  to  all  of 
you,  especially  to  the  prize-winners  and  those  re- 
ceiving honorable  mention,  whose  names  follow. 

Prize  Awards  are  as  Follows: 

First  Prize,  $5.00: 

Parker  Lloyd-Smith,  age  n,  New  York. 

Second  Prizes,  $3.00  each: 

Mab    Norton    Barber,   age    14,  Washing- 
ton, D.  C. 
Dorothy  M.  Rogers,  age  1 9,  Massachusetts. 

Third  Prizes,  $2.00  each: 

Bessie  H.  Rockwood,  age  13,  New  York. 
Donno  Brooks,  age  1 1,  Washington. 
Whiton  Powell,  age  10,  Michigan. 

Ten  Fourth  Prizes,  $1.00  each : 

Robert  Sprague,  age  1 2,  California. 
Louise  Robbins  Hewson,  age  1 5,  New 

Jersey. 
Lazare  Chernoff,  age  16,  New  York. 
Gertrude  Bendheim,  age  14,  New  York. 
Robert  C.  Durand,  age  11,  Indiana. 
Gladys  Whitehead  May,  age  13,  Virginia. 
Leonore  C.  Rothschild,  age  1  o,  New  York. 
Rosalie  L.  Smith,  age  15,  New  York. 
Ellen  C.  Perkins,  age   14,  Massachusetts. 
Annette  Hollington,  age  1 1,  California. 

Honorable  Mention  (for  beautiful  work): 
Betty  Watt,  Massachusetts. 
Edith  M.  Johnston,  Washington,  D.C. 
William  Richings  Hill,  Jr.,  New  Jersey. 
Frieda  Hornbostel,  New  York. 
Ruth  Crook,  Ohio. 
Louise  Gram  Hansen,  Norway. 


(See  also  page  20.) 


22 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMt,.     5 


Why   Pears   has   paid    10% 

Dividends  per  annum 

for   20   years 

At  the  2 1st  meeting  of  stockholders  of 
A.  &  F.  Pears,  Ltd.,  Sir  Thomas  Dewar, 
in  commenting  on  the  10%  dividend  on 
common  stock  (continuous  for  two  decades) 
and  the  great  goodwill  Pears  had  built  up, 
said : 

"Why,  a  child  in  the  nursery  gets  his  mind 
impressed  with  tablets  of  Pears,  and  that  im- 
pression is  never  eradicated  from  the  tablets 
of  his  memory  afterwards.  Therefore  all 
these  advertisements  of  the  past  are  written 
off  in  your  balance-sheet  so  we  are  in  an  ex- 
cellent position." 

Pears  advertises  in  St.  Nicholas — and 
has  done  so  for  20  years. 

The  way  to  insure  any  business  is  through 
advertising  to-day  to  the  grown-ups  of  to- 
morrow. St.  Nicholas  is  read  by  the 
children  (and  parents)  in  the  best  Ameri- 
can homes. 

SOME    OF    THE    ADVERTISERS    WHO 
BELIEVE  IN  THE  ST.  NICHOLAS  IDEAS: 


Libby,  McNeil  &  Libby. 
L.  E.  Waterman. 
Swift  &  Co. 

American  Sugar  Ref.  Co. 
Eastman  Kodak. 
Walter  Baker  &  Co. 
Colgate  &  Co. 
Remington  Arms. 
Edison  Phonograph  Co. 
Jos.  Campbell  Co. 
John  Wanamaker. 
Simmons  Hardware  Co. 
O'Sullivan  Rubber  Co. 
Northern  Pacific  R.  R. 
Holeproof  Hosiery  Co. 
The  N.  K.  Fairbank  Co. 
Pond's  Extract. 
Peter's  Chocolate. 
Sapolio. 

Kingsford's  Corn  Starch. 
Postum  Cereal  Co. 
Genesee  Pure  Food  Co. 

National 


International  Silver  Co. 
Johnson  Educator  Food  Co. 
Borden's  Condensed  Milk 
Ralston  Wheat  Food. 
Geo.  Frost  Co. 
F.  A.  O.  Schwarz 
Coward  Shoe. 
Mennen's. 
Spencerian  Pens. 
Santa  Fe  R.  R. 
Ivory  Soap. 
Eskay's  Food 
TJ.  S.  Tire  Co. 
Lanman  &  Kemp. 
Bensdorp's  Cocoa. 
W.  Atlee  Burpee. 
Victor  Talking  Machine  Co. 
Maillard's 
Mellin's  Food  Co. 
Jap-a-lac. 
Huyler's. 

New  England  Confectionery  Co. 
Biscuit  Co. 


These  good  people  are  not  only  selling 
their  goods  to-day  in  the  best  homes  but 
also  educating  the  growing  generation 
through  advertising  in  Sr.  Nicholas. 
The  average  age  of  St.  Nicholas  read- 
ers is  14  years. 

DON  M.  PARKER 

Advertising  Manager 

Union  Square,  New  York 


TV  M  f^TU  CDC     Understand 
IVlV-/  1  I~lil.iVO>Your  Children 

The  world-famous  Montessori  Method  occupies  the  child 
happily  at  home  and  prepares  it,  in  a  right  way,  for  school. 
Mother's  daily  questions  about  right  training  are  ably  an- 
swered in 

The  Montessori  Manual 

BY  DOROTHY  CANFIELD  FISHER 

Here,  in -book  form,  is  the  Montessori  Course,  explained  by  one 
who  has  studied  with  Mme.  Montessori.  A  valuable  course  for 
parents  and  teachers  in  developing  thinking  brains  and  capable 
hands. 

If  your  book  dealer  cannot  supply  you,  we  will  send, 
prepaid,  on  receipt  of  $1.35.      Money  back  if,  after  five 
days,  you  do  not  find  the  book  satisfactory  in  every  way. 
For  your  child's  sake.  SEND  TO-DAY. 

W.E.Richardson  Co., 906  So.  Mich.  Ave., Chicago, U.S.A. 

Illustrated  Circular  Free 


PLANTS 


that  Little  Folks  can  succeed  with. 
We  will  send  you,  prepaid,  any  20 
for  $1,  any  55  for  $2.50,  any  120  for 
$5.00, — of  large  sturdy  plants  of  geraniums,  heliotropes, 
marguerites,  fancy  chrysanthemums,  giant  carnations,  etc. 
Start  them  now  in  house  in  pots  or  boxes  for  success  later. 
Get  our  catalogue  and  free  directions.  Mention  St.  Nicholas 
and  extra  premiums  will  be  included  in  your  order. 

THE  HARLOWARDEN   GREENHOUSES 

Box  148,Greenport,N.Y. 


ELECTRICITY 


BOYS — This  book — ourbrand-newcatalog 
Ms  a  mine  of  electrical  knowledge.  128  pages 
full  of  cuts,  complete  description  and  prices  of  the 
latest  ELECTRICAL  APPARATUS  for  experi- 
mental 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.) 
VOLTAMP  ELECTRIC  MFG.  CO.,  Nichol  Bldg.,  Baltimore,  Md. 


CLASS  PINS 


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. 


RANGER  BICYCLES 

3ave  imported  roller  chains^  sprockets  and  Pedals;  New 
Departure  Coaster- Brakes  and  Hubs;  Puncture  Proof 
Tires;  highest  grade  equipment  and  many  advanced 
features  possessed  by  no  otherwheels.   Guaranteed  5yrs. 

FACTORY  PRICES SK-KkToTSS; 

wheels.   Other  reliable    models    from  $12  up„    A  few 
good  second-  hand  machines  $3  to  $8. 

10  DAYS'  FREE  TRIAL  Pw;„vsah!p;^ 

Prepaid,  anywhere  in  U.S.,  -without  a  cent  in  advance. 
DO  NOT  BUY  a  bicycle  or  a  pair  of  tires  from 
anyone  &t  any  price  until  you  get  our  big  ncv  catalog1 
and  speciaiprices  and  a  marvelous  newoffei .  Apostal 
bringseverything.  Write  it  now.  TIRES,  Coaster-Brafee 
Roar  Wheels,  lamps,  parts,  sundries,  half  usual  prices. 
Rider  Agents  everywhere  are  coining  money  sell- 
ing our  bicycles,  tires  and  sundries.      Write  today. 

MEAD  CYCLE  CO.,    Oept.  T-272  CHICAGO 


^3 


THE  new  Japanese  stamp  is  the  most  interesting 
of  those  new  issues  which  we  illustrate  this 
month.  Most  of  the  Japanese  stamps  have  the  na- 
tional name  upon  them  in  English ;  but  this  issue 
does  not.  The  new  stamps  were  to  appear  upon  the 
anniversary  of  the  Emperor's  birthday,  and  doubt- 
less did  so,  though  we  have  no  knowledge  of  the 
fact.  There  was  an  open  competition  for  the  de- 
sign, and  the  prize  was  won  by  an  employee  of  one 


of  the  engraving  companies  at  Tokio.  We  Ameri- 
cans can  perhaps  take  a  little  pride  in  knowing  that 
the  winner,  Mr.  Tozawa,  came  to  this  country  to 
learn  his  trade  with  the  American  Bank  Note  Com- 
pany of  New  York  City.  The  circular  figure  near 
the  top  of  the  stamp  is  the  royal  emblem,  the  chry- 
santhemum. It  is  the  symbol  of  Japanese  royalty, 
and  aa  such  has  sixteen  rays,  or  petals.  Most  of  the 
counterfeits  of  Jap'anese  stamps  have  either  more  or 
less  than  sixteen  rays  in  the  chrysanthemum.  The 
letters  Sn.,  at  the  right  of  this  new  stamp  are  an 
abbreviation  of  the  coin  "sen."  S  One  hundred  sen 
equal  one  yen,  which  is  about  fifty  cents.  The  one- 
and-one-half  sen  (which  ,we  illustrate)  is  the  rate 
charged  on  postal  cards. 

Jhe  second  stamp  is  of  Macao,  one  of  the  Por- 
tuguese colonies.  It  is  similar  in  type  to  the  regular 
issue  of  Portugal.  The  name  and  value  are  printed 
in  black  ;  the  rest  of  the  issue  are  in  varying  col- 
ors, according  to  the  different  values.  The  letter 
"A"  is  an  abbreviation  efei  coin,  "avps."  One  hun- 
dred avos  equal  olre^'pTitaca,  which  is  about  forty- 
two  cents. 

The  third  stamp  is  the' new  Denmark  ten-ore.  Here 
the  value  is  plainly  expressed.  One  hundred  ore 
(or  one  krone)  is  about  twenty-seven  cents. 


HOW  TO  KNOW  STAMPS 

THIS  page  is  read  mainly  by  the  younger  folk, 
and  this  article  is  addressed  to  the  young  stamp- 
collector.  The  most  valuable  guide,  and  the  one 
which  gives  the  most  assistance  to  the  beginner,  is 
the  Standard  Stamp  Catalogue,  published  in  New 
York,  and  sold  by  all  stamp  dealers.  It  illustrates 
all  foreign  stamps  issued,  and  quotes  the  price  at 
which  they  may  be  bought  either  used  or  unused. 
While  it  is  exceedingly  useful,  not  all  collectors — 
especially  not  all  beginners — care  to  pay  the  pri'ce  it 
costs.  They  would  rather  spend  the  same  sum  of 
money  in  purchasing  more  stamps.  To  such,  a  few 
words  may  be  of   help   in   locating  their  specimens. 


r  The  Editor  of  this  Stamp  Page  frequently  has  sub- 
mitted to  him  for  identification  stamps  which  for 
one  reason  or  another  have  puzzled  their  owners. 
Usually  the  beginner  acquires  only  the  more  com- 
mon or  current  stamps,  and  such  only  are  the  ones 
which  will  be  discussed  here. 

The  first  thing  the  owner  wishes  to  know  about  a 
stamp  which  is  new  to  him  is  the  name  of  the  coun- 
try which  issues  it.  There  are  a  number  of  things 
which  help  us  to  determine  this  ;  mainly,  however, 
there  are  three — the  words  which  appear  upon  the 
stamp,  the  portrait  or  design,  and  the  currency  in 
which  its  value  is  expressed.  Nowadays  nearly  all 
countries'  print  their  names  upon  the  stamps  which 
they  issue,  but  all  do  not.  So  we  may  roughly 
classify  our  stamps  info  three  general  divisions : 
those  issued  by  countries  whose  names  appear  in 
letters  which  we  English-speaking  people  can  read  ; 
those  upon  which  no  name  appears ;  and,  lastly  and 
most  puzzling,  those  which  bear  names  in  an  alpha- 
bet other  than  our  own" 

Stamps  of  the  first  class,  those  issued  by  nations 
whose  names  we  can  read,  are  nearly  all  easy  to 
locate.  While  some  of  the  names  are  not  spelled 
exactly  as  we  are  accustomed  to  see  them,  yet,  as  a 
rule,  they  are  all  easily  recognizable.  There  are, 
however,  some  which  our  experience  has  taught  us 
are  a  source  of  trouble.  We  list  these  alphabeti- 
cally :  Bayern  is  Bavaria ;  Belgique  is  Belgium ; 
Bosnien  is  Bosnia  ;  Cote  de  Somalis  appears  in  our 
stamp-album  as  Somali  Coast.  Dansk  is  Denmark, 
and  Dansk  Vestindiskie,  Danish  West  Indies. 
Deutsches  is  Germany,  and  Deutsch  Ostafrika,  Ger- 
man East  Africa.  Deutsch-Neu-Guinea  and  Deutsch- 
Sudwestafrika,  German  New  Guinea  and  German 
Southwest  Africa.  Emp.  Ottoman  appears  on  the 
stamps  of  Turkey.  Espafia  is  Spain ;  Frangaise, 
French  ;  Filipinos,  Philippines.  Haiti  is  readily  seen 
to  be  Hayti,  but  Helvetia  does  not  suggest  Switzer- 
land, nor  is  Island  always  recognized  as  Iceland. 
Magyar  is  a  fruitful  source  of  trouble,  and  we  have 
these  stamps  submitted  for  identification  almost 
more  than  any  other.  The  stamps  bearing  the  words 
Magyar  are  issued  by  Hungary.  Nederlandsch- 
Indie,  or  Ned.  Indie,  are  Dutch  Indies,  while  Norge 
is  Norway.  Osterreichische  is  another  puzzler — it 
is  Austria.  Oranje  Vrij  Staat  is  now  Orange  River 
Colony.  Poste  Persanes  appears  on  the  stamps  of 
Persia.  Puerto  Rico  is  Spanish  for  Porto  Rico. 
Preussen  is  Prussia  ;  Sachsen  is  Saxony,  and  Swerge, 
Sweden.  Tunisie  is  Tunis,  and  Z.  Afr.  Republiek 
(South  African  Republic)  is  now  called  Transvaal, 
— while  the  stamps  of  British  South  Africa  are  now 
listed  under  the  new  name  of  Rhodesia.  There  is  a 
group  of  stamps  surcharged  with  new.  mames  upon 
the  stamps  of  India.  These  are  to  be  found  in  the 
album  and  catalogue  under  India  Native  States. 
Then  there  is  finally  another  group  which'  is  in  the 
album  and  catalogue  under  Straits  Settlements. 
These  bear  names  as  follows :  Federated  Malay 
States,  Johore,  Kelantan,  Negri  Sembilan,  Pahang, 
Perak,  Selangor,  Sungei  Ujong,  and  Trengganu. 

Bearing  these  notes  in  mind,  one  should  hr.ve  no 
trouble  in  determining  the  issuing  country  of  all 
stamps  whose  names  can  be  read.  In  our  next  issue 
we  will  further  discuss  this  subject. 


f& 


22SS2222S3S22SZ222^^S2222222SS22^22232222SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS 


.24 


[The  entire  contents  of  this  Magazine  are  covered  by  the  general  copyright,  and  articles  must  not  be  reprinted  without  special  permission.] 

CONTENTS  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  FOR  FEBRUARY,  1914. 

Frontispiece.     The  Magic  Cup.      Painted  by  Arthur  Rackham.  Page 

The  Magic  Cup.     Verse Arthur  Guiterman 289 

Hans  and  the  Dancing  Shoes.     Story Mary  E.  Jackson 290 

Illustrated  by  Herbert  Paus. 

My  Friends  the  Grizzlies.    Sketch Enoch  J.  Mills 294 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

Eight  O'Clock.     Verse Margaret  Widdemer 298 

"Fairy  Tales." )  D.  t  „      -,,        .  ..       ,     T   T  c,  <    298 

»_"',.„       >  Pictures.      Worn  the  paintings  by     .     .  Shannon 1    ___ 

"  Magnolia.        S  v  )    299 

The  Runaway.     Serial  Story Allen  French 300 

Illustrated  by  C.   M.  Relyea. 

The  Telephone.     Verse Ethel  M.  Kelley 307 

Illustrated  by  Charles  M.  Relyea. 

The  Story  Corner.    Sketch Sarah  Comstock 308 

Illustrations  from  photographs. 

"  Strange,  But  True  ! "      Verse Charles  Lincoln  Phlfer 314 

"  Boo-hoo!  He 'S  Got  My  Snowball!"      Picture.      Drawn  by  Donald 

McKee 314 

The  Lucky  Stone.      Serial  Story Abbie  FarweU  Brown 315 

Illustrated  by  Reginald  Birch. 
The  Finishing  Touch.      Picture.      Drawn  by  John  Edwin  Jackson 322 

The  Ostrich  and  the  Tortoise.     Verse d.  k.  Stevens 323 

Illustrated  by  George  O.  Butler. 

Under  the  Blue  Sky:     Bob- sledding  and  Skating.     Sketch E.  T.  Keyser 325 

Illustrated  by  Norman  Price,  and  with  diagrams. 

Ruth  and  the  Jingle  Jays.     Verse Betty  Bruce 330 

Illustrated  by  Allie  Dillon. 

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

With  Men  Who  Do  Things.     Serial  Story A.  Russell  Bond 333 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

The  Apple-Wood  Fire.     Verse Caroline  Hofman 340 

Illustrated  by  Rachael  Robinson  Elmer. 
Afternoon  Tea.      Picture.      Drawn  by  Gertrude  A.  Kay 341 

The  Housekeeping  Adventures  of  the  Junior  Blairs.    Serial Caroline  French  Benton 342 

Illustrated  by  Sarah  K.  Smith. 

The  Dutch  Doll  and  Her  Eskimo.    Verse Ethel  Blair 347 

Illustrated  by  Thelma  Cudlipp. 

Racing  Waters.     Story Louise  de  St.  Hubert  Guyoi  . .  349 

At  the  Children 's  Matinee.     Sketch Clara  Meadowcroft 351 

Illustrated  from  photographs. 

The  Pipe  Of  Peace.      Picture.      Drawn  by  H.  E.  Burdette 357 

Books  and  Reading Hildegarde  Hawthorne 358 

Illustrated  from  paintings.        * 

For  Very  Little  Folk : 

The  Baby  Bears'  Fourth  Adventure.     Verse Grace  G.  Drayton 361 

Illustrated  by  the  Author. 

Nature  and  Science  for  Young  Folks 364 

Illustrated. 

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

Drawings,  Photographs,  and  Puzzles 372 

Illustrated. 

The  Letter-Box 381 

Illustrated. 

The  Riddle-Box 383 

St.  Nicholas  Stamp  Page Advertising  page 24 

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The  half-yearly  parts  of  ST.  N ICHOLAS  end  with  the  October  and  April  numbers  respectively,  and  the  red  cloth  covers  are  ready 
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IRA  H.  BRAINERD,  THE    CENTURY    CO.  IRA   H.  BRAINERD.  yiee. President 

GEORGE  INNESS,  IK.  __     .  __  __       ,  ,_         DOUGLAS  Z.  DOTY.  Secretary 

Trustees  UniOn    SfJUare,   NeW  York,   N.   Y.        RODMAN  GILDER,  Treasurer 

GEORGE  L.  WHEELOCK.  Asst  Treasurer 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


ST.  NICHOLAS   NEXT   MONTH 


DEAR  St.  Nicholas  Reader:  You  remem- 
ber the  story  I  told  you  under  the  head- 
ing "St.  Nicholas  NEXT  Month"  in  the 
January  number?  In  it  I  spoke  of  Billy,  who 
is  the  oldest  of  the  family,  keeping  St.  Nich- 
olas in  his  own  possession  so  long  that  his  sister 
Louise  had  to  break  into  her  terra-cotta  bank 
and  buy  an  extra  copy  for  herself.  I  am  a 
little  sorry  that  I  told  you  this  story,  because 
Louise  has  been  going  around  in  the  school  to 
which  both  Billy  and  Louise  go,  and  showing 
this  story  to  the  other  scholars,  and  exclaim- 
ing, "Now  you  see  what  kind  of  a  brother  I 
have !" 

This  is  very  unkind  of  Louise,  and  I  am 
astonished  that  she  should  do  such  a  thing.  I 
wish  now  that  I  had  never  mentioned  either 
of  these  children  ! 

One  good  has  come  of  the  incident,  how- 
ever, because  now  Billy  never  keeps  St. 
Nicholas  for  more  than  one  hour  at  a  time, 
and  then  gives  it  to  Louise. 

The  most  important  new  thing  in  St.  Nich- 
olas next  month  is  the  first  of  the  golf  ar- 
ticles by  Francis  Ouimet,  boy  golf  champion. 
His  great  series  of  golf  articles,  which  will 
not  only  be  most  interesting  to  boys  and  girls 
who  play  golf,  but  will,  I  feel  sure,  actually 
create  a  great  many  golfers,  begins  in  the 
March  number.  In  these  articles  he  is  going 
to  write  about  good  sportsmanship,  about  how 
he  learned  to  play  golf,  and  how  other  boys 
and  girls  can  learn  to  play. 

If  there  ever  was  a  boy  who  began  young  to 
perfect  himself  in  a  game,  it  was  Francis  Oui- 
met. He  was  only  five  years  old  when  his  big 
brother  put  a  golf-club  in  his  hand  and  let 
him  try  to  swing  it.  Later  he  used  to  borrow 
the  clubs  belonging  to  the  older  boys.  "It 
made  no  difference,"  says  he;  "that  the  clubs 
were  nearly  as  long  as  I  was  and  too  heavy 
for  me  to  swing,  or  that  the  ball  would  go 
only  a  few  yards,  if  it  went  at  all." 

Many  readers  of  St.  Nicholas  tell  the  Edi- 
tor that  they  like  to  have  new  plays  and 
operettas  to  act  and  sing  in.  St.  Nicholas 
has  in  the  past  published  many  such  contribu- 
tions, and  has  an  especially  attractive  one 
ready  for  the  March  number.  It  is  an  oper- 
etta called  "Melilotte,"  and  is  written  by  D. 
K.  Stevens.  "An  Entirely  New  Fable— The 
Ostrich  and  the  Tortoise,"  you  have  just  read 
in  this  (February)  number  of  St.  Nicholas. 
"Melilotte"  is  a  fairy  operetta  in  one  act,  and 
the  characters  are  as  follows : 

Melilotte,  a  very  good  girl. 

The  Turtle  Woman,  mysterious  and  behind  the 

styles. 
Silver  Dollar,  an  honest  coin. 
Tkree  Silver  Quarters,  small  change. 


Silver  Dime,  very  small  change.        « 

Dock      "I 

Dodder    I  Financiers  of  Frogbit  Lane. 

Squill   J 

Thistle    Bloom   )  „   . 

Pansy  Bud  }  Falry  *P™ne™- 

SERIALS 

"The  Runaway,"  by  Allen  French,  and  "The 
Lucky  Stone,"  by  Abbie  Farwell  Brown,  are 
continued  in  the  March  number.  "With  Men 
Who  Do  Things"  describes  new  scenes,  and  in 
the  series  "More  Than  Conquerors"  is  a 
biographical  article  called  "The  Deaf  Mu- 
sician." If  you  are  a  musician  yourself,  you 
do  not  have  to  be  told  that  this  interesting 
sketch  is  about  the  great  Beethoven. 

"The  Junior  Blairs"  learn  all  about  school- 
luncheons  in  the  March  instalment,  which 
will  set  many  young  folks  to  studying  this 
very  important  subject  of  what  to  eat  during 
school  hours. 

SEPARATE  STORIES 

St.  Nicholas  has  always  been  famous  for 
its  short  stories  as  well  as  its  serials.  In  the 
March  number  is  a  story  called  "The  Deacon's 
Little  Maid,"  which  is  like  reading  a  fas- 
cinating short  chapter  in  the  life  of  George 
Washington.  "Mauled  by  an  Elephant"  is  a 
story  of  an  entirely  different  kind,  but  equally 
interesting  in  its  way. 


You  know  that,  in  the  opinion  of  the  Editor 
and  the  publishers  of  St.  Nicholas,  "Nothing 
is  too  good  in  art  or  literature  for  American 
children."  This  principle  naturally  comes  to 
mind  when  we  look  at  the  beautiful  Arthur 
Rackham  pictures  reproduced  in  St.  Nich- 
olas recently.  There  is  another  picture  by 
this  celebrated  artist  reproduced  in  full  colors 
in  the  March  number,  where  it  appears  as  a 
frontispiece. 

departments 

The  Nature  and  Science  Department  will 
be  full  of  interesting  matter  in  March,  and,  of 
course,  the  Letter-Box  is  always  welcome. 
Indeed,  a  great  many  readers  turn  first  to  the 
Letter-Box  and  the  St.  Nicholas  League 
pages  before  they  read  the  articles  and  look 
at  the  pictures  throughout  the  magazine.  There 
are  some  new  riddles  in  the  Riddle-Box  which 
should  while  away  many  winter  evenings. 

On  the  whole,  March  St.  Nicholas  is 
worthy  of  being  read  and  cherished  with  the 
fine  numbers  that  have  preceded  it,  and  the 
even  finer  ones  to  come ! 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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Blanche  Bates 

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Do  You  Believe  in  Fairies? 


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Maude  Adams  as  Peter  Pan 
From  the  oil  painting  by  Ivanowski 


If  you  don't  believe  in  fairies,  all  the  more  rea- 
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THE  MAGIC  CUP. 

PAINTED    BY   ARTHI  K    RACKHAM. 


ST.  NICHOLAS 


Vol.  XLI 


FEBRUARY,  1914 

Copyright,  1914,  by  The  Century  Co.     All  rights  reserved. 

THE    MAGIC   CUP 

BY  ARTHUR  GUITERMAN 


No.  4 


Beryl-green  was  the  lonely  water ; 
Sweet  of  mien,  the  Woodman's  Daughter 

Cast  the  clue  that  the  Gray  Witch  gave, 
And  softly  sang  the  magic  stave : 

"Fountain-goblins,  water-pixies, 
Round-eyed  sons  of  the  web-foot  nixes, 

"Leave  your  caves  and  bring  me  up 
Wizard  Merlin's  Magic  Cup  !" 


Sank  the  nixes,  calmed  the  water; 
Wonder-eyed,  the  Woodman's  Daughter 

Clasped  the  cup  and  fled  away, 
Through  the  Woods  of  Yesterday. 

"Cup,"  she  sang,  "of  crystal  rarest, 
I  shall  wish  to  be  the  fairest 

"Ever  mortal  eye  did  see'; 
Then  the  Prince  will  marry  me  !" 


The  glimmering  deeps  of  the  pool  were  troubled,       Then  — she  saw  before  her  lying 


Ripple-ringed,  the  water  bubbled; 

Wriggling,  twisting,  rose  the  six 
Wry-mouthed  sons  of  the  Water  Nix, 

Clear  from  the  weed-hung  caves  below, 
With  a  "Hee,  hee,  hee  !"  and  a  "Ho,  ho,  ho !" 

Chuckling  mingled  mirth  and  malice, 
Lifting  high  the  crystal  chalice. 

"Take  the  Magic  Cup  !"  they  laughed ; 
"Drink  the  single  magic  draft ! 

"Beauty,  riches,  health,  or  power — 
What  you  wish  shall  be  your  dower ; 

"Wish,  and  quaff,  and  have!— but  know, 
When  once  drained,  the  cup  will  go !" 
Vol.  XLI.— 37. 


Prone,  a  wounded  hunter,  dying. 

Swift,  his  head  she  lifted  up; 
To  his  lips  she  pressed  the  cup. 

"Drink!"  implored  the  Woodman's  Daughter; 
"Give  him  life,  O  Magic  Water  !" 

Lo  !  within  that  ancient  wood, 

Strong,  and  young,  and  brave  he  stood ! 


Gone  is  the  cup  to  the  deep  green  water ; 
But,  before  the  Woodman's  Daughter, 

Bending  low  to  kiss  her  hand, 
Kneels  the  Prince  of  Fairyland  ! 


289 


■* 'M- 


>  and  ike 


BY-MARY • E • JACKSON 


?       «.      u       s 


"Heigh-ho  !"  said  Hans,  the  cobbler's  son. 
"Here  I  am  off  to  seek  my  fortune  with  nothing 
in  my  bundle  but  a  loaf  of  black  bread  and  a  pair 
of  old  wooden  shoes,  my  father's  only  legacy  to 
me.  Why  he  set  such  a  store  by  those  old  shoes 
I  'm  sure  I  can't  see,  but  I  '11  carry  them  along, 
for  they  may  serve  my  need  when  I  come  to  a 
town ;  for  the  present,  however,  I  'd  rather  go 
barefoot." 

Hans  trudged  merrily  along  the  road,  carrying 
the  bundle  over  his  shoulder.  It  is  true  Hans 
had  not  much  behind  him,  but  little  cared  he,  for 
he  had  the  whole  world  before  him.  And  so  he 
whistled  cheerily  as  he  went  along,  for  Hans 
had  a  merry  heart. 

All  went  well  until  Hans  came  to  a  place 
where  the  road  had  been  mended ;  the  broken 
stones  cut  his  feet,  so  he  sat  down  by  the  wayside, 
opened  his  bundle,  and  slipped  on  the  wooden 
shoes.  The  shoes  seemed  to  fit  him  very  well 
indeed ;  in  fact,  no  sooner  did  Hans  rise  to  his 
feet,  than  he  began  to  dance ;  never  had  his  feet 
seemed  so  light.  As  he  skipped  along  the  road, 
he  presently  spied  a  row  of  fine  apple-trees. 

"I  must  have  just  one  of  those  apples,"  he 
said;  "I  'm  sure  the  farmer  will  not  mind  if  I 
take  a  few." 

There  was  a  wide  ditch  between  the  road  and 
the  orchard,  but  Hans  ran  boldly  up  to  it,  expect- 
ing to  cross  it  at  one  leap. 

But,  to'  his  surprise  and  amazement,  his  feet 
seemed  to  trip  him  as  he  jumped,  and  he  fell 
headlong  into  the  water. 

When  he  came  up,  Hans  saw  the  wooden  shoes 
bobbing  up  and  down  on  the  water.  He  had  half 
a  mind  to  leave  them  there,  for  he  felt  that  they 


were  to  blame  for  his  accident.  But  shoes  are 
shoes  to  a  poor  boy,  and  so  Hans  picked  them  up 
with  a  sigh,  and  emptied  the  water  out  of  them. 
What  was  his  surprise  to  see  here  and  there  on 
their  sides  a  gleam  of  bright  color.  At  once 
Hans  became  so  interested  in  the  shoes  that  he 
quite  forgot  the  apples.  He  sat  down  by  the 
roadside  and  began  to  polish  the  shoes  with  the 
sleeve  of  his  blouse ;  soon  they  were  a  brilliant 
red  all  over. 

A  crooked  little  man  who  was  passing  stopped 
to  look. 

"What  beautiful  shoes!"  he  said.  "Will  you 
sell  them  to  me  ?  I  will  give  you  a  gold  piece  for 
them." 

Hans  took  the  gold  piece  gladly.  "With  this," 
he  said,  "I  can  buy  for  myself  some  stout  leath- 
ern shoes,  and  something  to  eat  besides." 

Now  the  piece  of  money  was  not  gold,  as  Hans 
thought ;  the  crooked  little  man  knew  it,  and  so, 
apparently,  did  the  wonderful  shoes,  for  the  mo- 
ment the  little  man  put  them  on,  they  started  up 
the  road  at  such  a  speed  that  the  little  man  lost 
first  his  hat,  and  then  his  wig.  The  wicked  little 
shoes  led  him  a  merry  chase,  and  finally  landed 
him  squarely  in  the  midst  of  a  great  bramble 
thicket. 

There  Hans  found  him  when  he  at  last  over- 
took him. 

"Take  your  shoes ;  they  are  bewitched  !"  cried 
the  little  man,  tossing  them  out  upon  the  road. 
"Now  help  me  out  of  this  thicket,  there  's  a 
good  lad !" 

Hans  helped  the  crooked  little  man  out  of  the 
thicket,  and,  as  soon  as  he  found  himself  upon 
his  feet,  he  set  off  up  the  road  whence  he  came. 


292 


HANS  AND  THE  DANCING  SHOES 


[Feb., 


He  did  not  stop  to  say  so  much  as  a  thank  you; 
neither  did  he  pick  up  his  piece  of  money  which 
Hans  tossed  after  him. 

After  that,  Hans  carried  the  shoes  in  his  bun- 
dle again,  for  he  fully  believed  that  they  were  be- 
witched. 

Just  before  nightfall,  he  came  to  a  large  town 
with  paved  streets  and  many  fine  houses.  On 
the  hillside,  not  far  away,  he  could  see  a  castle 
with  many  turrets. 

"This  must  be  the  town  of  Ems,  where  King 
Elfred  lives,"  said  Hans.  "I  must  put  on  my 
shoes,  for  I  'd  be  ashamed  to  go  barefoot  through 
such  a  town." 

He  put  the  shoes  on  his  feet,  and  straightway 
they  began  to  dance.  Now  Hans  loved  music,  so 
as  the  shoes  began  to  dance,  he  began  to  sing ; 
so  up  the  main  street  he  went,  dancing  and  sing- 
ing with  all  his  might.  Soon  a  large  crowd  of 
people  were  following  him.  When  he  reached 
the  market-place,  Hans  turned  and  faced  the 
crowd. 

"What  somber  clothes  they  wear !  what  sol- 
emn faces  they  have !"  he  said.  "I  must  try  to 
cheer  them  up  a  bit."  And  so  he  danced,  and  ca- 
pered, and  sang  his  funny  songs,  until  he  was 
fairly  out  of  breath.  At  first,  the  people  only 
smiled,  then  they  began  to  laugh,  and,  finally, 
they  roared  so  with  merriment  that  the  tears  ran 
down  their  faces.  Hans  tried  to  stop  dancing 
several  times,  but  the  shoes  would  not  let  him 
rest  until  he  took  them  off  and  placed  them  on 
the  pavement  before  him.  The  people  immedi- 
ately crowded  around  him ;  they  filled  his  shoes 
with  coins,  and  begged  him  to  dance  again. 

But  Hans  shook  his  head.  His  only  thought 
was  to  get  a  good  supper  and  a  soft  bed,  for  he 
was  tired  out  after  his  day's  tramp.  But  as  the 
coins  jingled  in  his  pockets,  and  the  people 
crowded  around  him  asking  for  more,  Hans  be- 
came greedy. 

"I  will  dance  again,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Per- 
haps they  will  give  me  gold  this  time." 

He  put  on  his  shoes  and  began  to  whistle  a 
merry  tune,  but  his  feet  seemed  glued  to  the  pave- 
ment; the  magic  shoes  refused  to  dance. 

But  the  crowd  pressed  around  him  still  closer. 
"Dance,  stranger,  dance  !"  urged  an  old  man.  "I 
have  not  had  such  a  good  laugh  since  —  " 

"Hush !"  said  his  neighbor,  in  an  undertone. 
"The  king's  men  may  hear  you !" 

"Make  way  there !"  called  a  voice  of  authority. 
"What  means  this  rabble?"  A  man  clothed  in 
black  velvet,  and  riding  a  black  horse,  made  his 
way  through  the  crowd. 

'  'T  is  Duke  Ulva,  the  king's  cousin,"  whis- 
pered a  friendly  voice  in  Hans's  ear.  "Run,  run  !" 


But  Hans  stood  his  ground,  for  he  felt  that  he 
had  done  no  wrong. 

The  people  fell  back  on  either  side,  leaving 
Hans  standing  alone  in  the  middle  of  the  square. 

"So,  clown,  you  are  the  cause  of  this  unseemly 
mirth,  are  you?"  said  the  duke.  "Know  you  not 
that  this  is  a  town  of  mourning?" 

"I  am  a  stranger,"  said  Hans,  "and  I  did  not 
know." 

"See  you  not  the  people's  black  garments  and 
the  signs  of  mourning  about  the  streets  ?"  ques- 
tioned the  duke,  sternly.  "Be  off  with  you  !  We 
will  have  no  more  of  your  buffoonery !" 

Hans  was  only  too  glad  to  get  out  of  the  mar- 
ket-place. He  carried  his  shoes  in  his  hand  so 
that  he  might  run  more  swiftly,  and  before  long 
he  came  to  an  inn  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town 
The  innkeeper  looked  at  him  askance  when  he 
asked  for  supper  and  a  night's  lodging,  but  when 
Hans  jingled  his  coins,  he  did  not  refuse. 

"How  comes  it  that  this  is  a  town  of  mourn- 
ing?" asked  Hans,  as  he  ate  his  supper. 

"T  is  a  sad  tale,"  said  the  innkeeper,  "but  as 
you  are  a  stranger,  I  will  tell  it  you.  It  happened 
in  this  way:  our  good  king,  Elfred,  had  an  only 
son,  of  whom  he  was  very  fond.  One  day,  when 
he  and  the  prince  were  hunting  together,  the 
prince  was  thrown  from  his  horse  and  was  killed 
instantly.  The  king  has  made  a  vow  to  mourn  all 
his  days,  and  the  court  and  the  townspeople 
mourn  with  him.  For  five  long  years,  we  have 
kept  the  vow,  and  a  sad  town  is  Ems  !  Our  young 
people  are  all  leaving  us,  and  small  wonder." 

In  the  morning,  Hans  set  out  again.  His  pock- 
ets were  much  lighter  after  he  had  paid  the  inn- 
keeper's charges.  Before  he  had  gone  far,  he 
saw  a  poor  old  man  bent  nearly  double  under  a 
heavy  load  of  wood.  As  he  stopped  to  rest  by 
the  road,  Hans  thrust  a  few  coins  into  his  hand 
and  hurried  on.  Later  on,  a  blind  beggar  held  out 
his  cup,  and  Hans  filled  it.  As  his  pockets  grew 
lighter,  his  heart  grew  lighter,  and  so  did  his 
feet.  He  gave  his  last  penny  to  a  poor  woman, 
who  thanked  Mm  gratefully. 

"Bless  you,  my  boy !"  she  said.  "You  have  a' 
good  heart,  and  a  light  foot.  May  you  dance  be- 
fore the  king !" 

"I  'd  like  nothing  better,"  replied  Hans,  laugh- 
ingly. 

No  sooner  had  he  spoken  than  his  shoes  began 
to  dance  along  the  road,  carrying  him  he  knew 
not  whither.  He  soon  found  out,  however,  that 
the  road  led  straight  up  the  hill  to  the  castle ;  but 
Hans  could  not  stop  himself.  On  he  danced  until 
he  reached  the  castle  gate;  the  solemn  warder 
gazed  at  Hans  with  round  eyes,  but  one  tap  from 
his  little   red  shoe  opened  the   gate,   and  Hans 


I9I4-] 


HANS  AND  THE  DANCING  SHOES 


293 


went  dancing  through.  Across  the  court  he  sped, 
past  groups  of  astonished  lords  and  ladies,  up 
the  steps  into  the  great  hall  of  the  castle,  then 
up  a  flight  of  marble  stairs,  past  two  petrified 
grooms,  and  into  the  throne-room  itself.  Breath- 
less as  he  was,  Hans  did  not  stop  dancing  even 
when  he  saw  the  black-robed  king  himself,  for 
he  knew  that  his  very  life  depended  on  it.  So  he 
whistled,  he  sang,  and  he  danced  as  he  had  never 
danced  before. 

The  king's  face  was  as  black  as  thunder  when 
he  first  saw  Hans.  One  lift  of  his  finger,  and  the 
soldiers  who  stood  about  him  would  have  seized 
Hans  and  carried  him  away  to  the  dungeon.  But 
the  king  did  not  raise  his  hand,  for  the  boy's 
merry,  winning  face  attracted  him,  and  he  had 
not  the  heart  to  stop  him.  At  first,  he  simply 
smiled  in  a  dignified  way,  but  at  last  the  merry 
tunes  and  the  clattering  red  shoes  were  too  much 
for  him ;  he  broke  down,  and  laughed  until  his 
sides  shook.  Hans  danced  until  he  could  dance 
no  more ;  then  he  took  off  the  red  shoes,  and 
sank  down  at  the  king's  feet  to  rest. 

"Go  on  with  your  dancing,  boy,"  urged  the 
king,  when  he  could  speak  for  laughing.  "I  have 
not  had  such  a  laugh  for  years  !  See,  here  is 
gold,  take  it  all !"  And  he  threw  a  shower  of 
glittering  coins  at  Hans's  feet. 

But  Hans  had  learned  a  lesson  from  his  danc- 
ing shoes.  "I  do  not  dance  for  gold,"  he  said 
simply.     "I  dance  just  to  make  people  happy." 

"You  shall  have  a  princely  robe  and  eat  at  my 
table!"  said  the  king,  heartily.  "You  shall  dance 
before  me  every  day,  for  you  have  a  merry  heart, 
and  I  would  have  you  near  me  !" 

Now  the  Duke  Ulva  stood  behind  the  king's 
chair,  and  he  was  none  too  pleased  with  what 
had  passed,  for  he  wished  no  one  to  share  with 
him  the  king's  favor. 

"Yon  boy  is  but  a  mere  buffoon,"  he  whispered 
in  the  king's  ear.  "I  saw  him  yester-e'en  dan- 
cing in  the  market-place,  and  the  people  showered 
him  with  coins.     Not  dance  for  gold  —  faugh  !" 

"But  he  dances  right  well,"  persisted  the  king. 
"I  am  sure  that  he  earns  all  he  gets." 

"Any  one  could  dance  as  well,  were  he  shod  as 


well,  my  liege,"  insinuated  the  duke.  "Those 
shoes  are  bewitched." 

"Then  take  you  the  shoes,  cousin,"  said  the  king. 
"If  your  words  be  true,  show  us  a  merry  dance." 

Now  Hans  sat  so  near  that  he  heard  these  last 
words  of  King  Elfred,  who  had  spoken  aloud  in 
his  impatience.  Accordingly,  Hans  rose,  and, 
with  a  low  bow,  presented  the  red  shoes  to  Duke 
Ulva.  The  duke  took  them  with  ill  grace,  for  he 
had  no  wish  to  try  his  steps  before  King  Elfred 
and  his  court ;  but  there  was  no  choice  for  him. 
He  took  the  shoes  and  examined  them  curiously. 

"I  fear  that  they  will  not  fit  me,"  he  said. 

"Try  them,"  insisted  King  Elfred,  and  the  duke 
was  forced  to  obey.  Now  the  shoes  were,  as  you 
know,  magic  shoes,  and  they  were  able  to  fit  any 
foot  that  was  thrust  into  them ;  so  they  proved 
to  be  an  excellent  fit  for  the  duke. 

"Now  dance,  cousin  !"  commanded  the  king. 

Now  there  was  no  better  dancer  in  the  court 
than  Duke  Ulva,  but,  when  he  attempted  to  dance 
that  time,  he  utterly  failed.  He  tried  to  raise  his 
feet,  but  they  seemed  fastened  to  the  floor;  not  a 
step  could  he  make.  The  little  red  shoes  refused 
to  dance  for  him,  because  there  was  envy  and 
malice  in  the  duke's  heart. 

Duke  Ulva  heard  the  titter  from  the  ladies,  he 
saw  the  wrathful  face  of  the  king  and  the  pitying 
eyes  of  Hans ;  he  waited  to  see  no  more,  but, 
thrusting  the  magic  shoes  from  him,  he  bolted 
from  the  hall.    They  never  saw  him  again. 

When  the  duke  was  gone,  King  Elfred  leaned 
down,  and,  taking  Hans  by  the  hand,  he  drew 
him  up  to  his  side. 

"You  are  a  good  lad,  and  you  will  make  me  a 
good  son,"  he  said.  "You  shall  take  the  place  of 
him  for  whom  I  have  mourned  so  long!" 

There  was  great  feasting  and  rejoicing  in  the 
castle  for  many  days  after  that.  The  king  put 
off  his  mourning,  his  court  did  the  same,  and  the 
townsfolk  quickly  followed  their  example. 

Hans  was  a  good  son  to  King  Elfred ;  he 
cheered  his  last  days,  and,  when  he  was  gone,  he 
reigned  in  his  place.  The  people  of  Ems  hailed 
King  Hans  with  joy,  for  they  never  forgot  how 
much  they  owed  to  Hans  and  his  dancing  shoes. 


JENNY   AND  JOHNNY. 


MY  FRIENDS  THE   GRIZZLIES 

BY  ENOCH    J.   MILLS 


For  many  years,  I  have  lived  in  the  heart  of  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  a  long  day's  ride  from  the  rail- 
road. During  these  years  in  the  wilds,  I  have 
had  many  pets  among  the  wild  animals,  ranging 
from  frisky  chipmunks  to  grizzly  bears. 

The  most  interesting  of  all,  however,  were 
Johnny  and  Jenny,  the  two  little  grizzly  cubs  I 
caught  early  one  spring. 

These  cubs  grew  rapidly  during  the  summer. 
But,  in  spite  of  their  seeming  awkwardness, 
they  were  as  quick  and  as  nimble  as  lively  kit- 
tens, and  as  playful,  besides.  No  game  was  too 
lively  or  too  rough  for  them.  Often  we  engaged 
in  tussles  that  resembled  foot-ball,  boxing,  and 
wrestling  all  combined. 

It  was  easy  to  teach  them  new  tricks,  and  they 
were  always  willing  and  delighted  to  engage  in 
any  sort  of  scuffle. 

I  used  to  lie  down  beside  these  cubs  and  re- 
main perfectly  still  for  a  time.  They  would  in- 
vestigate me  curiously.  Sometimes  they  would 
shake  me  gently  with  their  paws,  or  thrust  their 
noses  into  my  pockets,  to  see  if  any  candy  was 
concealed  there.  In  the  midst  of  their  investiga- 
tions, I  would  give  a  low  whistle  for  my  collie 
dog. 

As  the  dog  would  come  scurrying  around  the 
corner  of  their  shelter,  the  little  grizzlies  would 
stand  erect  to  look  at  him.  As  he  came  nearer, 
they  would  walk  uneasily  around  me,  keeping  a 
wary  eye  on  the  dog.  At  the  distance  of  a  few 
feet,  my  dog  would  stop.  The  bears  would  eye 
him  narrowly. 

By  the  slightest  movement  of  one  hand  I  could 
signal  my  dog  to  me.     He  would  always  come  at 


the  signal,  whatever  the  menace  of  the  bears'  at- 
titude. He  would  scarcely  reach  my  side  before 
Johnny  would  dash  forward  with  a  growl  and 
launch  a  vicious  blow,  which  the  dog  would  sensi- 
bly avoid.  Then  would  -follow  in  quick  succes- 
sion the  advance  and  retreat,  and  the  exchange 
of  growls  as  they  disputed  for  the  possession  of 
me,  while  I  kept  perfectly  still. 

When  their  dispute  had  progressed  far  enough, 
I  would  suddenly  sit  up  with  a  whoop.  At  this 
signal,  they  ceased  hostilities  and  rushed  pell-mell 
over  me,  nipping  at  hands,  feet,  and  ears,  and 
tugging  at  my  clothes  in  good-natured  fun. 

They  never  ventured  far  from  their  snug  little 
shed  which  I  had  built  for  them.  When  I  left 
home  to  attend  school,  an  old  trapper  who  lived 
near  us  volunteered  to  take  care  of  my  pets.  In 
spite  of  many  misgivings,  I  finally  consented, 
and  delivered  the  frisky  young  scamps  at  his 
cabin. 

Leave-taking  from  them  was  not  easy.  Nor 
were  they  inclined  to  have  me  out  of  their  sight. 
We  were  forced  to  secure  them  with  collars  and 
chains.  I  gave  each  a  hug  and  a  vigorous  shake 
in  farewell,  and  hurried  away. 

On  holidays,  I  went  often  to  the  City  Park 
Zoo  to  see  the  animals.  There  were  many  bears 
there,  but  no  grizzlies.  The  keeper  was  a  kind 
man,  and  my  talk  to  him  about  my  wonderful  pets 
won  his  sympathy  for  me.  He  invited  me  to 
bring  my  pets  to  the  Zoo,  where  I  could  see  them 
often,  and  be  sure  of  their  welfare. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  received  a  letter  from 
the  old  trapper,  in  which  he  stated  that  the  griz- 
zlies were  getting  cross  and  difficult  to  handle. 


MY  FRIENDS  THE  GRIZZLIES 


295 


"AS    THE      DOG      WOULD     COME     AROUND 

THE    CORNER    OF    THEIR    SHELTER,     THE 

LITTLE  GRIZZLIES    WOULD    STAND   ERECT 

TO    LOOK  AT    HIM." 


;ia«*«$iA.<=s  uw»N4.STtN    JSvi. 


He  further  stated  that  they  had  almost  eaten  him 
out  of  supplies. 

With  this  letter  I  hastened  to  my  friend  at  the 
Zoo.  He  was  sympathetic,  and  urged  me  to  go 
and  bring  the  cubs  to  the  park  at  once. 


Securing  permission  from  the  school  to  be  ab- 
sent several  days,  I  hastened  to  rescue  my  shaggy 
friends  from  a  keeper  who  did  not  appreciate 
them  nor  understand  their  needs. 

The   greeting    I    received    from   my   pets   very 


296 


MY  FRIENDS  THE  GRIZZLIES 


[Feb., 


nearly  spoiled  my  clothes.  The  greeting  I  gave 
them  was  almost  as  vigorous.  Together  we  did 
a  bear-dance  for  joy. 

For  convenience,  I  placed  my  pets  in  a  box 
with  a  slat  covering.  In  this  way  they  were 
hauled  to  the  railroad  and  shipped  by  express  to 
the  city.  They  were  very  well  behaved,  except 
that  they  came  near  breaking  out  of  their  box 
when  we  reached  the  city  and  they  caught  sight 
of  me.     They  thrust  out  their  paws  to  me,  and 


"THE    LITTLE    GRIZZLIES    WERE    AS    PLAYFUL 
AS   KITTENS." 

poked  their  noses  between  the  restraining  slats 
for  me  to  pull. 

The  keeper  was  expecting  us  when  We  reached 
the  Zoo.  We  freed  the  husky  young  cubs,  and 
they  obediently  stood  erect  to  be  formally  intro- 
duced to  the  keeper.  This  introduction  termi- 
nated in  a  rough-and-tumble  romp,  during  which 
I  discovered  how  much  my  youngsters  had  grown. 
I  was  surprised  at  their  strength.  The  keeper, 
too,  remarked  their  wonderful  agility  and  power. 

The  last  cage  in  the  row  had  been  prepared 
for  Johnny  and  Jenny.  It  was  the  keeper's  plan 
that  they  should  share  this  cage  with  two  other 
young  bears,  a  cinnamon  and  a  black  bear.  Both 
these  strange  bears  were  older  and  larger  than 
mine,  but  no  trouble  was  anticipated  in  caging 
them  together. 


■Leaving  Johnny  and  Jenny  to  finish  the  feed 
which  we  had  given  them,  I  assisted  the  keeper  in 
removing  the  cinnamon  bear  from  the  big  corral 
where  they  were  freed  daily  to  exercise.  With 
this  bear  we  had  no  difficulty.  When  we  at- 
tempted to  remove  the  black  fellow,  our  trouble 
began.  After  many  ridiculous  failures,  we  had 
at  last  to  resort  to  a  rope. 

Once  we  had  lassoed  the  black  scamp,  he  sub- 
mitted readily  to  being  led  out  of  the  corral,  but 
balked  at  the  cage  door.  No  amount  of  persua- 
sion nor  proffers  of  tempting  morsels  of  food 
would  coax  him  into  the  cage.  We  tried  to  push 
him  forward;  but  he  resented  this  indignantly. 
We  turned  him  around  and  tried  to  back  him  into 
the  door.  He  was  a  rogue,  however,  and  thwarted 
each  attempt.  Quite  a  crowd  was  now  watching 
our  efforts  with  amusement.  We  were  given  ad- 
vice and  encouragement  and  laughed  at  uproari- 
ously each  time  the  stubborn  bear  slipped  from 
our  grasp  and  eluded  us. 

In  desperation,  I  at  last  carried  the  rope 
through  the  cage  door  and  took  a  couple  of  turns 
around  the  bars  at  the  far  side  of  the  cage.  With 
the  rope  thus  securely  snubbed,  I  held  the  loose 
end  and  gathered  in  every  inch  of  slack  the  bear 
gave.  The  keeper  pushed  from  behind  and  I 
tugged  at  the  rope.  Still  the  stubborn  fellow 
braced  his  forepaws  against  the  sides  of  the  cage 
door,  and  we  could  not  budge  him  farther.  For 
a  moment  we  struggled.  Occasionally  I  succeeded 
in'taking  up  a  little  on  the  rope,  but  we  seemed 
as  far  as  ever  from  accomplishing  our  purpose. 

Johnny  and  Jenny  had  finished  their  dinner 
and  had  come  to  investigate  the  trouble.  They 
were  just  behind  the  keeper,  pacing  restlessly  to 
and  fro.  With  keen  interest  they  watched  the 
struggle,  and  grew  more  and  more  excited. 

Suddenly,  with  an  angry  growl,  the  black  fel- 
low ceased  resisting,  and  leaped  into  the  cage 
upon  me,  where,  having  simultaneously  sprawled 
upon  the  floor  at  the  sudden  slacking  of  the  rope, 
I  lay  at  the  farther  end  of  the  cage.  The  black 
brute  was  now  fiercely  in  earnest,  and  his  attack 
upon  me  was  ferocious.  His  first  rush  was  so 
impetuous  that  it  carried  him  entirely  over  me. 
Wheeling,  he  lunged  at  me  with  both  paws,  and 
with  his  teeth  tore  a  great  rent  in  my  sleeve. 
Kicking  out  from  where  I  lay,  I  partly  warded 
off  his  next  rush.  Before  I  could  again  recover, 
however,  he  sank  his  teeth  into  my  knee. 

The  keeper  rushed  in,  seized  the  bear  by  a 
hind  foot,  and  dragged  it,  roaring  and  clawing, 
backward.  Suddenly,  with  a  jerk  the  bear  freed 
itself  and  once  more  flung  itself  upon  me.  I  was 
prepared  for  this  rush,  and  partly  avoided  it  with 
my  sound  leg ;  but  he  landed  two  vicious  blows. 


I9I4-] 


MY  FRIENDS  THE  GRIZZLIES 


297 


As  I  went  down,  with  the  bear  on  top,  I  saw 
Johnny  rushing  to  my  rescue.  Before  the  ugly 
fellow  could  do  me  further  harm,  Johnny  had 
flung  himself  between  us,  and  landed  a  telling 
blow  upon  the  head  of  my  surprised  assailant. 

For  several  minutes,  the  battle  raged  furiously. 
The  roars  and  whacks  caused  an  uproar  among 
the  other  animals  of  the  Zoo.  I  was  knocked 
down,  trampled  under  foot,  and  buffeted  about 
for  some  time  before  I  finally  pulled  myself  up 
by  means  of  the  cage  bars.  Scarcely  was  I  erect 
before  I  was  bowled  over  again. 

At  last,  with  the  assistance  of  the  keeper,  I 
crawled  through  the  cage  door.  Inside  the  battle 
still  raged.  The  bears  would  lunge  together, 
furiously  biting  and  striking.  They  would  rise 
upon  their  hind  legs  and  strike  out  with  all  the 
strength  of  their  powerful  forepaws. 

The  ugly  black  fellow  towered  a  head  taller 
than  my  pet,  and  from  this  advantage  he  rained 
blow  after  blow  upon  the  head  of  the  infuriated 
grizzly.  However,  with  no  sign  of  discourage- 
ment, the  little  rogue  stood  up  and  gave  blow  for 
blow.     After  landing  a  powerful  blow  upon  the 


black  bear's  tender  snout,  Johnny  upset  him  with 
a  sudden  furious  charge.  Before  the  black  could 
regain  his  feet,  Johnny  had  tallied  several  times 
upon  the  same  tender  spot,  and  completely  routed 
him.  Johnny  then  followed  him  around  the  cage, 
administering  sound  cuffs  until  the  black  was 
howling  for  mercy. 

The  fight  would,  no  doubt,  have  ended  much 
more  quickly  than  it  did  had  it  not  been  that,  in 
rushing  to  the  fight,  Jenny  had  missed  the  cage 
door  and  had  raged  out  her  fury  against  the  bars 
in  her  attempts  to  reach  the  black  ruffian.  It  was 
undoubtedly  fortunate  for  the  black  that  he  had 
only  Johnny  to  fight. 

The  excitement  of  the  combat  being  over,  my 
bruises  and  injured  knee  recalled  my  attention. 

A  gentleman  who  had  stopped  to  witness  the 
melee  observed  my  plight,  and  kindly  offered  me 
a  lift  in  his  carriage.  I  delved  into  my  pocket 
and  brought  forth  a  handful  of  candy,  which  I 
thrust  through  the  bars  to  Johnny.  Then  I  ex- 
plained to  them  that  I  would  be  back  again,  and 
hobbled  away  upon  the  keeper's  arm,  the  little 
grizzlies  standing  erect,  watching  my  departure. 


Vol.  XLI.-38. 


'JOHNNY    UFSET    THE    BLACK    FELLOW    WITH    A    SUDDEN    FURIOUS    CHARGE. 


EIGHT   O'CLOCK 

BY  MARGARET  WIDDEMER 


Of  all  the  things  the  clock  can  say, 

The  one  I  do  not  like 
Is  "Eight  o'Clock,"  that,  twice  a  day, 

The  clocks  and  bells  all  strike. 

For  Eight  is  "Timerfor-School,"  you  know, 
And  Eight  is  "Time-for-Bed"; 

And  when  it  strikes,  you  have  to  go- 
There  's  nothing  to  be  said. 

Sometimes  it  's  "Circuses"  at  Two, 

And  sometimes  "Matinee," 
And  Three  o'Clock  is  "School-is-Through," 

And  Four  o'Clock  is  "Play," 


And  Five  o'Clock,  and  Nine,  and  Ten, 

Eleven  o'Clock  and  One, 
Why,  nice  "Perhaps-Things"  happen  then- 

( "Perhaps"  is  always  fun). 

And  Twelve  and  Six  go  very  fast, 

With  "Things-upon-a-Plate," 
But  soon  as  Seven  hurries  past, 

You  hear  the  clock  strike  Eight ! 

So  when  I  'm  grown  and  have  my  say, 

And  help  to  make  things  go, 
I  'm  going  to  take  the  "Eight"  away 

From  every  clock  I  know  ! 


Presented  by  George  A.  Heam  tu  Che  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York. 

"FAIRY   TALES."     PAINTED    BY   J.  J.  SHANNON. 
298 


Presented  by  George  A.  Hearn  to  the  Metropolitan  Museum  of  Art,  New  York. 

"MAGNOLIA."     PAINTED    BY    L  J.  SHANNON. 
299 


THE   RUNAWAY 


BY  ALLEN   FRENCH 

Author  of  "  The  Junior  Cup,"  "  Pelham  and  His  Friend  Tim,"  etc 


Chapter  VIII 


RODMAN    DECIDES 


Harriet  looked  at  her  mother,  who  smiled  ap- 
proval. She  looked  at  her  father,  who  nodded 
his  assent.  Interested  as  she  was  in  the  outcome 
of  the  question  about  Rodman,  she  still  felt  un- 
willing to  take  any  personal  part  until,  as  her 
eye  left  her  father's,  it  encountered  Brian's.  He 
was  still  leaning  against  the  mantel,  and  watched 
her  with  something  of  amusement.  Plainly  his 
gaze  said,  "You  can't  do  anything." 

She  turned  quickly  to  Nate,  and  smiled  at  his 
eager  look.  "If  you  think  I  can  do  any  good,  I 
will  go." 

"Right !"  ejaculated  Nate,  rising.  "If  you  '11 
have  your  horse  hitched — " 

"I  '11  see  to  that,"  said  Pelham,  and  started  at 
once  for  the  barn. 

While  her  parents  still  talked  with  Nate,  Har- 
riet went  up-stairs  for  her  hat.  As  she  came 
down-stairs,  Brian  was  waiting  at  the  foot.  "Go- 
ing to  look  after  your  property  !" 

She  would  not  let  him  tease  her,  yet  she  could 
not  smile.  She  gave  him  the  retort  that  rose  to 
her  lips :  "He  'd  be  yours  if  only  you  'd  kept  him 
when  you  had  him." 

"My !"  mocked  Brian.  "How  pretty  we  are 
when  we  're  angry  !  Look  like  that,  Harriet,  and 
you  '11  be  sure  to  keep  him." 

But  she  saw  that  he  flushed  with  vexation,  and 
her  irritation  passed.  She  put  her  hand  on  his 
arm.  "Let  's  be  friendly,  Brian,"  she  said,  and 
left  him. 

In  contrast  with  Brian,  her  brothers  were  a 
pleasure  to  her.  The  horse  was  ready  almost 
at  once ;  Bob  helped  her  into  the  carriage,  and 
Pelham  squeezed  her  hand  for  encouragement. 
In  spite  of  the  uncertainty  and  delicacy  of  her 
mission,  she  felt  confident  as  she  drove  away 
with  Nate  at  her  side. 

"Harriet,"  began  Nate,  when  once  they  were 
out  of  ear-shot  of  the  others ;  "I  guess  I  was 
rather  clumsy,  speakin'  of  you  as  ownin'  Rod- 
man. Ye  see,  I  wanted  to  git  round  to  the  sub- 
ject, and  did  n't  hit  it  quite  right." 

"It  makes  no  difference,  Nate,"  she  replied. 
She  feared,  however,  that  she  had  not  heard  the 
last  of  it  from  Brian. 

"I  wish  thet  cousin  o'  yourn  had  n't  been 
round,"    complained   Nate.      "I   could   'a'   spoke' 


freer.  Your  father,  I  see  he  did  n't  really  feel 
safe  with  him ;  an'  as  for  me,  I  don't  trust  him 
nohow.  But  now  that  we  're  where  he  can't 
hear,  I  '11  tell  you  the  rest  that  's  on  my  mind." 

"There  's  more,  then?"  asked  Harriet. 

"Yes,"  said  Nate.  "It  bothers  me  quite  's 
much  's  the  rest.  It  all  goes  together,  too.  I 
mean  this  losin'  of  Rod's  memory." 

Harriet  waited,  interested. 

"It  's  quite  nateral,"  went  on  Nate,  "fer  the 
doctor  to  say  that  Rod  's  lost  his  memory.  It 
does  look  a  powerful  lot  that  way.  Whenever  I 
give  a  hint  that  I  'd  like  to  know  a  little  more, 
if  only  he  'd  tell  it  to  me  (you  know  the  doctor 
told  me  to  do  it,  accidental  like,  every  once  in  a 
while) —whenever  I  do  that,  why,  then  he  gets  so 
puzzled  and  unhappy,  and  looks  at  me  so—" 

Harriet  remembered  Rodman's  look.  It  had 
haunted  her  since  last  she  saw  the  boy. 

"I  tell  you,"  mused  Nate,  "there  's  somethin' 
about  that  boy  thet  takes  hold  o'  me.  I  know, 
when  he  looks  at  me  like  that,  that  he  'd  tell  me 
somethin'  if  he  only  could.  When  he  does  that, 
I  'd  stake  anything  I  've  got  that  he  can't  re- 
member." 

Harriet  was  startled.  "Do  you  mean  you  think 
sometimes  that  he  does  remember?" 

"It  's  powerful  queer,"  said  Nate.  "I  '11  be- 
lieve all  the  doctor  says  about  rememberin'  what 
he  's  done  but  not  where  he  did  it,  an'  about  fer- 
gettin'  people  an'  places.  An'  I  'm  willin'  to  sup- 
pose that,  havin'  himself  discovered  that  he  's 
forgot,  he  keeps  quiet  about  it,  an'  hopes  we 
won't  discover  it.  As  I  say,  I  '11  believe  all  that. 
But,  Harriet,  there  's  some  things  I  suspicion  he 
does  remember !" 

"What  sort  of  things?"  she  asked,  intent. 

"Mind  ye,"  warned  Nate,  "I  said  I  suspicioned, 
not  that  I  'm  sure.  But  there  's  three  things  I 
can't  help  remarkin'.  One  is  this:  when  I  put 
his  clothes  away  to  keep  for  him,  I  went  through 
his  pockets,  so  's  I  should  know  what  he  had  if 
he  sh'd  ask  fer  it.  Now  I  can't  rightly  remem- 
ber, but  when  he  came  to  himself  again,  I  think 
he  never  asked  me  a  question  about  his  things. 
Yet  the  other  day,  a-speakin'  with  Pelham  and 
Brian,  he  says,  right  out,  'I  ain't  got  no  money !'  " 

"An'  had  n't  he?"  asked  Harriet. 

"Not  a  cent !"  answered  Nate.  "There  war  n't 
in  his  clothes  not  a  bit  o'  money,  nor  even  a  thing 
to  keep  money  in,  not  even  an  empty  purse.  Why, 


THE   RUNAWAY 


301 


when  I  think,"  cried  Nate,  waxing  indignant, 
"that  that  cousin  o'  yourn  accuses  Rodman  o' 
stealin'  his  wallet — " 

Harriet  stopped  him.  "We  're  never  going  to 
speak  of  that  again.  So  I  hope,  Nate.  Please 
forget  it." 

"Well,"  growled  Nate,  sub- 
siding, "if  ever  it  is  spoken 
of  ag'in,  /  '11  have  somethin' 
to  say." 

"What  did  you  find  in 
Rodman's  pockets,  then?" 
asked  Harriet. 

"Jes'  a  handkerchief  an'  a 
pencil,  that  's  all.  Not  even 
an  initial  on  the  handker- 
chief." 

Harriet  thought  for  a  min- 
ute. "Perhaps,"  she  sug- 
gested, "you  yourself  told 
Rodman  that  you  found  no 
money." 

"I  'm  fool  enough  some- 
times to  think  I  did  tell  him," 
admitted  Nate.  "You  know 
how  we  want  to  believe 
things  we  want  to  believe. 
I  'm  willin'  to  think  I  've  lost 
my  memory  if  only  I  can  be 
sure  that  he  's  lost  hisn.  But, 
jes'  the  same,  I  could  almost 
swear  I  told  him  nothin'." 

Harriet  nodded  thought- 
fully. "I  see.  Now  what 
were  the  other  things?" 

"The  next  is,"  said  Nate, 
"that  he  wants  to  git  away 
from  somethin'  definite.  The 
other  day,  when  first  he  saw 
Pelham  and  Brian  comin'  up 
the  road,  he  thought  Brian 
was  a  man,  a  feller  from  the 
city,  a-comin' for  him.  He  was 
mighty  uneasy  until  I  said  it 
was  only  the  boy.  But  he  's 
afraid  o'  somethin'  real." 

"What  can  it  be  ?"  asked 
Harriet. 

"That  feller  on  the  railroad,"  suggested  Nate. 

"But  for  him  to  be  two  weeks,  more  than  two 
weeks,  in  coming!"  objected  Harriet. 

"It  was  somethin',  anyway,"  persisted  Nate. 
"It  looks  like  's  if  he  had  a  memory.  An'  the 
last  thing  is,  Rodman  's  got  you  on  his  mind." 

Harriet,  thinking  of  the  wallet,  tried  not  to 
betray  herself.  She  looked  at  Nate  inquiringly, 
and  said  nothing. 


"He  's  been  told  you  tied  up  his  wrist,"  said 
Nate.  "He  's  grateful,  and  he  wants  to  thank 
you.  That  \s  nateral,  but  there  's  more.  He 
wants  to  know  what  kind  of  a  girl  you  are— an' 
I  'd  like  to  know  why." 

Harriet  said  nothing,  but  she  wondered  if  she 


RODMAN,     SAID   NATE,    'THIS   IS   HARRIET    DODD. 


(SEE    PAGE    302. 


knew  why.  If  she  did,  if  this  boy  was  shamming, 
then  she  wished  that  he  had  never  burdened  her 
with  his  secret. 

"Why  don't  you  tell  this  to  the  doctor?"  she 
asked. 

Nate  made  a  wry  face.  "Fust  place,  I  ain't 
anxious  to  be  proved  wrong  in  my  jedgments. 
I  '11  make  up  my  mind  myself.  Second  place,  I 
know  that  if  Rod  's  trickin'  us,  he  's  got  good 


302 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Feb.. 


reason  fer  it."  Harriet  began  to  smile,  and 
Nate  himself  followed  unwillingly.  "Oh,  I  know 
I  'm  's  unreasonable  's  a  woman  over  this  young- 
ster. But  the  fact  is,  ag'in'  my  better  jedgment, 
I  trust  him,  an'  that  's  all  there  is  to  it." 

"Well,"  asked  Harriet,  "what  am  I  to  do?" 

"I  want  your  jedgment  of  him,"  explained 
Nate.  "It  would  relieve  my  mind  a  lot  if  you 
could  agree  that  he  's  all  right— or  at  least  that 
he  is  n't  all  wrong." 

Harriet  did  not  ask  Nate  how  she  should  know 
if  Rodman  were  pretending.  She  believed  that 
only  too  surely  she  would  be  able  to  decide.  The 
moment  that  their  eyes  met,  she  thought,  she 
could  tell  if  he  remembered  her. 

"I  '11  do  what  I  can,"  she  said. 

Therefore,  when  Nate,  having  tied  the  horse 
at  the  gate,  led  Harriet  to  where  Rodman  was 
sitting  in  his  lounging  chair,  she  felt  the  impor- 
tance of  the  meeting,  and  knew  herself  to  be 
under  a  strain.  She  was  going  to  do  what  she 
had  never  yet  done — to  look  into  some  one's  eyes 
for  proof  of  suspicion. 

"Rodman,"  said  Nate,  "this  is  Harriet  Dodd. 
She  's  goin'  to  fetch  somethin'  home  to  her 
mother,  an'  will  stay  with  you  while  I  go  an'  get 
it."    He  left  them. 

And  Harriet  looked  into  the  boy's  eyes.  She 
thought  that  she  would  see  either  recognition 
and  the  effort  to  conceal  it,  or  else  the  polite 
glance  of  the  new  acquaintance.  But  she  saw 
neither— only  the  troubled,  doubtful,  appealing 
look  that  Nate  had  described.  "It  is  good  of  you 
to  give  me  a  chance  to  thank  you,"  he  said,  but 
she  hardly  heard  the  words.  Did  he  know  her? 
Did  he  think  he  had  seen  her  before?  Or,  fail- 
ing to  remember  anything,  was  he  appealing  to 
her  not  to  remind  him  of  his  weakness?  She 
could  not  tell.  She  felt  a  disappointment,  but 
then  a  great  relief.  The  doubt  in  his  eyes,  what- 
ever else  it  might  mean,  was  an  honest  doubt. 
She  felt  that  she  understood  what  Nate  meant 
when  he  said  that  whether  Rodman  had  lost  his 
memory  or  not,  he  was  "all  right." 

He  was  rising  from  his  chair.  "Please  remem- 
ber your  ankle,"  she  begged,  "and  don't  thank 
me." 

But  he,  insisting  that  his  ankle  was  almost 
well,  made  her  take  his  seat,  while  he  sat  upon 
the  grass  beside  her.  As  for  further  thanks,  he 
said,  "I  have  fallen  among  friends." 

"Why  should  n't  you?"  asked  Harriet.  "We're 
average  good  people  here,  I  hope." 

She  drew  him  from  the  subject  of  gratitude, 
and  they  talked  for  a  while.  She  found  that  he 
spoke  with  the  freedom  of  good  manners.  Har- 
riet  had    not   been    taught    to    test    by    artificial 


standards,  but  she  saw  that  he  was  well-bred. 
Yet  after  they  had  talked  for  some  five  minutes, 
once  more  she  saw  in  his  eyes  that  troubled  look, 
and  felt  that  he  was  going  to  speak  more  per- 
sonally. 

"I  wanted  to  ask  you  something,"  he  said.  "I 
did  n't  have  a  chance  to  ask  your  brother;  and, 
besides,  it  's  your  advice  I  want." 

"If  I  have  any  to  give,"  she  replied,  "you  shall 
have  it." 

He  looked  away,  off  over  the  valley.  "I  'm — 
I  'm  living  on  Nate  here.  I  must  have  cost  him 
a  good  deal,  in  money  and  time.  Do  you  think 
I  ought  to  stay  on  ?" 

"I  see  only  one  answer,"  she  replied  at  once. 
"Stay  till  you  have  paid  him  back." 

He  gave  her  a  glance  of  pleasure  at  her  di- 
rectness. "I  can  work  it  off  here,"  he  agreed. 
"If  I  went  away,  I  don't  know  how  soon  I  could 
find  a  job." 

"But  is  paying  him  back  in  money,"  asked 
Harriet,  "all  there  is  to  it?  Would  n't  you  hurt 
his  feelings  by  going  when — when  you  have  no 
place,  no  friends,  waiting  for  you  ?  No  good 
reason  to  give  him,  I  mean." 

She  said  the  last  with  a  little  hesitation,  but 
Rodman  did  not  look  away.  "I  understand,"  he 
said.  "And  it  is  n't  only  that  Nate  is  fond  of 
me.     I  've  grown  fond  of  him." 

"Then,"  she  demanded,  "why  should  you  think 
of  going?" 

Troubled  again,  once  more  his  glance  wan- 
dered. His  voice  fell.  "I  can't  explain,"  he  said. 
"I  feel  a  kind  of  nightmare  wish  to— to  run  away 
and  hide." 

Harriet  leaned  toward  him  and  spoke  quickly, 
feeling  that  if  she  hesitated  she  would  never  dare 
to  say  what,  at  the  moment,  appeared  the  right 
message. 

"But  you  have  n't  been  found  yet.  Are  you 
likely  to  be  found  at  all?" 

Startled,  he  looked  at  her  intently.  Now  did 
she  see  into  his  secret?— or  did  she  not?  But  his 
glance  was  quicker  than  hers,  and  his  eyes 
dropped  before  she  was  satisfied.  She  continued 
speaking: 

"And  suppose  you  are  found,  where  can  you 
be  better  off?  Nate  would  help  you,  and  my 
father.  Oh,  I  think  you  would  make  a  mistake 
to  go  away !" 

He  was  looking  down,  and  his  face  was  deeply 
flushed.  He  did  not  ask  the  meaning  of  her 
words,  which  seemed  to  refer  to  some  real  dan- 
ger to  him.  After  a  moment,  he  prepared  to 
speak,  and  she  knew  that  he  was  intent  upon  the 
effect  of  his  words. 

"And  you?"  he  asked.     "Can  I  count  on  you?" 


IQI4-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


303 


Harriet  felt  all  but  sure  that  she  understood 
his  meaning.  "Yes,"  she  answered.  "You  can 
count  on  me." 

Her  voice,  though  low  like  his,  was  deeply 
earnest.  "Thank  you,"  he  said  in  response. 
"That  's— that  's  what  I  wanted  to  know." 

Now  Nate  approached  them  from  the  house. 
"I  did  n't  mean  to  be  so  long,"  he  said.  "Har- 
riet, will  you  take  this  to  your  mother?"  On  his 
arm  he  carried  a  small  roll  of  dark  cloth.  Un- 
rolling it,  he  laid  across  Harriet's  knee  a  length 
of  the  beautiful  shimmering  material. 

"Oh !"  cried  Harriet.  "For  Mother's  suit. 
What  beautiful  broadcloth— and  the  color!  Nate, 
how  can  you  make  such  tints?" 

Nate  laughed,  but  with  evident  pride.  "I  love 
to  do  'em,"  he  said.  "I  like  to  take  a  piece  about 
the  size  of  that  there,  good  and  plenty  for  a 
lady's  suit,  an'  dye  it  a  fashionable  color,  but  a 
shade  you  can't  find  in  Noo  York— no,  nor  in 
Paris.  I  like  to  think  that  when  your  mother 
wears  that  piece  o'  dress-goods,  the  other  ladies 
would  give  all  their  old  shoes  to  git  it  from  her. 
I  like  to  think  o'  them  askin'  her  where  she 
bought  it  — Liberty's,  they  s'pose,  — an'  she  tellin' 
'em  that  it  was  dyed  up  in  the  hills  here,  by  a 
man  thet  ain't  got  but  one  jigger,  an'  thet  cooks 
his  own  dyes  himself.  I  tell  ye,  Harriet,  I  gits 
my  livin'  out  o'  the  stuff  I  dye  for  your  father ; 
but  I  make  my  real  profit  out  of  a  little  piece 
like  this." 

Nate's  face  glowed  as  he  spoke.  Harriet,  gaz- 
ing at  him,  saw  into  his  heart  and  recognized  a 
true  workman's  enthusiasm  for  his  work. 

"And  you  give  it  away !"  she  exclaimed. 

Nate  grew  sober.  "Your  mother  paid  me, 
years  ago,  for  all  I  can  ever  do  for  her." 

Harriet  knew  there  was  a  story  that  would 
account  for  Nate's  devotion  to  her  mother.  Mrs. 
Dodd  had  once  refused  to  tell  it.  "It  's  Nate's 
story,  dear,"  she  had  said.  "If  you  ever  hear  it, 
it  must  be  from  Nate  himself."  Now  Harriet, 
remembering,  marveled  a  little,  and  then  grew 
wishful. 

"Could  any  one  else— could  I,"  she  asked, 
"ever  pay  you  for  a  piece  like  that?" 

Nate  smiled.  "Maybe  you  could,  if  you  're  a 
good  girl."  Folding  the  material  as  he  spoke, 
he  gestured  with  his  elbow  toward  the  house. 
"Inside  I  've  got  enough  material  to  dye  for  an- 
other suit,  but  you  've  got  to  earn  it.  There, 
Harriet,  that  paper  '11  keep  the  roll  clean.  An' 
thank  you  for  comin'  so  far  for  it." 

After  she  had  said  good-by  to  Rodman,  and 
when  Nate  had  put  her  into  her  carriage,  he 
leaned  over  the  wheel.  "How  did  you  git  along?" 
he  asked,  with  lowered  voice. 


She  smiled  into  his  earnest  face.  "Very  well," 
she  replied.     "And,  Nate,  I  think  he  '11  stay." 

His  eyes  shone  with  satisfaction.  Then  he 
dropped  his  voice  still  lower:  "An'  — an'  his 
memory?" 

She  grew  sober  as  she  answered,  "Honestly, 
I  do  not  know." 

Chapter  IX 

DIFFERENT    IDEAS    OF   DUTY 

"Brian,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  one  Saturday  about 
noon,  "I  am  going  to  ask  you  to  do  something 
that  you  won't  enjoy." 

"I  'm  not  afraid  of  it,  sir,"  answered  Brian, 
readily. 

Brian  had  already  learned  that  all  the  members 
of  his  uncle's  household  were  accustomed  to 
helping  Mr.  Dodd  whenever  he  called  on  them 
to  do  so;  and  he  called  on  them  frequently. 
Brian's  first  discovery  was  of  Harriet  and  her 
mother  making  out  the  bills  which  were  sent  out 
monthly  from  the  mill.  The  bookkeeper,  he 
learned,  was  ill,  and  so  the  two  were  doing  this 
work.  Pelham  was  likely  at  any  time  to  be  called 
upon  to  help  in  the  office,  and  both  he  and  Har- 
riet were  already  studying  bookkeeping  in  order 
to  be  useful  to  their  father.  At  first,  all  this 
seemed  to  Brian  not  only  strange,  but  improper. 

"My  father,"  he  remarked  to  Pelham,  "has 
plenty  of  clerks  to  do  this  sort  of  thing." 

"He  's  lucky,"  answered  Pelham,  undisturbed. 
"Here  in  this  little  place  Father  can't  get  the 
quality  of  service  that  he  wants.  Bookkeepers 
and  stenographers  are  scarce." 

Brian  thought  that  Pelham  had  not  taken  his 
meaning.  "But  it  's  rather  hard  on  you  to  have 
to  help  out,"  he  persisted. 

Pelham,  always  on  intimate  terms  with  dozens 
of  the  younger  mill-hands,  and  accustomed  to  the 
idea  of  working  for  his  living,  grinned  cheer- 
fully. "It  's  not  so  bad,"  he  replied.  "And  then 
I  'm  learning  a  lot  about  the  business.  Don't  you 
ever  help  in  your  father's  office?" 

"No!"  answered  Brian,  a  little  scornfully. 
"Why  don't  you  kick  when  you  're  told  to  work?" 

"Kick?"  answered  Pelham,  surprised.  "What's 
the  use,  with  Father?" 

Brian  understood  Pelham's  feeling  a  little  bet- 
ter now  when  Mr.  Dodd,  coming  home  from  his 
office  a  little  earlier  than  usual,  found  him  lolling 
in  the  living-room  over  a  magazine.  His  uncle 
spoke  with  perfect  courtesy  of  manner,  but  with 
the  quiet  expectation  of  obedience.  It  was  very 
natural  for  the  boy  to  reply  readily  and  respect- 
fully. Mr.  Dodd  smiled,  and  the  thoughtful 
frown  on  his  forehead  relaxed  slightly. 

"We  're  somewhat  tied  up  to-day,"  he  went  on 


304 


THE  RUNAWAY 


[Feb., 


to  explain.  "Bob  is  in  the  midst  of  some  repairs 
in  the  weaving-room,  and  the  bookkeeper  is  so 
behindhand  that  I  've  had  to  put  Pelham  to  help- 
ing him.  For  a  couple  of  days,  I  've  been  expect- 
ing a  set  of  designs,  with  a  contract,  that'  has 
been  overdue  from  the  city.  It  did  n't  come  in 
this  morning's  mail,  but  I  want  to  see  the  de- 
signs, sign  the  contract,  and  send  the  whole  off 
again  to-night,  so  as  not  to  lose  Sunday  on  ac- 
count of  the  mails.  I  've  telephoned  and  found 
that  the  package  has  started,  and  that  it  ought 
to  be  in  Winton  already.  Since  it  missed  this 
morning's  mail,  it  can't  come  till  the  carrier's 
second  trip,  late  this  evening,  unless  I  send  some 
one  over  for  it.  You  and  Harriet  will  have  to 
go." 

An  unwelcome  thought  had  come  to  Brian : 
this  might  lose  him  his  chance  of  the  afternoon's 
ball  game.  Pelham  had  promised  him  a  place  on 
the  nine.    "H-m  !"  he  said. 

"I  would  n*t  bother  you  if  I  could  help  it," 
went  on  Mr.  Dodd.  Though  Brian  did  not  real- 
ize it,  his  uncle  was  studying  him.  "Pelham  is 
needed  where  he  is.  Harriet  must  go,  for  she  is 
known  at  the  post-office,  and  can  sign  for  the 
package,  which  is  registered.  Yet  I  can't  send 
her  alone.  I  should  n't  like  to  at  any  time,  on  an 
eight-mile  drive  through  the  woods ;  and  then, 
Harriet's  horse  is  too  slow,  so  I  must  use  Peter, 
who  is  hard-bitted  and  rather  skittish." 

"I  see,"  responded  Brian,  but  without  cordial- 
ity. 

Mr.  Dodd  understood  him  perfectly.  "We 
shall  have  lunch  early.  Harriet  is  getting  ready 
now.  Then  if  all  goes  right,  you  ought  to  be 
back  in  time  to  play  in  the  ball  game.  But  if 
there  is  any  hitch,  so  that  perhaps  you  have  to 
wait  for  a  later  mail,  why,  you  '11  just  have  to 
miss  the  game,  Brian." 

"I  understand,"  said  the  boy.  He  looked  up  into 
his  uncle's  face  with  a  laugh  which  he  tried  to 
make  easy,  but  which  succeeded  only  in  being 
short.  "Too  bad,  sir,  you  have  n't  an  automo- 
bile." 

Mr.  Dodd  replied  as  if  the  criticism  were  en- 
tirely proper.  "It  would  often  be  a  convenience; 
but  until  we  have  better  roads  in  winter  and 
spring,  an  automobile  is  out  of  the  question.  If 
you  get  ready  now,  Brian,  you  can  start 
promptly." 

Brian,  as  he  prepared  for  his  trip,  felt  much 
irritated  at  thus  being  used  without  his  own 
consent.  "I  did  n't  come  here  for  this,"  he  grum- 
bled to  himself.  Yet  he  knew  that  this  was  a 
part  of  what  his  father  had  sent  him  for.  The 
warning  had  been  very  plain.  "I  want  you  to 
take  part  in  the  family  life,  even  if  it  sometimes 


is  a  good  deal  different  from  ours.  And  don't 
write  me,"  his  father  had  added,  "complaining, 
if  you  're  not  satisfied.  Your  uncle  is  doing 
me  a  great  favor  in  taking  you  in." 

So,  subdued  in  spite  of  himself  by  the  memory 
of  words  as  positive  as  his  father  had  ever  said 
to  him,  Brian  ate  his  lunch  and  started  on  his 
drive  with  Harriet.  At  the  same  time,  his  tem- 
per was  not  really  improved.  He  spoke  of  the 
ball  game  more  often  than  he  needed  to,  com- 
plained of  the  hills,  and  was  ready  to  bet  that 
something  would  happen  to  delay  their  return. 
All  this  decidedly  troubled  Harriet,  who,  not 
knowing  whether  to  apologize  or  to  laugh  at  him, 
decided  to  say  as  little  as  she  could,  in  the  hope 
that  his  ill  temper  would  work  itself  off. 

But  Brian,  reading  disapproval  in  her  silence, 
tried  to  justify  himself.  Everything,  except  the 
hope  of  the  ball  game,  was  a  blot  upon  the  face 
of  nature.  The  dust,  for  instance.  "Look  at 
three  inches  of  dust  here  in  the  woods,  where 
you  certainly  would  expect  roads  to  be  damp  and 
hard." 

"But  you  forget,"  said  Harriet,  "that  this  has 
been  a  very  dry  summer.  We  have  had  no  rain 
for  a  month." 

"Well,"  growled  Brian,  as  if  this  were  no  ex- 
cuse, "last  summer,  at  the  sea-shore,  it  rained 
almost  every  night.     We  had  no  dust  at  all." 

This  was  too  much  for  Harriet.  "Oh,  Brian  !" 
she  cried,  and  laughed.  It  was  a  good,  hearty 
laugh,  a  wholesome  laugh,  ringing  merrily 
through  the  woods.  Brian  had  to  make  an  effort 
in  order  not  to  join  her  and  forget  his  griev- 
ances. 

But  he  made  the  effort.  "That  's  perfectly 
true,"  he  grumbled.  "And  it  always  rains  more 
at  the  sea-shore.  Everybody  knows  it  does."  He 
scowled  over  the  horse's  head,  and  would  not 
look  at  Harriet.  He  had  to  hear  her,  but  he  con- 
trived to  make  her  laughter  sound  mocking  and 
unkind.  Then,  as  a  recollection  came  to  him,  he 
grew  still  more  morose. 

"We  're  near  the  place,"  he  told  Harriet,  who, 
controlling  her  laughter,  now  was  quiet  again— 
"the  very  place  where  Pelham  and  I  met  that 
precious  Rodman.  And  look  here,"  he  added 
with  excitement,  "I  believe  that  's  the  fellow 
himself !" 

Ahead  of  them  was  walking  a  boy,  swinging 
along  swiftly  and  easily  on  the  hard  path  by  the 
side  of  the  road.  When  the  carriage  drew  nearer, 
Harriet  saw  that  he  was  carrying  his  right  hand 
a  little  awkwardly.  Beneath  his  cuff  she  saw  a 
white  strip  of  bandage  on  his  wrist. 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "Although  his  back  is  turned, 
I  'm  sure  that  's  Rodman." 


IQI4-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


305 


"Well,"  answered  Brian,  "I  know  what  I  am 
going  to  do."  He  touched  the  horse  with  the 
whip,  hastening  him  so  that  the  carriage  reached 
Rodman  soon  after  he  had  passed  the  turn.  Then 
Brian,  as  he  drew  up  to  him,  stopped  the  horse. 

"Hullo,"  said  Brian,  leaning  forward  to  speak 
across  Harriet. 

Rodman,  smiling  at  Harriet,  took  off  his  cap. 
Then     he     looked     at     Brian.       His     expression 


For  a  moment,  Harriet,  breathless  with  aston- 
ishment, remained  silent.  She  had  expected 
Brian  simply  to  say  a  few  words  of  greeting.  At 
last  she  found  her  voice.  "Brian !"  she  cried, 
"were  you  reminding  him  ?" 

"Certainly,"  returned  Brian.     "Why  not?" 

"Father  told  us  not  to." 

"It  was  too  good  a  chance 
Brian.     "And  on  the  very  spot 


to  lose,"   insisted 
Besides,  you  saw 


'HE    SEEMED    TO    PUT    HIMSELF    ON    HIS    GUARD 


changed,  and  he  seemed  to  put  himself  on  his 
guard.  "Good  day,"  he  answered.  Neither  of 
the  greetings  was  cordial. 

Brian  pointed  with  his  whip  at  the  roadside 
and  the  bushes.    "Does  this  place  look  familiar?" 

"Familiar?"  returned  Rodman.  "Why  should 
it?" 

"Why  should  n't  it?"  persisted  Brian. 

The  two  boys  looked  at  each  other  fixedly,  but 
slowly  a  sneer  grew  on  Brian's  lip,  and  a  dull 
red  crept  to  Rodman's  forehead. 

"Huh !"    cried    Brian,    at    last,    triumphantly. 
"Now  is  n't  the  place  familiar?"     Without  wait- 
ing for  an  answer,  he  touched  the  horse  with  the 
whip,  and  Peter  whirled  the  carriage  away. 
Vol.  XLI.— 39. 


that  he  did  n't  answer  di- 
rectly." 

"That  meant  nothing,"  an- 
swered Harriet. 

"He  grew  red,"-  continued 
Brian.  "He  knew  the  place." 
"Of  course  he  grew  red," 
replied  Harriet.  "Any  one 
could  see  that  you  meant  to 
be  unpleasant." 

"I  tell  you,"  declared 
Brian,  stoutly,  "that  he  has 
no  more  lost  his  memory 
than  I  have  !" 

Harriet,     controlling    her- 
self, remained  silent  as  long 
as    she    could.      Her    feeling 
Jf':  that  Brian  was  unfair  made 

her  almost  ready  for  tears ; 
but  she  scorned  to  cry,  nor 
would  she  allow  herself  to 
grow  angry.  Yet  her  indig- 
nation, a  far  nobler  feeling, 
grew,  until  at  last  she  felt 
that  she  must  speak.  It  was 
at  this  moment  that  Brian, 
looking  about  him,  said  sud- 
denly, and  almost  under  his 
breath : 

"I  believe  this  was  the 
place,  after  all !" 

Harriet    answered    almost 

with   sternness.     "If  it  was, 

you  were  entirely  wrong  to  speak  to  him  as  you 

did.     And  in  any  case,  Brian,  I  think  you  acted 

badly." 

Her  voice  trembled  with  feeling  as  she  spoke, 
and  her  steady  eyes  surely  would  have  abashed 
him  had  he  met  their  glance.  But  Brian  would 
not  look  at  her,  and,  snapping  his  whip  at  some 
leaves  by  the  roadside,  began  to  whistle. 

In  the  meantime,  Rodman,  left  to  himself, 
strode  manfully  onward.  But  the  flush  had  not 
died  out  of  his  cheek.  As  Harriet  knew,  he  had 
plainly  perceived  Brian's  antagonism,  and  he 
winced  under  the  unkindness  of  it.  Walking 
there  alone  in  the  woods,  his  earlier  swing  and 
hopefulness  vanished.     Nate  had  sent  him,  with 


306 


THE  RUNAWAY 


money  in  his  pocket,  to  Winton  to  buy  clothes ; 
for  his  single  suit,  though  neatly  patched  and 
mended,  was  no  longer  very  presentable.  Now 
even  the  recollection  of  this  added  to  Rodman's 
discomfort.  Had  Brian,  looking  down  from  the 
neat  little  runabout,  despised  his  shabby  appear- 
ance? Had  Harriet  herself,  sitting  so  silent  by 
him,  done  so,  too?  But  the  thought  of  Harriet 
suddenly  refreshed  him. 

"I  can  trust  her  \"  he  said  aloud. 

And  so,  with  less  buoyancy  than  at  first,  but 
with  more  true  courage,  he  trudged  onward  to 
the  town.  There  he  went  to  the  store  which  Nate 
had  described  to  him,  bought  a  ready-made  suit, 
and  left  it  for  slight  alterations.  Wandering 
again  out  into  the  streets,  he  sought  another 
store,  where  he  bought  for  Nate  several  balls  of 
twine.  It  was  here  that  he  found,  higgling  over 
a  purchase,  a  tall  and  lank  countryman  in  whom 
he  thought  he  recognized  a  man  whom  Nate  had 
described  to  him.  Waiting  until  he  had  finished 
his  purchase,  Rodman  spoke  to  him. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Johnson?" 

"I  be."  The  farmer  turned  on  him  an  in- 
quisitive eye.  "An'"you  're  the  youngster  thet 
Nate  tol'  me  about.  He  said  you  'd  want  to  be 
lifted  home." 

"I  should  be  glad  if  you  could  take  me,"  an- 
swered Rodman. 

"Wal,"  said  the  Yankee,  "I  'm  travelin'  home 
light,  so  I  kin  take  ye  an'  welcome.  An'  I  '11  git 
ye  there  before  the  ball  game,  too.  My  son  's 
to  play,  an'  I  want  to  see  it."  So  Rodman, 
pleased  at  the  prospect,  and  with  a  half-hour  on 
his  hands,  wandered  out  into  the  streets  to  see 
what  he  could  see. 

"Winton  was  not  a  large  town,  and  did  all  its 
business  in  a  short  length  of  main  street.  At  the 
first  corner,  Rodman  came  upon  Harriet  and 
Brian,  who,  standing  in  a  doorway,  were  talking 
so  earnestly  that  they  did  not  see  him.  Brian's 
face  was  dark  with  disappointment ;  Harriet  was 
looking  at  him  apologetically. 

"But  even  if  you  wait  for  the  next  mail," 
Brian  was  arguing,  "you  are  n't  sure  that  the 
package  will  come." 

"I  know,"  answered  Harriet,  with  a  kind  of 
shrinking  firmness.     "But  I  must  wait,  Brian." 

"All  right !"  exclaimed  Brian,  in  that  tone  of 
vexation  which  invariably  means  that  all  is  not 
right.     Leaving  her  abruptly,  he  hurried  away. 

Rodman,  wandering  onward,  now  discovered  a 
bake-shop,  whose  odors,  issuing  temptingly  into 
the  street,  reminded  him  that  he  was  hungry. 
"Git  yourself  some  lunch,"  Nate  had  said.  So 
Rodman,  entering  the  shop,  presently  found  him- 


self in  a  seat  by  the  window,  satisfying  his  hun- 
ger with  a  dish  of  baked  beans,  and  looking  for- 
ward to  a  turnover.  His  position  gave  him  the 
best  of  chances  to  study  the  street.  He  saw  Har- 
riet, with  a  troubled  brow,  going  from  shop  to 
shop  making  purchases.  He  saw  Brian,  in  the 
druggist's  opposite,  drinking  soda,  and  thence 
emerging,  strolling  about,  still  scowling,  but 
smoking  a  cigarette  with  an  air.  Next  he  saw  the 
man  who  was  to  "lift"  him  home  stop  Brian  and 
speak  to  him.  Brian's  scowl,  scornful  at  first, 
rapidly  lessened  and  changed  into  a  smile.  Leav- 
ing the  farmer,  he  walked  quickly  down  the 
street,  looking  eagerly  to  right  and  left.  Rodman 
thought,  "He  's  hunting  for  Harriet." 

It  was  in  front  of  Rodman's  open  window  that 
Brian  and  Harriet  met.  She  was  passing  slowly 
by  when  she  heard  her  cousin  call,  and  turning, 
she  awaited  him.  Rodman,  situated  a  little  above 
their  heads,  was  naturally  unseen,  and  heard 
their  first  words. 

"Oh,  Harriet,"  began  Brian,  quickly,  "there  's 
a  man  —  "  -He  stopped,  as  if  he  did  not  know 
how  to  proceed. 

"Mr.  Johnson,  yes,"  answered  Harriet.  "I 
saw  you  talking  with  him.    What  of  him?" 

Brian  evidently  resolved  to  continue.  "Look 
here,"  he  said.  "That  horse  of  yours  is  perfectly 
safe  for  you  to  drive  alone.  Why,  he  was  a  per- 
fect sheep  all  the  way  over." 

"Yes,  he  was,"  agreed  Harriet.  Rodman  saw 
from  her  face  that  she  instantly  understood  what 
Brian  was  going  to  propose.  As  for  himself, 
Rodman  wondered  what  he  ought  to  do.  Should 
he  rattle  with  the  dishes  to  warn  them  of  his 
presence,  or  should  he  go  away  ?  Meanwhile  the 
talk  continued. 

"Well,"  went  on  Brian,  with  growing  embar- 
rassment, "Johnson  says  he  can  get  me  home  in 
time  for  the  game.  He  saw  me,  and  offered  to 
take  me." 

"Yes,"  said  Harriet,  quietly,  her  eyes  on 
Brian's  face. 

Brian  grew  red.  but  he  persisted.  "Pelham 
said  he  needed  me  to  play  short-stop.  Now  don't 
you  think  I  'd  better  go?" 

"Why,  Brian,"  answered  Harriet,  "I  can't  de- 
cide for  you." 

"You  're  not  afraid  to  drive  home  alone?"  he 
asked. 

"Afraid?"  Harriet  flushed.     "Certainly  not!" 

"Well,  then,"  decided  Brian,  "I  think  I  '11  go. 
I  can't  help  you,  you  know,  and  I  can  be  of  use 
to  Pelham.  I  '11  just  go  and  tell  Johnson  that 
I  '11  be  with  him."  And  eagerly  turning,  he  shut 
out  from  his  sight  Harriet's  searching  look. 


( To  be  continued. ) 


^he 


innJ-r 


Li 


1      'i — T^Tlkhel^^- Xe/&> 


-:--w».-  I      --'"  !  "   J 


•'      I 


Whenever  Mother  telephones, 

She  talks  about  a  lot  of  things. 
So  Father  only  sits  and  groans 
Whenever  anybody  rings. 
'"The  season  's  earlier  this  year." 

"I  have  n't  got  my  new  straw  hat." 
"I  can't,  because  my  child  is  here." 
"What  did  her  husband  say  to  that  ?" 

And  Father  only  says,  "Hello  !" 

And  takes  the  'phone  up  in  his  hand. 
"Is  that  you,  Hawkins?    This  is  Snow. 

I  wired  Chicago.     Understand? 
I  think  our  man  intends  to  fight, 

But  we  can  best  him  if  we  try. 
You  'd  better  do  so,  then,  to-night. 

See  you  to-morrow.     Well,  good-by." 

And  Sister  says,  "Oh,  is  that  you?" 

And  then  she  fixes  up  her  hair, 
'S  if  anybody  could  see  through. 
"Oh,  I  don't  know.     Oh,  I  don't  care." 
"I  think  I  can,  if  you  insist." 

"And  was  n't  yesterday  a  dream?" 

"There  's  seven  on  the  waiting  list." 

"I  do  love  strawberry  ice-cream  !" 

But  what  /  do  is  just  to  say 

To  Annabel,  or  Lucy  White, 
"Can  you  come  over  here  and  play?" 

And  then  they  answer  me,  "All  right !" 
Perhaps  when  I  am  really  grown — 

I  'm  only  seven  and  a  half  — 
I  '11  get  my  friends  upon  the  'phone, 

And  talk  and  talk,  and  laugh  and  laugh 


;aaaaaaa*aaaav 


3Ke 

STOR.Y 
CORNER^ 


Thirty-nine  boys  and  girls,  with  seventy-eight 
round  eyes  and  seventy-eight  listening  ears,  were 
gathered  in  a  breathless,  silent  group.  They  were 
in  a  public  library  of  New  York  City.  Outside 
there  were  street-cars  humming  and  clanging, 
wagons  clattering,  automobiles  honking,  feet 
tramping,  — all  the  countless  noises  of  a  great  city 
merging  in  one  giant  roar;  but  not  one  of  the 
seventy-eight  ears  heard  a  sound  of  all  this  hub- 
bub. They  were  fixed  upon  the  story-teller  who 
sat  in  their  midst,  in  the  library's  story  corner. 
There,  to  that  spellbound  circle  of  young  Amer- 


LINE    OF    CHILDREN    APPLYING    FOR    CARDS    IN    THE 
JUVENILE   ROOM    OF  A   BRANCH   LIBRARY. 

ican  citizens,  she  was  telling  the  strange  Scan- 
dinavian tale  of  "Ashiepattle  who  Ate  with  the 
Troll  for  a  Wager." 

"Now  a  troll,"  said  she,  "is  a  creature  known 


to  the  children  of  Norway.  He  lives  in  the  deep 
woods ;  and,  at  times,  he  takes  the  form  of  an 
ugly  old  man." 

The  boys  and  girls  crowded  a  bit  closer,  just 
as  you  crowd  about  your  mother  when  she 
reaches  an  exciting  part  of  the  story. 

"And  at  other  times  he  takes  another  form— 
what  do  you  suppose?"  Her  voice  dropped  to  a 
whisper,  as  if  the  black,  mysterious  woods 
loomed  about  her.  One  little  girl,  tense,  her  eyes 
fairly  starting,  leaned  forward  and  gripped  her 
chair  tightly.  "And  at  times  the  wicked  old  troll 
takes  the  form  of  a  great— furry  — growling— 
terrible— bear !" 

"Oh-h-h  !"  said  the  little  girl  with  a  frightened 
cry;  and  at  that  everybody  burst  out  laughing, 
she  along  with  the  others.  "I  thought  I  saw  the 
bear !"  she  said.  You  see  she  had  such  a  keen 
imagination  that  the  story  was  real  to  her. 

So,  in  a  quick,  vivid  sketch,  the  story-teller 
gave  these  children  an  idea  of  what  the  troll  is 
supposed  to  be,  for  they  were  to  hear  many  of 
Asbjdrnsen's  "Fairy  Tales  from  the  Far  North," 
as  well  as  other  Scandinavian  legends ;  and  since 
the  troll  is  an  old  fellow  whom  one  often  meets 
in  them,  it  's  as  well  to  be  acquainted  with  him 
in  the  first  place.  Not  a  very  pleasant  acquain- 
tance, perhaps;  but  inasmuch  as  he  confines  him- 
self to  the  other  side  of  the  world,  the  thirty- 
nine  young  New  Yorkers  were  not  really 
alarmed,  but  were  merely  having  those  rather 
delicious  creeps  up  and  down  the  spine  which 
we  all  enjoy  when  we  know,  away  down  in  our 
minds,  that  it  's  only  a  story,  after  all. 

You  may  be  sure  there  was  no  whispering  or 
scuffling  of  feet  while  the  absorbing  tale  of 
Ashiepattle  progressed.  How  delighted  they  all 
were  when  he  shouted,  "I  '11  squeeze  you  just  as 
I  squeezed  this  white  stone !"  and  the  troll 
begged,  "Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  do  spare  me!" 
What  a  triumph  when  the  young  hero,  by  his 
quick  wit,  actually  tricked  the  old  sinner  into 
putting  himself  to  death!     Then  the  story-teller 


3o8 


THE  STORY  CORNER 


309 


showed  the  children  a  little  wooden  troll  which 
had  been  carved  in  Norway  by  one  of  that  coun- 
try's famous  wood-carvers.  When  it  stood  on 
two  feet  it  displayed  the  face  of  a  hideous  old 
man,  and  when  it  dropped  to  all  fours  its  head 
turned  over  and  displayed  a  bear's  face. 

I  wish  that  every  one  of  you  boys  and  girls 
who  have  all  the  stories  you  can  listen  to— to 
whom  some  one  always  says  "Yes,"  when  you 
cry  "More !"  —  could  happen  in  on  one  of  the 
story  hours  which  are  now  becoming  established 
in    several   cities   as   a   prominent    feature   of   li- 


are  unknown.  Did  you  ever  go  into  the  street 
after  you  had  just  stowed  away  the  last  bite  of 
mince-pie  you  could  hold  at  the  end  of  a  huge 
turkey  dinner,  and  see  a  little  pinched  girl  feast- 
ing her  eyes — merely  her  eyes  — on  a  pile  of 
steaming  chestnuts  on  a  vender's  stand?  Once  I 
did.  Did  you  ever  turn  away  from  your  stack 
of  Christmas  gifts,  piled  so  high  that  you  could 
n't  remember  what  half  of  them  were,  and  see 
a  little  chap  passing,  tenderly  hugging  a  rag 
lamb  which  had  lost  two  feet  and  its  tail?  This 
happened  to  me.     And  I  recall  both  of  these  pic- 


STORY-TELLING    IN    A   PLAYGROUND. 


brary  work.  It  might  give  you  just  a  bit  of  a 
pang  to  watch  some  of  the  eager,  pathetic  little 
faces ;  but  we  're  none  the  worse  for  that  sort  of 
a  pang  now  and  then.  You  see,  so  many  of  the 
children  who  gather  in  the  story  corner,  shut  off 
by  screens  from  the  main  room,  are  actually  hun- 
gry—story-hungry. There  's  more  than  one  kind 
of  starvation  in  this  world ;  heads  and  hearts  can 
be  as  hungry  as  stomachs.  They  live  in  homes 
barren  of  books,  homes  where  everybody  is  so 
busy  that  there  's  no  time  for  stories,  and  so 
they  are  famished  for  all  the  good  things  which 
lie  between  covers.  St.  Nicholas  never  enters 
such  homes.     Fat,  luscious  volumes  of  fairy  lore 


tures  whenever  I  come  upon  the  hungry  groups, 
eyes  and  ears  and  even  mouths  open,  gathered 
for  a  library  story  hour,  being  fed  fairy  tales 
that  are  dainty,  fairy  tales  that  are  creepy,  tales 
of  adventure  and  of  heroism,  tales  of  fun  and  of 
pranks,  tales  of  travel,  biography,  and  history; 
folk  tales  and  legends— oh,  so  many  more  that 
it  's  like  reading  the  menu  of  a  great  banquet  to 
name  them  all ! 

Several  cities,  among  them  Chicago,  Cleveland, 
Pittsburgh,  and  St.  Louis,  include  story-telling 
in  their  library  systems.  New  York  is  such  a 
larere  and  unique  city  that  it  is  especially  inter- 
esting   there.      The    supervisor    of    stories    has 


310 


THE  STORY  CORNER 


[Feb., 


A    BOYS     CLUB. 


struggled  for  five  years,  and  gradually  she  is 
coming  to  see  the  wonderful  results  of  all  her 
efforts.  Last  year,  there  were  regular  story  hours 
in  thirty-six  of  the  forty  branches,  and  this 
means  that  forty  thousand  children  listened  to 
tales.  Miss  Anna  C.  Tyler,  the  supervisor,  visits 
these  branches,  tells  a  story  herself,  and  plans  a 
course  which  one  of  the  librarians  is  to  tell  until 
she  comes  again.  Thus  there  were  more  than 
sixteen  hundred  story  hours  in  that  great  city 
during  the  year. 

When  I  think  over  the  many  people  who  are 
doing  great  work  to  make  the  lives  of  boys  and 
girls  happier  and  better,  the  story-tellers  are  to 
be  reckoned  with.  Some  people  are  giving  their 
life's  work  to  rescuing  the  poor— housing  them 
when  homeless,  feeding  them  when  hungry,  nurs- 
ing them  when  sick— but  it  is  a  noble  work,  too, 
to  throw  open  the  doors  of  books  to  them.  These 
librarians  do  not  think  it  enough  merely  to  place 
books  in  a  library,  set  chairs  and  tables  about, 
and  say,  "Come  in  if  you  like,  read  if  you  know 
how."  Many  children  are  too  ignorant  to  know 
how  to  use  and  enjoy  the  books  when  they  come. 
The  librarians  say,  "We  must  invite  them,  urge 
them,  then  show  them  the  treasures  we  have 
here,  and  tempt  them  to  seek  those  treasures  for 
themselves."     Such  volumes  as  Grimm's  and  An- 


dersen's tales,  Hawthorne's  "Grandfather's 
Chair,"  and  Seton's  "Rolf,"  often  stood  unopened 
on  the  shelves.  The  children  knew  how  to  read 
— the  schools  had  taught  them  that — but  many 
of  them  did  not  know  how  to  enjoy  reading. 

So  the  libraries  put  their  heads  together  to 
find  a  way  to  lure.  They  hit  upon  the  plan  of 
telling  one  of  the  most  delightful  stories  of  a 
volume  as  a  sort  of  opening  wedge  to  the  whole 
book.  It  's  like  giving  away  a  sample  package 
of  soap  or  cereal,  you  see,  to  make  people  want 
a  larger  package.  Say,  "Here  's  a  good  book  of 
American  history,"  and  the  book  gathers  dust 
upon  the  shelf.  But  say,  "There  will  be  a  story 
told  next  Friday  at  four,  and  all  who  wish  to 
hear  it  may  obtain  tickets  by  showing  their  li- 
brary membership  cards,"  and  the  tickets  give 
out  long  before  the  eager  line  is  satisfied.  All 
of  us,  boys,  girls,  and  grown-ups,  like  to  listen 
to  and  watch  an  interesting  speaker.  It  may  be 
only  the  familiar  narrative  of  Paul  Revere's  ride 
she  is  recounting,  but  it  gains  vividness  and  ex- 
citement in  the  telling.  Over  and  over  it  is  found 
that,  after  such  an  hour,  the  children  flock  to 
the  shelves  seeking  more  on  the  same  subject,  or 
by  the  same  author,  now  that  their  interest  has 
been  aroused. 

It  's  no  small  gift  to  be  able  to  tell  a  story 


I9I4-] 


THE  STORY  CORNER 


311 


A   GIRLS     CLUB. 


well,  and  in  each  branch  the  teller  is  selected  by 
competition.  All  the  librarians  are  given  a 
chance,  and  the  one  who  can  make  her  tale  the 
most  interesting  is  chosen.  Try  yourself,  and 
see  whether  you  can  tell  a  fairy  tale  or  an  ad- 
venture tale  to  your  little  brothers  and  sisters  in 
such  a  way  that  they  enjoy  it.  The  most  impor- 
tant thing  is  to  appreciate  and  enjoy  it  yourself. 
If  you  do  this,  you  can  master  the  other  require- 
ments, such  as  controlling  your  voice  and  over- 
coming hesitation. 

It  is  great  fun  to  go  the  rounds  of  the  branches 
and  see  all  the  enthusiastic  boys  and  girls  who 
hurry  from  school  to  reach  the  library  in  plenty 
of  time.  In  the  crowded  districts  it  has  been 
found  necessary  to  give  out  tickets,  first-come- 
first-serve,  as  fifty  listeners  make  the  largest 
group  convenient  to  handle,  and  many  more  ap- 
ply. There  are  big  children  and  small,  poor  and 
prosperous,  happy  and  sad,  some  who  are  well 
fed  upon  stories  at  home,  and  some  who  are  fam- 
ished for  the  rare  treat.  Sometimes  they  gather 
in  the  story  corner  of  the  children's  room,-  wait- 
ing for  a  half-hour,  they  are  so  determined  to  be 
on  time.  Big  screens  shut  off  the  corner  so  that 
the  tale  may  be  undisturbed.  Certain  buildings 
have  a  club-room  where  the  group  can  gather. 

Sometimes  it  's  a  bit  pathetic  as  well  as  funny. 


I  don't  believe  you  could  have  kept  back  just  a 
drop  of  a  tear  along  with  your  smile  if  you  had 
seen  that  droll  little  Italian,  his  black  eyes  the 
biggest  part  of  him,  toddle  in. 

"How  do  you  do,  Erminio,"  said  a  librarian. 
"Are  you  coming  to  hear  the  story  of  'The  Prin- 
cess Whom  Nobody  Could  Silence'  ?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered,  his  big  black  eyes  shining 
with  anticipation. 

"But  what  's  that  you  have?"  she  suddenly 
exclaimed,  catching  sight  of  a  rope  in  his  hand. 

"Want  Billy  to  hear  story,  too,"  Erminio  said 
earnestly,  and  thereupon  presented — what  do 
you  think?  — the  pet  goat  of  an  Italian  tenement! 
It  was  heartbreaking  to  be  obliged  to  deny  Billy 
that  tale  of  the  haughty  princess  and  her  daunt- 
less suitor,  although  Erminio  was  much  more 
disappointed  than  Billy,  and  he  sobbed  bitterly 
while  escorting  his  playmate  home,  for  his  gen- 
erous little  heart  had  longed  to  share  his  own 
good  time.  When  he  came  back  alone,  the  kind 
librarian  gave  him  a  seat  close  to  her,  and 
showed  him  pictures  after  the  story  was  over  to 
help  heal  his  heartache. 

In  several  libraries,  the  older  boys  and  girls 
have  been  assisted  to  organize  story  clubs  of 
their  own,  and  these  are  growing  larger  and 
stronger  every  year.     Friday  evening  is  usually 


312 


THE  STORY  CORNER 


[lrEB. 


the  boys'  time  for  meeting,  and  Friday  after- 
noon the  girls',  for  then  the  week's  school  duties 
are  laid  aside.  President,  vice-president,  aad 
secretary  take  their  places,  the  roll  is  called,  the 
minutes  read,  and  then  the  club  proceeds  about 
ils  business,  which  is  usually  defined  as  "the 
advancement  of  interest  in  literature."  A  libra- 
rian tells  a  story,  and  this  may  be  followed  by 
discussion  among  the  members. 


CHINESE    CHILDREN    GOING    TO    A    BRAN 
WHERE    CHINESE   BOOKS   MAY   BE 

At  a  boys'  club  the  other  night,  I  heard  a  most 
entertaining  travel  talk.  Some  two  dozen  mem- 
bers were  present ;  the  story  of  Paul  Revere  was 
told,  and  then  the  room  was  darkened  and  pic- 
tures were  thrown  upon  a  screen — views  such  as 
the  Old  North  Church,  Faneuil  Hall,  and  the  Min- 
ute-Man's statue.  The  boys  had  learned  the  story 
in  school,  but  this  was  like  taking  a  journey  over 
the  New  England  territory  made  famous  in  our 
Revolution.  Travel  talks  with  stereopticon  views 
are  a  new  feature  of  the  story  hour,  and  a  popu- 
lar one.  So  zealous  is  the  entire  library  man- 
agement, that  any  branch  which  wants  a  particu- 
lar set  of  slides  may  write  to  the  state  headquar- 
ters and  receive  the  box  of  slides  as  soon  as 
express  can  carry  it.  This  work  comes  under 
the  department  of  "Visual  Instruction." 


The  girls'  clubs  are  charming  little  afternoon 
meetings  where  an  occasional  recitation  by  one 
,  of  the  members  breaks  the  monotony.  "Madame 
President"  arose  at  the  opening  of  one  of  these 
meetings  and  called  it  to  order  with  as  much 
impressiveness  as  her  mother  might  display  at 
her  own  grown-up  club.  "Madame  President" 
had  fat  black  curls  which  bobbed  about  frolic- 
somely, and  a  big  red  bow  perched  mischievously 

a-top  the  curls,  but  she 
was  very  stately  and 
authoritative  for  all 
that. 

"I  call  this  meeting 
to  order,"  she  said 
formally,  "and  after 
the  secretary  has  called 
the  roll,  and  the  min- 
utes of  the  last  meet- 
ing have  been  read,  we 
shall  have  the  pleasure 
of  hearing  a  story  from 
Miss  Tyler."  Then, 
with  her  curls  still 
bobbing  beneath  the 
perky  red  bow,  she 
seated  herself  in  the 
official  chair  with 
great  dignity. 

Miss  Tyler  half  told, 
half  read,  "The  Brush- 
wood Boy,"  that  beau- 
tiful love  story  which 
shows  how,  even  as  lit- 
tle children,  the  true 
lovers  sought  and 
found  each  o.ther  with 
a  sympathy  which  was 
to  last  all  their  lives 
long. 
"Robin  Hood"  is  one  of  the  tales  she  especially 
likes  to  tell  the  girls,  for  it  seems  to  be  consid- 
ered a  boys'  story,  and  .she  sees  no  reason  why 
girls  should  not  delight  in  all  the  bravery  and 
romantic  gaiety  of  it. 

There  are  certain  facts  about  some  of  the 
older  boys  which  I  think  you  ought  to  know,  al- 
though the  librarians  are  going  to  shake  their 
fingers  at  me  for  telling.  Some  of  the  districts 
in  which  these  branch  libraries  abide  are  full  of 
a  rough  element  — the  sort  of  boys  who  fight  on 
the  street,  raise  riots  in  street-cars,  and  annoy 
orderly  citizens.  Of  course  such  fellows  con- 
sider the  library  a  fine  place  to  vent  their  law- 
lessness, for  here  are  quiet,  reading  people  whom 
they  think  it  fun  to  disturb. 

In  one  branch  there  is  a  fine  club  composed  of 


CH    LIBRARY 
HAD. 


IQI4-] 


THE  STORY  CORNER 


313 


the  right  sort  of  boys,  those  who  respect  other 
people's  rights,  and  they  have  been  greatly  trou- 
bled by  the  "gang."  One  evening,  this  gang 
gathered  outside  the  club-room  window,  threw 
pebbles  against  the  glass,  and  called  loudly.  One 
of  the  club  members  went  to  the  window  quietly 
and  pulled  down  the  shade,  so  that  the  tale  of 
the  Indian  raid  might  proceed;  half  an  hour 
later,  when  this  boy  left  the  club-room  and 
started  home,  thinking  of  no  dangers  but  those 
of  early  frontier  life,  there  was  a  sudden  shout- 
ing and  rush,  and  from  the  area  way  out  dashed 
the  gang,  fell  upon  him,  and  beat  him. 

Now  the  reason  I  want  you  to  know  of  this 
unpleasant  incident  is  that  you  may  understand 
what  splendid  work  the  librarians  are  doing  to 
overcome  such  conditions.  "There  's  no  use  set- 
ting ourselves  up  against  such  young  ruffians," 
they  decided.  "Let  's  see  if  we  can't  make  them 
a  part  of  us,  instead."  So  they  went  to  work  to 
coax  in  the  various  gangs.  Such  boys  are  not 
really  bad  at  heart,  they  believed,  only  untaught. 
And  the  success  which  one  west  side  branch  has 
had  is  a  typical  example.  This  branch  is  only 
three  years  old,  and  when  it  was  opened  the 
rough  fellows  of  the  neighborhood  threw  old  bot- 
tles and  cans  in  at  its  windows,  and  ran  in  shout- 
ing, and  mobbing  the  reading-room. 

At  last,  the  librarian  announced  that  she  would 
tell  them  a  sea  story  the  next  Friday  night. 
Forty-one  boys  arrived,  tittering  and  nudging, 
and  apparently  ready  to  make  trouble.  This  the 
story-teller  ignored;  calmly  she  began  "Captains 
Courageous." 

Gradually  the  disturbance  died  down,  and  as 
that  great,  full-chested,  brave-hearted  tale  went 
on,  the  crowd  was  utterly  silent.  Not  before  the 
end  of  the  hour  did  the  boys  allow  her  to  stop, 
and  next  day  two  of  them  called  upon  her. 

"Say,  we  want  some  more  o'  them  stories,"  the 
spokesman  said,  his  manner  full  of  respect.  "An' 
if  you  '11  give  'em  to  us,  we  '11  appoint  monitors 
to  look  after  any  feller  that  makes  trouble,  an' 
we  '11  guarantee  you  good  order." 

Is  n't  that  enough  to  prove  that  a  good  tale, 
like  music,  "hath  charms  to  soothe  the  savage 
breast"?  And  is  n't  it  enough  to  make  the  li- 
brarians rejoice  in  their  success? 

New  York  is  a  strangely  cosmopolitan  city. 
One  finds  there  types  of  all  nations  gathered  in 
one  huge  metropolis,  and  to  see  the  whole  city  is 
like  making  a  tour  over  Europe  and  visiting  its 
various  countries.  Many  of  the  New  York  li- 
braries are  situated  in  foreign  quarters.  Web- 
ster Branch,  for  instance,  is  on  the  east  side  of 
town  in  a  region  where  hundreds  of  Bohemian 
people  live.  Tompkins  Square  Branch  is  among 
Vol.  XLL—  40.. 


Hungarians ;  Yorkville  Branch  is  much  patro- 
nized by  Germans,  and  so  it  goes. 

Therefore  the  custom  has  sprung  up  of  telling 
tales  in  their  native  tongue  to  certain  groups  of 
young  library  patrons.  Of  course  they  hear  tales 
in  English,  besides,  for  they  must  know  our  lan- 
guage if  they  are  to  live  in  our  land;  but  their 
own  languages  are  rich  with  such  delightful  folk- 
lore that  it  is  thought  a  pity  that  the  children, 
just  because  they  are  reared  in  America,  should 
lose  all  knowledge  of  the  tales  their  parents 
loved,  just  as  we  loved  our  "Mother  Goose."  So 
in  each  one  of  several  foreign  districts  is  sta- 
tioned a  librarian  who  knows  the  prevailing 
tongue,  and  once  a  month  she  gathers  about  her 
a  group  of  little  folks,  and  tells  them  Bohemian, 
Italian,  or  German  stories,  as  the  case  may  be. 

One  afternoon,  I  chanced  upon  the  most  enter- 
taining German  tales.  A  dozen  wee  children 
were  gathered  in  a  semicircle  on  little  short- 
legged  stools  before  the  librarian,  while  at  each 
end  of  the  semicircle  sat  a  tall  little  girl  on  a 
grown-up  chair.  These  two  girls  were  slim  and 
erect  and  sat  very  primly,  with  precisely  placed 
feet  and  hands  folded  in  their  laps,  and  they  had 
sweet,  earnest  faces,  and  big  blue  eyes,  and 
straight,  smooth  yellow  hair  hanging  down,  and 
they  looked  for  all  the  world  like  little  German 
princesses,  as  if  they  had  stepped  out  of  the  tale 
that  was  being  told. 

To  wind  up  the  hour  merrily,  the  story-teller 
gave  "the  funny  story"  for  which  the  smallest 
ones  clamored.  It  was  that  rollicking  classic 
"Max  und  Moritz,"  and  when  the  clever  libra- 
rian rattled  off  the  German  jingles,  and  related 
the  pranks  of  the  young  scamps,  and  crowed 
like  the  fowls,  how  the  group  laughed  and 
clapped ! 

Of  course  many  of  the  children  in  all  the  cities 
are  extremely  well  fed  at  home  in  respect  to 
stories;  but  you  don't  find  them  staying  away 
from  the  libraries  just  because  of  that !  If  you 
had  heard  "The  Three  Golden  Apples"  fifty 
times,  could  n't  you  listen  to  it  for  the  fifty-first? 
I  '11  wager  you  could !  And  there  's  no  such 
thing  as  ever  tiring  of  "The  Shooting  Match  at 
Nottingham  Town"  or  "The  King  Who  Was  a 
Gentleman."  To  hear  a  trained  story-teller  give 
one  of  your  old  favorites  is  like  hearing  music 
you  know  and  love  sung  by  a  delightful  voice. 

You  know  story-telling  was  one  of  the  first 
arts  developed  in  the  world.  Stories  were  told, 
passed  from  mouth  to  mouth,  before  men  learned 
to  write  them  down  and  make  books.  And  now 
that  this  custom  is  arising  so  strongly  again, 
some  one  has  called  it  "the  oldest  and  the  newest 
of  the  arts." 


u 


STRANGE,  BUT   TRUE!" 

BY  CHARLES  LINCOLN  PHIFER 


Mr.  Long  was  very  short, 
And  Mr.  Short  was  long; 

Mr.  Strong  was  very  weak, 
And  Mr.  Wiek  was  strong. 

Mr.  White  was  black  as  tar, 
And  Mr.  Black  was  white ; 

Mr.  Wise  was  dull  indeed, 
But  Mr.  Dunn  was  bright. 


Mr.  Reed  could  hardly  write, 
But  Mr.  Wright  could  read ; 

Mr.  Swift  would  lag  behind, 
While  Mr.  Lagg  would  lead. 

Mr.  Boyd  had  seven  girls, 
And  Mr.  Moon  a  son ; 

Mr.  Poore  was  rich  in  gold, 
And  Mr.  Rich  had  none. 


liOO-HOO!      HE   'S   GOT   MY   SNOWBALL!" 
3'4 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 

BY  ABBIE  FARWELL  BROWN 

Author  of  "  The  Flower  Princess,"  "  The  Lonesomest  Doll,"  etc. 


Chapter  III 


THE   PRINCESS 


On  the  hot  July  day  after  Maggie's  arrival  at 
Bonnyburn,  a  young  woman  sat  on  the  piazza  of 
a  great  white  villa  overlooking  the  valley  and 
watched  the  train  creep  like  a  tiny  black  worm 
out  of  the  woods  and  across  the  open  to  the  sta- 
tion. She  was  not  interested  in  the  train ;  she 
watched  it  merely  because  there  was  nothing  else 
to  do.     She  was  not  interested  in  anything. 

Allegra  was  very  beautiful,  and  she  wore  beau- 
tiful clothes,  all  white  from  top  to  toe.  She  sat 
in  a  large,  wicker  chair,  with  rosy  pillows  behind 
her  head,  and  a  little  table  at  her  elbow  on  which 
were  a  bowl  of  nasturtiums,  books  and  magazines, 
and  candy.  But  all  that  afternoon  she  had  not 
opened  the  books  nor  touched  the  candy.  She 
had  just  sat  there  as  she  did  every  day,  with  her 
slender  hands  lying  listlessly  in  her  lap,  looking 
off  over  the  valley  with  a  shadow  in  her  eyes,  and 
with  the  corners  of  her  pretty  mouth  drawn 
down  in  a  sad  crescent.  She  had  a  happy  name ; 
but  she  did  not  look  happy.  In  fact,  she  thought 
her  heart  was  broken,  and  that  the  world  was  a 
very  terrible  place ;  which  it  is  n't,  you  know. 

In  the  background  hovered  a  figure,  also  in 
white,  with  starched  collar  and  cuffs.  Presently 
Nurse  Miggs  came  forward  with  a  tray  holding 
a  tinkling  crystal  pitcher  and  glass,  which  she 
set  on  the  table  with  a  timid  smile. 

"Miss  Allegra,"  she  said  softly,  "I  have 
brought  you  some  nice  cold  lemonade  which  I 
made  myself.  I  am  sure  it  will  taste  good  on 
this  hot  afternoon.     Do  have  some  !" 

Allegra  glanced  languidly  at  the  glass.  "You 
are  very  good,  Miss  Miggs,"  she  said,  in  a  dull, 
hollow  tone ;  "but  I  don't  care  about  it." 

"Shall  I  read  to  you?"  queried  Miss  Miggs,  pa- 
tiently. 

"No ;  I  don't  care  about  reading.  I  don't  care 
about  anything,"  answered  Allegra. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  murmured  Miss  Miggs,  lift- 
ing her  eyebrows.  "You  have  told  me  that  be- 
fore. And  that  's  why  we  came  up  here  where 
there  is  nothing  especially  to  care  for,  is  n't  it? 
You  thought,  your  father  and  mother  thought, 
you  might  be  happier  here  than  at  those  places 
where  so  many  people  go." 

"Happier  !"  Allegra  gave  a  sad  little  laugh,  and 
relapsed  into  gloom. 


"Well,— less  unhappy,  then,"  said  her  compan- 
ion. "But  I  must  say  I  don't  agree  with  them. 
I  believe  you  'd  be  better  off  where  there  were 
more  folks ;  where  there  was  more  going  on." 
Miss  Miggs  smiled  insinuatingly.  A  week  of  Bon- 
nyburn, alone  with  Allegra  and  the  servants  in 
the  Penfold  villa,  had  made  her  desperately  home- 
sick. 

"It  's  no  use,  Miss  Miggs,"  said  Allegra,  dully. 
"I  shall  never  be  happy  again.  I  might  as  well 
be  here  as  anywhere.  But  that  is  no  reason  why 
you  should  stay  here  to  be  bored.  I  do  not  need 
you.  I  can  get  along  quite  well  by  myself,  for  I 
am  not  ill.  I  don't  see  why  Mother  and  Father 
insisted  on  your  coming  here  with  me." 

The  nurse  bit  her  lip  and  tried  to  answer 
jauntily.  "I  guess  they  thought  you  would  be  bet- 
ter off  with  some  company  besides  the  servants," 
she  said. 

"Oh,  it  would  n't  matter,"  sighed  Allegra.  "I 
don't  want  much.  I  suppose  I  have  to  eat  three 
times  a  day,  so  long  as  I  can." 

Miss  Miggs  stifled  a  sniff.  She  knew  that  so 
far  as  she  was  professionally  concerned,  there 
was  nothing  whatever  the  matter  with  Miss 
Penfold. 

"If  she  were  a  poor  girl,"  she  said  to  herself, 
"she  'd  have  to  go  to  work,  whether  she  felt  like 
it  or  not,  and  forget  these  heart  troubles  that  all 
of  us  have,  sooner  or  later."  Miss  Miggs  smoth- 
ered a  sigh. 

Allegra  glanced  languidly  at  the  watch  lying 
on  the  table  beside  her.  "Half  after  four,"  she 
murmured;  "the  train  is  late  again  to-day.  But 
what  is  that  to  me  ?  All  hours  are  just  the  same." 
*  "I  suppose  it  matters  to  somebody,"  said  the 
nurse,  with  more  spirit  than  usual,  watching  the 
puffs  of  smoke  as  the  train  pulled  away  from  the 
station.  "Just  think  of  the  folks  in  that  train 
who  are  going  on  errands  of  life  and  death, 
maybe,  anxious  to  be  at  the  end  of  their  journey. 
Sometimes  I  get  to  thinking  about  the  people  on 
the  passing  trains,  that  we  don't  know  and  never 
shall;  folks  with  troubles  and  sorrows  like  ours, 
or  more  likely  worse.    And  I  feel—" 

"I  think  I  'd  like  to  be  alone,  Miss  Miggs,  if 
you  don't  mind,"  interrupted  Allegra,  wearily. 
"You  need  n't  bother  to  come  until  dinner-time. 
Tell  James  to  serve  dinner  out  here.  It  will  be 
cooler." 

"Very  well,  Miss  Allegra."    Miss  Miggs  retired 


315 


316 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


[Feb., 


with  her  head  held  high.  "I  think  I  can't  stand 
it  much  longer,"  she  said  to  herself.  "The  sulky, 
selfish  girl!  I  'm  glad  I  never  yet  was  so  com- 
fortable that  I  did  n't  know  it!" 

For  a  whole  hour,  the  princess  of  the  white 
palace  lay  quite  still,  gazing  blankly  over  the  val- 
ley toward  the  green  hills,  bathed  in  glory.  She 
did  not  see  the  hills.  She  was  thinking  only  of 
herself  and  of  how  miserable  she  was;  rebelling 
because  wealth  at  her  command  could  not  buy 
the  heart's  desire. 

From  the  piazza  a  broad  path,  bordered  by  rho- 
dodendrons and  set  at  intervals  with  urns  full  of 
flowers,  led  down  a  series  of  terraces  and  was 
lost  to  view  in  the  greenery  of  a  maple  grove.  A 
wonderful  butterfly,  all  in  blue  and  gold,  hovered 
over  the  bowl  of  nasturtiums  on  the  table.  He 
paused  there  for  a  time,  then  fluttered  about  Alle- 
gra's  head,  and  finally  lighted  on  one  of  her 
hands  that  lay  so  still  in  her  lap.  For  some  sec- 
onds he  rested  there,  waving  his  wings  like  tiny 
fans.  Then  he  fluttered  away,  but  soon  returned 
to  light  on  Allegra's  dress.  He  did  this  several 
times,  always  returning  as  if  attracted  by  her 
dainty  freshness.  Allegra  noticed  him  idly  at 
first;  gradually  she  began  to  watch  his  move- 
ments, to  wonder  where  next  he  would  alight. 
He  was  so  beautiful !  She  had  never  seen  so 
beautiful  a  butterfly.  Suddenly  he  rose  high  in 
the  air,  hovered  thrice  about  her  head,  and  then, 
instead  of  settling  as  before,  fluttered  down  the 
path. 

Allegra  followed  his  flight  with  her  eyes.  He 
paused  now  and  then  to  greet  the  flowers  in  the 
vases.  Impartially  he  visited  the  rhododendrons 
on  each  side  of  the  path.  Allegra  found  herself 
leaning  forward  to  watch  him  better.  There  was 
a  fascination  about  him;  his  wings  beckoned  her. 
Finally  he  disappeared.  Allegra  rose  slowly,  and, 
leaning  on  the  balustrade,  peered  down  the  path. 
As  far  as  her  eye  could  see,  through  the  maple 
grove,  came  the  variegated  gleam  of  flowers  in 
the  sunken  garden.    He  had  gone  there. 

Allegra  turned  to  the  table  and  picked  up,  she 
knew  not  why,  the  box  of  sweets  that  lay  there. 
Then,  trailing  white  draperies,  she  slowly  de- 
scended the  marble  steps  and  followed  the  path 
which  the  butterfly  had  taken. 

It  was  a  beautiful  path.  Down,  down  a  side 
of  that  same  hill  up  which  the  old  white  horse  had 
carried  Maggie  Price,  descended  the  velvet  ter- 
races. Allegra  passed  the  maple  grove  and  came 
to  the  sunken  garden,  a  sunburst  of  flower-jewels 
blazing  in  the  light.  In  the  midst  of  it  was  a 
pool  where  blue  lotus  and  pink  water-lily  were 
idly  moored.  At  the  farther  end  stood  a  sun-dial 
twined  with  rose-bushes  just  going  out  of  bloom. 


The  butterfly  was  resting  there,  upon  the  familiar 
motto,  carved  in  quaint  letters : 

"I  MARK  ONLY  SUNNY  HOURS." 

As  Allegra  came  up,  he  rose  lightly  and  flut- 
tered away  down  a  side  path.  Somehow  she  had 
to  follow. 

It  was  a  pretty  little  path,  at  first  a  grassy  way 
between  box  hedges.  As  she  went  on,  however, 
it  grew  narrower  and  more  crooked,  and  wound 
gradually  upward.  At  last,  it  became  again  a 
wild  foot-path  through  the  grassy  slopes  of  what 
had  once  been  mere  pasture-land,  before  Mr. 
Penfold  had  walled  it  into  the  Park.  It  was  not 
good  for  her  delicate  dress  and  white  shoes ;  but 
still  she  trailed  on  after  the  butterfly. 

At  last,  through  a  tiny  grove  of  pines,  Allegra 
spied  the  Park  wall  and  a  gateway  of  solid  oak 
where  the  path  ended.  There  was  a  rustic  bench 
under  the  wall,  and  there  she  sat  down  to  rest, 
fairly  tired.  As  she  did  so,  the  butterfly  flut- 
tered up  from  the  ground  at  her  feet  and  flew 
away  over  the  wall.  So  that  was  the  last  of  the 
guide  who  had  brought  her  here  !  Allegra  stared 
after  him,  and  then  fell  to  brooding  gloomily. 

Suddenly,  she  heard  voices  beyond  the  wall, 
children's  voices.  They  were  talking  apparently 
just  outside  the  gate. 

"Oh,  Maggie!  Did  you  see  that  butterfly?"  a 
little  girl  was  saying.  "He  came  right  over  the 
wall  without  any  trouble.  I  wish  we  could  fly 
like  that.    Don't  you?" 

"Yes,  indeed !  I  always  wanted  to  fly  the  worst 
way !"  The  second  girl's  voice  was  sweeter  and 
deeper  than  the  other.  "Well,  is  that  a  sure- 
enough  butterfly?  It  's  the  first  one  I  ever  saw, 
except  in  books.  Oh,  my  !  Perhaps  he  was  n't 
really  a  butterfly  at  all,  but  a  fairy  messenger  !" 

"Oh,  come  along!"  came  a  boy's  impatient 
growl.  "You  girls  don't  want  to  stay  here  all 
day,  do  you  ?  There  ain't  anything  to  see ;  I  told 
you  so.  This  is  just  a  back  gate.  There  are  lots 
of  'em,  but  this  is  nearest  to  our  place.  Come 
along.  I  want  to  show  Maggie  the  catbird's 
nest." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  the  voice  of  Maggie.  "I 
just  want  to  be  sure  that  butterfly  don't  mean 
something.  They  'most  always  do,  in  the  books. 
Suppose  a  fairy  princess  was  over  beyond  the 
wall  now,  wanting  to  get  a  message  to  us ;  it 
would  be  awful  to  go  away  without  trying  to  find 
out.  I  'm  sure  Mr.  Graham  would  think  so.  I  'm 
holding  on  to  the  lucky  stone  he  gave  me.  Let  's 
wait  a  minute  and  see  if  anything  else  happens." 

There  was  silence  outside  the  wall.  Allegra 
had  listened  with  languid  interest  to  the  children's 
prattle.     Now  she  found  herself  wondering  who 


IQI4-] 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


317 


they  were,  especially  the  little  girl  with  the 
strange  voice  who  talked  so  intimately  about  the 
fairies.  Once  Allegra  herself  had  believed  in 
fairies.    But,  after  all,  who  cared? 

Presently,  the  silence  was  broken  again  by  the 
voice  of  the  child  who  had  spoken  oftenest.     "O 


again ; 

"Yes,  give 
was  eager. 

"Yep!" 


There  was  a  moment  of  astonished  silence. 
Then  a  whoop  of  joy  answered  her.  The  boy  at 
least  appreciated  the  omen. 

"Oh,  Bess !"  said  the  eager  voice  of  Maggie, 
"she  is  there.  I  felt  she  was.  It  is  fairy  candy ! 
Did  you  ever  see  the  like  of  it?" 

"No !"  whispered  Bess,  rapturously,  "I  never 
did.    Ain't  it  lovely  !" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  dear  Fairy !"  Maggie  went  on 
fervently.     "Now  we  know  you  are  really  here. 

I  wonder  if  this  is  your  favorite  place.     Say, 

give  us  another  sign,— shall  we  find  you  here 


us  another  sign  \"     Bess's  tone 


'SHE    WAS    THINKING    ONLY    OF    HERSELF    AND    OF    HOW    MISERABLE    SHE    WAS 


Fairy  Princess  !  If  you  are  over  there  and  can 
hear  us,  please  give  us  a  sign !" 

"Oh,  pshaw  !"  cried  the  boy's  voice,  disgustedly. 
"Come  on.     You  girls  are  acting  foolish." 

At  these  words  of  boyish  scorn,  something  of 
opposition  rose  in  Allegra's  heart.  She  felt  no 
especial  sympathy  for  the  little  girl's  appeal,  but 
she  resented  the  masculine  tone  of  superiority. 
She  rose,  and,  tiptoeing  to  the  gate,  tossed  over 
the  wall  a  handful  of  bonbons. 


the  boy's  voice  was  greedy,  and 
sounded  as  if  from  a  full  mouth ; 
"give  's  'nother !" 

Allegra  behind  the  wall  hesitated. 
Why  should  she  go  on  with  this 
nonsense?  And  yet,  why  not?  To 
do  so  would  not  commit  her  to  any- 
thing further.  Emptying  the  box, 
she  tossed  both  hands  high  in  the 
air,  causing  a  generous  shower  of 
bonbons  to  fall  on  the  other  side  of 
the  wall. 

Squeals  of  delight  •  hailed 
this  second  manifestation,  and 
Allegra  smiled  grimly  to  think 
how  easy  it  was  to  make  chil- 
dren happy. 

"We  '11  come  to-morrow  all 
right !"  said  the  most  interest- 
ing voice  eagerly.  "And  then 
— perhaps  you  '11  let  us  see 
you,  kind  Fairy?" 

At  this,  Allegra  shrugged 
her  shoulders  and  moved  away 
from  the  gate.  She  had  no 
idea  of  letting  this  farce  go 
any  further.  She  heard  the 
children's  voices  faint  and 
fainter  as  she  retraced  her 
way  back  to  the  sunken  gar- 
den. Languidly  she  climbed 
the  terraces  to  the  house.  Miss 
Miggs,  anxious  in  gray  silk,  came  down  to  meet 
her. 

"Well,  where  in  the  world  have  you  been?"  she 
asked.  "I  could  n't  imagine  what  had  happened, 
when  I  found  you  were  not  on  the  piazza  where 
I  had  left  you." 

"H'm !  I  think  I  may  walk  in  my  own  garden, 
may  I  not  ?"  said  Allegra,  somewhat  tartly. 

"Oh,  of  course,  Miss  Allegra,"  returned  the 
nurse,  hastily.     "I  'm  only  too  glad  to  have  you 


318 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


[Feb., 


do  so.  But  you  might  have  told  me.  I  hope  you 
will  do  it  again,  it  is  so  good  for  you." 

"I  do  not  expect  to  do  it  again,"  said  Allegra, 
shortly.  She  sat  down  to  the  usual  dreary  meal, 
served  on  the  veranda,  with  Miss  Miggs  opposite. 
But  she  kept  thinking  in  spite  of  herself  of  that 
strange  child  who  believed  in  the  fairies,  who 
thought  the  unseen  Allegra  herself  was  a  fairy. 

Chapter  IV 

THE   QUEER    OLD   WOMAN 

The  next  day,  it  rained  in  torrents,  which  was  a 
shame.  For  there  were  a  hundred  things  which 
the  children  had  planned  to  show  Maggie  out  of 
doors.  But,  after  all,  there  was  the  barn  to  play 
in,  and  one  could  n't  mind  the  rain  very  much 
with  a  barn  close  by. 

Maggie  had  never  seen  cattle  at  close  range; 
or  live  pigs,  or  turkeys,  or  guinea-hens.  She  had 
never  seen  even  ordinary  ducks  and  geese,  but 
went  into  fits  of  astonished  laughter  over  their 
funny  feet  and  awkward  manners.  Imagine  it ! 
Maggie  had  never  even  seen  a  haymow !  She 
had  never  climbed  a  ladder  and  walked  along  nar- 
row beams  like  a  rope-dancer,  finally  to  jump 
headlong  into  the  fragrant,  yielding  mass.  She 
had  never  before  made  a  tunnel  down  under  the 
hay,  lying  there  giggling  and  excited  while  folks 
hunted  for  her  high  and  low.  Hide-and-seek  in 
a  country  barn ;  could  anything  be  greater  fun  for 
a  city  child  than  that? 

All  day  long  they  spent  in  the  barn,  and  there 
was  not  a  hole  or  corner  into  which  Maggie  did 
not  poke  her  inquisitive  little  nose.  She  came 
upon  all  sorts  of  strange,  spidery  machines,  some 
with  teeth  and  some  with  wings,  which  the  chil- 
dren tried  to  explain  to  her.  But  Maggie  did  not 
know  what  "plowing,"  and  "reaping,"  and  "hay- 
making" meant. 

"I  'd  rather  play  they  're  dragons !"  she  said. 
"They  look  like  dragons." 

"What  is  a  dragon?"  asked  Bess,  eagerly. 

"A  dragon  is  a  great  big  thing,  something  like 
an  alligator,  only  bigger—" 

"Where  did  you  ever  see  an  alligator?"  inter- 
rupted Bob. 

"Did  n't  you  ever  see  one?  We  have  them  in 
the  aquarium,"  said  Maggie,  glad  to  have  seen 
something  that  Bob  had  n't.  "The  biggest  was  as 
long  as— as  a  cow.  It  was  all  covered  with  scales, 
and  had  a  mouth  full  of  sharp  teeth.  It  eats 
people  sometimes." 

"Oh !"  shuddered  Bess.  "I  'm  glad  we  don't 
have  'em  here  !     I  should  be  afraid  !" 

"Oh,  in  the  city  they  are  shut  up  in  pens  and 
can't  eat  people,"  Maggie  assured  her.     "You  can 


go  and  look  at  'em.  But  I  think  there  might  be 
dragons  here,  up  in  those  hills  !  Nobody  could 
shut  them  up  in  pens,  they  were  so  strong  and 
fierce;  twenty  times  as  big  as  a  cow!  And  fire 
and  smoke  came  out  of  their  great  big  eyes  and 
mouth !  And  they  roared  and  made  horrid  noises 
as  they  came  clattering  along  !" 

"Do  they  look  like  an  automobile  then?"  sug- 
gested Bess. 

"Well,  something,"  agreed  Maggie.  "But  they 
had  wings,  too,  and  could  fly,  and  you  never  knew 
when  they  would  come  swooping  down  on  you. 
They  were  always  carrying  off  princesses  to  their 
dens  in  the  mountains.  And  then  Saint  George 
had  to  pitch  in  and  rescue  them.  Mr.  Graham's 
name  is  George.  Say,  Bob  !  you  be  Saint  George 
and  fight  this  dragon  !" 

"I  don't  know  how,"  objected  Bob.  "You  be 
Saint  George,  Maggie." 

So  Maggie  showed  him  how  to  fight  dragons, 
attacking  the  mowing-machine  with  manly  cour- 
age. After  a  thrilling  struggle,  she  slew  the 
monster  and  saved  the  life  of  Princess  Bess,  who 
had  been,  it  seems,  in  much  danger.  Bob  looked 
on  and  laughed.  "You  're  great  at  making  up 
games,  Maggie,"  he  said. 

"Sometimes  they  get  so  real  I  half  believe  in 
'em  myself!"  said  Maggie,  flushed  and  disheveled 
as  she  leaned  on  her  sword  of  broomstick.  In- 
deed, Maggie  told  her  stories  so  vividly,  with 
such  an  air  of  believing  that  they  were  all  true, 
that  Bob  and  Bess  found  themselves  half  believ- 
ing too.  It  was  very  queer,  like  Maggie's  speech. 
For  sometimes  she  talked  like  an  ignorant  child ; 
sometimes  like  a  story-book  princess.  Yet  after 
the  adventure  of  Maggie's  first  day  in  Bonnyburn, 
they  did  not  make  fun  of  her  fancies  as  they  had 
done  at  first.  But  to-day  it  rained;  and  if  you 
remember  your  fairy  books,  you  know  that  noth- 
ing mysterious  ever  happened  on  a  rainy  day. 

The  next  morning  was  bright  and  beautiful. 
When  Bess  said,  "What  let  's  play?"  Maggie  had 
an  answer  ready. 

"Let  's  go  and  see  if  we  can  find  the  fairy  who 
lives  in  the  Park." 

"Oh,  pshaw  !"  grumbled  Bob.  "Who  wants  to 
do  that?    Let  's  go  and  see  the  sugar-house." 

"I  want  to  see  the  sugar-house  too,"  said  Mag- 
gie, hesitating.  "But  it  ain't  polite  to  keep  the 
fairy  waiting  if  she  is  expecting  us.  I  'm  going 
to  the  little  gate." 

"So  am  I  !"  echoed  Bess.  "You  need  n't  come, 
Bob,  if  you  don't  want  to." 

Bob  suddenly  remembered  the  bonbons.  He 
was  not  going  to  be  left  out  if  there  were  any 
more  such  "signs"  to  be  given.  "Come  on,  then  !" 
he  said,  half  sulkily,  and  off  he  raced. 


1914.] 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


319 


They  ran  down  the  lane  behind  the  barn, 
through  a  maple  grove  towering  above  a  sea  of 
fern.  They  sped  down  a  sloping  pasture  toward 
the  high  wall  which  separated  the  world  of  mys- 
tery from  that  of  every  day,  toward  the  gate 
tantalizingly  shut. 

With  eyes  shining  and  hair  streaming,  Maggie's 
short  legs  flew  over  the  ground  in  the  wake  of 
the  sturdier  country  children.  Sometimes  her  un- 
accustomed feet  stumbled  in  unexpected  hollows 
filled  with  bracken,  and  she  fell  headlong;  but  she 
did  not  care.  Bob  and  Bess  enjoyed  the  race 
for  its  own  sake.  But  Maggie  was  imagining  all 
sorts  of  things  that  might  be  going  to  happen. 

What  really  did  happen  she  had  not  foreseen. 
Bob  brought  up  abruptly  at  the  gate  with  a  whoop 
of  excitement.  Bess  dropped  down  on  her  knees 
beside  him  eagerly.  And  when  Maggie  came 
puffing  to  them  some  seconds  later,  she  found 
them  still  marveling  over  something  in  the  very 
spot  where  they  had  received  the  "sign"  two  days 
before. 

"What  is  it?"  panted  Maggie,  out  of  breath. 

"Something  's  happened  again  !"  was  Bob's  re- 
ply. "Gee  !  don't  it  look  good  !  Of  course  they  're 
for  us?" 

"  'Course  they  are,"  echoed  Bess,  stretching  out 
an  eager  hand  toward  the  great  basket  of  fruit : 
golden  oranges,  pineapples,  bananas,  nuts,  figs, 
dates,— fruits  the  country  children  had  seldom 
seen,  and  that  Maggie  had  met  only  in  books. 

"Oh,  how  grand !  Ain't  there  anything  writ- 
ten?" asked  Maggie,  eagerly.  "Yes,  there  is!" 
Her  sharp  eyes  had  spied  a  bit  of  paper  sticking 
up  from  the  midst  of  the  luscious,  fragrant 
mound. 

"  'To  the  little  girl  who  believes  in  fairies,'  " 
she  read  the  written  words  slowly. 

"It  's  yours,  Maggie,"  said  Bess,  drawing  back 
her  hand.  "Ain't  you  lucky !  I  believe  it  's  all 
on  account  of  your  lucky  stone  !" 

"She  begins  to  get  presents  as  soon  as  she  gets 
here,"  said  Bob,  rather  sulkily.  "This  ain't  ever 
happened  to  me,  and  I  've  lived  here  all  my  life." 

"That  's  because  you  did  n't  believe  in  'em, 
Bob,"  said  Maggie.  "But  now  you  do,  don't  you? 
It  's  for  us  all,  of  course;  not  just  for  me.  See, 
there  's  three  of  everything." 

"So  there  is!"  said  Bob,  brightening;  and  be- 
ing urged,  he  helped  himself,  and  so  did  Bess. 
The  three  sat  in  a  circle,  each  sucking  an  orange, 
looking  at  one  another,  then  at  the  basket,  then  at 
the  wall  behind  where  certainly  lurked  a  mystery 
—a  kind  mystery. 

"My !  what  wonderful  trees  there  must  be  in 
that  garden  !"  exclaimed  Bess. 

"Oh,  I  wish  the  princess,  whoever  she  is,  would 


come  out !"  cried  Maggie.  "I  'm  going  to  invite 
her!" 

"Oh,  don't !"  begged  Bess,  in  a  stage-whisper. 
"I— I  'm  afraid,  Maggie !"  Bob  looked  a  bit  un- 
comfortable as  he  wiped  his  mouth  on  his  coat- 
sleeve. 

"We  've  got  to  thank  her  somehow,  and  I  'm 
going  to  ask  her  to  come.  She  kind  of  promised 
she  would  the  other  day,"  said  Maggie. 

As  Maggie  walked  up  to  the  gate,  Bob  and 
Bess  rose  to  their  feet  and  stood  ready  to  run  at 
a  moment's  notice. 

"What  ho,  kind  Fairy  !"  called  Maggie,  sweetly, 
trying  to  talk  like  the  story-books.  "We  thank 
you  for  being  so  good  to  us.  May  it  please  you 
to  let  us  see  you?" 

She  stepped  back  from  the  gate  and  gazed  ex- 
pectantly. The  other  two  craned  their  necks;  but 
nothing  happened.  "I  guess  she  is  invisible !" 
whispered  Maggie  to  her  partners.  "Oh,  Fairy," 
she  went  on,  addressing  space  over  the  wall,  "if 
you  mean  that  we  can't  see  you,  won't  you  please 
give  us  a  sign?"  There  was  a  pause.  Then  over 
the  wall  came  a  little  bouquet  of  flowers  such  as 
grew  nowhere  in  Bonnyburn.  Maggie  caught 
and  held  it  to  her  nose  eagerly.  "Oh  !  ain't  they 
pretty !  It  's  a  sign  she  is  invisible  !"  she  whis- 
pered. Bob  and  Bess  drew  nearer,  their  eyes 
fairly  bulging  from  their  heads.  "Well,"  Maggie 
went  on,  "if  we  can't  see  you,  won't  you  please 
let  us  come  inside  your  wall  and  see  the  wonder- 
ful things  there?    It  must  be  fairy-land!" 

The  children  held  their  breaths,  frightened  at 
Maggie's  daring.  Presently,  after  what  seemed 
a  long  time,  a  great  pink  water-lily,  the  like  of 
which  they  had  never  seen,  came  flying  over  the 
wall.  Maggie  lifted  the  flower  reverently.  "It 
is  the  most  beautiful  thing  I  ever  saw,"  she  said. 
"Just  think  if  it  grows  in  the  garden  over  there, 
what  the  place  must  be  like  !  Oh,  there  are  words 
written  on  it !"  On  one  of  the  pink  petals  was  a 
faint  tracery :  "Perhaps.    To-morrow  at  ten." 

Maggie  read  the  words  eagerly.  "We  will  be 
here,  sure !"  she  cried.  The  children  ran  home 
with  their  basket  of  fruit  and  flowers,  and  told  a 
confusing  tale  to  the  farmer  and  his  wife. 

"Wall,  I  swan !"  ejaculated  Mr.  Timmins  as 
they  talked  it  over  when  the  children  were  in  bed 
that  night.     "What  do  you  think  of  it,  Mother?" 

"It  sounds  like  one  of  Maggie's  made-up 
stories,"  said  she,  shaking  her  head.  "That  child 
does  beat  all !" 

"That  fruit  and  them  flowers  did  n't  grow  in 
no.  fairy  tale!"  commented  the  farmer.  "They 
come  out  of  the  Park  greenhouses,  or  I  'm  a 
scarecrow.  But  who  's  this  'fairy'  they  talk 
about,  I  'd  like  to  know?" 


320 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


[Feb., 


"So  should  I,"  agreed  Mrs.  rimmins.  "But 
let  's  not  bother  'em.  They  're  havin'  the  time 
of  their  lives  with  Maggie  Price." 

"All  right,  all  right,  so  long  as  they  don't  git 
into  mischief,"  said  the  farmer,  doubtfully.  "But 
Maggie  was  so  set  on  gittin'  into  the  Park,— I 
ain't  standin'  for  trespassin',  you  know." 

4  Promptly  the  next  morning,  the  three  children 
were  standing  in"  a  row,  gazing  eagerly  at  the 
gate  in  the  Park  wall.  When  the  far-off  village 
clock  struck  ten,  they  expected  certainly  to  see 
the  little  gate  swing  open  and— something  hap- 
pen. But  the  last  faint  stroke  of  the  musical  bells 
quivered  into  silence,  and  nothing  occurred.  The 
children  looked  at  one  another  with  drooping 
mouths. 

"Nothing  doing !"  said  Maggie,  disappointedly. 
"Ain't  it  too  bad  !" 

"Not  even  an  apple  to-day,"  grumbled  Bob, 
searching  the  ground  with  greedy  eyes. 

"Oh,  well !  Let  's  go  home  and  play  hide-and- 
seek  in  the  orchard,"  suggested  Bess,  with  a  sigh. 

"No,  I  'm  going  to  sit  down  and  wait,"  declared 
Maggie,  following  her  words  with  action. 

"Well,  I  'm  not !"  Bob  turned  on  his  heel.  Bess 
hesitated.  Just  then,  they  heard  a  little  noise 
behind  them.  Somebody  was  coming  down  the 
pasture  along  the  wall.  As  the  sound  came 
nearer,  they  saw  a  little,  bent  old  woman  in  a 
long,  hooded  cloak  which  covered  her  from  head 
to  foot.  She  was  leaning  on  a  cane  and  hobbling 
painfully,  and  under  her  arm  she  carried  a  black 
cat.  They  could  not  see  her  face  clearly  because 
of  the  hood  and  the  long  gray  hair  that  straggled 
over  her  forehead. 

Maggie  grasped  Bess's  hand  excitedly.  "She 
looks  like  a  really  truly  witch  !"  she  whispered. 
"Look  at  the  black  cat !" 

The  old  woman  seemed  to  hear  her.  "I  look 
like  a  witch,  do  I?"  she  said.  "Well,  my  dears, 
you  can't  always  judge  by  looks.  And  what  are 
you  doing  here,  may  I  ask?" 

The  other  two  looked  helplessly  at  Maggie. 
"We  're— we  're  waiting  for  some  one,"  said 
Maggie,  bravely.  "Some  one  told  us  to  be  here 
at  ten  o'clock.  But  the  clock  has  struck,  and 
there  's  nobody  here." 

"Am  I  nobody,  then?"  asked  the  old  woman, 
tartly.  "Ho !  children  nowadays  don't  make  much 
of  old  folks." 

"Oh,  are  you  Some  One?"  asked  Maggie, 
eagerly.    "Perhaps  you  are  !" 

"I  should  think  so,  indeed !"  answered  the 
stranger.  "Though  I  may  not  be  the  one  you 
expected  to  see,  you  would  think  me  some  one  if 
you  knew  who  I  am !     But  I  am  not  going  to  tell 


you.  And  now,  may  I  ask  who  you  are,  and  what 
you  are  all  doing  here?" 

The  children  looked  at  one  another  sheepishly. 
At  last  Maggie  spoke  up.  "We  hoped  the  Fairy 
would  let  us  come  into  her  Park.  We  want  to 
see  the  wonderful  things  there." 

"Humph !"  croaked  the  old  woman.  "Are  n't 
there  any  wonderful  things  outside  ?" 

"Oh,  yes !"  cried  Maggie,  eagerly,  "very  won- 
derful to  me,  for  I  have  never  been  in  the  coun- 
try before.  But  I  like  the  fairies  best  of  all.  And 
these  kids  are  beginning  to  like  them,  too." 

The  old  woman  eyed  the  children  in  turn. 
"Who  is  this  Fairy  you  talk  about?"  she  asked. 

"We  don't  know,"  answered  Maggie,  eagerly. 
"Do  you?" 

The  question  was  so  sudden  that  the  old  woman 
jumped.  "Don't  ask  questions  !"  she  said  sharply. 
"That  is  my  business.  Come  now;  you  say  you 
have  never  been  in  the  country.  How  does  that 
happen?  Tell  me  everything.  And  tell  me  no 
fibs,  mind.  For  it  's  not  a  good  thing  to  tell  lies 
to  me,  I  assure  you !"  She  sat  down  on  a  hum- 
mock of  grass  and  took  the  black  cat  upon  her 
knee,  where  it  sat  blinking  its  yellow  eyes  at  the 
three. 

Maggie  flushed.  "I  don't  tell  lies  to  anybody," 
she  said. 

Bob  and  Bess  shifted  uneasily  from  one  foot  to 
the  other.  "Very  well,  then,"  said  the  old  wo- 
man.   "Now  let  me  hear." 

Maggie  pouted,  and  kicked  the  grass  at  her 
feet.  The  old  woman  eyed  her  keenly.  "Don't 
be  sulky,"  she  commanded.  "I  want  to  be 
friendly.  Perhaps  I  can  help  you  to  get  sight  of 
what  's  inside  there,"  she  nodded  over  her  shoul- 
der toward  the  wall,  "if  you  give  me  good  an- 
swers." 

Maggie  looked  up.  "Can  you  really?"  she 
asked.     The  old  woman  nodded  mysteriously. 

"Perhaps.  But  first  you  must  tell  me  why  you 
want  to  go  in  there  so  much.  I  know  something 
about  you  already.  You  are  Maggie,  you  are 
Bess,  and  that  is  Bob,"  she  nodded  her  head  at 
the  three  in  turn. 

The  children  stared.  How  did  she  know? 
Here  was  magic  indeed !  "Tell  me  why  you  be- 
lieve in  the  fairies,"  said  the  old  woman,  turning 
to  Maggie  with  a  suddenness  that  startled  her. 

"Oh!"  said  Maggie,  "I  can't  tell  why;  I  just 
do  !    They  have  helped  me  so." 

"How?"  asked  the  old  woman.  "Tell  me  every- 
thing !"  And  two  brown  eyes  looked  through  the 
gray  elf-locks  at  the  child  so  keenly  that  Maggie 
dropped  her  own  eyes. 

"Why,  you  see,"  said  Maggie,  faltering,  "when 
things  were  the  limit  at  home  and  I  got  grouchy, 


T9M-] 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


321 


I  only  had  to  imagine  that  I  was  enchanted  for  a 
little  while,  and  that  I  was  really  somebody  else, 
living  somewhere  else  in  a  fairy  tale;  and  that 
some  day  it  would  all  come  out  right ;  the  way  it 
always  does  in  all  the  fairy  tales  you  read." 

"Ah,  always  comes  right- 
in  fairy  tales  !"  muttered  the 
old  woman  under  her  breath. 

"And  I  guess  it  was  really 
true !"  cried  Maggie.  "For 
here  I  am  in  this  lovely  place, 
—with  fairies  for  neighbors, 
—  and  grand  things  happening 
all  the  time.  And  when  I  do 
have  to  go  back  again,  it  will 
never  be  so  bad  any  more. 
For  Bob  and  Bess  are  my 
friends  now,  and  they  will 
write  to  me  all  about  what 
goes  on  here.  I  never  had 
any  one  write  to  me  in  all  my 
life  !  I  never  wrote  a  letter 
till  I  came  here." 

"And  she  's  coming  up  to 
visit  us  every  summer,  Fa- 
ther says  so,"  interrupted 
Bob;  forgetting  to  be  shy. 

"And  Mother  says  she  does 
n't  know  what  we  '11  do  with- 
out her,"  chimed  in  Bess, 
fondly  squeezing  Maggie's 
hand.  "And  she  's  been  here 
only  four  days." 

"Ah  !"  said  the  old  woman, 
who  had  been  very  quiet  dur- 
ing Maggie's  story.  "And 
now  what  have  you  two  to 
say  for  yourselves?  What 
do  you  want,  trying  to  get 
into  the  Park?  Don't  you 
know  it  's  trespassing  for 
any  one  but  the  owner  to  go 
there  without  permission?" 

Bob  and  Bess  hung  their 
heads  and  looked  guilty.  "It 's 
all  my  fault,"  said  Maggie, 
coming  to  their  assistance. 
"I  wanted  to  go  in.  These 
kids  have  always  lived  here  and  never  thought  of 
such  a  thing.  You  see,  they  did  n't  know  much 
about  fairies  until  I  came.  But  they  are  mighty 
good  to  me.  They  want  to  do  what  I  like  to  do. 
So  we  all  want  to  go  in,  dreadfully  !" 

"H'm  ["  mumbled  the  old  woman,  "what  for?" 

"We  'd — we  'd  like  to  see  the  palace  and  the 
wonderful    things,"    answered    Maggie,    timidly. 
"And  we  'd  like  to  see  the  princess,  if  we  can." 
Vol.  XLL— 41. 


"You  can't,"  said  the  old  woman,  gruffly. 

"Why  not?"  Maggie  dared  to  ask.  "Is  she  en- 
chanted, too?" 

The  old  woman  hesitated  for  a  moment,  then 
answered  shortly,  "Yes." 


WELL,  MAYBE   WE   CAN   BREAK   THE   SPELL,'    SAID   MAGGIE,  EAGERLY. 


"Well,  maybe  we  can  break  the  spell,"  said 
Maggie,  eagerly.  "Generally  in  the  fairy  tales  it 
is  kids  who  help  the  most — or  a  fairy  prince." 

"Ho  !"  snorted  the  old  woman,  so  crossly  that 
all  three  started.     "Don't  talk  of  a  prince,  here.'" 

"How  is  she  enchanted?"  asked  Maggie,  has- 
tening to  change  the  subject  from  princes.  "There 
are  lots  of  ways.  Is  she  turned  into  an  animal 
or  something  like  that  ?" 


322 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


"She  is  changed,"  said  the  old  woman,  sadly. 
"She  is  so  changed  that  she  does  not  know  her- 
self. Once  she  was  the  happiest  lady  in  the 
world.     Now  she  is  the  most  miserable." 

"Then  it  must  be  awful !"  cried  Maggie,  pity- 
ingly;  "I  've  se.en  some  terrible  miserable  folks. 
But  we  kids  will  help  her.     I  know  we  can." 

"It  is  hopeless,"  said  the  old  woman,  in  a 
gloomy  tone.  "But  what  is  the  use  of  talking? 
Here  is  a  token  that  the  lady  means  you  well. 
Take  these."  She  drew  from  her  placket  three 
large  nuts,  and  gave  one  to  each  of  the  children. 

"Oh  !"  cried  Maggie.  "Magic  nuts  !  I  know 
about  them."     The  old  woman  nodded. 

"Crack  them,"  she  said.  The  children  did  as 
she  bade  them.  And  there,  inside  of  each  nut, 
was  a  tiny  gold  ring. 

"Put  them  on  your  right  hands,"  said  the  old 
woman.  They  obeyed,  wondering.  "Now,  come 
here  to-morrow  at  this  time — unless  it  rains,"  she 
continued ;  "wear  your  rings,  and  when  you  stand 
outside  the  gate,  say  these  words : 


"Open,  Gate,  I  pray, 
And  let  me  in  to-day. 


As  you  do  so,  you  must  rub  your  rings  with 
your  left  hands  and  wish  hard  that  the  gate  may 
open.  There  is  much  virtue  in  wishing,  you 
know." 

"Yes,"  said  Maggie,  eagerly. 

"Wishes  don't  always  come  true,"  suggested 
Bess. 

"Not  always,"  said  the  old  woman,  with  a  sigh. 
"But  I  think  this  one  will  if  you  wish  hard 
enough.  Now  I  am  going  to  ask  you  something. 
You  are  all  to  close  your  eyes  tightly  while  Mag- 
gie counts  fifty.  Then  you  may  open  them  again. 
Do  as  I  tell  you,  if  you  hope  ever  to  gain  your 
wish." 

The  children  obediently  closed  their  eyes  and 
Maggie  began  to  count  aloud,  "One,  two,  three — " 
When  she  had  pronounced  "Fifty!"  the  three 
opened  their  eyes.  The  old  woman  was  nowhere 
to  be  seen. 

"She  was  a  witch,"  said  Maggie,  with  convic- 
tion.    "But  I  don't  think  she  was  a  wicked  one." 

"I  never  saw  her  in  Bonnyburn  before,"  said 
Bob,  wonderingly. 

So  that  was  the  end  of  this  adventure. 


( To  be  contzn  ued. ) 


THE    FINISHING   TOUCH. 


-    !:iiJ,i  l))vJ\H  ii 


An  ostrich,  filled  with  self-conceit 

And  giddy  ostentation, 
One  day,  a  tortoise  chanced  to  meet 

In  casual  conversation. 
The  tortoise,  though  extremely  plain, 
Was,  like  the  ostrich,  rather  vain. 

As  all  of  you,  no  doubt,  have  guessed, 

In  noting  this  allusion, 
The  ostrich  was,  of  course,  possessed 

Of  feathers  in  profusion. 
The  tortoise  had  a  useful  shell 
Wherein  it  was  his  rule  to  dwell. 

The  question  they  discussed  was  made 

A  theme  for  disputation  : 
What  is  the  best  way  to  evade 

Unwelcome  observation? 
As  each  had  fixed  ideas,  you  see, 
They  were  not  likely  to  agree. 


'My  scheme  is  this,"  the  ostrich  said, 

"If  any  one  pursues  me, 
I  '11  dig  a  hole  and  hide  my  head— 

They  cannot  fail  to  lose  me. 
The  plan  's  so  simple,  I  'm  surprised 
That  it  should  be  so  criticized." 

'Your  plan,"  the  tortoise  said,  "is  quite 
Delusive  and  fallacious ; 

To  draw  the  head  in  — out  of  sight- 
Is  far  more  efficacious. 

Till  I  have  cause  to  change  my  view, 

That  method  I  shall  still  pursue." 

In  this  dispute  they  persevered 

With  vain  vociferation, 
Till  suddenly  two  men  appeared, 

Commercial  by  vocation. 
One  gathered  ostrich-plumes  to  sell, 
The  other  dealt  in  tortoise-shell. 


323 


324 


THE  OSTRICH  AND  THE  TORTOISE 


"^cxP 


The  ostrich,  showing  no  dismay, 

Was  busy  in  a  minute ; 
He  dug  a  hole  without  delay, 

And  placed  his  head  within  it. 
And  thought,  with  egotistic  pride : 
"This  is  the  only  way  to  hide." 

The  tortoise  said:  "I  still  protest, 

Though  ostriches  deny  it, 
My  method  is  the  very  best  — 

At  any  rate,  I  '11  try  it !" 
And  with  sarcastic  smile  withdrew 
His  silly  head  from  public  view. 

The  traders  came,  as  you  surmise, 

And  made  an  easy  capture. 
The  feather-merchant  viewed  his  prize 
With  nothing  short  of  rapture. 
"I  did  n*t  want  his  head,"  said  he, 
"His  plumes  are  quite  enough  for  me." 


JWW 


The  other  man  was  pleased  as  well, 
And,  after  brief  inspection, 

Removed  the  tortoise  from  his  shell 
In  spite  of  all  objection. 

The  tortoise  not  a  penny  brings, 

But  shell,"  said  he,  "makes  combs  and 
thing's." 


Of  morals  there  are  nine  or  ten, 

But  this  one  is  selected: 
Don't  wear  your  shells  and  feathers  when 

You  go  out  unprotected. 
The  other  lessons  taught  hereby 
I  leave  for  others  to  apply. 


SATURDAY  AFTERNOON  ON  THE  POND. 


UNDER   THE    BLUE    SKY 

BOB-SLEDDING  AND  SKATING 
BY  E.  T.   KEYSER 


There  was  a  gloomy  gathering,  which  almost 
approached  an  indignation  meeting,  in  one  corner 
of  the  playground,  for,  that  very  morning,  at  the 
termination  of  the  opening  exercises,  the  prin- 
cipal had  announced  that,  owing  to  a  number  of 
accidents  which  had  occurred  to  coasters  and 
pedestrians,  no  more  sledding  would  be  allowed 
on  School  Avenue  Hill,  "the  only  really  decent 
coast  in  the  town,"  as  Bob  Wilkie  feelingly  de- 
scribed it. 

"It  's  a  shame !"  "All  our  fun  spoiled !" 
"Just  mean !"  were  distinctly  audible  above  the 
hum  of  voices  that  resembled  the  conversation  of 
a  hive  of  excited  bees.  Finally,  the  confused 
murmur  subsided  to  the  extent  that  one  could 
realize  that  Harry  Jackson  was  talking. 

"It  's  all  right  to  say  that  our  fathers  always 
coasted  on   School  Avenue,"  he  said,   "but  then 


there  were  about  half  as  many  people  in  town 
and  no  automobiles ;  anyhow,  there  were  no  bad 
accidents,  as  there  have  been  this  winter." 

"But  what  are  we  going  to  do?"  some  one 
wanted  to  know. 

"I  think  that  I  can  see  the  way  out,"  was 
Harry's  answer ;  "and  if  some  of  you  fellows  are 
game  for  a  half-mile  walk  after  school,  we  can 
see  if  it  will  work.  But  scatter  now  or  we  '11  all 
be  late  for  lunch  !"    And  they  scattered. 

Six  of  the  fellows  were  ready  that  afternoon 
for  Harry's  walk,  and  he  led  them  a  short  way 
out  of  town  to  where,  shining  in  the  wintry  sun- 
set, lay  a  snow-covered  hillside  whose  slope  was 
unbroken  by  wall  or  fence. 

"Can  you  beat  that?"  was  his  query.  "It  's  a 
longer  run  than  School  Hill  ever  gave,  and  no 
one  to  turn  out  for." 


325 


326 


UNDER  THE   BLUE   SKY 


[Feb., 


"Yes,"  said  a  doubter,  "but  it  is  n't  packed." 
"Packed !"  answered  the  irrepressible  Harry, 
"why,  that  will  be  half  the 
fun.  We  '11  have  most  of 
the  school  here  Saturday 
morning,  and  by  afternoon  it 
will  be  the  best  coast  that 
any  one  here  ever  saw.  The 
question  now  is,  are  you  fel- 
lows in  on  it  ?" 

"We  are !"  was  the 
response ;  "but  how  are 
we  to  get  the  rest  of  the 
crowd  out  here?" 


small  boys  with  sleds  and  overshoes,  and  even 
some  of  the  girls,  unable  to  resist  a  natural  cu- 
riosity, had  joined  the  crowd. 

"The  meeting  will  please  come  to  order !" 
shouted  Fred  Wilson,  mounting  a  platform  of 
piled  up  sleds.  "As  temporary  chairman,  I  want 
to  say  that  Harry  Jackson  thought  out  the  plan, 
and  Dick  Talbot,  who  is  blushing  behind  me,  got 
permission  from  the  owner  of  the  field.  We  are 
crowded  off  our  old  coasting  ground,  and  the 
question  is,  are  you  willing  to  help  make  the  best 
hill  we  've  ever  had  and  where  we  '11  be  safe 
from  accidents?" 

"We  are  !"  shouted  the  crowd. 

"I  take  great  pleasure  in  introducing  our  fel- 
low-citizen, Harry  Jackson,  prime  instigator  and 
grand  marshal,  who  will  explain,  in  words  of  one 


'THE    'RED    DRAGON      RAN    EASIER,    FETCHED   FARTHER, 

AND    WAS    MORE    COMFORTABLE    THAN    ANYTHING 

ELSE   ON   THE    COAST." 


"Easiest  thing  in  the  world.  Come  around  to 
my  house  to-night  and  we  '11  make  some  posters 
and  placard  the  town." 

Next  morning,  arrivals  at  the  school  playground 
found  the  following  notice  tacked  up  near  the 
entrance : 

DO    YOU   WANT    GOOD    COASTING? 

BORROW  A  SNOW-SHOVEL,  BRING  YOUR  SLED, 
AND  MEET  AT  THE  BIG  CHESTNUT  AT  THE 
EDGE  OF  JOHNSON'S  MEADOW  AT  NINE 
SHARP  ON  SATURDAY  MORNING.  WEAR  YOUR 
RUBBER  BOOTS. 

FOR  FURTHER  PARTICULARS  APPLY  TO  THE 
FOLLOWING: 


Harry  Jackson. 
Charles  Wilkins. 


Richard  Talbot. 
John  Harrison. 


William  Hardy. 
Fred  Wilson. 


It  is  to  be  doubted  if  the  committee  did  much 
studying  during  the  following  two  days,  but  the 
enthusiastic  gathering  which  assembled  at  the 
big  chestnut  on  Saturday  morning  testified  to 
the  manner  in  which  they  had  presented  the 
merits  of  the  new  scheme. 

There  were  big  boys  with  shovels  and  boots, 


syllable,  how  the  work  is  to  be 
accomplished" ;  and  the  tempo- 
rary chairman  subsided. 

"All  of  us.  who  are  wearing 
rubber  boots  will  form  a  pro- 
cession," commanded  Harry,  mounting  the  some- 
what shaky  platform;  "big  boys  at  the  front, 
small  ones  in  the  rear,  and  march  down  in  a 
straight  line,  four  abreast,  to  where  you  see  that 
stake  with  a  red  flag  waving.  Then  pass  around 
the  stake  and  return  the  same  way  that  we  go 
down." 

"But  where  do  we  come  in  ?"  those  who  were 
bootless  wanted  to  know. 

"Don't  worry,  your  turn  is  coming,"  said  the 
grand  marshal,  encouragingly;  "meanwhile,  stand 
by  and  applaud  us." 

The  procession  formed ;  down  through  the 
deep  snow  they  marched,  the  big  boys  in  the 
front  ranks  almost  up  to  their  waists,  in  places, 
the  little  fellows  getting  the  advantage  of  the 
partial  packing  of  their  predecessors,  and  all  en- 
joying the  lark. 


I9I4-] 


BOB-SLEDDING  AND   SKATING 


327 


By  the  time  that  the  procession  had  returned  to 
its  starting-place,  there  was  a  wide,  fairly  well- 
packed  path,  down  which  a  sled  might  make 
moderate  progress. 

"Now,  you  bootless  ones,"  cried  the  grand 
marshal,  "it  's  your  turn !  Start  coasting  while 
the  rest  of  us  once  more  imitate  our  late  cousin, 
the  King  of  France,  by  marching  down  the  hill 
and  up  again.     Forward,  my  brave  men  !" 

But  this  time  another  path  was  made,  parallel 
to  the  former,  but  about  forty  feet  away. 

"This  is  for  the  little  fellows  and  the  girls," 
Harry  explained,  "and  we  will  make  another  be- 
tween the  two,  for  bringing  up  the  sleds;  then, 
with  the  little  folks  and  the  returning  coasters  all 
out  of  the  way  of  danger,  we  can  make  some  rec- 
ords which  will  show  you  that  we  never  really 
knew  what  good  coasting  was  before." 

By  noon  both  coasts  were  in  fair  shape  and 
becoming  better  each  minute.  By  piling  snow  on 
bare  spots  and  packing  it  well  down,  the  shovel 
brigade  had  shown  its  worth  in  the  scheme. 


said  Dick,  regretfully,  to  Charley  Wilkins,  as  he 
pulled  his  sled  home  one  evening;  "but  I  spent  the 
money  for  other  things,  and  now  it  's  too  late." 
"Why  don't  you  build  one?"  Charley  asked. 
"Those  home-made  bobs  are  no  good;  they 
have  no  spring  and  go,"  was  the  disconsolate 
reply.  "They  're  all  right  until  you  have  tried 
a  real  factory-built  affair,  but  after  that  you  see 
the  difference.  It  's  funny,  too,  because  I  can't 
see  where  the  difference  comes  in." 

Charley  smiled.  "If  I  can  show  you  the  differ- 
ence, and  how  a  really  good  one  can  be  built, 
will  you  come  in  on  one  with  me  ?"  he  asked. 

"Will  a  bear  eat  honey  ?  Explain  the  mystery 
and  I  'm  with  you,"  said  Dick. 

"There  's  no  mystery  about  it.  When  the  aver- 
age fellow  puts  a  home-made  bob  together,  lie 
forgets  all  about  what  an  automobilist  would  call 
its  'extended  wheel-base,'  as  compared  with  a 
single  sled,  and  the  result  is  something  so  rigid 
that  every  bump  and  hollow  makes  the  sleds  rear 
up  until  they  touch  the  snow  on  only  a  few  inches 
of  the  runner  shoes,  cutting  into  the  snow  and 
slowing  down  the  speed.  If  you  will  come  around 
to-night,  we  '11  figure  out  something  which 
will  be  able  to  take  any  amount  of  bumps, 
look  first-rate,  and  not  put  either  of  us  back 
very  much  financially." 

At  the  arranged  meeting,  Char- 
ley held  forth :  "In  the  first 
place  your  sled  and  mine 
are  mates.    I  know 
that    because 


That    night 
two     tracks     were 
crowded,  and  the  surfaces,  hard 
as  iron  and  smooth  as  glass,  gave 
a   speed   which   would   have   been    dangerous   on 
the  old   hill   in   town,   but   here,   with   a   straight 
run,  no  traffic,  and  all  going  in  the  same  direction, 
everything  was  safe,  especially  as  a  distance  had 
been  marked  off  by  a  red  flag  to  indicate  the  lead 
each  coaster  must  have  before  being  followed. 

When  a  thaw  arrived  coasting  ceased,  and  the 
bare  spots  were  carefully  covered. 

"If  I  'd  had  any  idea  that  the  hill  would  give 
us  such  fun,  I  'd  have  bought  one  of  those  bobs," 


I    measured    them    be- 
fore    I     said    anything    to    you. 
Now,  we  '11  carefully  take  off  the 
tops  and  substitute  two  pieces  of  planed  chestnut 
stuff,  which  won't  cost  much.   Then  we  '11  need  a 
ten-foot  one-inch  dressed  oak  plank,  two  circular 


328 


UNDER  THE   BLUE  SKY 


[Feb., 


pieces  of  one-eighth-inch  brass,  each  seven  inches 
in  diameter,  and  two  one-inch,  round  iron  rods, 
each  as  long  as  the  sleds  are  wide  and  threaded 
at  each  end,  also  four  iron  nuts  to  fit  the 
threads." 

"I  can  see  where  everything  but  the  brass 
plates  and  the  rods  come  in,"  said  Dick ;  "but  go 
ahead  and  get  them  just  the  same." 

"I  don't  like  to  do  things  that  way,"  was  the 
rejoinder.  "Just  listen  to  my  plan.  We  are 
going  to  put  this  bob  together  in  the  usual  way, 
with  the  exception  of  those  bits  of  material  which 
have  been  puzzling  you.  Now,  here  is  a  side- 
view  of  the  bob.  Those  ears  on  the  rear  sled 
are  the  wooden  axle-blocks  screwed  to  the  sled 
top  and  seat-board.  Through  the  center  of  each 
runs  one  of  the  inch  iron  rods,  which  is  held  in 
place  by  a  nut  at  each  end.  Another  pair  of 
blocks  is  on  the  other  side,  and  the  rod,  running 
through  the  four,  holds  seat  and  sled  together, 
and  also  forms  a  hinge  which  will  allow  the  sled 
to  follow  every  hollow  and  bump  without  strain- 
ing the  joint. 

"The  forward  arrangement  is  similar,  except 
we  will  put  one  plate  of  brass  on  the  sled  top, 
fastening  it  with  countersunk  flat-headed  screws, 
and  the  other  plate  will  be  fastened  to  a  piece  of 
one-inch-thick  stuff  as  wide  as  the  seat  and  about 
one  foot  long.  This  will  be  fastened  to  the  seat 
with  a  rod  hinge,  just  the  same  as  the  after  sled 
is  arranged,  except  that  the  blocks,  through 
which  the  rod  runs,  will  be  narrower,  to  allow 


bar  steerer.  And  now,  if  you  say  so,"  said 
Charley,  having  concluded  his  long  explanation, 
"I  '11  order  the  stuff  to-morrow,  and  expect  you 
and  your  tools  next  day." 

"It  's  a  go,"  said  Dick;  "I  '11  be  on  hand  day 
after  to-morrow." 

When  the  new  bob,  embellished  with  a  coat  of 
red  canoe-enamel  and  the  name  "Red  Dragon" 
stenciled  in  yellow  on  the  seat,  made  its  first 
appearance  on  the  hill,  its  decoration  appealed  to 
the  rest  of  the  coasters  more  strongly  than  its 
novelty  of  construction,  until  it  was  noticed  that 
it  ran  easier,  fetched  farther,  and  was  more 
comfortable  than  anything  else  on  the  coast. 

Then  the  boys  became  curious  as  to  its  points 
of  difference  from  their  own  sleds,  and  began 
to  adopt  its  improvements,  until  the  hill  was  the 
haunt  of  a  herd  of  "Red  Dragons." 

One  Saturday  morning,  toward  the  end  of  win- 
ter, a  melancholy  crowd  gathered  at  the  hillside. 
A  sudden  thaw  had  set  in,  over  night,  and  the 
coast  was  a  long  line  of  slush. 

"No  use,  boys,"  said  one,  "it  's  the  last  of  the 
fun  for  this  season.  If  we  had  not  taken  the  care 
that  we  did  of  it,  it  would  have  been  gone  long 
ago." 

"What  bothers  me,"  said  another,  "is  that  all 
the  good  times  that  we  've  had  together  are  over. 
I  never  knew  a  winter  to  pass  so  quickly." 

"It  was  not  just  the  coasting,"  chimed  in  an- 
other, "but  all  of  us  pitched  in  together  and  made 
the  slide,  and  then  kept  it  in  shape  and  had  our 


PAIR  BRASS  PLATES 
LOWER  SCREWED  TO  SLED  TOT 
UPPER  SCREWED  TO  CROSS  BOARD 


LOWER    AXLE -BLOCK 
AXLE 


i  x: 


PAIR  BRASS  PLATES 


UPPER  AXLE.BLOCK 
AXLE 


LOWER  AXLE -BLOCK 
^t-lin.  OAK  CROSS  BOARD 


for  the  difference  in  thickness  caused  by  the  inch 
board  to  which  the  upper  brass  plate  is  fastened. 
"Through  the  centers  of  the  brass  plates  a  hole 
for  a  three-quarter-inch  bolt  will  be  bored,  and 
this  will  be  the  pivot  on  which  the  front  sled 
steers,  while  the  brass  plate  acts  as  a  fifth  wheel, 
and  allows  of  much  smoother  and  easier  steering 
than  the  ordinary  wooden  surfaces.  This  will 
save  making  a  steering-wheel,  and  all  the  work 
and  expense  connected  with  it,  and  give  good  re- 
sults, in  connection  with  the  old  reliable  cross- 


fun,  out  of  every  one's  way.  We  showed,  too, 
what  we  could  do,  and  now  the  crowd  has  to 
break  up." 

"But  what  's  the  use  of  breaking  up?"  a  boy 
with  red  hair  and  a  blue  sweater  wanted  to  know. 
"Why  not  form  an  association  and  start  right 
now  to  plan  for  out-of-door  fun  right  through  the 
summer  and  even  next  winter?" 

"Sure  enough  !  Why  not?"  asked  another  boy. 
"What  shall  we  call  ourselves?" 

"Well,  suppose  we  make  it  'The  Blue  Sky  Club,' 


1914] 


BOB-SLEDDING  AND  SKATING 


329 


and  meet  at  one  another's  houses  every  other 
week?  We  won't  have  any  dues  or  officers— just 
appoint  a  committee  now  and  then  when  some- 
thing wants  doing." 

So  the  club  was  formed  there  and  then,  un- 
hampered by  rules,  regulations,  or  officers.  At 
each  meeting  a  chairman  was  elected  for  the  next 
one,  and  to  him  was  given  written  notice,  at  least 
two  days  before  the  meeting  date,  of  any  matter 
which  any  member  wished  to  place  before  the  club. 

If  the  subject  as  announced  from  the  chair  re- 
ceived a  majority  vote,  a  committee  on  that  mat- 
ter was  appointed  by  the  chairman  with  instruc- 
tions to  report  at  the  succeeding  gathering. 


No.  3. 


No.l, 


THE    CHAIRMAN  S    PLAN    FOR    A    DAM. 
No.  i,  Front  view  of  sluiceway  and  side  support-posts;   No.  2,  Side  view  of  support-post,  show- 
ing method  of  bracing;  No.  3,  Side  view  of  sluiceway  joists,  snowing  furring-strips  nailed  onto 
make  groove  for  the  gate  to  slide  in. 

The  Committee  on  Birds  studied  up  on  the  sub- 
ject from  books  in  the  library,  and  arranged  with 
relatives  and  friends  for  building  bird-shelters, 
which  the  association  industriously  manufactured 
from  waste  material.  The  Committee  on  Swim- 
ming cleaned  out  the  swimming-hole,  built  a 
spring-board,  and  begged  some  rope  with  which 
to  fence  off  a  safe  bathing-place  for  the  begin- 
ners. The  Committee  on  Camping  arranged  with 
an  up-stream  farmer  to  be  allowed  the  use  of  a 
meadow  where  the  canoeists  and  wheelmen 
might  gather  for  tent-life,  with  the  understand- 
ing that  the  spot  should  be  kept  in  good  order. 

When  autumn  arrived,  the  subject  of  skating 
came  up  at  one  of  the  assemblies.  The  Health 
Board  had  prohibited  skating  on  the  two  ponds 
where  ice  was  cut,  and  the  river  was  seldom 
frozen  over  solidly  enough  to  be  safe.  So  a  com- 
mittee was  appointed  to  look  into  the  matter. 

"We  think  that  we  have  found  the  solution," 
was  the  report  of  the  committee's  chairman. 
Vol.  XLI.-42. 


"The  brook  that  runs  through  the  swamp  can  be 
dammed— a  two-foot  dam  will  flood  an  acre. 
The  owner  is  willing  for  us  to  try,  if  we  will  let 
the  water  out  when  spring  comes." 

"What  's  an  acre  !"  sniffed  a  disgusted  mem- 
ber. 

"An  acre  is  a  whole  lot  if  you  fellows  would 
learn  to  skate  instead  of  trying  to  see  how  fast 
you  can  rush  over  the  ice !"  was  the  reply.  "The 
trouble  is  that  most  of  you  fellows  put  on  a  pair 
of  flat  racing-blades,  and  then  start  out  to  break 
a  record  and  some  one's  neck  at  the  same  time. 
You  don't  get  any  more  of  the  pleasure  of  real 
skating  than  a  racing  automobilist  knows  about 
the  scenery." 

"There  's  something  in  that,"  admitted  one  who 
was  open  to  conviction.  "If  you  would  get  a 
pair  of  rockered  blades,  of  moderate  length,  and 
learn  the  edges,  eights,  and  a  few  other  stunts, 
you  could  have  lots  of  fun  on  an  acre  of  ice." 

"Well,  if  that  's  so,  suppose  we  plug  up  the 
brook  and  trust  that  a  blizzard  will  bring  us  good 
skating?"  said  the  original  objector.  "But  who 
knows  how  to  do  the  plug- 
ging?" 

"Here  's  the  plan  of  opera- 
tions," the  chairman  replied. 
"We     '11     borrow     pickaxes, 
spades,    and    crowbars,    and 
build  up  a  two-foot  dam,  mak- 
ing it  of  the  earth  that  we 
will  dig  from  where  the  pond 
will  be.     Then  we  can  drive 
two    heavy   joists,    two    feet 
apart,  into  the  brook.    These 
joists  will  have  two  parallel 
furring-strips  nailed  to  their  inside  faces,  form- 
ing slides  for  the  sluice-gate  which  will  be  let 
down  when  we  want  to  flood  the  pond.     Across 
the  top  of  these  joists  we  will  nail  another  fas- 
tening the  ends  to  two  heavy  posts  driven  into 
the  ground  and  braced,  on  the  down-stream  side. 
"Then  we  will  extend  the  dam  right  out  into 
the  stream  as  far  as  the  two  upright  joists,  mak- 
ing a  large  part  of  the  fill  from  stones.    We  can 
test  the  dam  by  putting  in  the  sluices,  noting  the 
weak  parts,  and  then  letting  out  the  water  and 
strengthening  the   dam  where   it  's   needed.     It 
sounds  like  a  lot  of  work,  but  there  are  plenty  of  us 
to  do  it ;  and  the  lumber  is  the  only  thing  that  will 
cost  any  money.     All  interested,  please  chip  in." 
"Count  on  me !"  said  the  boy  who  had  objected 
to  the  acre  as  being  too  limited.     "I  may  not  be 
able  to  do  the  'grape-vine,'  but  that  building  of  a 
dam  sounds  like  more  fun  than  I  've  had  since  I 
was  small  enough  to  play  in  mud-puddles  without 
feeling  embarrassed." 


<€~ ^x^WAS  near  the  day  of  Valentine, 
and  Ruth,  with  pencil  sharpened 
fine,  sat  down  to  write  a  mes- 
sage sweet,  to  send  to  one 
whom  she  would  greet. 
She  wrote  a  line,  and  paused  a  bit  to  find  a 
rhyme  that  it  would  fit.  But  nothing  came  to 
her,  although  she  thought  that  verse  would  surely 
go.  She  chewed  her  pencil,  stub  and  point;  she 
chewed  her  pen-knife  at  the  joint;  she  chewed 
the  paper,  chewed  the  rule,  as  she  would  never 


ana 

JINGLEJ.^f 


BETTY  BRJ3CE 


"Why,  no  !  Why,  no  !  She  speaks  the 
truth!"  The  Jinglejays  in  mocking  glee 
laughed  back  in  every  chiming  key. 

"Who  said  we  'd  write  your  valentine?" 
demanded  one. 

"I  had  one  line,"  poor  Ruthie  faltered. 

"One!  just  one!  You  '11  never  get  the  old 
thing  done.  Here,  let  me  try !"  One  Jinglejay 
stepped  from  the  mocking  group  away. 

Along  the  line  he  gravely  walked  while  all  the 
others  watched  and  talked.     And  at  the  end  he 


dare  in  school ;   and,  as  she  chewed,  she  stared 
and  stared,  and  back  at  her  the  lone  line  glared. 
But  suddenly,  to  her  amaze,  across  the  sheet 
below  her  gaze  came  striding  forth  the  Jinglejays. 
"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   dis- 
guise !" 

And  then  across  the  page  they  ran,  and  made 
black  marks  for  her  to  scan.  She  gathered  up 
the  page  so  white,  and  read  by  sunset's  fading 
light: 

"If  the  candy  should  burn,  oh  my  love,  oh  my  dream, 
And  the  cake  should  be  cut,  tell  me,  would  the 
ice  (s)cream  ? 

"That  's  not  a  valentine  !"  cried  Ruth. 


stopped  and  bowed,  and  pointing,  with  a  manner 
proud,  he  showed  a  queer  and  wavering  track  of 
inky  figures,  shiny  black. 

Again  with  hope  Ruth  bent  to  read  the  Jingle- 
jay's  brief  tiny  screed: 

"I  love  you,  oh  my  Valentine, 
Because  you  are  so  fat ; 
I  love  you  better  than  the  dog 

And  better  than  the  cat, 
But  I  Ml  never  dare  to  call  you  mine 
Until  the  earth  is  flat." 

"Now  that  's  a  poem,  you  can  see,"  the  Jingle- 
jay said;  "writ  by  me." 

"A  poem!"  Ruthie's  blue  eyes  flashed,  and 
down  her  cheek  a  tear-drop  splashed.  "That  's 
not  a  poem,  wicked  elf !  Why,  I  do  better  by 
myself !" 


RUTH   AND  THE  JINGLEJAYS 


331 


"Oh,  do  you?  Then  we  need  n't  stay,"  said 
the  insulted  Jinglejay. 

"I  mean— I  thought  I  could— but  see,  I  can't 
get  rhymes  that  will  agree.  Oh,  do  please  help 
me  if  you  can  !" 

"Shall  we?" 

As    one    they    all    began.      They    tugged    and 


If  I  should  send  you  jewels  bright, 

Or  ornaments  of  gold, 
They  might  be  pleasing  in  your  sight, 

But,  oh,  they  would  be  cold. 
Then  Valentine,  dear  Valentine, 

'T  would  seem  the  better  part 
If  I  should  make  of  love  a  line, 

And  on  it  send  my  heart." 


twisted  words  about  with  many  a  laugh  and  many 
a  shout;  they  set  them  down  in  neat  array,  line 
upon  line,  each  Jinglejay  doing  his  part,  until, 
at  last,  the  rhymes  were  all  with  ink  made  fast. 
And  then,  like  blackbirds  in  a  cage,  they  stood 
in  line  across  the  page  while  Ruth  read  out  to 
her  delight  a  Valentine  that  seemed  just  right: 

"Oh,  Valentine,  dear  Valentine, 
If  I  should  send  you  flowers, 
They  could  not  speak  my  love  in  lives 
Of  just  a  few  brief  hours  ; 


With  eyes  amazed,  Ruth  read  the  lines. 

"Oh,  thank  you  !  thanks  !"  she  cried.  But  every 
Jinglejay  was  gone.     The  door  stood  open  wide. 

She  rubbed  her  eyes,  and  read  the  lines  all 
neatly  written  down.  'T  was  much  like  other 
valentines,  and  yet  a  puzzled  frown  came  to  her 
brow  the  while  she  read,  for  in  her  hand  she 
held  a  chewed-up  pencil,  showing  marks  of  how 
it  had  rebelled.  But  there  was  still  the  valentine, 
in  spite  of  Ruth's  amaze.  "I  wonder,"  said  she, 
"if  it  's  mine,  or  it  's  the  Jinglejays'." 


i*""* 


3 


fflUBilloi 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  STOLEN  SLED 


I.   Tommie's  mother  sent  him  to  the  store  to  sell  some  eggs.  II.  At  the  store,  Tom  went  in  to  see  if  Mr.  Brown  wanted  any. 


III.   When  he  came  out  to  get  the  eggs,  his  sled  IV.   Sadly  journeying  homeward,  Tom  wondered  what  his  mother 

was  gone — also  the  eggs.  would  say. 


V.    He  heard  cries  from  the  direction  of  the  mill-pond,  VI.   With  his  muffler,  he  saved  the  Coon  boys,  who,  while  coasting, 

and  ran  to  see  what  was  the  matter.  had  broken  through  the  ice. 


(5?. 


Great  was  Tom's  surprise  at  finding  his  lost  sled,  and  when  he  also  found  the  eggs  unbroken,  he  was  so  thankful  that  he 
forgave  the  Coon  boys — who  were  never  again  known  to  do  wrong. 

332 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


BY  A.   RUSSELL  BOND 

Author  of  "The  Scientific  American  Boy"  and  "  Handyman's  Workshop  and  Laboratory' 


Chapter  III 

THE  CONQUEST  OF  THE  CHAGRES 

Much  to  our  delight,  we  learned  that  our  enthu- 
siastic friend  of  the  sea-going  railroad  was  to  be 
a  fellow-passenger  all  the  way  to  Panama.  We 
became  very  well  acquainted  on  the  voyage.  Mr. 
Hawkins  his  name  was,  and  he  seemed  to  have  an 
almost  inexhaustible  stock  of  sea  tales  and  other 
yarns  with  which  he  whiled  away  the  long  hours 
aboard  the  ship. 

It  was  early  in  the  morning  when  our  steamer 
tied  up  at  Colon,  the  Atlantic  end  of  the  Panama 
Canal,  and  most  of  the  passengers  were  up  and 
ready  to  put  in  a  long  day  of  sight-seeing,  because 
they  were  to  sail  again  on  the  morrow.  Near  the 
wharf  there  was  a  train  waiting  to  take  visitors 
across  the  isthmus,  and  a  crowd  of  excursionists 
flocked  over  to  it.  We  were  about  to  follow  them 
when  Mr.  Hawkins  detained  us. 

"You  are  going  to  stay  here  a  few  days,  are  n't 
you?"  he  asked.  "Well,  then,  why  don't  you  see 
the  canal  right  ?" 

"If  you  will  show  us  how,  we  '11  be  only  too 
glad  to  follow." 

"Come  along  with  me,  then,"  he  said,  leading 
the  way  to  a  wharf  where  there  were  several 
launches.  He  picked  one  out  that  was  manned  by 
a  Portuguese  named  Joe. 

"We  '11  get  a  much  more  impressive  view  of 
the  work  if  we  go  up  by  water,"  remarked  Mr. 
Hawkins. 

It  took  us  the  better  part  of  an  hour  to  make 
the  four-mile  run  up  the  old  French  canal,  which 
brought  us  into  the  American  canal  within  half 
a  mile  of  the  locks  leading  up  to  the  great  Gatun 
Lake.  We  were  in  luck  to  have  a  guide  like  Mr. 
Hawkins,  who  had  been  over  the  canal  half  a 
dozen  times  at  least.  He  told  us  that  Gatun  Lake 
when  finished  would  be  eighty-five  feet  above 
sea-level,  and  would  cover  about  170  square  miles. 

"What  puzzles  me,"  put  in  Will,  "is  why  they 
had  to  make  a  lake.  Was  it  just  because  they 
were  in  a  hurry  to  open  the  canal,  and  could  n't 
wait  to  dig  all  the  way  down  to  sea-level  ?" 

"Oh,  I  know,"  I  interrupted,  eager  to  show  off 
my  knowledge.  "They  say  there  is  only  a  two- 
foot  tide  at  the  Atlantic  end,  while  at  the  Pacific 
end  there  is  a  rise  and  fall  of  twenty  feet.  If 
the  canal  were  cut  down  to  sea-level,  the  water 
would  rush  back  and   forth  through  it  twice  a 

Copyright,  1913,  by  A.  Russell  Bond.  3. 


day,  in  such  a  torrent  that  it  would  tear  out  the 
banks  and  wreck  all  the  shipping." 

"But  they  could  have  a  lock  at  the  Pacific  end 
to  keep  out  the  tide,  could  n't  they,  Mr.  Haw- 
kins ?" 

"Certainly  they  could,"  he  answered ;  "but  it 
is  n't  the  tide  they  fear  so  much  as  the  Chagres 
River.  You  have  no  idea  how  it  rains  here  dur- 
ing the  rainy  season.  Why,  I  've  seen  that  river 
rise  twenty-five  feet  in  a  night !  There  would  be 
no  keeping  such  a  flood  out  of  the  canal  if  it 
were  cut  down  to  sea-level.  So,  instead  of  trying 
to  keep  the  river  out,  the  engineers  decided  to  let 
it  in  and  make  use  of  it,  only  turning  it  into  a 
lake  instead,  so  that  it  can  be  kept  under  control. 
Accordingly,  they  have  dammed  up  the  whole 
Chagres  valley  at  a  place  where  it  is  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  wide;  and  the  reason  they  picked  out 
that  place  was  because  there  is  a  knob  of  rock  in 
the  middle  of  the  valley  where  they  could  put  the 
spillway,  or  overflow,  and  another  mass  of  rock 
at  one  side  to  support  the  locks." 

"But,"  I  protested,  "do  you  mean  to  tell  us  that 
that  big  dam  is  not  founded  on  rock?" 

"It  is  n't  like  any  dam  you  ever  saw.  Why,  it 's 
a  hill  of  dirt  half  a  mile  thick  at  the  base  and 
tapering  to  a  hundred  feet  at  the  top.  And  the 
funny  part  of  it  is  that  they  built  that  dam  with 
water !" 

"With  water  !"  I  exclaimed. 

"Yes;  muddy  water.  First  they  dumped  a  lot 
of  rock  across  the  valley  to  make  two  walls  half 
a  mile  apart.  Then  dredges  sucked  up  mud  from 
the  sea  and  pumped  it  up  a  long  pipe-line  to  the 
dam,  where  it  poured  out  in  a  muddy  stream  be- 
tween the  two  walls.  The  fine  mud  settled  to  the 
bottom,  and  in  time  filled  the  space  between  the 
walls,  while  the  water  flowed  over  them,  or 
trickled  out  between  the  stones,  or  was  sucked  up 
by  the  torrid  sun.  In  that  way  a  plug,  or  core  of 
clay,  was  built  across  the  valley,  and  on  it  earth 
was  piled  and  more  mud  was  pumped  in,  until  at 
last  the  top  rose  one  hundred  and  five  feet  above 
sea-level. 

"While  they  were  building  the  dam,  they  had 
to  provide  a  new  and  higher  course  for  the 
Chagres  River.  The  wicked  old  stream  made  a 
desperate  struggle  before  they  finally  conquered 
it.  The  rock  for  the  two  walls  was  dumped  from 
trestles  built  across  the  valley.  They  tried  to  run 
the  rock  wall  right  across  the  river,  but  before 


334 


WITH   MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


[Feb., 


the  last  gap  was  closed,  the  current  became  so 
powerful  that  it  swept  away  like  chaff  the  huge 
rocks  dumped  into  it.  The  river  was  putting  up 
a  better  fight  than  they  had  anticipated.  But 
finally  they  dropped  a  tangle  of  crooked  railroad 
rails  against  the  up-stream  side  of  the  trestles, 
which  choked  up  the  channel  so  that  the  current 
could  not  sweep  the  rock  away.  That  was  the 
last  frantic  struggle  of  the  Chagres  before  it 
surrendered  to  the  indomitable  engineer.  It  is 
perfectly  docile  now.  To  be  sure,  it  may  fret  and 
fuss  a  lot  as  it  runs  out  of  the  lake  over  the  spill- 
way during  the  rainy  season,  but  it  cannot  do 
any  harm,  because  it  is  confined  within  a  concrete 
channel. 

"Oh,  hello !  here  we  are  in  sight  of  the  locks," 
exclaimed  Mr.  Hawkins  as  we  swung  out  of  the 
stream  excavated  by  the  French  into  the  broad 
new  canal  dug  by  our  own  countrymen. 

"Say,  what  are  all  those  boats  doing?"  queried 
Will.    "Are  n't  they  going  through  the  locks?" 

"I  believe  they  are.  By  jiminy!  here  's  our 
chance  !  Shake  it  up,  Joe.  See  if  we  can't  get  in 
there  behind  that  ladder-dredge." 

Joe  grunted  some  sort  of  a  protest,  to  which 
Mr.  Hawkins  replied  with  a  piece  of  money  that 
had  an  inspiring  effect  upon  the  Portuguese.  We 
were  all  excited  now  as  the  little  launch  re- 
sponded to  our  coaxing  and  raced  for  the  lock. 

"Will  they  let  us  through?"  I  asked  dubiously. 

"I  don't  know.  But  it  won't  hurt  us  to  try,  will 
it?"  retorted  Mr.  Hawkins.  "Here,  Joe,  creep  in 
between  the  dredge  and  that  tug.  I  don't  believe 
they  will  ever  notice  a  little  toy  boat  like  this." 

Whether  they  noticed  it  or  not  I  cannot  say, 
but  we  did  succeed  in  slipping  in  with  a  crowd  of 
about  a  dozen  boats  of  all  descriptions.  We  were 
no  sooner  in  than  two  pairs  of  enormous  steel 
doors  began  to  swing  on  their  hinges  behind  us. 

"Hurrah !"  cried  Mr.  Hawkins,  slapping  me  on 
the  back.  "Now  here  is  an  experience  that  you 
would  have  missed  if  you  had  followed  the  crowd 
aboard  the  excursion  train." 

"It  's  great !"  I  exclaimed. 

The  lock  we  were  in  was  about  as  long  as  four 
New  York  City  blocks,  and  half  again  as  wide  as 
Broadway.  There  was  something  uncanny  about 
the  way  those  gates  were  closing  behind  us.  They 
towered  fully  thirty-five  feet  above  us.  We  had 
felt  small  enough,  sandwiched  in  between  the 
other  boats,  but  now,  as  we  gazed  at  those  pon- 
derous gates,  we  were  dwarfed  into  insignifi- 
cance. 

"What  makes  them  move?"  asked  Will,  in  an 
awed  voice. 

Mr.  Hawkins  laughed.  "It  does  look  mysteri- 
ous, does  n't  it?     See  those  arms  up  there  at  the 


top  of  the  gates?  They  run  back  through  slots 
in  the  lock  wall.  Each  arm  is  attached  to  a  big 
gear-wheel,  five  feet  in  diameter.  They  call  it 
a  'bull-wheel.'  When  the  bull-wheel  turns,  it 
pushes  the  arm  out  and  forces  the  gate  shut.  It 
takes  a  lot  of  gearing  and  a  twenty-seven  horse- 
power motor  buzzing  at  high  speed  to  make  that 
bull-wheel  turn." 

"I  should  think  it  would,"  said  Will.  "How 
much  do  the  gates  weigh?" 

"Seven  hundred  and  thirty  tons  each.  They 
are  eighty-two  feet  high  and  sixty-two  feet  wide, 
you  know,  and  they  are  seven  feet  thick,  but  they 
are  hollow,  so  that  the  water  will  buoy  them  up 
and  relieve  the  hinges  of  undue  strain." 

Slowly  the  massive  gates  swung  to,  until  they 
met  at  a  rather  flat  angle.  Then  we  saw  them 
squeeze  tightly  shut. 

"The  mitering  motors  did  that,"  said  Mr.  Haw- 
kins. "There  is  a  seven  and  a  half  horse-power 
motor  on  each  gate  to  lock  them  shut  after  the 
big  bull-wheel  has  done  most  of  the  job." 

"Now  what?"  I  asked,  as  we  turned  from  the 
fast-closed  gates  and  looked  forward. 

"Don't  you  see  the  water  boiling  around  us?  It 
is  pouring  in  from  scores  of  openings  in  the  floor 
of  the  lock.  These  walls  are  honeycombed  with 
passages,  some  as  big  as  a  railroad  tunnel,  to 
let  the  water  in.  Just  watch  the  mark  on  that 
wall  over  there,  and  you  will  see  that  we  are  ris- 
ing." 

Sure  enough,  after  watching  a  minute  or  two, 
the  mark  disappeared.  The  sensation  was  a  curi- 
ous one.  It  seemed  as  if  those  walls  and  the 
gates  behind  us  were  slowly  sinking,  while  we 
stood  still. 

It  took  nearly  half  an  hour  to  fill  that  lock  and 
raise  us  twenty-eight  and  one-third  feet  to  the 
level  of  the  next  lock.  From  our  humble  deck 
we  could  not  see  over  the  walls  around  us. 

After  we  had  entered  the  second  lock,  we 
stopped  again  while  another  double  pair  of  gates 
was  closed  behind  us. 

"But  why  do  they  have  a  double  pair  of  them?" 
asked  Will. 

"Just  as  a  precaution,"  answered  Mr.  Haw- 
kins. "What  do  you  suppose  would  happen  if 
one  of  those  gates  should  give  way?  Why,  the 
whole  Gatun  Lake  would  come  pouring  through 
the  locks.  The  water  would  tear  everything  to 
pieces  and  wash  out  the  whole  works,  like  as  not. 
Something  like  that  happened  on  the  Soo  Canal 
once.  That  is  the  canal  that  connects  Lake  Su- 
perior with  Lake  Huron.  Two  boats  were  in  the 
lock  about  to  go  down,  when  along  came  a  third 
one  that  wanted  to  go  up.  The  captain  of  the 
last  boat  gave  the  engineer  the  signal  to  stop, 


tgi4-] 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


335 


but  for  some  reason  the  engineer  failed  to  re- 
spond, and  while  the  captain  frantically  clanged 
the  gong  and  shouted  down  the  speaking-tube  un- 
til he  nearly  cracked  his  throat,  the  boat  sailed 
steadily  on  until  it  crashed  into  the  lock-gates, 
smashed  them  open,  and  let  loose  such  a  deluge 
of  water  that  all  of  -the  boats  were  wrecked. 
They  are  not  going  to  run  the  risk  of  such  an 
accident  here.  Chains  are  stretched  across  the 
entrance  to  the  locks  to  stop  runaway  ships;  then 
there  are  double  pairs  of  gates,  so  that,  if  one 
gives  way,  the  other  will  hold,  and,  in  addition  to 
that,  there  is  an  emergency  gate  that  can  be 
swung  across  the  entrance  to  the  highest  lock  of 
each  flight;  but,  as  if  these  were  not  precautions 
enough,  the  ships  will  not  be  permitted  to  enter 
the  locks  under  their  own  steam.  Little  electric 
locomotives  will  run  along  the  tow-paths  or  tracks 
at  each  side  of  the  locks  and  tow  the  ships 
through." 

I  had  noticed  that  the  "tow-path,"  as  Mr.  Haw- 
kins called  it,  made  an  abrupt  rise  from  one  lock- 
level  to  the  other,  and  I  remarked  that  the  slant 
looked  too  steep  for  a  locomotive  to  climb. 

"But  this  is  a  rack-railroad,"  explained  Mr. 
Hawkins. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Why,  in  the  middle  of  the  track  there  is  a 
rail  formed  with  teeth  in  it,  and  on  the  locomotive 
are  toothed  wheels  that  mesh  with  the  teeth  of 
the  rail  so  that  they  can't  slip,  and  they  drive  the 
locomotive  steadily  up  the  steep  inclines,  and, 
when  descending,  keep  it  from  running  down  too 
fast.  The  racks  will  enable  the  locomotives  to 
haul  enormous  loads  without  slipping.  It  will  be 
a  great  sight  to  see  a  giant,  fifty-thousand-ton 
ocean  liner  towed  through  these  locks  by  two 
baby  electric  locomotives  with  two  more  locomo- 
tives trailing  along  behind  to  check  the  boat  and 
keep  it  from  smashing  through  the  gates." 

As  we  were  passing  out  of  the  third  lock,  we 
went  by  one  of  the  emergency  gates.  It  was  an 
enormous  structure,  like  a  railroad  bridge. 

"In  case  of  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Hawkins,  "they 
would  swing  the  bridge  around  across  the  lock, 
and  let  down  a  lot  of  brackets  or  'wicket  girders' 
into  the  water  to  the  bottom  of  the  lock ;  and  then 
they  would  let  down  a  lot  of  plates  against  the 
girders  to  cut  off  the  flow  of  water." 

As  soon  as  we  had  passed  out  of  the  locks,  we 
made  for  shore  and  began  a  survey  of  our  sur- 
roundings. To  the  south  of  us  stretched  the 
great  Gatun  Lake,  and  the  dam  really  did  look 
more  like  a  hill  than  anything  else. 

We  walked  along  the  dam  to  the  spillway,  but 
the  gates  were  closed,  because  the  water  was  still 
filling  the  lake.     At  one  side  was  the  power  sta- 


tion, where  part  of  the  river  was  even  then  manu- 
facturing electricity  to  pull  the  towing  locomo- 
tives and  work  the  valves  and  gates  of  the  locks, 
not  only  at  Gatun,  but  at  Miraflores  and  Pedro 
Miguel  on  the  Pacific  end,  as  well. 

"Oh,  hello !"  cried  Mr.  Hawkins,  suddenly. 
"There  is  Colonel  Goethals.  Come  on,  boys ;  I  '11 
introduce  you  to  him." 

"Does  he  know  you?"  asked  Will,  in  an  awed 
voice. 

"We  '11  see.  They  say  he  remembers  every  one 
he  meets.  I  walked  around  with  him  for  an  hour, 
last  year,  and  it  was  wonderful  the  way  he 
seemed  to  know  every  man  on  the  job  by  name." 

I  had  expected  that  the  big  chief  of  the  Pan- 
ama Canal  would  be  dressed  in  gaudy  uniform, 
as  befitted  a  high  military  personage,  but  the  man 
that  Mr.  Hawkins  went  up  to  was  clothed  in 
plain  white  tropical  garb,  and  wore  a  wide- 
brimmed  straw  hat. 

"Oh,  how  do  you  do,  Hawkins?"  he  said,  as 
if  he  had  always  known  him.  "Back  again,  are 
you?" 

"Yes,  Colonel."  Mr.  Hawkins  beamed  with 
pleasure.  "I  've  brought  some  friends  with  me,  a 
couple  of  waifs  I  picked  up  on  the  way  down 
here." 

"Glad  to  know  you,"  said  the  colonel,  giving 
us  each  a  hearty  grasp  of  the  hand.  "I  suppose 
you  have  come  down  here  to  see  us  blow  up  Gam- 
boa,  to-morrow?" 

"Yes,"  I  stammered,  utterly  overwhelmed  at 
the  honor  of  shaking  hands  with  so  great  a  man. 

"You  see,  he  did  remember  me !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Hawkins,  triumphantly,  after  Colonel  Goe- 
thals had  moved  on.  "He  is  a  wonderful  man. 
He  is  a  big  father  to  all  the  men  down  here. 
Every  Sunday  morning,  his  house  is  open  to  any 
man  on  the  job.  If  any  one  has  a  grievance,  he 
goes  and  tells  it  to  the  colonel.  If  any  one  wants 
a  word  of  encouragement,  he  stops  in  to  see  the 
chief.  If  you  are  here  next  Sunday,  you  must 
go  and  see  the  reception.  It  is  a  wonderful 
sight.  And  yet  he  is  not  the  one  to  stand  for 
any  fooling.  When  I  was  here  last  time,  the 
colonel  was  showing  around  a  party  of  con- 
gressmen. One  of  the  younger  members  of 
the  party  was  acting  very  smart,  asking  foolish 
questions,  and  proposing  idiotic  stunts.  They 
were  putting  up  the  lock-gates  at  Gatun  just  then. 
This  young  man  proposed  that  the  party  climb 
up  the  framework  of  the  gates,  just  as  a  lark. 
When  nobody  paid  any  attention  to  the  proposal, 
he  started  to  climb  up  himself.  It  was  a  rather 
perilous  undertaking  because  of  the  concrete 
buckets  that  were  swinging  by  his  head,  threat- 
ening to  knock  him  off.     He  realized  the   fact 


336 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


[Feu., 


after  he  had  climbed  up  about  twenty-five  feet, 
and  started  down  again.  When  he  reached  the 
ground,  he  strutted  up  to  Colonel  Goethals  and 
asked,  'What  degree  are  you  going  to  confer  on 
me  for  performing  this  daring  feat?'  'I  shall 
confer  on  you  the  degree  of  "C.F." '  said  the 
colonel.  'And  what  does  that  stand  for?'  asked 
the  congressman.  'For  "Champion  Fool,"  '  quietly 
answered  the  colonel,  while  the  whole  party  broke 
out  into  roars  of  laughter." 

We  had  hoped  to  take  a  trip  on  the  lake  in  the 
afternoon,  but  Joe  found  a  chance  to  take  his 
launch  down  through  the  locks,  which  upset  our 
plans.  We  spent  all  that  day  following  Mr. 
Hawkins  as  he  wandered  about  the  work  at  Ga- 
tun,  studying  the  minutest  details.  Finally,  as  it 
grew  dark,  we  took  the  train  for  Panama,  where 
we  arrived  too  tired  to  do  any  more  sight-seeing 
that  night. 

The  following  day  we  were  to  witness  one  of 
the  most  important  events  in  the  history  of  the 
Panama  Canal.  The  slice  of  ground  that  had 
been  left  to  keep  the  Chagres  River  out  of  Cule- 
bra  cut,  during  the  work  of  excavation,  was  to  be 
blown  up  with  a  giant  blast  of  dynamite,  and  then 
the  waters  of  Gatun  Lake  would  reach  all  the 
way  from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Pacific  locks,  and 
the  canal  would  be  all  but  completed. 

Chapter  IV 

SEVERING   THE    ISTHMUS 

When  I  awoke  the  following  day,  the  first  thing 
I  did  was  to  jump  out  of  bed  and  run  to  the 
window  for  my  first  glimpse  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 
What  I  saw  puzzled  me  at  first,  and  then  filled 
me  with  consternation. 

"Hey,  Will !"  I  shouted.    "Wake  up  !" 

Will  turned  lazily  in  bed  and  settled  down  for 
another  nap.  But  I  laid  hold  of  him  and  began  to 
haul  him  out  of  bed. 

"Wha'  's  matter?"  he  muttered,  without  open- 
ing his  eyes.    "What  time  is  it?" 

"That  is  what  I  can't  make  out,"  I  cried  ex- 
citedly. "It  seems  as  though  it  must  be  morning, 
but  the  sun  is  just  setting  in  the  west.  We  've 
been  'doped'  to  make  us  sleep  so  long,  and  here 
we  've  missed  the  blowing  up  of  the  dike.  Some- 
body 's  going  to  suffer  for  this." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Look  out  of  the  window  there,"  I  directed. 

Will  rubbed  his  eyes  and  blinked  at  the  red 
ball  of  the  sun  that  seemed  about  ready  to  plunge 
into  the  ocean. 

"Well?"  I  remarked,  after  he  had  gazed  at  it 
for  a  full  minute. 

"It  's  rising,  Jim,"  he  said  quietly. 


"But  how  can  it  be,  Will?  That  's  the  Pacific 
Ocean,  is  n't  it?" 

"Can't  help  it,  Jim.  It  's  rising  just  the  same. 
Watch  it  now." 

I  had  to  admit  that  he  was  right.  "Then  that 
can't  be  the  Pacific  Ocean,"  I  asserted. 

"I  am  not  so  sure  about  that,"  declared  Will, 
going  over  to  the  table,  where  he  picked  up  a 
map  that  he  had  purchased  the  night  before. 
"Look  here." 

Then  I  realized  for  the  first  time  that  the  Isth- 
mus of  Panama  has  such  a  decided  twist  in  it 
that  the  Pacific  end  of  the  canal  is  actually  south- 
east of  the  Atlantic  end,  and  that  while  people  at 
Panama  see  the  sun  rise  out  of  the  Pacific,  those 
at  Colon  see  the  sun  set  over  the  breakwater 
into  the  Atlantic  Ocean. 

When,  later,  we  told  Mr.  Hawkins  about  our 
fright,  he  burst  into  a  hearty  laugh.  "I  made 
almost  as  bad  a  mistake  myself,"  he  said.  "When 
I  first  came  down  here,  I  had  a  notion  that  as 
long  as  I  was  on  the  Pacific  coast,  I  would  take 
a  run  up  to  San  Francisco.  Much  to  my  amaze- 
ment, I  learned  that  it  would  take  me  nearly 
twice  as  long  to  get  there  as  it  had  to  come  down 
from  New  York.  Then  I  got  out  my  map,  and 
found  that  Panama  is  almost  due  south  of  Pitts- 
burgh, and  that  the  distance  from  New  York  to 
Colon  is  only  1970  miles,  while  from  San  Fran- 
cisco to  Panama  is  3280  miles.  And  here  is  an- 
other queer  bit  of  geography.  If  you  were  to  fly 
in  a  bee-line  from  Panama  to  Yokohama,  Japan, 
you  would  make  for  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  first, 
and  then  strike  up  through  the  United  States 
somewhere  near  Galveston,  Texas,  pass  out  over 
the  Pacific  somewhere  near  Portland,  Oregon, 
and  touch  the  Aleutian  Islands  on  your  course. 
You  don't  believe  me,  do  you?  But  you  just 
stretch  a  string  from  one  place  to  the  other  on  a 
school  globe  some  time,  and  see  whether  I  am 
not  right." 

It  certainly  seemed  impossible,  but  we  were 
ready  to  believe  almost  anything  by  this  time. 

The  earlier  part  of  the  morning  we  spent  wan- 
dering about  the  quaint  old  city  of  Panama,  one 
of  the  oldest  cities  in  the  New  World,  while  Mr. 
Hawkins  entertained  us  with  stories  of  its  former 
importance  and  great  wealth,  and  of  its  downfall 
at  the  hands  of  Morgan's  pirates. 

Along  toward  noon,  we  took  a  special  train  to 
see  the  blowing  up  of  the  Gamboa  dike.  I  sup- 
posed, of  course,  that  the  dike  would  look  like  a 
dam  separating  the  lake  from  a  deep  cut,  but  in- 
stead it  was  a  narrow  tongue  of  land  with  plenty 
of  water  on  each  side  of  it. 

"Has  there  been  a  leak  in  the  dike?"  I  asked. 

"No,"    said    Mr.    Hawkins.      "The   water   was 


I9I4-] 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


337 


siphoned  into  the  cut  on  purpose,  so  that  the 
dynamite  would  do  its  work  better.  You  see, 
with  one  side  of  the  dike  backed  by  a  lake  and 
the  other  by  nothing  but  the  open  air,  the  powder 
would  be  liable  to  burst  out 
only  the  unsupported  side." 

There  was  logic  in  this,  of 
course,  but  I  was  disap- 
pointed. I  had  expected  to 
see  a  mighty  torrent  rush  out 
of  the  lake  into  the  cut.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  the  water  in 
the  cut  was  about  six  feet 
lower  than  that  of  the  lake, 
and  there  was  quite  a  rush  of 
water,  as  we  were  soon  to 
see. 

Will  and  I  walked  down 
toward  the  dike,  but  a  guard 
stopped  us  before  we  had 
proceeded  very  far. 

"It 's  loaded,"  he  explained, 
pointing  to  the  tongue  of 
land.  "You  must  n't  go  any 
nearer." 

"How  much  dynamite  is 
there  in  it  ?"  asked  Will. 

"Forty  tons." 

"Whew!"  I  exclaimed.  "It  's  going  to  be  a  big 
blast,  is  n't  it?" 

"Oh,  pretty  big,  but  not  as  big  as  some  we  've 
had." 

"How  many  blast-holes  are  there  in  the  dike  ?" 

"About  thirteen  hundred;  1277  holes,  to  be 
exact ;  and  if  all  those  holes  were  put  together 
end  to  end  in  one  straight  line,  they  would  reach 
nearly  eight  miles  !" 

A  large  crowd  had  collected  to  witness  the  im- 
pressive spectacle.  The  blast  was  to  be  fired  at 
two  o'clock.     My  watch  told  me  that  it  was  five 


minutes  of  two.  A  message  was  cabled  to  Wash- 
ington, stating  that  everything  was  ready.  Every 
one  was  waiting  with  bated  breath.  Then,  far  off 
in  Washington,   District  of  Columbia,   President 


Copyright  by  the  Byron  Company. 

A  FLEET  OF  DREDGES,  TUGS,  LIGHTERS,  AND  OTHER  BOATS  GOING 
THROUGH  THE  LOCKS  TO  GATUN  LAKE. 


Woodrow  Wilson  touched  a  key.  Instantly  an 
impulse  of  electricity  started  on  its  long  race  to 
Gamboa.  At  intervals  along  the  course  the  race 
was  taken  up  by  relays  of  electrical  energy.  The 
whole  relay  race  over  land  and  under  the  sea 
occupied  but  a  fraction  of  a  second,  and  then, 
with  a  mighty  blast,  thirteen  hundred  charges  of 
dynamite  burst  open  the  dike,  hurling  tons  of 
earth  and  rock  into  the  air.  The  concussion  was 
terrific,  and  as  the  echoes  resounded  from  the 
hills,  scores  of  steam-whistles  and  thousands  of 
voices  cheered  the  historic  event. 


THE    EMERGENCY    GATES. 


Copyright  by  International  Newsservice. 

THE    ONE   ON    THE    RIGHT    SWUNG    CLEAR    OF   THE    LOCK  J     THE    ONE    ON    THE    LEFT 
SWUNG   ACROSS    WITH    "WICKET    GIRDERS"    DROPPED. 


Vol.  XLL—  43. 


338 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Feb., 


wB^W^^^MI  B^^^^^^     ^^^^1 

iHH^jfe           4 1 1       ,s^arii 

P*                     T 

m*- 

*  M*  ;•* —  „., 

HMHI^^BBK^^ta>»c__                        «    IS        '                          ■  |, 

Copyright  by  the  Byron  Company. 
THE    ISTHMUS    SEVERED!       FORTY    TONS    OF    DYNAMITE    SHATTERING    THE    GAMBOA    DIKE. 


"Hurrah  !"  yelled  Mr.  Hawkins.  "The  isthmus 
is  severed !" 

Great  clouds  of  poisonous  gases  hung  over  the 
dike.  Then  as  they  gradually  dissipated,  we  saw 
through  the  rifts  a  wide  gap  torn  through  the  dike, 
and  the  water  rushing"  madly  through  the  opening. 


W»fcKSr^**  »TS  ''iWeB* 


ifciatlI;il6i*«fe'T  £!■••; 


EMERGENCY   GATE    WITH    PLATES   LET   DOWN    TO   CUT   OFF  THE   FLOW   OF  WATER. 


"By  George,  that  was  a  big  blast !"  declared 
Will. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Mr.  Hawkins ;  "the  biggest  I  ever 
saw.  And  yet,"  he  continued,  "when  we  talk 
about  our  great  achievements,  I  cannot  help  but 


think  of  the  wonderful  things  that  happen  in  na- 
ture, and  how  puny  are  our  performances  in  com- 
parison.    Talk  about  big  blasts  !     Do  you  know, 
once  there  was  a  volcano  in  the  Malay  Archi- 
pelago that  exploded.     It  was  in  1883,  before  you 
were  born,  but  maybe  you  have  heard  of  it — the 
volcano    of    Krakatua.      The 
explosion  blew  off  the  whole 
top   of   a   mountain.      Bang ! 
and  30,000  people  were  lost 
in  the  tidal  wave !     A  cubic 
mile  of  earth  was  shattered 
into  dust !     That   is  twenty- 
five  times  as  much  material 
as  has  been  excavated  from 
the    whole   of   this    canal   so 
far,  and  you  '11  see  that  there 
has  been  quite  a  bit  of  exca- 
vation here,  when  you  take  a 
look  at  the  Culebra  cut  in  its 
deepest  part." 

On  our  way  back  to  Pan- 
ama, we  planned  to  get  off 
and  see  the  great  cut  of 
which  we  had  heard  so  much 
and  of  which  we  had  caught 
only  a  glimpse  from  the  rail- 
road on  our  way  up.  A  fel- 
low-passenger told  us  that 
there  was  trouble  at  Cuca- 
\  slide  had  filled  up  the  cut  to  a  height 
I   had   heard   a 


racha. 

of   eighty   feet   above  sea-level. 

great  deal  about  these  slides,  and  had  imagined 

that  they  were   something  like   avalanches ;   but 

now    I    learned    that    they    are    very    deliberate 


I9M-] 


WITH   MEN   WHO   DO   THINGS 


339 


•■■..-    .   v  /•.;--■ 


GREAT    CLOUDS    OF    POISONOUS    GASES    HOVERING    OVER    THE    WATER    AFTER    THE    BIG    BLAST. 


in    their    movement,    creeping    sluggishly    down     more  trackage  on  the  isthmus  and  more  cars  too 
at  a  rate  of  two  or  three  feet  a  day.     In  prepa-     than    many    a    full-fledged    railroad    owns,    back 
ration    for   the   flooding   of   Culebra   cut,    all   the     home,  — say  the  Boston  and  Albany,  for  instance, 
excavating    machinery    had    been    removed,    and     But  a   few  big  dredges  are  going  to  take  their 
the  slide,  taking  advantage  of  their  absence,  had     place  now  and  handle  those  slides  more  effectu- 
gradually  closed  in  on  the  cut, 
and  now  it  was  holding  back 
the  waters   that   had   poured 
through  the  gap  in  the  Gam- 
boa    dike.      A   gang   of  men 
was  kept  at  work  trying  to 
keep  a  ditch  open  across  the 
slide,  but  it  kept  closing  up. 
Finally,  a  ton  or  two  of  dyna- 
mite   was    exploded    in    the 
slide ;    but    the    heavy    clay 
closed  right  in  again.    It  was 
not  until  two  days  after  the 
destruction  of  the  Gamboa  dike 
that   a   trench   large    enough 
to   admit   a   good   stream  of 
water  was  opened  up. 

"It  looks  as  if  the  canal 
were  far  from  done,  yet,"  I 
remarked. 

"You  just  wait  until  those 
big  dredges  get  into  action," 
said  Mr.  Hawkins.  "They  '11 
make  short  work  of  that  slide. 
When  I  was  here  last  year, 

this  valley  was  fairly  teeming  with  activity — 
engines  puffing  and  snorting,  machinery  clank- 
ing, whistles  screeching,  wheels  rumbling — a 
steady  roar  of  action.     Do  you  know,  there  was 


THE    CUCARACHA   SLIDE    MAKING   MORE    WORK  FOR   THE    CANAL    DIGGERS. 


ally  than  all  that  excavating  machinery  on  wheels. 
And  yet,"  he  mused,  "those  slides  have  been 
bothersome.  They  have  made  us  dig  a  valley 
instead  of  a  gorge  through  the  Culebra  hills." 


(To  be  continued.) 


THE  APPLE-WOOD  FIRE 

BY  CAROUNEHOFNAM 

There  's  nothing  seems  to  me  so  good  It  makes  me  think  of  everything 

As  just  the  smell  of  apple  wood.  The  summer  and  the  country  bring; 


And  it 's  not  very  hard  to  tell 
Why  1  so  love  that  woodsy  smell; 


And  when  it  burns,  it  shines  as  bright 
,  As  lovely  yellow  sunshine-light. 


Oh,  I'm  so  glad  this  little  blaze 
"Can  bring  me  back  the  summer  days!/ 


340 


J 


AFTERNOON   TEA. 

DRAWN   BY  GERTRUDE  A.    KAY. 
341 


THE    HOUSEKEEPING    ADVENTURES   OE 
THE   JUNIOR    BEAIRS 

BY  CAROLINE  FRENCH  BENTON 

Author  of  "A  Little  Cook  Book  for  a  Little  Girl,"  "  Margaret's  Saturday  Mornings,"  etc. 


SUPPER  AT  THE  HOUSE   IN  THE  WOODS 

When  the  Junior  Blairs  came  down  to  breakfast 
on  New-Year's  morning,  there  were  three  good- 
sized  red-covered  books  lying  on  the  table,  one  by 
each  plate,  and  on  the  cover  of  each,  in  gold  let- 
ters, was  the  name  of  Mildred,  or  Jack,  or 
Brownie.  But  when  they  opened  them  there  was 
nothing  inside  — only  just  nice,  white  paper  leaves. 

"What  are  they  for?"  asked  Mildred,  puzzled. 
"For  school,  for  examples  and  compositions?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it !"  laughed  her  mother.  "They 
are  cook-books,  or  they  will  be  when  you  have 
filled  them  full  of  recipes.  When  you  made  such 
delicious  things  for  Christmas,  I  ordered  these 
for  you,  so  you  could  write  down  each  rule  that 
you  used  then,  and  add  others  as  you  learned 
other  things.  You  see,  there  are  little'  letters  all 
down  the  edges  of  the  book,  and  when  you  want 
to  find  gingerbread,  for  instance,  all  you  have  to 
do  is  to  turn  to  G;  and  when  you  want  —  " 

"Cake,"  interrupted  Brownie,  "you  turn  to  K." 

Everybody  laughed  then,  but  in  a  minute  Jack 
said  soberly:  "If  you  don't  mind,  Mother,  I  think 
I  '11  use  mine  for  school.  You  see,  boys  don't  cook." 


"It  seems  to  me  I  've  heard  that  before,"  said 
Father  Blair,  nodding  at  him.  "But  you  just  tuck 
that  book  away  in  your  bureau  drawer  and  keep 
it,  because  I  've  an  idea  you  may  want  it  yet  for 
a  cook-book." 

Jack  shook  his  head  energetically,  but  as  Norah 
just  then  brought  in  a  fresh  plate  of  popovers,  he 
was  too  busy  to  say  anything  more. 

That  afternoon,  the  girls  began  their  books  by 
copying  very  neatly  the  recipes  they  had  already 
used :  Brownies,  Christmas  Cakes,  Icing,  Christ- 
mas Elves,  Gingerbread  Men,  Oatmeal  Maca- 
roons, Pop-corn  Balls,  and  Tartlets  all  went  in, 
each  under  its  own  initial.  Then  they  said  they 
wanted  some  more  recipes  right  away,  because 
these  looked  so  lonely. 

"Very  well,"  said  their  mother;  "but  first  we 
will  have  a  talk,  because  I  have  a  bright  idea." 

Now  it  happened  that  one  of  the  particularly 
nice  things  about  the  Blair  family  was  that  they 
owned  a  little  bit  of  a  house  not  many  miles  from 
town,  right  in  the  midst  of  a  pine  grove.  A  far- 
mer lived  quite  close  by,  but  the  trees  hid  his 
house  from  sight;  and  the  trolley-cars  ran  just 
around  the   corner,  but  they  could  not   be  seen 


3*2 


THE   HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


343 


either;  so  when  the  family  went  there  for  a  day 
or  two,  or  a  week  or  two,  it  was  just  as  though 
they  were  a  long,  long  distance  from  everybody 
in  the  world.  They  called  this  little  place  the 
House  in  the  Woods,  and  Brownie  Blair  often 
pretended  it  was  the  one  in  the  fairy  book,  and 
that  Goldilocks  might  come  in  at  any  moment  to 
eat  a  bowl  of  porridge  with  the  three  Blairs,  in- 
stead of  the  three  bears. 

"You  see,"  Mother  Blair  went  on,  "the  snow  is 
still  so  fresh  and  lovely,  and  the  sleighing  so 
good,  and  the  full  moon  is  still  coming  up  so  very 
early,  that  I  thought—" 

"Oh,  I  know!"  Jack  shouted.  "A  sleighing 
party  !" 

"Yes,"  said  his  mother;  "to  the  House  in  the 
Woods  for  supper.  Won't  that  be  fun  ?  And  you 
can  cook  the  supper.  Only,  if  you  invite  seven 
boys  and  girls  to  go  with  you,  we  must  have 
plenty  of  things  for  them  to  eat ;  and  of  course 
you  will  want  to  cook  them  all  yourselves." 

"Of  course,"  Mildred  said  decidedly.  "What 
shall  we  have  for  the  supper  ?" 

"Oh,  have  cheese  dreams  !"  Jack  begged.    "The 


"Of  course  boys  cook  with  a  chafing-dish,"  he 
explained;  "so  do  men,  too.  In  college,  lots  of 
them  make  Welsh-rabbit  and  oysters  and  things 


FHE    BISCUITS    WERE    GREAT 
FUN   TO    MAKE." 
(SEE    PAGE    345.) 


fellows  think  they  're  great.  I  '11  make  'em  my- 
self, if  you  will.  I  learned  how  at  the  Dwights 
when  I  was  there  last  week." 

"You  did !"  teased  his  mother.     "But  I  thought 
boys  did  n't  cook?"  Jack's  face  grew  decidedly  red. 


JACK   FRIED   THE 

" CHEESE 

DREAMS." 

(SEE  PAGE  345.) 


like  that  for  spreads,  you  know.  And  you  can 
make  the  same  things  in  a  frying-pan  on  the 
stove  just  as  well.  So  I  '11  make  the  dreams  up 
before  we  go,  and  cook  'em  when  we  get  there." 

"Very  well,"  said  his  mother;  "but  I  bargain 
with  you  that  you  are  to  put  the  recipe  in  your 
own  cook-book."     And  Jack  had  to  promise. 

Then  Mildred  and  her  mother  planned  the  rest 
of  the  supper.  They  were  to  have  oyster  stew, 
because  that  was  what  everybody  wanted  at  a 
sleighing  party ;  and  then  the  cheese  dreams,  and 
potatoes,  and  cocoa ;  and  Mother  Blair  said  they 
would  have  a  dish  of  scrambled  eggs  for  anybody 
who  did  not  like  cheese.  And,  last  of  all,  they 
would  have  little  hot  brown  biscuits  and  honey ; 
Farmer  Dunn  always  had  beautiful  honey. 

"Now,  let  us  plan  things  out,"  said  Mildred. 
"You  and  Brownie  and  I,  Mother,  can  go  out  to 
the  House  in  the  Woods  by  trolley,  and  get  the 
fires  going  and  the  table  all  ready ;  and  Father 
and  Jack  can  drive  out  with  the  others  just  at 
supper-time,  and  then  we  can  all  go  back  together 
afterward."     This  seemed  the  very  best  way  of 


344 


THE   HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR   BLAIRS 


[Feb., 


THE    SUPPER-PARTY   RIDING    HOME   ACROSS   THE    SNOW.      (SEE    PAGE   346.) 


managing ;  so  early  one  Saturday  afternoon,  they 
reached  the  little  house,  and  while  Mildred  and 
her  mother  went  in  and  opened  the  windows  and 
looked  all  around  to  see  if  everything  was  as 
they  left  it,  Brownie  ran  off  for  Farmer  Dunn, 
who  soon  brought  wood  and  made  up  rousing 
fires  in  the  rooms.  By  the  time  the  baskets  were 
unpacked  on  the  kitchen  table,  he  was  ready  to 
go  back  to  his  house  and  get  milk  and  cream  and 
eggs  and  butter  and  honey.  As  the  Blairs  al- 
ways left  the  house  ready  to  open  at  a  moment's 
notice,  they  had  sugar  and  flour  and  salt  and 
things  like  that  in  the  pantry. 

Mildred  and  Brownie  laid  the  table,  putting  on 
plates  and  cups  and  glasses,  and  they  rubbed  the 
forks  and  spoons  and  made  them  as  bright  as  the 
sunshine.  When  it  was  all  done,  they  got  a  beau- 
tiful great  bunch  of  feathery  pine  branches  for  a 
centerpiece,  and  then  it  looked  exactly  as  though 
the  table  knew  there  was  going  to  be  a  party. 

"It  is  nearly  five  o'clock,"  their  mother  called 
to  them  as  they  finished.    "It  is  time  we  began  to 


get  supper.  Brownie,  here  is  a  recipe  for  you; 
do  you  think  you  can  manage  it  all  alone?" 

"Of  course,"  said  Brownie,  with  great  dignity. 
"Only  you  might  just  tell  me  how,  first." 

Mother  Blair  laughed,  and  read  the  recipe  over 
to  her,  and  told  her  what  to  do. 

STUFFED  BAKED  POTATOES 

Take  six  large  potatoes,  wash  and  scrub 
them  well,  and  bake  them  for  about  forty 
minutes  in  a  hot  oven,  or  till  they  are  done. 
Take  one  potato  at.  a  time,  hold  it  in  a  towel, 
and  cut  it  in  two,  lengthwise.  Scoop  out  the 
inside  with  a  spoon  into  a  hot  bowl.  When 
all  six  are  ready,  add  l/2  teaspooni'ul  of  salt 
and  1  teaspoonful  of  butter,  beating  and 
mashing  well  till  they  are  light ;  then  fill  the 
potato  shells,  heaping  them  full  ;  arrange  in  a 
shallow  pan,  and  set  it  in  the  oven  ;  bake 
about  ten  minutes,  or  till  they  are  brown. 

As  soon  as  Brownie  was  busy  with  the  pota- 
toes, Mildred  said  she  would  make  the  cocoa,  be- 
cause   that    could    stand    and    wait    while    other 


'9I4-]  THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS  345 


things  cooked.  Her  mother  told  her  to  get  the 
double  boiler,  put  some  hot  water  in  the  outside, 
and  set  it  on  the  stove.  Then  she  gave  her  this 
recipe : 

COCOA 

6  teaspoon fuls  of  cocoa, 
ij^  cups  of  boiling  water. 
\y2  cups  of  boiling  milk. 

I  table-spoonful  of  powdered  sugar. 

i  small  pinch  of  salt. 

Always  measure  spoonfuls  just  a  little 
rounded.  Put  the  powdered  cocoa  into  the  dou- 
ble boiler  and  pour  on  it  the  boiling  water,  a 
little  at  first,  stirring  it  until  it  melts  ;  add  the 
boiling  milk,  and  cook  two  minutes,  stirring 
all  the  time ;  add  the  sugar,  stir  a  moment 
longer ;  add  the  salt  and  take  from  the  fire. 
If  not  to  be  used  at  once,  stand  the  double 
boiler  on  the  back  of  the  stove  till  wanted. 

"But,  Mother,  we  will  need  a  great  many  more 
cups  of  cocoa  than  this,"  Mildred  exclaimed,  as 
she  read  the  rule  over.  "Those  boys  will  drink 
at  least  two  apiece,  and  the  girls  may,  too;  they 
will  all  be  just  starving  !" 

"Of  course,"  said  Mother  Blair.  "But  what 
do  you  go  to  school  for,  if  not  to  learn  multipli- 
cation? How  many  times  over  must  you  make 
the  rule?" 

Mildred  thought  two  whole  minutes,  and  then 
said  she  thought  about  five  times  would  do;  so 
she  very  carefully  measured  everything  five  times 
over.  "I  never  thought  arithmetic  was  any  good 
before,"  she  said  soberly.  "But  now  I  see  it  is  to 
cook  by." 

"Yes,  I  find  it  useful  myself,"  her  mother  said, 
with  a  smile.  "Now,  Mildred,  we  might  make  the 
biscuits,  I  think;  those  will  not  be  hurt  by  stand- 
ing any  more  than  the  cocoa  will.  But  this  rule 
I  think  you  will  have  to  multiply  by  three." 

BAKING-POWDER  BISCUITS 

I  pint  of  sjfted  flour. 

y2  teaspoonful  of  salt. 

4  teaspoonfuls  of  baking-powder. 

24  cup  of  milk. 

i  table-spoonful  of  butter. 

Put  the  salt  and  baking-powder  in  the  flour 
and  rub  the  butter  into  these  with  a  spoon  ; 
little  by  little  add  the  milk,  mixing  all  the 
time  ;  lift  the  dough  out  on  the  floured  board, 
dust  it  over  with  flour,  and  flour  the  rolling- 
pin  ;  roll  out  lightly,  just  once,  till  it  is  an 
inch  thick.  Flour  your  hands  and  make  it 
into  little  balls  as  quickly  as  you  can  ;  put  a 
very  little  flour  on  the  bottom  of  a  shallow 
pan,  and  put  the  biscuits  in  it,  close  together. 
Bake  in  a  hot  oven  about  twenty  minutes,  or 
till  they  are  brown. 
Vol.  XLL— 44. 


These  were  great  fun  to 
make,  and  when  the  very  last 
panful  was  done,  Mildred 
tucked  all  the  little  brown  bis- 
cuits up  in  a  big  fresh  towel, 
and  put  them  in  a  pan  in  the 
warming  oven  to  keep  hot  till 
they  were  needed.  At  that 
very  minute,  they  heard  sleigh- 
bells,  and  everybody  rushed  to 
throw  open  the  door  and  let 
the  party  in.  Such  shouting 
and  laughing  and  talking  you  ,' 
never  heard  in  all  your  life./'. 
All  the  boys  and  girls  had  often 
before  been  put  to  the  House 
in  the  Woods,  and  they  were 
so  glad  to  come  again,  they 
hardly  knew  what  to  do. 

While  they  were  taking  off 
their  wraps,  Jack  slipped  out 
into  the  kitchen  and  demanded  K 
the  frying-pan.  "See,"  he  said  * 
proudly,  opening  a  box,  "here 
are  the  cheese  dreams,  all 
ready  to  cook !  Are  n't  they 
fine?" 

"Lovely !"  exclaimed  his 
mother,  and  then  added,  with 
a  merry  twinkle  in  her  eyes, 
"you  '11  be  a  great  cook  yet, 
Jack !" 

This  was  the  recipe  Jack 
had  used  to  make  them: 

CHEESE  DREAMS  [six 
large  sandwiches] 


8 


12  slices  of  bread,  cut  half  an  inch  thick. 
12  thin  slices  of  cheese. 
1  pinch  of  soda,  cayenne  pepper,  and 
salt  for  each  slice. 

Put  together  like  sandwiches,  and  then  cut 
into  rounds.     Heat  a  frying-pan  very  hot,  melt 


346 


THE   HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


a  teaspoonful  of  butter  in  it,  and  lay  in  two 
or  three  sandwiches  ;  when  one  side  is  brown, 
turn  it  over  and  cook  the  other ;  take  from 
the  pan  and  lay  in  the  oven  in  a  pan  on  a 
paper  till  all  are  ready. 

Of  course  Jack  had  made  more  than  six  sand- 
wiches, for  he  knew  everybody  would  want  two 
apiece;  so  he  had  a  great  boxful,  and  it  took  him 
quite  a  little  time  to  fry  them  all;  but  it  was  just 
as  well,  for  Mildred  and  her  mother  had  to  make 
the  oyster  stew,  which  was  to  be  eaten  first. 

OYSTER  STEW 

I  pint  of  oysters. 

y2  pint  of  water. 

i  quart  of  rich  milk. 

]/2  teaspoonful  of  salt. 

Drain  the  juice  off  the  oysters  and  pass 
each  one  through  the  fingers  to  remove  any 
pieces  of  shell  that  may  still  adhere  to  it ;  add 
the  water  to  the  oyster  juice,  and  boil  one 
minute  ;  skim  this  well.  Heat  the  milk  and 
add  to  this,  and  when  it  steams,  drop  in  the 
oysters  and  simmer  just  one  minute,  or  till 
the  edges  of  the  oysters  begin  to  curl ;  add 
the  salt  and  take  up  at  once  ;  if  you  choose, 
add  a  cup  of  sifted  cracker  crumbs. 

"What  is  'simmer'?"  asked  Mildred,  as  she 
read  the  rule  over. 

"Just  letting  it  boil  a  tiny  little  bit,"  said  her 
mother;  "around  the  edges  of  the  saucepan,  but 
not  all  over.    And  here  is  the  recipe  for 

SCRAMBLED  EGGS 

i  egg  for  each  person. 

2  table-spoonfuls  of  milk  to  each  egg. 

2  shakes  of  salt. 

I  shake  of  pepper. 

Break  the  eggs  in  a  bowl,  beat  them  twelve 
times,  then  add  the  milk,  salt,  and  pepper ; 
heat  a  pan,  put  in  a  piece  of  butter  the  size  of 
a  hickory-nut,  and  when  it  is  melted,  pour  in 
the  eggs  ;  stir  them  as  they  cook,  and  scrape 
them  off  the  bottom  of  the  pan  ;  when  they 
are  all  thick  and  creamy,  they  are  done. 

"I  have  taken  the  rule  for  the  stew  three  times 
over  for  twelve  people,  and  I  don't  think  it  will 


be  a  bit  too  much ;  but  as  almost  every  one  will 
want  the  cheese  dreams,  suppose  we  scramble 
only  five  eggs. 

"You  'd  better  do  that  right  away,  for  supper 
is  almost  ready.  Brownie's  potatoes  are  just 
done,  and  she  can  be  filling  the  glasses  with 
water,  and  putting  on  the  butter  and  bread,  and 
these  two  big  dishes  of  honey  to  eat  with  the 
biscuits  for  the  last  course." 

While  Mildred  was  cooking  the  eggs,  Mother 
Blair  put  the  oysters  on  the  table,  with  the  hot 
soup-plates  and  a  generous  supply  of  crisp  oyster- 
crackers;  the  cheese  dreams  were  done  and  in  the 
oven,  and  Mildred  covered  the  eggs  and  set  the 
dish  in  the  warming  oven,  and  put  the  cocoa  on 
the  table  in  a  chocolate  pot.  Then  everybody  sat 
down  and  began  to  eat. 

After  the  oyster  stew  was  all  gone,  they  had 
the  hot  cheese  dreams  and  scrambled  eggs  and 
the  stuffed  potatoes  and  cocoa  all  at  once;  and 
when  those  too  had  vanished,  there  were  the  lit- 
tle biscuits  and  the  beautiful  golden  clover-honey 
in  the  comb,  and  perhaps  that  was  the  very  best 
of  all. 

"Never,  never,  did  I  eat  anything  so  good  as 
this  supper  !"  Father  Blair  said  solemnly,  as  he 
ate  his  fourth  biscuit.  "That  oyster  stew— those 
potatoes— the  cheese  dreams—" 

"What  a  conceited  father  !"  said  Mildred.  "And 
you  never  said  a  word  about  the  cocoa—" 

"Nor  about  the  scrambled  eggs—"  said  Brownie, 
eagerly. 

"But  I  ate  them  all,"  said  her  father.  "I  ate 
everything  I  was  given,  and  I  would  like  to  eat 
them  all  again  !  Next  time  we  come,  have  twice 
as  much  of  everything,  won't  you  ?" 

But  everybody  else  said  that  they  could  n't 
have  eaten  one  single  crumb  more.  And  they 
knew  perfectly  well  that  Father  Blair  could  n't, 
either. 

Then  everybody  helped  wash  the  dishes  and 
put  things  away,  and  Farmer  Dunn  came  over  to 
put  out  the  fires  and  shut  the  doors ;  and  presently 
it  was  all  dark  in  the  House  in  the  Woods,  and 
so  still  that,  far,  far  off,  you  could  hear  the  sound 
of  the  singing  of  the  boys  and  girls  as  they  rode 
home  across  the  snow. 


G\,      <4^<|i. 


THE  DUTCH  DOLL 
AND   HER   ESKIMO 

BY  ETHEL  BLAIR 


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.) 

He  woke  up  very  late  at  night, 
And  all  the  doors  were  fastened  tight. 
The  store  was  quiet — the  light  was  dim — 
And  all  the  dolls  just  stared  at  him. 

(Of  course  you  're  brave,  but  even  you 
Might  feel  a  little  nervous,  too, 
To  find  yourself,  all  unprepared, 
Locked  up  with  glassy  eyes  that  stared.) 

The  Pixy  sang  a  faerie  song, 
And  soon  the  magic  grew  so  strong 
The  dolls  began  to  breathe— to  walk — 
To  fill  the  room  with  merry  talk. 

The  clock  struck  twelve.    And  then,  too  late, 
The  Pixy  thought  about  the  date. 
It  was  the  day  of  lovers'  signs — 
The  morning  of  St.  Valentine's. 

And  as  the  big  clock  chimed  above, 
The  dolls  began  to  fall  in  love ; 
And  then  their  troubles  had  begun, 
For  each  doll  loved  the  nearest  one ! 


The  Eskimo  looked  out  to  see 
The  Dutch  Doll  working  busily. 

He  thought :  "How  comfy  it  would  be 
If  she  would  come  and  cook  for  me." 

(His  Eskimotive  may  seem  low, 
But  Iceland  wives  are  not  for  show.) 


He  quickly  won  her  for  his  bride, 
And  brought  her  to  his  hut  with  pride. 

(The  furnishings  were  rather  few: 
Two  sealskins  and  a  bowl  or  two.) 

The  Dutch  Doll  had  n't  much  to  say. 
Perhaps  it  took  her  breath  away. 

(Whale  blubber  in  an  air-tight  room 
Can  add  much  to  the  general  gloom. 
And  fourteen  dogs  around  the  fire 
Is  more  than  many  wives  desire.) 

He  made  her  household  duties  plain, 
And  soon  was  fast  asleep  again. 

The  Dutch  Doll  looked  around  that  room, 
Then  went  and  got  her  little  broom. 

Her  husband,  lying  on  the  ground, 
Was  waked  up  by  the  strangest  sound. 

You  see,  he  did  n't  know  the  meaning 
Of  spring  (or  any  other)  cleaning. 

She  waved  the  little  broom  about, 
And  fourteen  dogs  went  flying  out. 

Her  husband,  feeling  nervous,  too, 
Informed  her  this  would  never  do. 

She  heard  him  out.     (She  did  n't  know 
A  single  word  of  Eskimo.) 


348 


THE  DUTCH  DOLL  AND  HER  ESKIMO 


TWhuaCuSyiffc 


'SHE  WASHED  THE  DOGS  WITH  SOAP  AND  LYE. 


Then  from  her  pail  commenced  to  pour 
The  soapy  water  on  the  floor. 

(A  stream  of  water,  rightly  sent, 

Is  a  convincing  argument; 

And  coldness  of  the  feet,  you  '11  find, 

Will  sometimes  make  you  change  your  mind.) 

The  Eskimo  forgot  his  pride, 

And  joined  the  fourteen  dogs  outside. 

They  soon  could  sympathize  with  him, 
For  when  she  got  the  house  all  trim, 

She  washed  the  dogs  with  soap  and  lye, 
And  hung  them  on  the  line  to  dry. 

Then  tried  to  get  her  husband  clean — 
But  let  us  skip  this  painful  scene. 

He  found  it  very  hard  to  bear 
Until  she  started  on  his  hair. 

She  found  two  valued  harpoon  spears 
Which  had  been  missing  several  years; 

Also  a  richly  carved  whale's  tooth 
Which  he  had  lost  in  early  youth. 

She  finished  in  an  hour  or  more — 
It  left  him  rather  weak  and  sore. 


And  now  that  busy  little  broom 
Goes  daily  round  the  spotless  room. 

She  makes  her  husband  scrub  the  floor, 
And  (which  he  minds  a  great  deal  more), 

She  plaits  the  fur  upon  his  clothes, 
And  ties  it  up  with  ribbon  bows ! 


T^*ljnf)C^)>fP 


RACING   WATERS 

BY  LOUISE  DE  ST.  HUBERT  GUYOL 


Mildred  Marsh  and  her  father  and  mother  stood 
on  the  levee,  one  evening  in  April,  watching  the 
big,  muddy  Mississippi  River  as  it  twisted  and 
turned  and  turned  and  twisted  in  swirling  eddies 
and  furious  currents. 

"Is  the  water  coming  much  higher,  Father?" 
Mildred  asked. 

"I  think  it  is,  Daughter.  The  crest  of  the  flood 
is  not  due  here  for  two  weeks  yet." 

"Do  you  think — "  began  Mrs.  Marsh,  when  she 
was  interrupted  by  a  shout,  and,  turning,  she  saw 
Dick  coming  up  the  road,  riding  his  big  silver 
roan,  and  waving  an  envelop  toward  his  father. 

"Bad  news,  Dad,"  he  called;  "Captain  Mur- 
dock  wants  you  at  the  fleet,  right  away." 

Mr.  Marsh  hurried  down  the  sloping  green 
levee  and  took  the  envelop  from  Dick's  hand. 

"Crest  of  flood  reported  due  here  in  next  forty- 
eight  hours,"  he  read,  scrawled  hurriedly  on  the 
bit  of  paper  he  had  taken  from  the  envelop.  "We 
have  to  go  to  Gold  Bend  to-night,  to  strengthen 
weak  spots  in  levees  there." 

Mr.  Marsh  turned  to  his  wife  and  Mildred, 
who  had  followed  him.  "I  '11  have  to  go  at  once," 
he  said;  then  turned  to  Dick.  "Take  good  care 
of  your  mother  and  the  children." 

"All  right,  Dad." 

Mr.  Marsh  stooped  and  put  his  arms  around 
Mildred.  "You  do  your  share,  too,  Daughter. 
And  take  good  care  of  Oliver  Twist.  Have  you 
learned  to  ride  yet  ?" 

"Learned  to  ride  !"  Dick  shouted.  "Learned  to 
ride  !  She  won't  even  get  on  him,  Father.  She  's 
scared  to  death  of  a  little  old  pony  like  that. 
He  's  hitched  to  the  back  fence  now.  I  've  been 
trying  all  afternoon  to  make  her  ride." 

"He  bites  and  kicks,  Father,"  said  Mildred. 

"He  's  been  teased.  I  told  you  that,"  Mr. 
Marsh  answered.  "If  you  '11  be  brave  and  not 
afraid  of  him,  and  treat  him  kindly,  you  '11  find 
he  won't  bite  nor  kick  any  more.  Father  does  n't 
want  his  little  girl  to  be  a  coward." 

"All  right,  Father."  Mildred  gave  a  little  sigh. 
"I  '11  ride  him  to-morrow." 

"That  's  a  brave  girl— good-night,  dear." 

Mr.  Marsh  kissed  the  children  and  his  wife, 
and  mounted  the  roan.  Come  on,  Dick,"  he  said ; 
"ride  down  with  me  and  bring  Revere  back." 

Dick  mounted  behind  his  father,  and  called : 
"I  '11  be  back  soon,  Mother,"  as  they  started  off. 

Half  an  hour  later,  they  reached  the  fleet.  At 
the  far  end  was  the  Amelia,  a  big,  broad-decked 


steamboat  where  the  commissary  department  and 
engineers'  headquarters  were ;  at  the  other  end 
was  the  mess-room  for  the  negro  laborers.  Be- 
tween the  two  was  a  long  line  of  barges  and  boats 
where  were  housed  and  cared  for  the  tools  and 
laborers  employed  by  the  United  States  Govern- 
ment in  strengthening  and  improving  the  banks 
and  bed  of  the  Mississippi  River. 

Captain  Murdock  and  Lieutenant  Andrews 
awaited  them  on  the  shore. 

"You  did  n't  bring  your  family?"  Lieutenant 
Andrews  called,  in  a  surprised  tone. 

"Is  there  any  danger?"  Mr.  Marsh  demanded. 

"None  that  we  know  of,  here,"  Captain  Mur- 
dock said.  "That  is,  no  immediate  danger.  We  '11 
be  back  to-morrow,  and  I  think  it  might  be  well 
to  bring  the  family  down  to-morrow  night  or  the 
next  day,"  he  went  on.  "There  's  a  little  danger 
now,  up  at  Gold  Bend,  where  the  levee  is  weak. 
The  sand-bags  and  timber  are  on  the  way  up 
there  now,  two  barge-loads.  Come  on,  the  tug  's 
waiting."  Captain  Murdock  turned  to  where,  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  Amelia,  the  tiny  tug 
El  Dorado  bobbed  up  and  down  on  the  water. 

"Dick,"  Mr.  Marsh  said,  "take  good  care  of 
your  mother." 

"Yes,  Father,  I  will."  Man  and  boy  spoke 
quietly,  looking  straight  into  each  other's  eyes. 

Then  Dick  bade  the  captain  and  Lieutenant 
Andrews  good-by,  and  started  homeward. 

It  was  a  long  and  lonely  ride.  There  were  only 
two  homes  between  the  fleet  and  the  little  town 
some  five  miles  farther  down  the  coast,  and  the 
Marsh  home  was  the  first  one.  But  Dick  was  not 
lonely.  The  moonlight  was  very  bright,  and  he  let 
Revere  walk  as  slowly  as  he  wanted  to.  Some- 
times he  would  pick  his  way  slowly  up  the  green 
slope  of  the  levee  until  he  reached  the  path  along 
its  crest,  from  where  Dick  could  see,  only  a  few 
feet  within  the  crown  of  the  levee,  the  mighty 
river  rushing  by.  Then  Revere  would  take  to  the 
road  again,  and  Dick  would  look  far  across  the 
green  fields  toward  the  woods,  and  wonder  how 
these  fresh  fields  would  look  if  ever  the  water 
broke  through  the  barriers  that  had  so  long  held 
them  to  one  channel. 

When  he  neared  home,  he  gave  no  whistling 
signal  nor  shouted  greeting,  as  he  usually  did. 
On  the  contrary,  he  went  slowly  by.  He  said 
afterward  that  he  never  knew  why  he  did  it ;  he 
merely  acted  without  thinking,  and  as  though 
obeying  some  imperative  command.     So,  silently, 


350 


RACING  WATERS 


he  passed  his  home  and  went  on  down  the  road 
in  the  moonlight. 

When  he  had  ridden  about  a  mile,  he  suddenly 
drew  in  the  reins  and  sprang  from  Revere's  back. 

Was  that  moonlight,  that  shining  spot  on  the 
levee,  or  had  the  river- 
Dick  stooped  and  laid  his  hand— in  a  pool  of 
water! 

The  river  had  at  last  bitten  its  way  through  the 
levee,  and,  even  in  the  moment  that  Dick  stood 
there,  staring,  the  pool  of  water  doubled  in  size. 

Dick  sprang  upon  Revere  and  turned  his  face 
homeward.  The  big  beast  needed  no  urging,  for 
he  had  scented  danger,  and  his  long,  rapid  strides 
soon  left  the  break  in  the  levee  far  behind. 

"Mother !"  Dick  shouted  as  he  neared  the 
house.    "Mother  !  come  quickly  !" 

Before  he  reached  the  door,  Mrs.  Marsh  was 
in  the  yard,  two  little  children  clinging  to  her 
skirts,  Mildred  following,  the  baby  in  her  arms. 

"The  levee  's  broken !  Quick,  Mother,  mount !" 

With  her  foot  in  his  hand,  Dick  swung  his 
mother  upon  Revere,  behind  the  saddle,  and  put 
the  baby  in  her  outstretched  arms. 

"Put  Ralph  here,  too,"  she  said. 

"No,  Nell."  Dick  swung  his  little  sister  into 
position  in  front  of  his  saddle.  Then  he  said, 
"Mother,  you  '11  have  to  take  the  saddle.  I  '11 
ride  Oliver  Twist,  with  Ralph  and  Mildred." 

"No,  you  won't !"  said  Mildred,  coming  around 
the  corner  of  the  house  astride  the  bare  back  of 
Oliver  Twist.  "Put  Ralph  here  !"  she  commanded. 

Dick  hesitated.  But  behind  them  sounded  the 
roar  of  rushing  waters,  flooding  the  lowlands. 

"Put  Ralph  here!"  Mildred  spoke  as  though 
she  were  fourteen  and  Dick  but  nine,  and  Dick 
jumped  the  little  boy  up  in  front  of  his  sister. 

"I  want  my  Minnie,"  Ralph  whimpered. 

Dick  dashed  up  the  steps  and  caught  a  black 
kitten  from  the  doorway.  Ralph's  tiny  hands 
squeezed  the  little  body  joyfully  as  he  took  the 
kitten  and  held  it  close  to  him,  while  Mildred's 
arms  closed  tightly  around  his  own  small  body. 

"Giddap !"  Dick  gave  Oliver  Twist's  sleek 
neck  a  slap.  Mildred's  face  went  white  as  the 
pony  started  off,  but  her  hands  clung  tightly  to 
the  reins,  and  her  arms  pressed  close  to  Ralph's 
side.  "I  'm  proud  of  you,  Sis  !"  Dick  said.  "Go 
on ;  I  '11  be  alongside  in  a  minute." 

He  sprang  to  Revere,  mounted,  and,  with  his 
mother's  arm  around  him  and  his  around  Nell,  he 
started  off,  and  in  a  moment  was  beside  Mildred. 

Behind  them  the  roar  of  the  rushing  waters 
came  louder  and  nearer.  The  big  silver  roan  and 
the  little  bay  pony  broke  into  a  dead  run,  and, 
step  by  step,  raced  along  the  moonlit  road,  in  mad 
need  to  beat  the  coming  flood. 


Would  they  do  it— could  they  do  it? 

Dick  leaned  forward,  murmuring  encourage- 
ment to  Revere ;  or  bent  eager,  glistening  eyes 
upon  his  little  sister,  whose  head  was  just  about 
on  a  level  with  his  knees. 

Would  they  ever  reach  the  bend  before  the 
waters  mounted  the  up-slope  of  the  road?  Could 
they  reach  the  fleet  in  safety?  Where  was  their 
father?  Would  the  water  be  very  deep  if  it 
should  overtake  them  ? 

Question  after  question  passed  through  their 
minds.  Did  the  same  questions  trouble  the  ani- 
mals, straining  their  utmost,  covered  with  sweat? 

"Thank  God!"  Mrs.  Marsh  almost  shouted  as 
they  rounded  the  bend  and  the  lights  of  the  fleet 
flashed  before  them. 

A  minute  later,  the  foam-covered  horses  dashed 
up  the  gang-plank,  and  many  hands  were  held  out 
to  lift  down  the  white-faced  family.  Just  then, 
a  shrill  whistle  sounded,  and  the  little  tug  El  Do- 
rado almost  leaped  across  the  water  to  the  far 
side  of  the  Amelia.  When  still  some  feet  away, 
a  black  figure  sprang  from  her  upper  deck,  and 
Mr.  Marsh  landed  close  to  the  excited  group  on 
the  lower  deck  of  the  Amelia. 

"We  heard  the  roar  of  the  water !  We  were  n't 
sure  !  We  were  nearly  at  Gold  Bend.  We— oh  ! 
Thank  heaven  !"  Mr.  Marsh  tried  to  gather  his 
entire  family  into  his  arms,  all  at  one  time,  and 
Dick  burst  out  laughing. 

"I  'm  proud  of  my  kiddies !"  Mr.  Marsh  said, 
a  little  later,  as  he  sat  with  Mildred  on  his  knees 
and  his  arm  around  Dick. 

Mildred  beamed,  but  Dick's  face  was  serious. 

"What  's  the  matter,  Groucho?"  Lieutenant 
Andrews  asked,  his  hand  on  the  boy's  shoulder. 

"I— I  wish  we  could  have  warned  the  people 
farther  down,  in  the  cottage,"  Dick  said,  looking 
toward  the  road,  now  a  sheet  of  tossing,  moonlit 
water. 

"Dey  ain't  dere,  Boss,"  said  old  black  Adam. 
"Dey  went  off  yistiddy,  to  see  sum  kin  folkses." 

Dick  gave  a  shout  of  joy,  and  catching  up 
Ralph  and  the  kitten,  tossed  them  across  his 
shoulder  as  he  beamed  down  at  Mildred. 

"She  saved  you,  kid,"  he  said,  trying  not  to 
look  too  proud  of  his  sister;  "she  did  n't  have 
time  to  be  scared  of  a  little  thing  like  a  pony. 
Come  on,  Sis,  let  's  go  and  feed  'em." 

"Dat  's  dun  been  dun,  Boss,"  spoke  Uncle 
Adam,  with  a  generous  gesture  toward  the  bow 
of  the  boat;  but  Mildred  slipped  from  her  fa- 
ther's knee. 

"I  '11  go  tell  Oliver  good-night,  anyhow,"  she 
said,  and,  with  her  little  white  hand  in  old  Adam's 
black  one,  she  ran  off  to  pet  the  horse,  of  which 
she  was  never  more  to  be  afraid. 


(La* 


§1  TVT^rxTHE  m 


■v3 


CHILDRENS 

lill!lllllllllll!lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllilll!l]!llllllllllllllllllllllllllll!lllllH!lllll^^ 


The  theater  manager,  who 
for  so  long  believed  that  the 
whole  world  was  made  up 
of  matinee  girls,  tired  busi- 
ness men,  and  a  few  cul- 
tured persons,  has  at  last 
discovered  the  children.  Surely  he  must  have  been 
blind  and  deaf* not  to  have  found  them  out  be- 
fore. 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. 

Only  a  little  over  a  year  ago,  there  were  no 
plays  for  children,  and  the  theater  was  entirely 
a  grown-up  institution.  Children  had  their  own 
books,  their  own  pictures,  and  their  own  songs, 
as  a  matter  of  course  as  well  as  of  justice,  but 
only  once  in  a  while,  a  very  long 
while,  a  play  of  their  own,  like  "Lit- 
tle Lord  Fauntleroy"  and  "Peter 
Pan." 

Now  this  was  a  strange  and  un- 
natural condition,  for  children  are  al- 
ways "playing  at"  something.  They 
are  the  best  "pretenders"  in  the  world, 
and  are  surely  just  the  people  to  en- 
joy real  drama.  The  schools  found 
this  out  long  ago,  and  by  giving  an- 
nual plays  in  their  various  depart- 
ments, laid  a  new  and  royal  road  to 
learning.  But  the  theater  manager 
had  apparently  heard  nothing  of  the 
matter. 

Suddenly  some  one  changed  all 
that.  Mr.  Winthrop  Ames,  at  his  Lit- 
tle Theater  in  New  York  City,  an- 
nounced a  daily  matinee  performance 
of  the  dramatized  fairy  tale  "Snow 
White  and  the  Seven  Dwarfs."  Every 
afternoon  the  Little  Theater  was 
given  over  to  children,  becoming  a 
grown-up  theater  again  only  after  the 
lamps  were  lit,  and  across  the  thresh- 
old of  this  beautiful  little  playhouse  lay  fairy- 
land. Then,  on  the  roof  of  the  Century  Theater, 
a  Children's  Theater  was  built,  where  Mr.  George 
C.  Tyler  presented  "Racketty-Packetty  House." 


1 


TINEE 


@y  Gfhra  "Meadbw&roft^ 


PETER    PIPER    IN 
RACKETTY-PACKETTY 
HOUSE." 


At  Christmas,  also,  came 
the  return  of  "Peter  Pan," 
while  "Little  Women"  and 
"The  Poor  Little  Rich  Girl" 
completed  the  bewildering 
program.  Unfortunately, 
this  season  the  Century  Theater  has  passed  into 
other  hands,  and  the  Children's  Theater  has,  of 
course,  gone  with  it;  but  if  the  fathers  and 
mothers  regret  this  loss  as  deeply  as  the  children, 
there  will  surely  be  another  real  children's  the- 
ater somewhere,  soon. 

The  plays  already  given  show  that  drama  for 
children  need  not  be  limited  to  one  class  of  plays. 
There  is  the  picture-play,  the  story-play,  the  fan- 
tasy, the  pantomime,  even  the  childish  problem- 
play.  To  these  might  be  added  plays  from  myth, 
legend,  folk-lore,  and  history;  while 
music  and  poetry,  the  arts  first  learned 
and  best  loved  by  children,  in  lullaby 
and  nursery-rhyme,  should  not  be  ab- 
sent from  their  theater.  The  children's 
world  of  art  is  like  that  enchanted 
garden  of  statues  in  Eastern  fairy- 
tale, where  beautiful  marble  figures 
stand  white  and  still,  awaiting  the  dis- 
closure of  the  magic  charm  that  shall 
restore  them  to  life.  Pictures  and 
stories  are  lovely,  silent,,  art  forms, 
lying  bound  between  the  covers  of  a 
book,  waiting  the  magic  power  of  the 
drama  to  set  them  free.  Plays  are 
stories  brought  to  life,  and  so  it  is 
that  seeing  a  good  play  is  next  best  to 
living  a  good  story. 

As  all  of  last  season's  plays  are  now 
touring  the  country  to  visit  St.  Nich- 
olas children  in  their  homes,  the 
stories  of  these  plays  are  given  below. 
One  of  the  companies  offers  a  new 
opportunity  to  little  folks.  In  "Rack- 
etty-Packetty House,"  the  doll  parts 
are  all  taken  by  children,  who,  though 
they  make  the  most  lovable  and  lifelike  dolls,  are 
not  easy  to  carry  on  a  long  and  tiresome  trip. 
Because  of  this,  only  a  few  children  travel  with 
the  company,  and  all  the  rest  are  chosen  in  the 


352 


AT  THE   CHILDREN'S  MATINEE 


[Feb., 


various  cities  in  which  the  play  is  given.  Both 
rehearsals  and  performances  take  place  after 
school  hours,  so,  Mother  and  the  manager  both 
willing,  you  may  take  part  in  the  play  yourself. 

"racketty-packetty  house" 
The  first  play  for  children  to  be  given  in  a  real 
Children's  Theater  and  enacted  chiefly  by  real 
children,  was  written  by  a  playwright  whom  all 
St.  Nicholas  children  have  long  loved  well- 
Mrs.  Frances  Hodgson  Burnett,  who  wrote  the 
story  itself,  first  of  all,  especially  for  St.  Nicho- 
las. It  was  from  the  pages  of  St.  Nicholas, 
too,  that  Lord  Fauntleroy  made  his  first  winsome 
bow  to  the  world,  and  later  the  same  pages  gave 
us  the  beautiful  story  of  little  Sara  Crewe.  So 
there  was  a  large  and  friendly  audience  all  ready 
to  welcome  Mrs.  Burnett's  merry  little  doll-play 
of  "Racketty-Pfcketty  House." 

The  play  tells  the  story  of  six  delightful, 
rowdy-dowdy  dolls,  who  cut  harum-scarum  ca- 
pers in  a  helter-skelter  way.  in  the  topsyturvy 
parlor  of  Racketty-Packetty  House.  This  old- 
fashioned  doll-house  had  been  in  the  height  of 
style  during  Queen  Victoria's  girlhood,  when  it 
had  belonged  to  Cynthia's  grandmother.  But 
Cynthia  is  a  very  new-fashioned  little  girl,  and 
she  orders  it  carried  out  of  the  nursery  to  make 
room  for  Tidyshire  Castle,  a  modern  doll-house 
occupied  by  a  family  of  stylish  and  snobbish 
dolls.  By  the  intervention  of  the  kind  fairy, 
Queen  Crosspatch,  Racketty-Packetty  House  is 
placed  in  the  nursery  alcove,  and  the  two  tall 
footmen  who  attempt  to  carry  it  away  are  obliged 
to  drop  it  suddenly  exactly  where  it  stood. 

When  we  are  introduced  to  the  Racketty-Pack- 
etty family,  they  have  just  received  notice  of  this 
intended  removal,  and  they  are  still  lying  where 
the  shock  left  them.  Peter  Piper,  the  head  of  the 
house  and  the  hero  of  the  play,  first  rises  to  the 
emergency — with  the  parlor  table  around  his 
neck.  He  had  been  standing  on  the  table  when 
the  crash  came,  and  had  taken  the  shortest  way 
down  to  the  floor,  straight  through  the  table.  (It 
was  a  racketty-packetty  table,  you  know.)  Peter 
is  a  gay  little  hero,  out  at  elbows,  knees,  and  toes, 
but  never  out  of  temper  nor  out  of  clever  tricks, 
and  he  always  sees  the  bright  side  of  things. 
"With  one's  head  stuck  through  the  table,  one 
need  never  worry  about  being  late  for  meals." 
In  spite  of  this  advantage,  Peter  falls  out  of  the 
table  and  goes  to  the  rescue  of  his  family  and 
furniture,  both  even  more  topsyturvy  than  usual. 
Then,  not  stopping  a  minute  to  mope  at  misfor- 
tune, this  happy-go-lucky  family  all  join  hands 
and  dance.  As  Peter  explains,  "We  do  it  when 
anything  nice  happens,  and  we  do  it  when  noth- 


ing happens  at  all."  And  when  something  hap- 
pens that  is  n't  nice,  why,  then  they  do  it  just  the 
same.    A  pretty  good  working  plan,  is  n't  it? 

The  next  thing  that  happens  is  very  nice  in- 
deed. In  through  the  parlor  window  comes  a 
great  grown-up  hand  and  leaves  a  mysterious  box 
on  the  floor.  When  Peter  opens  the  box,  out 
comes  the  lovely  Lady  Patricia,  the  daughter  of 
the  Duchess  of  Tidyshire.  The  footman  has 
made  a  mistake  and  left  her  at  the  wrong  address. 
So  begins  the  happy  friendship  between  "Lady 
Patsy"  and  the  Racketty-Packetties,  for  her  lady- 
ship likes  their  gay  life  so  much  that  she  does  not 
want  to  go  home  at  all,  and  it  is  necessary  for  the 
Duchess  and  all  the  lords  and  ladies  of  Tidyshire 
Castle  to  come  after  her  and  take  her  away. 

Of  course  a  play  must  have  a  plot  (the  ups  and 
downs,  you  know),  and  so  Lady  Patricia  is 
locked  up  in  the  castle  tower,  and  there  breaks 
down  and  cries,  while  Cynthia  orders  Racketty- 
Packetty  House  taken  down  to  the  basement  and 
there  burned  up;  but  through  the  timely  visit  of 
the  real  little  princess,  the  grandchild  of  Queen 
Victoria,  everything  comes  out  right.  Peter 
Piper  and  Lady  Patricia  have  a  lovely  wedding, 
and  Racketty-Packetty  House  becomes  the  trea- 
sured possession  of  the  princess,  with  the  hope 
of  spending  the  rest  of  its  days  in  Buckingham 
Palace. 

Cynthia  exclaimed  wonderingly:  "That  old 
Racketty-Packetty  House  !"  and  even  Peter  Piper 
himself  could  not  understand  that  it  was  the  gay 
good  nature  and  courage  of  the  Racketty-Pack- 
etties that  accounted  for  their  rise  in  the  world, 
as  well  as  for  Lady  Patricia's  affection  for  them. 
Peter  always  maintained,  and  this  is  the  only 
thing  against  Peter,  that  Lady  Patricia  had 
"fallen  in  love"  with  him. 

Children  (and,  of  course,  dolls  too)  have  so 
many  important  things  of  their  own  to  think 
about,  that  it  is  not  necessary  for  them  to  borrow 
grown-up  words  and  ways  in  order  to  have  real 
drama.  The  whole  world  is  a  playhouse  for  the 
children.  Frost-work  and  rainbows  and  the  little 
horned  moon,  tangled  forests  and  dragons  and 
heroes,  palaces  and  shop-windows  and  the  house 
next  door,  are  all  "stage-properties."  The  chil- 
dren themselves  are  the  actors,  and  Young  Imagi- 
nation is  the  stage-director.  So,  you  see,  there 
is  no  limit  to  the  dramatic  possibilities  that  may 
arise.  Neither  time,  nor  space,  nor  rhyme,  nor 
reason  has  anything  to  say  about  the  matter. 

"snow  white  and  the  seven  dwarfs" 
"Snow    White,"    in    its    exquisite    settings   and 
fairy  atmosphere,  possesses  charm  and  distinction 
above  most  grown-up  plays.     Here  are  those 


I9'4-] 


AT  THE  CHILDREN'S  MATINEE 


3  S3 


"IN    THE    TOPSYTURVY    PARLOR    OF    RACKETTY-PACKETTY    HOUSE. 

magic  casements  opening  on  the  foam  sea  or  land."     Each  scene   is   a  lovely  page  un- 

Of  perilous  seas,  in  faery  lands  forlorn,  folded     frQm    a    Hving    pjcture-book-a    wonder- 

and  glowing  with  the  "light  that  never  was  on     book  whose  pictures  laugh  and  dance  and  sing. 


THE    LOVELY    WEDDING   OF   PETER    PIPER   AND    LADY    PATRICIA. 


Vol.  XLL— 45. 


354 


AT  THE  CHILDREN'S  MATINEE 


[Feb., 


The  play  is  a  dramatization  of  the  old  fairy 
tale  of  the  little  princess  whose  hair  was  as  black 
as  night,  whose  skin  was  as  white  as  snow,  and 
whose  lips  were  as  red  as  blood.  How  she  is 
hated  by  the  wicked  Queen,  her  stepmother,  who 
tries  to  kill  her ;  how  she  escapes  through  the 
wood  to  the  house  of  the  kindly  dwarfs ;  how  the 
Queen  pursues  her  with  the  poisoned  apple,  which 
only  sticks  in  Snow  White's  throat  and  does  not 
really  poison  her  after  all— all  this  is  well  known 


QUEEN    BRANGOMAR   AND   THE    WITCH 


SNOW  WHITE. 


to  every  one,  but  no  one  before  has  seen  it  played 
in  such  magic  pictures. 

Some  thoughtful  person  had  whispered  to  the 
Witch  that  she  must  not  frighten  the  children, 
and  she  had  kindly  remembered;  but  no  one  had 
warned  the  wicked  Queen.  This  was  a  mistake, 
for  the  plot  would  have  been  just  as  clear  with- 
out so  much  emphasis  upon  her  jealousy  and  ha- 
tred. Children  are  sensible  little  philosophers, 
and  when  things  happen,  they  happen,  that  is  all.- 
Nobody  cares  much  why,  especially  if  the  cause 
must  be  explained  by  such  frightful  rages  as  the 
Queen  went  into.  Such  things  do  not  count  for 
much   in   real   life,   and   neither   should   they   in 


drama.  All  wicked  persons  please  take  notice  ! 
Children  see  right  through  you  from  the  start, 
so  you  do  not  need  to  put  yourselves  out  to  be 
horrid.  Just  be  as  horrid  as  usual,  and  they  will 
understand. 

In  the  end,  of  course,  all  the  power  of  the 
wicked  Queen  is  shattered  with  her  magic  mirror, 
and  the  princess,  Snow  White,  is  restored  to  her 
throne  and  her  kingdom.  The  curtain  falls  on 
that  last  lovely  scene  in  the  throne-room,  where 
Snoiv  White  dances  with  her  little  maids  of 
honor,  while  beyond  the  marble  terrace  glimmers 
the  blue,  blue  fairy  sea.  Very  slowly  and  often 
looking  backward,  the  wide-eyed  audiences  passed 
from  that  magic  brightness,  blinking,  out  into  the 
common  light  of  day. 

"the  poor  little  rich  girl" 
"Racketty-Packetty  House"  is  a  story-play, 
and  "Snow  White"  is  a  picture-play,  but  "The 
Poor  Little  Rich  Girl,"  by  Eleanor  Gates,  is  a 
child  problem-play.  Little  Gwendolyn  has  every- 
thing in  the  world  except  the  things  she  really 
wants,  — the  outdoors  to  play  in,  and  the  compan- 
ionship of  her  "too  busy"  father  and  mother.  She 
is  left  to  the  mercy  of  maids  and  governesses, 
and  tries  to  make  the  best  of  things  with  "pre- 
tend friends"  and  "pretend  fun" ;  but  her  problem 
is  a  pretty  hard  one,  and  is  finally  solved  almost 
at  the  cost  of  her  life. 

A  wickedly  careless  nurse-maid,  in  order  to 
secure  an  evening  out,  gives  Gzvendolyn  an  over- 
dose of  sleeping  potion,  and  for  a  long  anxious 
night  the  little  girl  battles  for  her  life  in  the 
midst  of  the  delirious  fancies  which  beset  her. 
These  feverish  dreams  that  pass  through  her 
head  make  up  the  episodes  of  the  play,  and 
Gzvendolyn  herself  takes  an  active  part  in  the 
fantastical  scenes,  which  change  constantly  just 
as  they  do  in  a  dream.  The  outcome  of  the  nurse- 
maid's error  is  at  first  uncertain,  but  morning 
finds  the  danger  past,  Father  and  Mother  at  the 
bedside,  and  all  Gwendolyn's  "dearest  pretends" 
about  to  come  true. 

The  message  of  the  play  is  for  parents  rather 
than  for  children,  and  so  "The  Poor  Little  Rich 
Girl"  is  not  strictly  a  child's  play.  Nor  is  the 
circumstance  from  which  the  play  arises  a  pleas- 
ant one  to  consider.  It  is  hard  to  forget  that  be- 
hind the  whimsical  fantasy  is  a  little  lonely  child 
lying  between  life  and  death,  and  this  situation 
prevents  the  play  from  being  really  "enjoyable." 
Yet  it  may  be  something  much  better,  if  it  helps 
other  little  Gwendolyns  to  find  their  mothers  and 
fathers  too. 

As  a  dream-play,  it  is  quite  wonderful.  Scen- 
ery shifts  miraculously,  almost  before  your  eyes, 


I9M-] 


AT  THE  CHILDREN'S  MATINEE 


355 


while  people  and  things  change  from  what  they  And  on  the  way  home,  after  you  have  fully  ex- 
seem  to  be  to  what  they  really  are,  and  yet  the  pressed  your  opinion  of  the  performance,  and 
connection  between  the  dream  and  the  reality  is     mentioned  all  the  thoughts  that  came  into  your 


SNOW  WHITE    AND    THE    SEVEN    DWARFS. 


never  lost.  The  governess  becomes  a  "snake  in  head  during  those  two  delightful,  tongue-tied 
the  grass,"  the  nurse,  a  "two-faced  thing,"  the  hours  in  ihe  theater,  there  is  still  another  plea- 
policeman,   '"heels  over  head,"   and  other  pictur-     sure  in  store  for  you,   for,  if  you  are  like  some 


THE    POOR   LITTLE   RICH   GIRL'S    "PRETENDS"    COME    TRUE. 


esque   phrases,    such   as,   "a    stiff   upper   lip,"    "a  other   young   people   I   know,   you   will   probably 

sharp  eye,"  "riding  a  hobby,"  and  "burning  the  amuse  yourself  by  seeing  how  many  more  curi- 

candle  at  both  ends,"   find  literal  expression   in  ous  expressions  you  can  discover  in  this  marve- 

the  dream.  lous  language  of  ours. 


356 


AT  THE   CHILDREN'S   MATINEE 


[Feb., 


j§3^@^§^@^@^ 


A    SCENE    FROM    "LITTLE    WOMEN. 


LITTLE    WOMEN 

It  is  somewhat  of  a  question  to  decide  whether 
one  wants  to  go  to  see  "Little  Women"  or  not, 
but  it  is  a  question  that  must  be  settled  by  going 
to  see  them.  If  the  book  is  very  clear  to  you,  if 
it  is  associated  with  all  your  own  little-girlhood, 
if  Meg  and  Jo  and  Beth  and  Amy  have  been 
playmates  and  companions  of  your  thoughts  for 
years,  then  you  will  have  queer  feelings  when 
the'  curtain  goes  up  and  discovers  them  all  there 
before  you  on  the  stage.  It  is  like  seeing  one's 
own  family  up  there.  And  how  you  would  feel 
about  that  may  decide  your  feelings  about  the 
play. 

The  players  too  are  in  an  embarrassing  situa- 
tion. All  the  little  girls  in  the  house  know  the 
story  by  heart.  They  know  just  how  the  little 
women  should  look,  how  they  should  dress,  and 
how  they  should  act.  You  can  see  the  difficulty 
of  realizing  all  those  loved  and  conflicting  ideals 
at  the  same  time.  The  audience  is  altogether 
too  knowing. 

The  play  begins  where  the  book  does,  in  the 
sitting-room  of  the  old  Concord  home,  with  the 


four  girls  talking  and  dreaming  around  the  fire, 
and  ends  in  the  orchard  at  Plumfield,  with  every- 
body grown  up.  The  events  between,  brought 
out  in  such  a  leisurely  manner  in  the  book,  crowd 
fast  upon  each  other  in  the  play,  and  remind 
one  of  the  way  people  walk  in  moving  pictures. 
It  seems  as  if  the  actors  ought  to  be  fairly 
breathless.  When  Jo  protests  against  John 
Brooke's  visits  to  Meg,  and  says,  "We  are  all 
growing  up  too  fast,"  the  audience  feels  that 
she  has  found  the  root  of  the  trouble.  They  are 
indeed  growing  up  too  fast,  three  or  four  times 
too  fast ! 

That  is  the  difficulty  of  making  a  play  out  of  a 
two-volume  story.  A  book  lets  you  take  your 
time  to  it ;  a  play  must  stop  at  dinner-time  or 
bedtime.  So  when  a  long  story  is  put  into  a 
short  play,  there  is  bound  to  be  a  misfit. 

Then,  too,  as  everybody  knows,  the  best  part 
of  "Little  Women"  is  the  first  part.  The  second 
and  more  grown-up  half  was  added  only  because 
of  the  demand  for  "more."  But  it  is  with  the 
second  part  that  the  play  is  most  concerned,  and 
perhaps  that  is  the  reason  for  a  final  feeling  of 
disappointment.    While  the  young  ladies  are  very' 


I9I4-] 


AT  THE  CHILDREN'S  MATINEE 


357 


charming  and  agreeable,  it  is  as  "little  women" 
that  they  are  known  and  loved  best. 

"peter  pan" 
And  "Peter  Pan,"  who  stayed  so  long  in  the 
Never  Never  Never  Land  that  the  children  were 
afraid  he  had  forgotten  the  way  back,  came  flut- 
tering joyously  down  among  them  once  more  and 
made  every  one  drop  his  bundles  and  join  hands 
in  a  rollicking  ring. 

That  is  Peter  Pan's  way.  He  does  just  what 
his  godfather,  Sir  James  Matthew  Barrie,  once 
wrote  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson:  "He  tugs  at 
the  skirts  of  this  old  world,  and  makes  it  come 
out  to  play." 

Why  does  Peter  not  stay  and  live  with  us? 
Why  will  he  not  yield  to  Wendy's  loving  plea? 
Why  must  Peter,  who  loves  the  firelight  and  the 
story-telling  and  the  "thimbles,"  turn  from  them 
all  and  go  back,  lonely  at  heart  but  bravely  pipT 
ing,  to  the  Land  of  Never  Never  ?  So  many  lit- 
tle hearts,  in  England  and  America,  have  asked 
this  question,  and  longed  to  add  their  pleadings 
to  Wendy's  coaxing  voice. 

But  Peter  knows  a  fairy  secret.  You  cannot 
get  at  the  pinkness  of  a  rose  by  crushing  the 
petals  in  your  fingers ;  you  cannot  shut  up  the 
sunbeams  in  a  strong-box ;  you  cannot  gain  hap- 
piness by  grasping  the  things  you  want.     A  poet 


learned   this   secret   too,   and   told   it  to  mortals 
thus : 

Love  thou  the  rose,  yet  leave  it  on  its  stem. 

Think  !  Midas  starved  by  turning  all  to  gold. 

Blessed  are  those  that  spare  and  that  withhold, 
Because  the  whole  world  shall  be  trusted  them. 

And  so  Peter,  loving  stories  and  firelight,  lov- 
ing Wendy  and  Wendy's  mother,  is  yet  true  to 
himself  and  to  the  fairy  world,  and  in  that  he 
finds  eternal  youth  and  joy.  His  home  is  the  land 
of  dreams,  and  his  joyous  mission  it  is  to  pass 
back  and  forth  between  There  and  Here  to  keep 
the  paths  open  for  us,  — flitting  lightly  over  the 
barriers  of  doubt  and  selfish  common-sense,  to 
prove  that  there  arc  fairies,  after  all,  —  that  there 
really  is  a  Land  of  Never  Never. 

There  were  many  wistful  eyes  watching  when 
Peter  finally  disappeared  over  the  tree-tops,  but 
Miss  Adams,  through  whose  eyes  Peter  looks  at 
us,  and  with  whose  voice  he  speaks  (surely  she 
must  be  Peter  too),  promises  that  he  shall  come 
back  to  New  York  every  year  at  Christmas  to 
spend  the  holidays.  She  has  chosen  this  time  be- 
cause it  is  the  nicest  time  for  the  children,  and 
the  most  convenient  for  Wendy  besides.  Wendy, 
you  remember,  goes  to  the  Never  Never  Never 
Land  early  in  the  spring  to  do  Peter's  house- 
cleaning  for  him,  and  Peter,  of  course,  must  be 
at  home  to  welcome  her  when  she  comes. 


THE    PIPE    OF    PEACE. 


BOOKS   AND    READING 

BY  HILDEGARDE  HAWTHORNE 


THE  GREAT  MARLBOROUGH  AND 
SOME  OTHERS 

There  is  a  song  still  sung  by  French  children  of 
which  the  refrain  runs  so : 

Malbrough  s'en  va-t-en  Guerre. 
(  Marlborough  goes  to  war. ) 

To-day  this  song  is  just  a  nursery  jingle.  But 
time  was  when  it  struck  terror  into  the  child 
who  heard  it,  or  even  the  grown-ups.  For  Marl- 
borough went  to  war  with  a  vengeance,  pretty 
much  all  over  Europe,  and  wherever  he  met 
the    French,    he    defeated   them.      He   broke   the 


After  painting  by  Adriaan  Vander  Werff. 
THE    DUKE   OF  MARLBOROUGH. 

plans  of  Louis  XIV  of  France  to  establish  the 
French  power  over  Flanders  and  the  Netherlands, 
and  made  England  supreme  in  the  new  alliance 
that  embraced  all  the  great  Powers.  He  joined 
England  and  Scotland  in  a  union  that  has  en- 
dured till  this  day,  and  he  was  in  truth  the  real 
ruler  of  England  throughout  the  reign  of  Anne. 
A  picturesque  figure  was  this  great  earl.  The 
French  called  him  "the  handsome  Englishman," 
while    Lord    Chesterfield    said    of    him    that    he 


"engrossed  all  the  graces."  Charming,  winning, 
with  a  "careless  sweetness"  of  manner  that  made 
him  a  general  favorite  in  society,  he  was  also 
a  man  of  iron  constitution  and  dauntless  courage. 
He  had  made  a  love-match  with  a  beautiful  and 
fascinating  woman  of  violent  temper,  and  he 
adored  his  wife  to  the  end.  Through  her,  he 
absolutely  ruled  the  weak  Queen  Anne,  for  she, 
also,  worshiped  the  Duchess  of  Marlborough. 
Between  Her  Majesty  and  the  lady  all  questions 
of  rank  were  dropped;  and  in  their  familiar  in- 
tercourse the  duchess  became  "Mrs.  Freeman" 
and  the  queen  "Mrs.  Morley." 

For  all  his  charm  and  all  his  greatness,  how- 
ever, Marlborough,  or  John  Churchill,  as  he  was 
known  before  being  created  an  earl,  was  very 
little  bothered  with  considerations  of  honor. 

He  deserted  James  for  William,  and  then  con- 
spired to  drive  William  from  the  throne  and  put 
Anne  in  his  place,  well  knowing  that  this  would 
make  him  the  virtual  king  of  England.  These 
designs  were  discovered,  and  King  William  ban- 
ished the  earl  and  his  wife  from  court.  Princess 
Anne  followed  her  favorites.  But  Queen  Mary 
died,  and  William  had  to  recall  the  princess,  who 
was  heir  to  the  crown.  Back  with  her  came  the 
Marlboroughs ;  and  since  it  was  now  pretty  clear 
that  William  himself  had  not  long  to  live,  there 
was  no  danger  that  the  earl  would  again  betray 
his  sovereign.  The  king,  though  he  never  trusted 
him  more,  nor  liked  him,  yet  eventually  gave  him 
command  of  the  army  in  Holland,  and  recognized 
him  as  the  greatest  subject  in  England.  Wil- 
liam's death  was  hastened  by  a  fall  from  his 
horse,  and  in  dying  he  recommended  Anne  to 
take  Marlborough  as  the  fittest  guide  to  be  found. 

All  this  fighting,  all  the  changes  that  were  tak- 
ing place,  as  well  as  the  manners  and  customs  of 
the  times,  which  were  as  gay  and  highly  colored 
as  the  costumes,  make  these  years  of  England's 
history  extremely  interesting.  And  the  romance 
writers  have  given  us  some  exciting  stories. 

"In  Kings'  Houses,"  by  Julia  C.  R.  Dorr  (L.  C. 
Page,  $1.50),  tells  about  London  during  the  last 
of  William's  and  the  earlier  years  of  Anne's 
reign.  It  is  a  story  that  brings  in  many  of  the 
famous  persons  of  the  day,  and  it  is  exceedingly 
readable. 

To  this  period  belongs  Thackeray's  great 
novel,  "Henry  Esmond."  The  story  is  supposed 
to  be  written  in  George  Ill's  time,  but  it  relates 


358 


BOOKS  AND   READING 


359 


to  Anne's  reign.  Marlborough,  General  Webb, 
Steele,  with  Lord  Mohun,  and  Hamilton  the  un- 
fortunate, all  come  into  the  story,  as  does  the 
youthful  "Old  Pretender,"  James  III,  as  he  was 
called  by  the  Jacobites.  It  is  one  of  the  immor- 
tal novels  of  the  world,  a  wonderful,  entrancing 
story,  full  of  details  that  put  the  characters  and 
the  places  clearly  before  you,  realistic  as  the 
account  of  an  eye-witness,  or  rather  of  some  one 
who  did  himself  go  through  with  the  scenes  de- 
picted. It  is  a  book  that  you  will  enjoy  all  your 
life,  and  you  must  surely  read  it  for  a  faithful 
picture  of  the  later  years  of  Anne's  reign. 

Before  we  get  entirely  away  from  King  Wil- 
liam, I  want  to  speak  of  a  bucaneering  story  that 
is  set  in  the  end  of  the  seventeenth  century.  The 
book  is  called  "A  Gentleman-Adventurer,"  and 
is  by  J.  Bloundelle-Burton.  It  is  timely  now,  be- 
cause it  tells  the  exciting  story  of  how  a  band 
of  English  pirates  made  the  famous  attempt  in 
the  year  1698  to  wrest  Panama  from  Spain.  It 
is  a  stirring,  adventurous  book  which  you  will 
greatly  enjoy.  I  do  not  know  whether  it  has 
been  published  in  America,  but  you  can  often 
find  it  in  libraries. 

The  indefatigable  Harrison  Ainsworth  has  not 
neglected  the  reign  of  Anne.  "St.  James,  or, 
The  Court  of  Queen  Anne,"  is  the  title  of  his 
novel,  which  has  many  pictures  of  court  and  so- 
cial life  strung  on  a  story  that  will  hold  your 
interest. 

A  book  of  a  different  sort  is  Anne  Manning's 
"The  Old  Chelsea  Bunhouse."  It  was  written 
for  young  people,  and  is  a  quiet  but  fascinating 
story  with  a  lovely  flavor  of  the  bygone  times  of 
the  eighteenth  century  (Dutton,  $1). 

The  battles  of  Blenheim  and  Ramillies  were 
among  Marlborough's  magnificent  victories.  E. 
Everett  Green,  in  "Fallen  Fortunes,"  tells  us  a 
lot  not  only  of  London,  but  of  the  latter  of  these 
two  combats.  Henty  has  also  written  of  the 
mighty  captain,  who  was  called  the  most  power- 
ful, as  he  was  the  richest,  subject  the  world  had 
known.  There  are  two  books  by  him,  "A  Cornet 
of  Horse"  and  "With  the  Irish  Brigade,"  both 
telling  incidents  of  Marlborough's  foreign  wars. 
The  history  is  accurate,  and  the  stories,  with 
their  boy  heroes,  the  usual  Henty  kind  (Scrib- 
ner's  $2  and  $1.50). 

A  different  phase  of  the  period,  with  a  hero 
quite  as  famous  as  Marlborough,  for  very  differ- 
ent reasons,  is  contained  in  another  of  Ains- 
worth's  books,  "Rookwood,"  which  tells  the  ca- 
reer of  Dick  Turpin,  the  highwayman.  A  wild 
and  reckless  tale  it  is,  beginning  with  the  year 
1705  and  running  to  1739.  Dick's  famous  ride  is 
one  of  the  features  of  the  story  (Dutton,  $2). 


A  charming  juvenile,  if  you  can  get  hold  of  it, 
is  Lady  Catherine  Milnes  Gaskell's  "Old  Shrop- 
shire Life,"  full  of  tales  and  legends,  told  in  a 
simple  but  lovely  way,  about  Much  Wenlock  and 
neighboring  halls  and  villages.  The  quiet  coun- 
try spirit  of  the  early  eighteenth  century  is  re- 
flected delightfully  in  this  little  volume. 

Anne  died  in  1714,  and  after  some  anxiety 
George  I,  of  the  House  of  Hanover,  succeeded 
to   the  throne.     Marlborough's   glory   was   over, 


After  painting  by  Sir  Godfrey  Kneller. 
QUEEN  ANNE. 

the  queen  having  turned  against  him  some  time 
before  her  death,  and  another  sort  of  man  now 
guided  England.  Robert  Walpole,  the  hard-rid- 
ing, hard-drinking  country  squire,  with  his  big, 
ugly  face  and  burly  body,  his  shrewd  good  sense, 
and  genius  for  understanding  the  needs  of  his 
country,  stood  at  the  head  of  the  Whig  party. 
And  the  Whigs  ruled  England.  The  first  two 
Georges  were  commonplace  men  and  respectable 
kings,  but  with  Anne  the  last  shadow  of  real 
kingly  power  faded  from  the  throne.  Anne  had 
had  her  way  in  many  matters,  and  had  presided 
at  the  cabinet  councils  of  her  ministers.  This 
no  subsequent  sovereign  has  done,  nor  yet  ven- 
tured to  refuse  consent  to  an  Act  of  Parliament. 
The  Whigs  were  the  dominant  power  in  Parlia- 
ment, and  Walpole  was  their  leader. 
A  story  by  Charlotte  Yonge,  called  "Love  and 


360 


BOOKS  AND  READING 


Life,"  covers  all  of  Anne's  and  most  of  the  first 
two  Georges'  reigns.  It  is  written  for  the  young, 
and  is  a  faithful  picture  of  much  of  the  life  both 
in  city  and  country,  as  well  as  a  story  you  will 
enjoy  reading  (MacMillan,  $1.25). 

The  Jacobites,  as  the  people  who  favored  the 
Old  Pretender,  James,  or  his  son,  Charles,  the 
Young  Pretender,  were  called,  kept  right  along 
giving  England  a  lot  of  trouble.  The  year  after 
Anne's  death  there  was  a  great  uprising  of  these 
Jacobites  with  much  loss  of  life  and  wild  fight- 
ing. Walter  Besant's  "Dorothy  Forster"  is  a 
splendid  book  for  this  period.  The  story  is  sup- 
posed to  be  told  by  Dorothy  herself,  who  is  a 
garrulous  maid,  delighting  in  drawing  intimate 
pictures  of  her  friends,  the  gentry  of  Northum- 
berland. The  thrilling  and  heartbreaking  story 
of  the  rebellion  leads  on  to  London,  with  scenes 
of  Georgian  society,  and  to  the  Tower,  and 
finally  to  Newgate.  The  romantic  and  chival- 
rous figure  of  the  Earl  of  Derwentwater  domi- 
nates the  book,  as  he  did  the  heart  of  Dorothy 
(Dodd,  Mead,  $1). 

Bulwer  has  also  written  a  very  interesting 
story  of  this  same  eventful  year,  1715,  "Dever- 
eux"  (Little,  Brown,  $2.50,  2  vols.).  Fielding, 
Swift,  Addison.  Pope,  the  Minister  Bolingbroke, 
and  many  other  famous  personages  come  into  the 
narrative,  and  are  cleverly  characterized. 

A  book  that  tells  us  of  the  London  of  Walpole 
and  Bolingbroke,  with  most  of  the  action  in  the 
years  1726-7,  is  M.  E.  Braddon's  "Mohawks" 
(Harper,  25  cents).  About  the  same  spot  in  his- 
tory is  covered  in  the  light,  amusing  story  by 
Agnes  and  Egerton  Castle,  "French  Nan." 

Scott's  beautiful  romance  of  "Rob  Roy"  shows 
us  Scotland  and  the  Scots  during  these  Jacobite 
troubles.  For  pure  bewitchment,  Scott  never 
wrote  a  more  enchanting  tale  than  this. 

Another  novel  by  Besant  is  set  in  the  reign  of 
George  II,  running  from  1740  to  1760.  It  is  "The 
World  Went  Very  Well  Then,"  and  is  filled  with 
love,  war,  and  adventure,  on  shipboard  and  at 
Deptford-on-Thames  (Harper's,  $1.25  and  25 
cents). 

I  dare  say  many  of  you  have  seen  Booth  Tar- 
kington's  play  "Monsieur  Beaucaire."  The  book 
is  even  better  and  more  engrossing  than  the  play, 
and  belongs  just  here  in  our  long  list  of  ro- 
mances. Bath,  with  its  famous  Pump-room,  is 
the  scene,  and  the  men  and  women  are  typical 
of  the  day.  Two  other  stories  by  the  Castles 
also  fit  in  at  this  place,  "The  Bath  Comedy," 
with  its  sequel,  "Incomparable  Bellairs."  These 
are  slight,  gay  little  tales,  but  they  reproduce  the 


spirit  and  manners  of  eighteenth- century  Eng- 
land very  cleverly. 

Henty's  "Bonnie  Prince  Charley"  gives  the 
Jacobite  side  of  affairs.  But  a  book  that  pre- 
sents the  whole  movement  in  truly  wonderful 
and  moving  fashion  is  Scott's  well-known  "Wa- 
verley,"  the  first  of  the  long  chain  of  novels  he 
was  to  write.  It  is  a  romantic  story,  tragic 
enough  at  times,  and  among  other  events  pre- 
sents the  ill-fated  field  of  Culloden,  and  the  exe- 
cution of  the  great  Highland  Chief,  the  hero's 
friend  and  companion-in-arms.  His  "Heart  of 
Midlothian"  should  also  be  read  at  this  time. 
Queen  Caroline,  wife  of  George  II,  is  one  of  the 
characters,  and  the  Porteous  Riots  in  Edinburgh 
provide  much  of  the  interest.  Most  of  the  book 
is  devoted  to  humble  Scotch  life,  however,  and 
you  will  learn  a  great  deal  of  just  how  all  these 
big  affairs  looked  to  the  poorer  folk.  Jeanie 
Deans,  one  of  these  humble  persons,  has  been 
called  Scott's  noblest  heroine.  A  fine  brave  lass 
she  is,  and  a  friend  worth  having,  even  though 
she  lives  inside  a  book. 

In  the  year  1745,  there  was  another  rebellion 
of  the  Jacobites.  A  good  book  that  is  laid  in  this 
time  is  Amelia  Barr's  "Thyra  Varick,"  and  also 
her  "Berenicia,"  which  tells  of  the  hard  years 
following  the  uprising. 

Several  of  Robert  Louis  Stevenson's  matchless 
adventure  tales  belong  to  the  time  of  the  Georges. 
The  Scotch  stories,  "David  Balfour,"  "Kid- 
napped," and  "Catriona,"  are  all  Jacobite  tales. 
And  what  tales  they  are  !  How  living,  how  un- 
forgetable,  how  actual !  You  will  feel  very  much 
at  home  in  the  days  of  King  George  when  you 
have  read  these  three  books. 

Stevenson's  "Treasure  Island"  is  also  set  about 
the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  and  is  an 
accurate  picture  of  the  possibilities  of  adventure 
and  character  in  that  not-so-distant  day.  A  more 
splendid  and  rousing  story  was  never  written, 
and  from  the  first  moment  when  the  old  brown 
seaman  with  the  saber  cut  across  one  cheek  ap- 
pears on  the  dusty  road,  to  that  when  you  close 
the  volume  on  the  dream-sound  of  "pieces  of 
eight,  pieces  of  eight,"  you  cannot  bear  to  sepa- 
rate yourself  from  the  story  even  to  eat  and 
sleep. 

This  will  do  for  one  month.  Though,  if  you 
want  very  good  measure,  you  might  take  up 
Charles  Reade's  "Peg  Woffington,"  as  delightful 
a  tale  (dramatized  under  the  name  of  "Masks 
and  Faces")  as  ever  there  was;  or  dip  into  "The 
Spectator,"  which  is  first-hand  information,  for 
it  was  written  in  the  times  of  which  it  tells. 


THE  BABY  BEARS'  FOURTH  ADVENTURE 


BY  GRACE  G.  DRAYTON 


The  little  cubs  try  hard  at  school 
To  learn,  and  use,  the  Golden  Rule. 


tyijama^ 


ifnfi 


fo« 


The  teacher  kisses  them  good-by, 
And  gives  them  each  an  apple-pie. 


Vol.  XLL—  46. 


361 


362 


FOR   VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


[Feb., 


1914] 


FOR  VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


363 


"  Let  's  rub  our  rings  and  wish,"  said  they 
"  It  's  lots  of  valentines  so  gay!" 


And  oh,  what  joy  for  Sam  and  Sue  ! 

The  rings  had  made  their  wish  come  true! 


AN    ENGLISH    SPARROW    LEARNING    THE    CANARY  S    SONG. 


TRAINING   ENGLISH  SPARROWS  TO  BECOME 
PLEASING  SINGERS 

Who  would  have  thought  that  the  much-abused 
English  sparrow,  with  his  homely  dress  and  mo- 
notonous chirp,  possesses  the  ability  to  imitate 
to  a  large  degree  our  most  popular  house-bird, 
the  canary  ?  Dr.  Conradi,  of  Clark  University, 
has  demonstrated  that  this  is  the  case.  In  his  ex- 
periments he  has  sought  to  have  the  sparrow, 
from  the  very  first,  hear  onlv  the  notes  and  songs 


AN    ENGLISH    SPARROW    ADDING    HIS    DISCORDANT 

NOTES   TO   THE   HARSH   SOUNDS   OF 

HUMAN    INDUSTRY. 

of  the  canary.  To  do  this  he  placed  some  spar- 
row eggs,  for  the  last  few  days  previous  to  hatch- 
ing, in  canary  nests.     These  experiments  failed, 


since  the  canaries  did  not  make  good  guardians 
for  the  young  sparrows.  They  neglected  or  de- 
serted the  young  birds,  and  in  one  case  the  fe- 
male deliberately  trampled  them  to  death. 

Of  several  sparrows  about  a  day  old  that  were 
placed  in  charge  of  canaries,  only  one  lived.  This 
one  in  due  course  developed  the  sparrow  chirp 
when  calling  for  food,  but  he  did  not  long  con- 
tinue to  use  it.  In  the  room  in  which  he  was 
kept  were  about  twenty  canaries,  and  some  of 
these  were  constantly  singing.  The  chirp  of  the 
sparrow  was  heard  less  and  less  frequently,  and 
instead,  his  call  changed  into  a  fine  peep,  this 
becoming  mellow  and  more  like  the  whistle  of  a 
quail  as  he  grew  older.  This  sparrow,  which  was 
hatched  in  July,  showed  no  desire  to  sing  until 
the  latter  part  of  October,  when  he  suddenly 
chimed  in  with  the  canaries  "in  his  own  fashion, 
giving  a  low  note  followed  by  a  few  high  notes, 
with  now  and  then  some  slurs  from  a  high  to  a 
low  note  similar  to  the  notes  the  canaries  have 
in  their  overtures."  This  he  continued  for  a  few 
clays,  until,  suddenly  becoming  ill,  he  did  not  sing 
for  some  weeks.  When  he  recovered  his  health, 
he  again  burst  into  song.  This  time  it  was  a 
confusion  of  notes  resembling  the  sounds  made 
when  three  of  the  canaries  were  together  singing 
at  their  best.  This  outburst  he  kept  up  daily  with 
much  enthusiasm  as  long  as  he  was  associated 
with  the  canaries.     Another  sparrow,  which,  dur- 


364 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


365 


ing  the  most  impressionistic  weeks  of  his  life, 
heard  only  occasional  canary  notes,  later  devel- 
oped the  canary  song  to  a  very  high  degree,  ex- 
cept that  the  voice  did  not  have  the  musical  finish 
of  that  of  the  songsters.  Both  these  sparrows 
adopted  the  call-note  as  well  as  the  songs  of  the 


RED-HEADED    WOODPECKER   AND   THE   TREE-FROG 
WHICH    HE    MIMICS. 

canary.  In  May,  they  were  removed  from  the 
canaries  and  placed  in  an  open  room  where  they 
pretty  continuously  heard  the  natural  call  of  the 
sparrow.  Here  they  were  unable  to  stimulate 
each   other   to    continue   their   musical   perform- 


THE  WREN    PERHAPS   IMITATES   THE   SOUND 
OF   A   BROOK. 

ances,  the  "call  of  the  wild"  proving  too  over- 
powering. They  gradually  developed  the  "chirp, 
chirp"  of  their  brethren,  although  their  notes 
were  never  so  harsh  as  those  of  the  wild  birds. 
In  the  fall,  they  were  returned  to  the  room  in 
which  the  canaries  were  kept,  and  there  soon 
regained  the  accomplishments  which  they  had 
lost  during  the  summer. 

These  experiments  would  seem  to  lend  support 
to  the  idea  that  some  of  the  most  beautiful  sones 


MOCKING-BIRD,    BOB-WHITE,    BLUE-JAY   (IN   FLIGHT),    AND   KING-BIRD. 


366 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Feb., 


of  our  birds  are  an  imitation  of  sounds  which 
they  hear  in  nature.  One  cannot  help  wondering 
if  the  unattractive  sparrow  acquired  his  noisy  and 
disagreeable  chirp  through  his  long  continued 
association  with  the  noises  and  sounds  made  in 
civilized  communities.— Maud  DeWitt  Pearl. 

Many  scientists  have  studied  the  manner  in 
which  birds  may  be  taught  to  imitate  the  songs 
of  other  birds.     It  is  said  by  some  that  birds' 


THE    WEIRD    SOLITUDE    FINDS    A    VOICE    IN 
THE   OWL'S    NOTES. 


songs  are  largely,  if  not  entirely,  a  matter  of  imi- 
tation, though  other  scientists  do  not  accept  this 
suggestion  as  even  probable.  Edward  Conradi, 
Ph.D.,  has  extensively  investigated  not  only  the 
songs  of  English  sparrows,  but  of  several  other 
birds,  and  in  an  interesting  pamphlet  tells  us  the 
results  of  his  own  investigations  and  those  of 
other  ornithologists. 

Mr.  C.  A.  Witchell  finds  that  "imitation  is  very 
prominent  in  bird  song.  Birds  in  their  wild  state 
not  only  imitate  other  birds,  but  also  insects, 
quadrupeds,  and  sounds  produced  by  the  elements." 
A  few  of  his  illustrations  will  make  his  point 
clear:  the  voices  of  the  owls  simulate  the  moan- 
ing of  the  wind  in  hollow  trees,  such  as  these 
birds  frequent;  the  szuee  rce  of  the  common  swift 
is  similar  to  the  swish  of  his  wings  as  he  skims 
through  the  air;  the  voices  of  mallards,  pelicans, 
flamingos,  and  herons  resemble  the  croaking  of 
frogs  and  toads.  In  British  Columbia,  he  heard 
a  wren  imitating  perfectly  the  trickling  of  water. 
Moreover,  many  of  the  warbling  birds  build  their 
nests  not  far  from  water,  probably  on  account  of 
the  insect  supply,  and  are  thus  often  within  hear- 
ing of  the  intricate  music  of  babbling  brooks.  He 
thinks  that  such  birds  as  the  robin,  wren,  hedge- 
sparrow,  blackbird,  and  blackcap,  which  sing  mel- 
low tones  and  intervals  of  pitch  rather  than 
imitations  of  other  sounds,  may  have  acquired 
this  music  partly  through  the  influence  of  the 
murmurs  and  gurgles  of  rippling  streams.     The 


common  call-note  of  the  brown  wren  resembles 
the  chirp  of  the  cricket— this  bird  is  generally 
found  along  hedge-rows  where  crickets  abound, 
and  thus  hears  the  cricket's  chirp  by  day  and  by 
night.  The  song  of  the  grasshopper-warbler  is 
exactly  like  the  persistent  song  of  the  green  field- 
cricket.  The  cry  of  the  ostrich  resembles  the 
roar  of  the  lion,  and  the  shrill  note  of  the  red- 
headed woodpecker  that  of  a  species  of  tree-frog 
which  frequents  the  same  trees.  In  the  latter 
case,  the  resemblance  is  so  great  that  the  cries 
can  hardly  be  distinguished.  The  squirrel  and 
the  snake  reproduce  in  their  alarm-cries  the 
sounds  made  by  these  animals  during  rapid  re- 
treat— the  squirrel  the  swish  of  a  long  twig,  and 
the  snake  the  rustling  of  dry  grass  as  she  glides 
through  it.  He  gives  very  numerous  instances  of 
birds  imitating  other  birds. 

Mr.  W.  E.  D.  Scott  investigated  the  Baltimore 
orioles.  When  left  without  training,  they  sing  a 
song  of  their  own.  Two  birds  isolated  from  their 
own  kind  and  from  all  other  birds,  but  with  a 
strong  inherited  tendency  to  sing,  originated  a 
novel  method  of  song.  Four  birds,  isolated  from 
wild  representatives  of  their  own  kind  and  asso- 
ciated with  the  two  that  had  invented  the  new 
song,  learned  it  from  them  and  never  sang  in  any 
other  way. 

Mr.  W.  H.  Hudson,  in  his  observations  in  South 
America    on    this    interesting    subject,    says    that 


GRASSHOPPER-SPARROW    AND   THE   GRASSHOPPERS 
WHICH    HE   MIMICS. 


the  notes  of  the  parent  birds  affect  the  young  of 
several  species  even  before  they  are  hatched. 

"When  the  little  prisoner  is  hammering  at  its 
shell,  and  uttering  its  feeble  peep,  as  if  begging 
to  be  let  out,  if  the  warning  note  is  uttered,  even 


I9I4-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


367 


at  a  considerable  distance,  the  strokes  and  com- 
plaining instantly  cease,  and  the  chick  will  then 
remain  quiescent  in  the  shell  for  a  long  time,  or 
until  the  parent,  by  a  changed  note,  conveys  to  it 
an  intimation  that  the  danger  is  over." 

The  subject  is  important,  entertaining,  and  in- 
structive. It  affords  a  comparatively  new  field 
for  study,  and  one  that  is  within  the  reach  of 
many  who  love  birds  and  desire  to  increase  the 
world's  store  of  valuable  information. 

A  HITCHING-POST  FOR  COLUMBUS 
IN  PORTO  RICO 

Just  outside  the  city  of  Ponce,  Porto  Rico,  on 
the  road  to  Juana  Diaz,   is  an  enormous   ceiba- 


and  ate  within  the  shelter  of  the  roots  for  nearly 
a  twelvemonth,  and  until  told  by  the  civic  au- 
thorities that  he  would  be  obliged  to  find  a  less 
public  place  in  which  to  make  his  home. 

The  particular  root  which,  tradition  says,  Co- 
lumbus used,  still  thrusts  out  its  strong  and  vigor- 
ous arm.  The  branches  of  the  tree  are  wide- 
spreading  and  perhaps  gave  shade  to  the  resting 
explorer  and  his  party.  — Frederic  Dean. 

There  are  various  traditions  regarding  this 
tree.  Some  people  even  claim  that  the  "hitching" 
was  for  horses,  and  some  that  it  was  for  ships. 
But  aside  from  all  traditions,  the  tree  is  remark- 
ably interesting.  At  the  request  of  the  editor  of 
this  department,  Mr.  J.  N.  Rose,  Research  Asso- 


A    FAMOUS    OLD    TREE    IN*    PORTO    RICO,    KNOWN    AS    "  COLUMBUS  S    HITCHI NG-POST. 


tree,  known  as  "Columbus's  hitching-post."  Sci- 
entists, who  have  examined  the  tree,  say  that  it  is 
fully  a  thousand  years  old,  and  the  people  who 
live  in  its  vicinity  declare  that  the  peculiar  for- 
mation of  the  roots— protruding  some  ten  or 
twelve  feet  up  from  the  ground— was  noted  by 
them  in  their  childhood,  and  had  been  described 
to  them  by  their  fathers  and  grandfathers  as 
remaining  without  change  for  generations. 

These  roots— which  form  a  complete  circle  of 
fully  eighteen  or  twenty  feet  in  diameter — are 
now  inclosed  with  a  stout  wire  fence  to  keep  out 
intruders.  Old  residents  of  the  city  remember 
the  time  when  a  member  of  their  borough  slept 


ciate  of  the  United  States  Museum,  personally 
visited  the  tree  and  carefully  examined  it.  He 
reports  as  follows : 

"The  editor  of  this  department  made  inquiry 
of  me  regarding  a  tree  called  Columbus's  hitch- 
ing-post. Upon  investigation  I  found  that  this 
tree  is  the  so-called  silk-cotton  tree,  Cciba  pen- 
tandra.  I  did  not  then  learn,  however,  the  rea- 
son for  the  popular  name  or  the  place  where  this 
name  was  first  applied.  One  can  easily  imagine 
the  pleasure  it  gave  me,  therefore,  when,  on  visit- 
ing the  island  of  Santo  Domingo,  recently,  I 
found  the  very  tree  to  which,  according  to  tradi- 
tion, Columbus  tied  his  shio  when  visiting  that 


368 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Feb., 


island,  over  four  hundred  years  ago.  The  sur- 
roundings are  such  that  one  is  inclined  to  accept 
the  story  as  true.  The  tree  is  just  outside  of  the 
wall  of  the  old  town  of  Santo  Domingo,  founded 
by  Columbus  in  1496,  and  near  the  landing-stage 
of  all  boats.  This  spot  may  have  been  the  land- 
ing-place in  prehistoric  times.  At  the  present 
time,  the  wharf  of  the  Hamburg-American  Line 
steamers  is  but  a  few  feet  away  from  this  tree, 
which  is  the  only  one  of  any  size  along  the  river 
front.  It  is  doubtless  very  old,  and  may  well  have 
been  there  five  hundred  years.  The  trunk  is  thick 
and  short,  all  the  large  branches  but  one  having 
been  broken  off,  giving  the  tree  a  one-sided  shape. 
The  city  of  Santo  Domingo  has  recently  built  a 
fence  about  the  tree  to  protect  it  from  vandals." 

SALT  FROM  SEA-WATER 
The  accompanying  photograph  shows  a  pile  of 
salt  manufactured  near  San  Diego,  California, 
by  evaporating  sea-water.  During  the  very  high 
tides,  which  occur  about  twice  a  month,  the  water 
flows  into  a  large  storage  pond,  and  after  a  short 
time  is  pumped  into  small,  shallow  ones,  where  it 
is  kept  until  partly  evaporated  by  the  sun's  heat. 
It  is  then  let  into  smaller  and  still  shallower 
ponds,  known  as  lime  or  pickle  ponds,  in  which 
it  stays  until  it  is  so  nearly  evaporated  that  the 
remaining  brine  is  about  sixty  per  cent,  salt  and 
about  forty  per  cent,  water,  and  where  the  gyp- 
sum, magnesium,  and  other  foreign  substances 
are  deposited,  so  that,  when  the  brine  is  drawn  off 
into  the  crystallizing  ponds,  or  "vats,"  as  they  are 
called,  it  is  rid- of  most  of  its  impurities. 

In  the  bottom  of  these  vats  most  of  the  salt 


and  again  until  the  layer  of  salt  is  about  ten 
inches  thick,  when  it  is  broken  up  and  taken 
to  the  washer.     Here  it  is  forced  through  water 


A    PILE    OF    SALT    UNDER    THE    WASHER    AND    STACKER, 
READY    FOR    SHIPMENT. 

in  the  brine  then  gathers  in  the  shape  of  crystals, 
when  the  water  is  pumped  out,  being  replaced  by 
fresh   brine.     The   operation    is    repeated   again 


NOT    ICE,    BUT    SALT,    DEPOSITED    EIGHT    INCHES    DEEP 

ON    THE    BOTTOM    OF   A    CRYSTALLIZING 

POND,    OR    "VAT." 

which  is  too  salty  to  dissolve  any  of  it,  but  which 
cleans  it  thoroughly.  The  salt  is  then  taken  up 
in  wire  baskets,  sprayed  with  fresh  water,  and 
passed  to  a  conveyer  by  which  it  is  dumped  on 
the  stack  shown  in  the  cut.  It  is  still  "commer- 
cial" salt,  however,  and  good  only  for  tanning, 
pickling,  freezing  ice-cream,  and  the  like.  Before 
it  is  fit  for  table  use  it  must  be  dissolved  in  abso- 
lutely pure  water  and  crystallized  again,  this  sec- 
ond process  being  repeated  over  and  over  until 
all  of  the  impurities  are  removed. 

H.  S.  McDonald. 

THORNS  IN  WHICH  ANTS  LIVE 

At  one  of  the  Central  American  ports  where  our 
steamer  called  on  a  recent  trip  from  Panama  to 
San  Francisco,  I  took  a  walk  ashore  and  was  in- 
terested in  some  thorny  shrubs  of  the  acacia  tribe 
which  I  found  growing  wild.  The  needle-pointed 
thorns  were  an  inch  and  a  half,  or  more,  long, 
and  set  on  the  branch  in  diverging  pairs.  Each 
pair  bore  a  striking  resemblance  to  a  pair  of 
cattle  horns  in  miniature,  and,  as  they  were  of 
attractive  colors,  I  cut  off  some  branches  to  take 
to  the  ship  as  curiosities.  Immediately,  my  hands 
were  overrun  with  ants  which  bit  sharply,  and  an 
inspection  showed  that  the  little  insects  emerged 
from  inside  the  thorns,  which  were  hollow,  and 
each  perforated  with  a  minute  hole.  Each  thorn 
was  thus  the  habitation  of  an  ant  colony  which, 
in  return  for  free  lodging,  benefited  their  host 
by   attacking   anything  that  molested   the   plant. 


I9I4-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


369 


The  plant,  furthermore,  supplied  the  ants  with 
honey,  of  which  they  are  very  fond,  and  which, 
I  noticed,  exuded  from  glands  on  the  leaf  stalks. 

Afterward,  I  learned  that  the  especial  enemies 
against  which  this  ant  garrison  is  effective  are 
species  of  leaf-cutting  ants  which,  in  the  tropics, 
often  swarm  in  great  numbers  upon  plants  and 
denude  them  of  foliage.  Should  they  invade  a 
plant  where  these  thorn-dwellers  are  colonized, 
they  are  beaten  off  by  the  fierce  little  thorn-folk, 
and  the  plant's  leaves  are  saved. 

Once  I  saw  a  procession  of  the  leaf-eaters  on 
their  way  home  from  despoiling  an  unprotected 
shrub.  There  were  myriads  in  the  line  of  march, 
each  ant  hidden  beneath  a  bit  of  leaf,  the  size  of 
a   clime,   which   it   carried   as   one   holds   an   um- 


A  REMARKABLE  PHOTOGRAPH  OF  WEASELS 

Here  is  a  photograph  of  very  shy,  quick-mo- 
tioned, bloodthirsty,  and  cruel  little  animals. 
Photographers  have  never  succeeded  well  with 
weasels  because  they  are  difficult  to  find,  owing 


ANTS   MAKE    THEIR    HOMES    WITHIN    THESE    THORNS. 

brella.     From  this  fact  the  natives  call  such  ants 
'"umbrella-ants." 

A    photograph    of    the    acacia    thorns    accom- 
panies this  note. 

Charles  Francis  Saunders. 
Vol.  XLL— 47. 


■    .. :..    .;    •■    £        \:. 

By  permission  of  "In  the  Open." 

THE   KEEN-EYED    WEASELS. 


to  this  shyness  and  quickness.  But  Mr.  W.  S. 
Thomas,  who  made  the  accompanying  photograph, 
has  succeeded  remarkably  well  by  placing  a  camera 
in  front  of  the  entrance  to  a  hollow  tree  in 
which  a  family  of  them  were  hidden.  He  then 
probably  knocked  on  the  tree  and  took  the  pho- 
tograph as  the  weasels  came  out. 

Weasels  sometimes  visit  chicken  yards  with 
very  disastrous  results  to  the  chickens,  for  they 
kill  far  more  than  they  can  eat,  apparently  for 
the  love  of  killing.  Indeed,  they  are  the  very 
intensity  of  wildness  and  animal  fierceness,  and, 
country  boy  as  I  was,  I  have  seen  only  two  or 
three  in  my  life.  As  E.  S.  Cope  says:  "A  glance 
would  suffice  to  betray  its  character.  The  jaws 
are  worked  by  comparatively  large  masses  of 
muscles.  The  forehead  is  low  and  the  nose  is 
sharp;  the  eyes  are  small,  penetrating,  and  cun- 
ning, and  glitter  with  an  angry  green  light.     There 


370 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Feb., 


is  something  peculiar,  moreover,  in  the  way 
that  this  fierce  face  surmounts  a  body  extraordi- 
narily wiry,  lithe,  and  muscular,  and  ends  in  a 
remarkably  long  and  slender  neck  in  such  a  way 
that  it  may  be  held  at  right  angles  with  the  axis 
of  the  latter.  When  the  creature  is  glancing 
around,  with  the  neck  stretched  up  and  the  flat 
triangular  head  bent  forward,  swaying  frcm  one 
side  to  the  other,  we  catch  the  likeness  in  a  mo- 
ment—  it  is  the  image  of  a  serpent." 

Mr.  Ernest  Thompson  Seton  thus  sums  up  the 
characteristics  of  the  weasels: 

"The  weasels  have  the  unloveliest  disposition 
of  all  our  wild  animals.  Outside  of  their  strength 
and  courage,  we  find  in  them  little  to  admire. 
Most  other  animals  have  a  well-marked  home  re- 
gion and  friends,  but  the  ordinary  life  of  a  weasel 
is  that  of  a  wandering  demon  of  carnage." 

AN  AUTOMOBILE  LOCOMOTIVE 

The  photograph  shows  an  automobile  that  has 
car-wheels  for  the  railroad  track  instead  of  the 
ordinary    rubber-tired   wheels    for   the   road.      It 


wagon  or  for  automobile,  and  bad  traveling  afoot 
for  man  or  horse.  These  are  the  reasons  for  the 
use  of  the  auto-tram  car.  Frank  W.  Lane. 


f BECAUSE  WE 
rWANT  TO  KNOW 


THE  MOON  AND  THE  TIDES 

Boulder,  Col. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Will  you  please  tell  me  why,  in 
California,  when  the  moonlight  nights  come,  the  tide  rises  ? 
Your  reader,  Esther  Reed. 

The  moon  causes  the  high  water,  but  the  high- 
est mound  of  water  is  not  directly  under  the 
moon,  as  it  would  be  if  the  moon  and  the  earth 
were  both  at  rest.  The  moon  tends  to  heap  the 
water  up  under  itself,  but  the  place  where  the 
highest  water  is  on  the  earth  is  very  much  modi- 
fied both  by  the  fact  that  the  earth  is  rapidly 
turning,  and  by  the  fact  that  the  water  cannot 


THE    AUTOMOBILE    THAT    RUNS    ON    A    RAILROAD    TRACK. 


makes  the  round  trip  between  Caldor  and  Diamond 
Spring,  California,  in  two  and  one  half  hours, 
traveling  seventy  miles  and  using  a  narrow-gage 
track.  It  was  converted  to  its  present  use  by  A. 
Hassler  to  accommodate  the  employees  in  a  saw- 
mill located  far  from  a  railroad  station.  The 
reads   in   that   vicinity   are   hardly   passable    for 


change  its  place  instantaneously.  The  result  is 
that  at  some  ports  the  time  of  highest  water  fol- 
lows the  passage  of  the  moon  by  one  hour,  at 
some  by  two,  and  at  others  by  more,  all  the  way 
up  to  twelve.  The  interval  between  the  time 
when  the  moon  is  south  and  when  the  high  water 
comes  is  called  the  "Establishment  of  the  Port," 


I9M-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


371 


This  can  be  found  for  all  marine  coast  stations 
in  many  almanacs.  Thus  if,  where  you  are,  the 
time  of  high  tide  comes,  say,  eight  hours  after 
the  moon  has  "southed"  to-night,  it  will  always 
follow  the  moon  by  this  same  interval. 

Everywhere  the  highest  tides  occur  when  the 
moon  is  full  and  when  it  is  new,  because  the 
moon,  earth,  and  sun  are  in  one  straight  line  at 
these  times,  and  so  pull  together.  The  sun-tide 
and  the  moon-tide  then  combine,  and  their  effect 
is  united.  (Consult  any  work  on  general  astron- 
omy for  a  detailed  explanation  of  this.)—  E.  D. 

•    the  different  colors  of  clouds 

Greenwich,  Conn. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :    Why  are  some  clouds  white  and 
some  black?     The  black  ones  are  generally  in  the  sky  be- 
fore and  during  some  big  storm. 

Your  interested  reader, 
Edwin  N.  Chapman,  Jr.  (age  n). 

White  clouds  are  those  which  are  so  thin  that 
sunlight  comes  through  them,  or  else  they  are  in 
such  a  position  that  the  side  seen  by  the  observer 
is  lighted  by  the  sunlight.  Black  clouds  are  those 
that  are  so  thick,  or  dense,  that  little  sunlight 
passes  through  them,  and  at  the  same  time  are  not 
illuminated  by  sunlight  on  the  side  seen  by  the 
observer.  It  is  these  heavy,  large  clouds  that  are 
most  likely  to  produce  rain.— H.  L.  W. 

dreams  are  not  prophetic 

Saint  Augustine,  Fla. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Can  you  please  explain  to  us  how 
it  is  that  some  people  can  dream  things,  and  that  these 
things  afterward  prove  to  be  true,  although,  at  the  time, 
the  dreamer  had  never  heard  or  imagined  such  a  possibil- 
ity ?  For  instance,  the  brother  of  a  friend  of  ours  was 
going  to  a  school  a  very  long  distance  from  his  home.  A 
short  time  before  he  left,  his  sister  dreamed  that  he  had 
arrived,  and  found  himself  in  a  girls'  school,  or,  rather,  in 
the  girls'  part  of  a  school  for  girls  and  boys.  Of  course 
it  was  an  amusing  situation,  and  apparently  impossible. 
The  strange  thing  was  that,  when  the  brother  actually  got 
to  his  school,  he  found  there  were  girls  there  as  well  as 
boys.     None  of  his  family  had  had  any  idea  of  this. 

We  could  give  several  other  examples,  but  perhaps  this 
one  will  be  enough. 

Your  interested  readers, 

R.  M.  Richardson, 
Lily  A.  Lewis. 

So  far  as  our  evidence  goes,  "prophetic"  dreams 
appear  to  be  merely  accidental.  The  dream  is 
touched  off  by  the  events  of  the  day  before,  and 
the  nature  of  the  dream  is  determined  by  the 
interests,  character,  and  experience  of  the 
dreamer.  In  the  present  case,  the  brother's  de- 
parture had,  no  doubt,  been  frequently  talked 
about,  and  the  sister  had  probably  compared  and 
contrasted  the  mode  of  life  at  girls'  and  boys' 
schools.  There  is,  then,  nothing  unlikely  in  the 
dream  reported.  Notice,  too,  that  the  fulfilment 
is  partial  only. 


One  of  the  reasons  for  belief  in  the  prophetic 
nature  of  dreams  is  that  we  tend  always  to  re- 
member the  favorable  cases  and  to  forget  the 
others.  Had  the  brother  found  boys  only  at  the 
new  school,  the  present  dream  would  have  been 
laughed  over  and  forgotten.  To  get  reliable  evi- 
dence, we  must  list  a  large  number  of  dreams, 
and  calculate  the  ratio  of  fulfilments  to  non-ful- 
filments. 

It  should  be  added  that  some  persons  who  are 
liable  to  recurrent  ill-health,  regularly  dream  the 
same  dream  as  their  illness  comes  upon  them.  In 
these  cases,  the  appearance  of  the  dream  may  sug- 
gest dietetic  or  other  preventive  treatment,  and 
the  dream  itself  may,  in  a  sense,  be  termed  "pro- 
phetic." E.  B.  Titchener. 

why  smoke  rises 

Boston,  Mass. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:   Will  you  please  tell  me  why  smoke 
rises?     I  always  thought  carbon  dioxid  (which. is  heavier 
than  air)  was  in  smoke.      I  could  not  understand  it,  so  I 
thought  I  would  ask  you. 

Affectionately  yours, 

Norman  C.  Cabot. 

The  visible  part  of  smoke  consists  chiefly  of 
small,  unconsumed  particles  of  carbon  from  the 
fuel.  They  are  carried  upward  by  the  currents 
of  heated  air  from  the  fife.  All  the  gases,  in- 
cluding the  carbon  dioxid,  if  present,  are  ex- 
panded by  the  heat  and  rush  upward  with  the 
current  of  hot  air,  which  has  sufficient  force  to 
carry  upward  objects  heavier  than  itself. 

A  COMMON  MYTH  REGARDING  SNAKES 

Albany,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  Would  you  please  tell  us  whether, 
when  you  kill  a  snake,  it  does  not  die  till  sunset. 

Dorothy  Ingram, 
Carolyn  Rogers. 

I  would  explain  that  this  belief,  that  if  a  snake 
is  killed  it  does  not  really  die  until  the  sun  sets, 
is  brought  about  by  the  excessive  nervous  stimula 
of  the  snake.  When  a  snake's  back  is  broken 
with  a  stick  or  its  head  is  crushed,  the  reptile  will 
continue  to  twist  and  move  its  body  and  the  tail 
to  wiggle  for  several  hours ;  but  the  animal  is 
actually  dead,  although  the  muscles  contain  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  nervous  stimulus  that  produces 
this  movement.  The  same  effect,  but  in  a  lesser 
degree,  may  be  noted  with  a  chicken.  If  the  head 
is  cut  off,  the  mutilated  creature  will  beat  its 
wings  on  the  ground  or  run  a  short  distance  be- 
fore the  nervous  energy  or  stimulus  dies  away. 

There  is  absolutely  no  connection  between  the 
duration  of  the  nervous  stimulus  of  the  snake  and 
the  setting  of  the  sun,  although  the  cool  air  of 
the  evening  may  bring  about  a  quicker  rigidity 
of  the  muscles.— Raymond  L.  Ditmars. 


Our  special  thanks  are  due 
to  the  Young  Photographers 
this  month,  for  they  sent  in 
an  overwhelming  array  of 
<y  snap-shots,"  captured 
by  their  quick  shutters  and 
even  quicker  wits.  Several  of 
the  pictures,  indeed,  would 
attract  remark  in  any  exhibi- 
tion, such,  for  instance,  as  the  tense  scene  of  the  East 
Indian  snake-charmer  and  his  hooded  cobra,  on  page  374, 
and  the  view  on  page  373  of  the  steamboat,  the  aeroplane, 
and  the  little  rowboat,  caught  all  together  with  one  click 
of  the  camera.  The  big  dirigible  balloon  floating  above 
the  roofs  of  Paris  is  another  notable  success,  as  is  also 
the    tennis    player   with    the    ball   in  mid  air;  and  there 


were  so  many 
admirable  photo- 
graphs of  people,  pets,  and  animals  in  top-speed  action  or 
in  novel  and  charming  poses,  that  to  select  from  them  was 
no  easy  task.  We  should  gladly  have  printed  all  those 
represented  by  the  first  Roll  of  Honor,  had  space  permitted. 
The  writers  of  verse,  too,  are  still  proving  that  their 
poetic  gifts  are  not  of  the  "hothouse"  or  the  will-o'-the- 
wisp  variety,  but  are  becoming,  in  each  young  contribu- 
tor, a  sturdy  faculty — -that  grows  with  his  or  her  growth, 
and  shows  month  by  month  an  added  vigor  of  imagina- 
tion and  expression.  Several  little  poems  by  Honor 
Members  were  crowded  out  at  the  last  moment,  and  we 
were  loth  to  lose  them;  but  the  first  claim  to  such  space 
as  we  have  belongs,  of  course,  to  the  eager  aspirants  who 
have  not  yet  won,  or  are  just  winning,  the  coveted  laurels. 


PRIZE-WINNERS,  COMPETITION  No.  168 

In  making  the  awards,  contributors'  ages  are  considered. 

PROSE.     Gold  badge,  Marjorie  Skiff  (age  16),  Boulder,  Col. 

Silver  badges,  Elisabeth  Goldbeck  (age  11),  Sag  Harbor,  N.  Y.;  Emily  Strother  (age  17),  Ruxton,  Md.;    Florence 

Whittier  (age  12),  La  Mesa,  Cal.;  Adelaide  H.  Noll  (age  14),  Sayville,  N.  Y.;  Bennett  Cerf  (age  15),  New  York  City. 

VERSE.     Gold  badges,  Rosanna  D.  Thorndike    (age  15),  Boston,  Mass.;    Stephen  Vincent  Benet    (age  15),  Port 

Washington,  N.  Y. 

Silver  badges,  Lidda  Kladivko  (age  15),  Long  Island  City,  N.  Y.;  Nina  M.  Ryan  (age  16),  New  York  City. 

DRAWINGS.     Silver  badges,  Loena  King  (age  15),  Houston, 'Tex.;  Edwin  M.  Gill  (age  14),  Laurinburg,  N.  C. 

PHOTOGRAPHS.     Gold  badges,  Dorothy  V.  Tyson  (age  17),    Pasadena,   Cal.;    Helen    Gertrude   Scott   (age    16), 

Montclair,  N.  J. 

Silver  badges,  Janet  Waldron  Victorius  (age  14),  New  York  City;    Irving  A.  Leonard  (age  16),  New  Haven,  Conn.; 

Harriet  A.  Parsons  (age  16),  Buffalo,  N.  Y.;  Carolyn  F.  Rice  (age  15),  Somerville,  Mass.;  Fremont  C.  Peck  (age  15), 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y.;    Ruth  Putnam  McAneny  (age  12),  [New  York  City;    Mina  Dosker  (age  14),  Grand  Rapids,  Mich. 

PUZZLE -MAKING.     Silver  badges,  J.  Roy  Elliott  (age  13),  Rochester,  N.  Y.;  Lowry  A.  Biggers  (age  16),  Webster 

Groves,   Mo. 

PUZZLE  ANSWERS.     Gold  badges,  Douglass  Marbaker  (age  17),  Philadelphia,  Pa.;   Gladys  S.  Conrad  (age  14), 

Suffern,  N.  Y.;  Harold  Kirby  (age  13),  West  New  Brighton,  N.  Y. 

Silver  badges,  Hildegarde  L.  Maedje   (age  13),  East  Cleveland,  Ohio;  Marjorie  Marks  (age   12),   New  York  City; 

Gavin  Watson  (age   13),  Philadelphia,  Pa.;     Max  Stolz  (age  13),  Syracuse,  N.  Y.;    Anne  B.  Townsend    (age  13), 

Overbrook,  Pa.;  Mary  L.  Ingles  (age  12),  Douglas,  Ariz. 


BY  JANET   W.    VICTORIUS,    AGIi    14.       (SILVER    BADGE.)  BY  ELIZABETH    F.    CORNELL,    AGE    13. 

"A  LUCKY  SNAP-SHOT." 
37* 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


373 


TO  ONE  I  LOVE 

BY  EOSANNA   D.   THORNDIKE    (AGE    15) 

(Gold  Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  August,  ig  13) 
Sunset,  slowly  deepening,  settles  into  night, 
Crimson  and  vermilion  change  to  pink  and  white  ; 
Slow  across  the  glowing  sky  steals  a  violet  veil, 
Soft  against  the  fading  pink  gleams  a  drifting  sail. 

Up  and  up  the  darkening  sky  climbs  the  evening-star, 
Lights  begin  to  twinkle  forth,  out  across  the  bar  ; 
In  the  field,  and  from  the  wood,  crickets  drone  their 

song ; 
Birds  cease  their  tunes,   the   world  is  stilled,   for  night 

will  fall  ere  long. 

And  so,  my  tired  mind,  at  night,  settles  into  rest, 
Work  accomplished,  brightly  turns  to  the   dream  loved 

best : 
Slow  across  its  vision,  cleared,  as  by  cooling  dew, 
Comes  one  dear,  refreshing  thought,  one  lingering 

thought  of  you. 

Up  and  up  across  my  mind  climbs  its  evening-star, 
Which  becomes  a  wistful  face,  gazing  from  afar ; 
'T  is  your  own  familiar  face,  smiling  from  above, 
Hovering  there  to  crown  my  thought,  the  thought  of 
one  I  love. 

THE  TEST 

BY  marjorie  skiff  (age  1 6) 

(Gold  Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  November,  1911) 

"Don't  forget  to  come  home,  and  don't  be  afraid  of  the 

water  !"  called  Frank,  teasingly. 

Edith,  his  sister,  pushed  the  boat  from  the  wharf,  let- 
ting  it   drift   down-stream.     "He   's   always   teasing  me 


"A   LUCKY   SNAP-SHOT."       BY    IRVING   A.    LEONARD, 
(SILVER   LSADGE.) 


3E    16. 


for  forgetting  things,  and  being  such  a  coward,"  she 
said  to  Nancy,  her  chum.  "Have  I  forgotten  anything 
this  time  ?" 

"Let  's  hope  not,"  Nancy  laughed.  "Oh,  where  are 
the  oars?" 

"I  forgot  them  !" 

"How  can  we  stop  ourselves?  The  rapids  are  n't  far 
below  the  island." 

Edith  looked  worried  as  she  added,  "And  Dad  said 
it  was  n't  safe  to  go  farther  than  the  island." 

"Do  you  suppose  we  can  stop?" 

"I  don't  know.     Let  's  try." 

Gradually  the  boat  drew  nearer  the  tiny,  wooded 
island.    The  current  grew  a  little  swifter. 


"Quick,  Nan !"  cried  Edith.  Both  girls  stood  and 
seized  an  overhanging  bough  as  they  were  carried  close 
by  the  island.  The  current  tugged  with  might  and  main 
while  the  girls  held  fast.  But  Nan  had  to  let  go  soon, 
not  being  as  strong  as  Edith.  "I  can't  hold  on  a  minute 
longer,"  she  declared.  Then  all  was  still  again,  save 
for  the  rushing  of  the  fierce,  relentless  water. 

"Oh,  Edith,  look!" 

Edith,    holding   on   with   her   last   ounce    of   strength, 


"A    LUCKY    SNAP-SHOT."       BY    HARRIET    A.    PARSONS,    AGE    16 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


gave  a  cry  of  joy.     Then  she  sank,  a 
into  the  bottom  of  the  boat. 

Frank  had  come  to  tow  them  home. 


tired  little  heap, 


When  Frank  had  heard  the  story,  he  gave  a  sigh  of 
relief.  "You  're  all  right,  Sis,  even  if  you  did  forget 
the  oars  !"     And  this,  from  Frank,  was  a  great  deal. 


AFTER  VACATION 

BY   ELISABETH    GOLDBECK    (AGE    II) 

(Silver  Badge) 
Summer  had  passed,  and  it  was  getting  cold.     The  little 
gray    squirrel    who    lived    in    the    big   tree    in    front    of 
Peggy's  summer  home  ran  down  the  tree  and  hopped  up 
on  the  front  stoop.     He  sat  there  for  several  minutes, 
waiting  for  Peggy 
to   come    with   his 
nuts. 

Every  morning 
since  he  had  lived 
in  the  hollow  in 
the  tree,  and 
Peggy  had  been 
in  the  country, 
she  had  brought 
him  some  nuts  to 
add  to  his  winter 
store.  Now,  this 
morning, he  waited 
and  waited,  but 
Peggy  did  not 
come.  It  was  very 
queer,       for       she 

had  never  missed  a  day.     He  went  back  to  the  hollow  a 
very  unhappy  and  disappointed  squirrel. 

For  several  mornings,  he  went  to  the  stoop  and 
waited  ;  but  Peggy  never  came.  It  seemed  very  lonely 
to  the  little  gray  squirrel,  but  it  was  after  vacation  for 
him,  as  well  as  Peggy,  and  he  must  bear  it.  But  he  still 
hoped,  and  every  warm  morning  during  the  long  winter, 
he  would  run  over  to  the  stoop,  and  wait  for  Peggy. 


A  LUCKY  SNAP-SHOT.    BY  BARBARA 
BURGESS,  AGE  14. 


374 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Feb., 


BY   CAROLYN    F.    RICE,   AG 
(SILVER   BADGE.) 


BY    DOROTHY   A.    POWELL,    AGE    Ic 

"A  LUCKY  SNAP-SHOT.' 


BY    HELEN  G.   SCOTT,  AGE  16.    (GOLD    BADGE. 
SILVER    BADGE    WON    FEB.,   1910. ) 


MYSTERY 

BY   STEPHEN   VINCENT   BENET    (AGE    15") 

{Gold  Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  September,  1012) 
The  giant  building  towered  in  the  night 
Like  a  titanic  hand  released  at  last 
From  under  cumbering  mountain-ranges  vast, 
Poised  menacingly  high,  as  if  to  smite 
A  silent,  sudden,  deadly  blow  at  Man. 
I  slunk  along  its  base  ;  then,  cowering,  ran, 
Feeling  the  while  it  mattered  not  how  fast, 
Since  it  would  strike  me  from  behind  at  last. 

Next  morning,  as  I  passed  among  the  hive 
Of  careless  people,  to  myself  I  said: 
"You  do  not  fear.     You  've  only  seen  it  dead. 
I  've  seen  the  thing  alive  !" 

THE  TEST 

BY   EMILY   STROTHER    (AGE    I  7) 

(Silver  Badge) 
When  his  only  treasure,  an  old  gun,  had  been  taken  by 
young  "Marse  George,"  and  he  had  run  to  cry  out  his  woes 
in  Mammy's  lap,  she  had  told  him  his  day  would  come. 


A   LUCKY    SNAP-SHOT.  BY    DOROTHY   V.   TYSON, 

AGE    17.       (GOLD    BADGE.       SILVER   BADGE    WON 

DEC,    igil.) 

When    he   had   been    accidentally   shut   into   the   spring- 
house  for  three  days,  and  was  brought  out  half  dead, 


the  lady  had  fed  him  herself,  and  laughingly  told  him 
his  lucky  day  would  come.  So  he  had  always  believed 
it  would. 

The  lady  was  his  divinity.  He  would  climb  a  tree  in 
front  of  the  house  and  sit  there  for  hours,  in  hopes  of 
seeing  her.  His  name  was  Jim,  and  he  was  only  a  poor 
little  Alabama  nigger  ;  but  one  day  his  day  did  come. 


reDtuonnj. 


A    HEADING   FOR    FEBRUARY.  BY    ALISON    M.   KINGSBURY, 

AGE    15.      (HONOR    MEMBER.) 

The  lady  was  riding  her  spirited  chestnut  mare,  and 
Jim  had  run,  by  a  short  cut,  a  mile  down  the  road  to 
see  her  pass.  He  was  crouching  in  the  bushes,  when  he 
heard  a  shout,  and,  looking  out,  he  saw  the  lady  coming 
at  a  headlong  gallop  and  uttering  little  screams.  The 
horse  was  running  away  !  Without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion, he  sprang  into  the  road,  and,  as  the  animal  shot 
past,  swung  onto  the  bridle  and  hung  there  like  a  vise. 

When  the  brute  finally  stopped,  the  lady  descended 
and  tenderly  lifted  the  limp  little  figure.  With  one 
hand  she  supported  him,  and  with  the  other  led  the 
horse  home.  While  the  doctor  looked  at  Jim,  she  sat 
at  the  top  of  his  bed  with  his  little  woolly  head  in  her 
lap.  After  a  while,  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked  up 
into  her  face,  then  closed  them  forever.  His  day  had 
come — and  gone.     He  had  been  tested  and  proved  true. 


1914.] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


375 


376 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Feb., 


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•ST-NICHOLflS-LEflGUE^EBRUflRY 

"A    HEADING    FOR    FEBRUARY."       BY    ROBERT    MARTIN,   AGE    13 


TO  ONE  I  LOVE 

BY   LIDDA    KLADIVKO    (AGE    1 5) 

(Silver  Badge) 
You  wept  to  see  the  roses  die, 

The  limp,  pale  blossoms,  frail  and  sweet. 
Thou  couldst  for  me,  love,  do  no  more, 

Though  I  lay  dying  at  thy  feet. 

You  wept  to  see  the  roses  die. 

O  love,  how  dark  seem  skies  above  ! 
For  how  couldst  thou  love  such  as  I, 

When  thou  hast  all  the  world  to  love? 

You  wept  to  see  the  roses  die. 

Shall  I  complain,  when  all  is  done, 
That  thy  great  soul  for  all  can  sigh, 

And  my  poor  heart  can  love  but  one? 

AFTER  VACATION 

BY    FLORENCE   WHITTIER    (AGE    12) 

(Silver  Badge) 
Tinkle,  tinkle,  ti-i-inkle.  Buzz,  buzz,  bu-u-uzz.  That 
is  my  orchestra.  I  am  a  little  elf  living  in  a  small  nook 
in  a  large  hollow  oak-tree.  My  house  is  in  a  large 
forest  where  we  fairies  dance  and  dance  all  night  long. 
This  summer,  I  went  far,  far  away  on  the  wings  of  a 
wind-storm.  It  was  quite  an  adventure.  We  almost 
collided  with  a  rainbow.  I  am  very  young,  only  about 
three  hundred  years  old,  but  I  am  old  enough  to  go  to 
school,  so  I  must  give  up  dancing,  except  on  full-moon 
nights,  when  I  dance  for  the  queen,  and  start  my 
studies,  for  vacation  is  over. 

I  have  gone  to  school  only  a  few  nights.     I  started  a 


„    OCTOBER  1513  1 - 

I  STNICHOLAS 

"-"""ffi     1 


FRIEND    OF    THE    FAMILY.  BY    AGNES 

T.    PRIZER,    AGE    16. 


week  ago,  but  the  moon  went  down,  so  we  had  to  wait 
for  new  moon.  My  teacher  is  a  very  large  grasshopper. 
He  wears  spectacles  and  a  tall  silk  hat.  My  fellow- 
pupils  are  elves,  fairies,  gnomes,  grasshoppers,  lady- 
bugs,  and  frogs.  The  first  night  we  learned  to  mix  the 
scarlet  paint  to  paint  the  spots  on  the  tiger-lilies.  We 
also  learned  to  tame  butterflies  to  ride,  so  we  can  go 
very  fast.  We  are  going  to  learn  how  to  tint  the  dawn 
and  sunset  sky,  the  rainbows,  and  the  autumn  leaves. 


"A    LUCKY   SNAP-SHOT.  BY    ANNE    BURROW,  AGE    13. 

We  all  enjoy  school  (all  of  us  except  one  big  frog, 
who  is  so  fat  and  lazy  that  he  can  hardly  sit  on  his  toad- 
stool). The  things  we  will  learn  will  make  many  people 
happy,  and  keep  us  busy  all  the  nights  in  the  year. 


nir'lC1." 


BY    MINA    DOSKER,  AGE    14.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 


BY  JESSICA    B.    NOBLE. 

'A  LUCKY  SNAP-SHOT.' 


BY    EDITH   WIMELBACH,   AGE    14. 


I9I4-] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


377 


MYSTERY 

BY    FLORA    MCDONALD    COCKRELL    (ACE    13) 

'  {Honor  Member) 

Along  my  garden's  winding  path  I  strolled. 

The  world  was  fragrant  with  the  breath  of  morn, 
The  early  sunshine  bathed  the  earth  in  gold, — 

A  day  was  born. 
The  changing  shadows  fell  upon  the  ground, 

All  flecked  with  gold  where'er  the  bright  sun  shone, 
And  there,  beside  my  garden  path,  I  found 
A  rose  half-blown. 

I  looked,  and  marveled  that  it  was  so  fair, 

So  perfectly  't  was  formed  by  nature's  art, 
Its  half-unfolded  petals  laying  bare 

Its  golden  heart, 
Its  perfumed  breath,  that  stole  upon  the  air, 

The  loveliness  of  each  exquisite  shade, 
The  satin  texture  of  each  petal  rare, 
So  finely  made. 

Like  some  fair  princess  of  a  world  of  love, 

It  seemed  a  fairy  gift,  a  thing  apart, 
With  all  the  purity  and  freshness  of 

A  maiden's  heart. 
I  wondered  had  the  sunshine  and  the  rain 

Performed  the  miracle  this  seemed  to  be — 
Alone  ?     Yet  question  not.     It  will  remain 
God's  mystery. 

TO  ONE  I  LOVE 

BY    HENRIETTA   L.    PERRINE    (AGE    12) 

Satisfy  me,  dear  St.  Nick? 

Well,  I  just  guess  so. 
If  I  were  to  have  the  pick 

Of  all  the  magazines  I  know, 
St.  Nicholas  would  be  the  one — ■ 
Lots  of  laughter,  lots  of  fun. 

None  but  you  to  please  me, 

With  stories  great  and  glad  ; 
None  but  you  to  please  me, 
-  With  pictures  sweet  and  sad. 

None  but  you  to  please  me, 

With  "Competition"  wonders  ; 
None  but  you  to  appease  me, 

When  I  make  frightful  blunders. 
None  but  you  to  tease  me 

With  puzzles  I  cannot  guess, 
Satisfy  me,  dear  St.  Nick? 

Well,  I  just  guess,  yes  ! 

THE  TEST 

BY   ADELAIDE   H.    NOLL    (AGE    14) 

{Silver  Badge) 
The  group  of  chums  was  discussing  the  tests  which 
come  sometime  to  every  one.  "I  believe,"  said  Marian 
Glenn,  "that  we  all  encounter  our  test — it  may  be  of 
courage,  or  endurance,  or  another  form — and  I  think 
every  one  ought  to  face  theirs  bravely."  The  subject 
was  quickly  forgotten,  but  Marian  did  not  know  how 
soon  she  would  be  called  upon  to  prove  her  words. 

One   pleasant   morning   a   few   weeks   later,   the   girls 
went  over  to  the  beach  for  the  day. 

Marian  decided  to  walk  along  the  shore,  and  she  had 
gone  quite   a   distance,  when   she   noticed   a   little   child 
who  was  wading  in  the  ocean.     Marian  idly  watched  the 
Vol.  XLL— 48. 


'A    HEADING    FOR  FEBRUARY.  BY    LOENA 

KING,  AGE    15.       (SILVER   BADGE.) 


little  girl  for  a  moment,  then  suddenly  a  big  wave 
splashed  up,  lifted  the  child  off  her  feet,  and  carried 
her  back  into  the  ocean. 

Marian's  heart  beat  wildly  ;  she  looked  about ;  no  one 
was  near,  and  she  realized  that  by  her  actions  the  child 
must  be  saved,  that  possibly  it  might  mean  her  own  life. 
All  this  flashed  across  her  mind  in  an  instant ;  then 
Marian  rushed  into  the  breakers. 

She  wasan  ex- 
cellent swimmer, 
and  soon  her  ef- 
forts brought  her 
to  the  child,  who 
was  being  tossed 
back  and  forth 
by  the  heavy 
surf.  Holding 
the  little  girl  by 
one  arm,  Marian 
slowly  made  her 
way  to  the 
shore,  though 
she  was  thrown 
again  and  again 
by  the  powerful 
waves. 

Just  as  she 
struggled  to  the 
beach  with  her 
burden,  several 
people  who  had 
seen  the  res- 
cue from  afar 
reached  her. 

They  excitedly 
explained  to  the 
gathered  crowd  how  Marian  had  saved  the  child's  life. 

A  little  later,  when  Marian  was  alone  with  her 
friends,  one  said,  "Oh,  Marian  Glenn,  how  could  you 
do  it?" 

And  Marian  answered,  simply,  "It  was  my  test." 

TO  ONE  I  LOVE 

BY   ELEANOR    HINMAN    (AGE    13) 

{Honor  Member) 
I  saw  these  crossing  roads  but  once  before, 
Yet  all  the  place  is  full  of  thoughts  of  you. 

The  mighty  winds  come  down  from  out  the  blue 
That  bounds  the  prairie  to  the  farthest  north  ; 
They  toss  the  marsh-grass  tall  like  tangled  hair  ; 
Like  furies'  whips,  the  willows  lash  the  air; 
Around  the  hayricks  many  voices  roar  ; 
Their  splitting  sound  about  the  wires  they  pour, 
And  shriek  in  anger  that  you  are  not  there. 

I  mind  me  of  a  day  they  issued  forth 

Because  the  sheer,  strong  joy  of  sweeping  down 

To  bring  fresh  breezes  to  the  tired  town, 

And  rush  o'er  valley  and  the  billows  brown' 

Of  autumn  prairie,  and  the  wish  to  hold 

The  pale,  elusive  autumn  sunshine  gold, 

Roused  an  unrest  that  could  not  be  controlled. 

You  should  remember  ;  you  were  with  me  then. 

We  two  were  happy  all  the  day,  dear  heart. 

I  never  dreamed  our  ways  would  go  apart. 

Oh,  turn  to  me,  my  sister,  turn  again  ! 

The  angry  winds  will  all  be  singing  when 

You  mingle  the  glad  sunlight  of  your  eyes 

With  that  which  pours  from  out  these  autumn  skies. 


378 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Feb., 


TO  ONE  I  LOVE 

BY   ELIZABETH    MORRISON   DUFFIELD    (AGE    1$) 

(Honor  Member) 
In  all  the  years  that  I  have  lived, 

You  've  been  my  dear-loved  guide  ; 
Encouraged  by  your  loving  smile, 

To  be  like  you  I  've  tried. 

You  've  given  me  my  high  ideals, 
Taught  me  what  's  right  and  true  ; 

And  all  of  gentleness  and  love 

That  's  mine  I  've  learned  from  you. 

You  've  sympathized  in  every  joy, 

My  trials  have  all  been  yours ; 
And  all  my  sorrows  and  complaints 

In  you  have  found  their  cures. 

You  've  taught  me  everything  I  know, 

Helped  me  from  day  to  day ; 
And,  oh,  the  years  you  've  worked  for  me, 

With  love  I  can't  repay. 

More  than  a  comrade,  more  than  friend, 

Not  like  to  any  other  ; 
My  dearest  love  I  give,  to-day, 

To  one  I  love — my  mother. 

AFTER  VACATION 

BY   MARIAN   POOLE    (AGE    15) 

"Oh,  Mother,  must  I  go  back  to  that  old  school  again?" 
sighed  Ethel.     "I  hate  the  thought  of  starting  in  again." 

Mrs.  Van  Allen  smiled  a  little  as  she  listened  to  her 
daughter's  complaints.  The  opening  of  each  school 
term  had  heard  the  same  arguments,  but  this  year  Ethel 
seemed  more  dissatisfied  than  ever.  Mrs.  Van  Allen 
decided  to  cure  her  of  this  for  all  time. 

"Well,  dear,"  she  said,  "if  you  feel  that  way  about  it, 
why  not  stay  home 
the  first  week,  and 
then  decide  whether 
you  want  to  return 
or  not?" 

Of  course  Ethel 
was  delighted,  and 
immediately  started 
to  make  plans  for 
the  following  week. 

Early  Monday 
morning,  Ethel  saw 
her  friends  start  off 
for  school,  and 
thought  herself  very 
lucky  that  she  need 
not  go.  In  the  af- 
ternoon, she  walked 
down  to  meet  them. 
After  their  first  greeting  to  her,  they  were  all  so 
busy  talking  about  their  studies  and  new  teachers 
that  Ethel  was  hardly  noticed.  Tuesday  was  just  the 
same.  Ethel  came  home  feeling  slightly  "out  of  it" 
with  her  friends. 

Ethel  planned  to  entertain  a  few  of  the  girls  at  her 
home  Wednesday  night.  First  of  all,  she  invited  Dor- 
othy, her  best  friend.  Dorothy  was  very  sorry,  but  her 
lessons  must  be  done,  and  Father  had  made  the  rule 
that  she  must  not  go  out  on  school  nights.  Each  girl 
invited  had  the  same  excuse.  Ethel  was  very  disap- 
pointed, and  rather  hurt.  , 


A    FRIEND    OF   THE    FAMILY.         BY    EDWIN 
M.    GILL,    AGE    14.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 


It  was  no  longer  a  pleasure  to  be  with  her  friends  in 
the  afternoon,  for  she  was  left  entirely  out  of  the  con- 
versation ;  and  so  Ethel  spent  Thursday  and  Friday  in 
staying  at  home  and  reading. 

All  during  the  week  Mrs.  Van  Allen  had  never  men- 
tioned school.  Saturday  evening,  just  before  bedtime, 
she  asked  Ethel  about  the  preceding  week. 

"Well,  Ethel,"  she  said,  "have  you  had  a  pleasant 
week?  Are  you  willing  to  spend  your  whole  winter  this 
way,  or  would  you  rather  return  to  school?" 

Ethel  laughed  a  little  shamefacedly.  "If  I  ever  had 
to  go  through  another  such  week,  I  don't  know  what 
I  'd  do.  Let  me  go  back  to  school  by  all  means.  I  can 
hardly  wait  to  start  in  the  dear  old  place." 

A  MYSTERY 

BY    HUGH    WARREN    KITE    (AGE    io) 

The  door  was  shut  in  Sister's  room 

(December  twenty-third). 
In  vain  I  peek  through  keyholes — 

Hark !  what  was  that  I  heard  ? 

Only  a  piece  of  paper 

Fluttering  to  the  floor. 
I  hear  the  scissors  cut  the  twine, 

Then — open  comes  the  door. 

I  hurry  in,  expectant, 

And  look  about  the  room. 
Where  has  that  present  vanished? 

Eagerness  fades  to  gloom. 

I  turn  to  question  Sister, 
But  she  has  gone  away. 
"Oh,  dear,"  I  cry,  "how  I  do  wish 
That  this  was  Christmas  Day  !" 


TO  ONE  I  LOVE 

BY    LUCILE    E.    FITCH    (AGE    17) 

(Honor  Member) 
Howe'er  you  came,  sweet  visitant,  to  steal  my  heart 

one  day, 
I  know  not,  save  that  I  was  glad  to  give  it  quite  away. 
The  charm  you  cast  about  me  was  so  perfect  and  so 

new, 
I  was  content  to  dwell  therein,  and  love  but  only  you. 

You  're  like  a  spirit  of  the  air,  so  gay,  so  sweet,  so  free, 
Yet  with  the  distant  loveliness  that  holds  you  far  from 

me  ; 
And,  somehow,  at  the  beauteous  calm  which  looks  from 

out  your  eyes, 
I  feel  ennobled,  then  subdued,  then  raised  unto  the 

skies. 

A  thrill  of  poignant  ecstasy  comes  over  me  at  thought 
Of  how  my  love  transformeth  me.     In  wonder  have  I 

sought 
To  question  of  the  pure  unknown,  from  whence  you 

came  at  birth, 
How  yet  you  live,  when  you  are  more  of  heaven  than 

of  earth. 


The  stars  are  brighter  than  of  old,  they  have  looked 

down  on  you. 
The  sunlight  is  a  softer  gold — it  gave  its  glow  to  you. 
All  things  to  me  are  more  divine,  around,  about,  above  ; 
The  whole  world  is  a  paradise,  for  in  it  dwells  my  love. 


1914] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


379 


AFTER  VACATION 

BY   BENNETT   CERF    (AGE    1 5) 

(Silver  Badge) 

September!  Labor  Day  has  come,  and  with  it  the  end 
of  vacation  for  the  year.  One  last,  fleeting  glance  at 
the  village  and  the  hotel  from  the  car  window,  and  we 
are  off,  bound  for  home !  And  as  the  train  draws 
nearer  and  nearer  to  the  city,  in  proportion  our  excite- 
ment grows.  A  plunge  into  the  tunnel,  a  jolt,  and,  "All 
off !"  cries  the  porter, 
grinning  as  we  hand  him 
his  tip. 

Back  into  the  bustle  of 
the  large  city,  the  clang- 
ing of  bells  and  the  toot- 
ing of  horns,  Broadway, 
with  its  millions  of  tiny, 
yet  brilliant,  electric  lights 
— we  are  home  !  And  as 
we  make  a  dive  for  the 
news-stand  for  an  "extra" 
(which,  by  the  way,  is  the 
first  evening  paper  we 
have  seen  in  ages),  our 
hearts  throb ;  instinctively 
we  throw  out  our  chests. 
After  all,  there  was  some- 
thing missing  in  the  coun- 
try, an  indefinable  some- 
thing that  seemed  some- 
what to  spoil  our  pleasure. 
Perhaps  it  was  the  air  of 
loneliness  and  quiet ;  we 
were  born  in  the  city  and 
brought  up  in  the  city — 
brought  up  to  be  one  of  a 

great  multitude,  brought  up  to  dodge  autos  and  the  like, 
to  rush  and  hustle, — and  we  can't  do  without  it ! 

Happily,  therefore,  we  enter  our  cozy  little  home,  and 
find,  to  our  amazement,  that  the  trunk  is  already  there  ! 
Marvel  of  marvels  !  Now  our  happiness  is  complete  ! 
What  if  Mother's  and  Sister's  dresses  are  so  wrinkled 
that  "they  '11  have  to  turn  right  around  and  have  them 
pressed  all  over  again"  ?  what  if  everything  smells  ter- 
ribly of  camphor?  what  if  the  painters  are  due  in  a  week 
or  two  to  turn  the  house  topsyturvy  ?  We  feel  like  giv- 
ing three  lusty  cheers,  and  making  oodles  of  resolutions 
that  we  're  going  to  work — work  hard  and  well  the 
coming  winter  ; — we  're  back  ! 

After  all,  there  's  no  place  like  home ! 

TO  ONE  I  LOVED 
(My  old  nurse) 

BY   NINA   M.   RYAN    (AGE    l6) 

(Silver  Badge) 
Dear  wrinkled  face  and  tender,  watchful  eyes, 

It  hurts  so  not  to  have  you  sitting  there — 
When  twilight  comes  and  nursery  lamps  are  lit — 

With  outstretched  arms,  in  the  old  rocking-chair. 

There  's  no  one  now  to  sing  us  fairy  songs 
And  tell  of  Sheila  and  the  Holy  Well ; 

No  one  to  chant  the  strange  old  Irish  words 
That  children  murmured  by  the  Witches'  Fell. 

But,  Nurse  dear,  though  the  little  fairy  folk 
You  loved  so  well  have  taken  you  at  last, 

Your  loyal  faith  and  service  still  remain, 
As  tender  memories  of  a  happy  past. 


"a  friend  of  the  family.' 
by  venette  m.  willard, 

AGE    15. 


A  MYSTERY 

by  jean  e.  freeman  (age  15) 

(Honor  Member) 

Two  tarts  were  perched  upon  a  shelf, 

A  tempting,  juicy  pair; 
A  little  lad  stood  down  below, 
And  when  I  to  that  shelf  did  go, 
They  were  no  longer  there. 

I  glanced  about,  and  where  they  were 

I  really  could  not  see; 
Believe  me,  when  I  truly  say 
That  to  this  very  latest  day, 

'T  is  still  a  mystery. 

THE  ROLL  OF  HONOR 

No.  1.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  would  have  been  used  had  space 
permitted. 

No.  2.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  entitles  them  to  encouragement. 


PROSE,  1 

Eunice  M.  Koesel 
Dorothy  von  Olker 
Gladys  Miller 
Suzetta  Herter 
Irene  M.  Evans 
Marguerite  Siegler 
Adelaide  E.  Morey 
Frances  Kestenbaum 
Claire  H.  Roesch 
Viola  Feder 
Agnes  Nolan 
Ruth  Schmidt 
Elizabeth  Doyle 
Anne  Peterson 
John  T.  Opie 
Eleanor  N.  Kent 
A.  G.  Johnson,  Jr. 
Dorothy  H.  Mack 
Dorothy  Walworth 
Elizabeth  Cobb 
Elizabeth  C.  Carter 
Catherine  Lloyd 
Katherine  R.  Blake 
Margaret  M.  Miner 
Francis  D.  Hays 
Fredrica  McLean 
Lucile  Walter 
Margaret  Herbert 
J.  P.  O'Brien. 
Martha  E.  Whittemore 
Josephine  Hoyt 
Eugene  J.  Vacco 
Philip  R.  Nichols 
H£lene  M.  Roesch 
Edith  L.  Mattice 
F.  V.  Hebard 
Dorothea  Haupt 
Eva  Goldbeck 
Henrietta  M.  Archer 
Elizabeth  G.  Osius 
Mildred  G.  Wheeler 
Marion  H.  Weinstein 
Richard  M.  Gudeman 
Laura  Morris 
Kathryn  Motley 
Betty  Penny 
St.  Clair  Sherwood 
Dorothy  Davie 
Watson  Davis 
Margaret  Lautz 
Sarah  Roody 
Alvina  Rapp 
Lucile  G.  Phillips] 
Bettie  Porter 
Dorothy  R.  Johnson 
Thora  Gerald 
Alfred  Valentine 
Louise  Cramer 
Dorothy  Levy 


Anna  McAnear 
Elsie  Baum 
Theron  C.  Hoyt 
Olive  E.  Bishop 
Ruth  Dagnall 
John  Heselton 
Isadore  Cooper 
Emmeline  C.  Shultes 
Mab  Barber 
Gladys  M.  Smith 
Elmaza  Fletcher 
Ruth  Williamson 
Anna  M.  Sanford 
Mabel  Macferran 
Anna  Washburn 
Hazel  Pettit 
Rachel  E.  Saxton 
Maurice  Johnson 
Carrol  Mitchell 
Nell  Upshaw 


Eva  Albanesi 
John  Perez 
Doris  F.  Halman 
Elizabeth  Dobbin 
Eleanor  Johnson 
Eleanor  Linton 
Elizabeth  Macdonald 
Edwina  Pomeroy 
Elizabeth  Land 
Caroline  F.  Ware 
Katherine  Bull 
Margaret  C.  Bland 
Katharine  Riggs 
Adele  Chapin 
Margaret  Pennewell 
Lucy  C.  Ricketson 
Edna  M.  Guck 
Sarah  M.  Bradley 
Elizabeth  H.  Yates 
Isobel  Simpson 


a  friend   of  the  family, 
by  helen  dennett,  age  13. 


PROSE,  2 

Edward  Eliscu 
Rose  Kadishevitz 
Olive  E.  Northup 
Isabella  Rugg 


VERSE,  1 

Helen  A.  Winans 
Dorothy  C.  Snyder 
Emily  S.  Stafford 
Emanuel  Farbstein 
Carolyn  T.  Ladd 
Constance  Witherall 
Minnie  Weyer 
Jeannette  E.  Laus 
Grace  N.  Sherburne 
Grace  C.  Freese 
Mary  L.  Morse 


Beth  M.  Nichols 
Henry  C.  Miner,  Jr. 
Sarah  Borock 
Mary  M.  Flock 
Mildred  R.  Campbell 
Nell  Adams 
Jessie  Edgerly 
Harriet  A.  Wickwire 
Eleanor  D.  Hall 
Florence  L.  Kite 
Ruth  B.  Brewster 
Francesca  W.  Moffat 
Elsie  L.  Lusty 


Gertrude  T.  Henshaw    Olga  V.  S.  Owens 
Ruth  M.  Paine  Elizabeth  Pratt 

Elizabeth  P.  Smith         Ferris  Neave 


380 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


Ivan  C.  Lake 
Nora  R.  Swain 
Hannah  Rayburn 
Elizabeth  D.  Terry 
Florence  W.  Towle 
Mignon  H.  Eliot 
Priscilla  Fuller 

VERSE,  2 

Helen  Schoening 
Helen  M.  Phillips 
Dorothy  F.  Robinson 
Rosamond  S.Crompton 
Madeline  Buzzell 
Maria  B.  Piatt 
Eunice  T.  Cole 
Lucile  H.  Quarry 
Felice  Jarecky 
Phoebe  M.  Moore 
Virginia  A.  Carlson 
Sara  L.  Sappol 
Margaret  Kilgariff 
Margaret  Jordan 
Louise  C.  Witherell 
Richard  C.  Ramsey 

DRAWINGS,  i 

Kenneth  C.  Davis 
S.  Dorothy  Bell 
Welthea  B.  Thoday 
Arthur  Beckhard 
Margaret  E.  Hanscom 
Paul  Sullivan 
Henrietta  H.  Henning 

DRAWINGS,  2 

Mary  Porcher 
Marguerite  S.  Pearson 
Emily  Seaber,  2d 
Mildred  H.  Aaron 
Helen  Spies 
Marion  S.  Bradley 
Doris  Lobenstine 
Emily  L.  Cobb 
Frances  Badger 
Elizabeth  Jones 
V.  Grimble 
Mavis  Carter 
Alice  Warren 
Mary  L.  Hunter 
Pauline  Coburn 
Katharine  B.  Neilson 
Mary  McKittrick 
Louisa  Mustin 
Catharine  Watjen 
Elizabeth  Thompson 
Jennie  E.  Everden 
Rita  Jarvis 
Ellen  R.  Haines 
Murray  C-  Haines 
Nora  C.  B.  Stirling 
Alta  I.  Davis 
Samuel  Kirkland 
Jane  Ellis 
Lois  C.  Myers 
Charlotte  F.  Kennedy 
Catharine  H.  Graub 
Alice  F.  Levy 
Elizabeth  Ash 
Adelaide  Winter 
Jennie  Ekroth 
Helen  F.  Bingham 
Dorothy  Fisher 
Joseph  Ehrlich 
Sadie  R.  Corcoran 
Elizabeth  V.  Moose 
Herbert  Sternau 
Katherine  Young 
Paulyne  F.  May 
Madeline  Zeisse 
Mary  Winslow 
Lucile  Robertson 
Dorothy  Brown 
Jessie  E.  Alison 
Beatrice  Cozine 
Otto  Heboid 
Dorothy  Calkins 
Mary  E.  Mayes 
Henry  J.  Meloy 
Carolyn  Nethercot 
Caesar  A.  Rinaldi 
Leonora  B.  Kennedy 


William  Kane 
Alene  S.  Little 
Mildred  Fisher 
Josephine  M. 

Whitehouse 
Winifred  W. 

Whitehouse 
Joseph  Dennis 
Annette  N.  Wright 
E.  Dargan  Butt 
Gladys  S.  Conrad 
Elizabeth  Snyder 
Henry  P.  Staats 
Edith  M.  Smith 
Janet  S.  Taylor 
Emilie  Bohm 
Ethel  W.  Kidder 
Winifred  W.  Newcomb 
Margaret  R. 

Goldthwait 
Marion  S.  Kaufmann 
Imogen  C.  Noyes 
Louise  S.  May 
Jack  Field 
J.  M.  Hirschmann 
Jane  W.  Neilson 
James  A.  Pennypacker 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  1 

Gail  Morrison 
M.  Gilliland  Husband 
Howard  N.  Tandy 
Marion  Dale 
Helen  Lewengood 
Madeline  W.  Gammon 
Charles  A. Stickney,  Jr. 
Gladys  E.  Livermore 
Howard  R.  Sherman, 

Jr. 
Eloise  M.  Peckham 
Sallie  Crawford 
Laura  Barney 
Elaine  Manley 
R.  Levison 
Helen  H.  Wilson 
Hope  Satterthwaite 
Frances  B.  Roberts 
M.  Alison  Mclntyre 
Harriet  Van  Deusen 
Henry  G.  T.  Langdon 
Dorothy  Leonard 
Louise  A.  Wiggenhorn 
Dorothy  K.  Grundy 
Mary  E.  Jackson 
Forris  Atkinson 
Theodora  R.  Eldredge 
Ruth  E.  Prager 
Evelyn  S.  Guy 
Edward  Starr 
Esther  Atwood 
Elizabeth  T.  E.  Brooks 
Frances  A.  Scott 
Homer  I.  Mitchell 
Christine  Crane 
Alice  S.  Nicoll 
Patrina  M.  Colis 
Estelle  Raphael 
Lydia  S.  Morris 
Virginia  Nirdlinger 
Martha  Robinson 
Dorothy  Collins 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  2 

Shirley  Nierling 
Richard  E.  Williams 
Lucy  Lewton 
Thomas  Reed,  Jr. 
Perry  B.  Jenkins 
Jane  A.  Langthorn 
Rose  Marimon 
Nancy  French 
Allen  McGill 
Mary  L.  Black 
Mildred  Hughes 
Jeanne  E.  Welles 
Eugene  D.  McCarthy 
Margaret  A.  Bauer 
Clara  E.  Quinlivan 
Robert  Bacheler 
Alice  Greene 
Wirth  F.  Ferger 
Dorothy  Thorndike 
Winifred  Jelliffe 


Margaret  Bliss 
Hobart  Skofield 
Walter  P.  Miller,  Jr. 
Elise  N.  Stein 
Catharine  M.  French 
Anita  Marburg 
D.  H.  Morris,  Jr. 
Howland  H.  Paddock 
Mary  Drury 
Dorothy  J.  Stewart 
Louise  de  Gaugne 
Mildred  Rightmire 
Margaret  Anderson 
Leona  Tackabury 
Dorothy  Gladding 
George  M.  Bird 
Alexander  M.  Greene 
Mary  S.  Esselstyn 
Sarnia  Marquand 
Elizabeth  Carpenter 
Richard  G.  Atkinson 
Margaret  Briinnow 
Paulina  Ayers 
Madelaine  R.  Brown 
Louise  Stuart 
Margaret  K.  Hinds 
Gretchen  Rand 
Margaret  Earle 
Lorna  Kingston 
Daniel  S.  Wood,  Jr. 
Elsie  Wright 
Marian  B.  Mishler 
Mary  J.  Johnson 
Madeline  McCarty 
Lucy  Pomeroy 
Doris  Grimble 
Yvonne  Zenut 
Alice  J.  Loughran 
Julia  M.  Hicks 
John  J.  Miller 
Katherine  G.  Batts 
Dorothy  Deming 
Margaret  Griffith 
Marjorie  K.  Gibbons 
Benjamin  A.  G. 

Thorndike 
Lilian  L.  Remsen 

PUZZLES,  1 

Gustav'Diechmann 
Edith  Pierpont 

Stickney 
Alvin  E.  Blomquist 
Arthur  Schwarz 
A.  B.  Blinn 
Salvatore  Mammano 
*'  Chums" 
Miriam  Goodspeed 
Constance  Guyot 

Cameron 
Bessie  Radlofsky 
Juliet  Thompson 
Eleanor  Manning 
Eugenia  St.  Towle 
Elizabeth  E.  Abbott 
Wyllys  P.  Ames 
Virginia  Lee  Conner 
Lionel  Henderson 
Thomas  D.  Cabot 
Marguerite  T.  Arnold 
Carl  Fichandler 
Tena  O'Leary 
Alpheus  B.  Stickney 
Margaret  Spaulding 
Joseph  B.  Morse 
Fred  Floyd,  Jr. 
Eleanor  W.  Bowker 
Warwick  Beardsley 
Joe  Earnest 

PUZZLES,  2 

Parker  Lloyd  Smith 
Sophie  C.  Hills 
Virginia  M.  Thompson 
Gladys  Funck 
Elizabeth  Jones 
Virginia  Hitch 
Evelyn  Brady 
Jonas  Goldberg 
Armand  Donaldson 
Edith  J.  Smith 
Jean  F.  Benswanger 
Leonora  B.  Kennedy 


Nat.  M.  Wilson 
Adele  Courtleigh 
Henry  Ardsley 
Jerry  V.  Thrums 
Peyton  Spooner 
Cecil  Reinhardt 
Horace  Porter 
Gladys  Brown 
Edith  Lowe 


Alice  M.  Pincus 
Corrie  V.  Calkins 
Elvira  Tompson 
Henry  Sterns 
Frank  S.  Stone 
Downley  Vardon 
Gertrude  O'Neil 
Elbert  H.  Day 
Marguerite  Story 


Frank  Hardwick 
Foster  Drake 
Homer  Ellsworth 
Thomas  Atkins 
Francis  Burnes 
Elizabeth  Ryder 
Henrietta  Stein 
Percy  Gangloff 
Narcisse  Rejane 


PRIZE  COMPETITION  No.  172 

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.  172  will  close  February  24  (for  for- 
eign members  February  30).  Prize  announcements  will 
be  made  and  the  selected  contributions  published  in  St. 
Nicholas  for  June. 

Verse.  To  contain  not  more  than  twenty-four  lines. 
Subject,  "In  Blossom  Time." 

Prose.  Essay  or  story  of  not  more  than  three  hundred 
words.      Subject,  "  The  Village  Mystery. " 

Photograph.  Any  size,  mounted  or  unmounted  ;  no  blue 
prints  or  negatives.     Subject,  "  Playground  Pictures." 

Drawing.  India  ink,  very  black  writing-ink,  or  wash. 
Subject,    "  On  Time!  "  or  a  Heading  for  June. 

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  a  few  words  where 
and  under  what  circumstances  the  photograph  was  taken. 

No  unused  contribution  can  be  returned  jmless  it  is 
accompanied  by  a  self-addressed  and  stamped  envelop  of  the 
proper  size  to  hold  the  manuscript,  drawing,  or  photograph. 


RULES 

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 — and  must  state  in  writing — that 
the  contribution  is  not  copied,  but  wholly  the  work  and  idea 
of  the  sender.  If  prose,  the  number  of  words  should  also 
be  added.  These  notes  must  not  be  on  a  separate  sheet, 
but  on  the  contribution  itself —  if  manuscript,  on  the  upper 
margin  ;  if  a  picture,  on  the  margin  or  back.  Write  or 
draw  on  one  side  of  the  paper  only.  A  contributor  may  send 
but  one  contribution  a  month  —  not  one  of  each  kind,  but 
one  only;  this,  however,  does  not  include  the  "  advertising 
competition"  (see  advertising  pages)  or  "Answers  to 
Puzzles." 
Address :  The  St.  Nicholas  League, 

Union  Square,  New  York. 


THE   LETTER-BOX 


Venice,  Italy. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  taken  you  for  several  years, 
and  you  are  my  favorite  magazine.     I  do  not  think  there 
is  any  magazine  (at  least  I  have  never  seen  it)  that  has 
such  splendid  stories  and  interesting  competitions. 

All  the  stories  in  the  St.  Nicholas  are  so  good  that 
it  is  very  hard  to  choose  which  I  care  for  most,  but  I 
am  inclined  to  think  that  "More  Than  Conquerors"  is 
my  favorite. 

I  always  get  the  St.  Nicholas  late,  for  it  is  sent 
from  America  to  our  bankers,  and  is  forwarded  from 
there  to  where  we  are.  So  it  is  seldom  that  I  have  any 
hope  of  my  contribution  getting  to  you  in  time. 

My  younger  brother  is  as  anxious  to  read  you  as  I  am, 
so  there  is  always  a  scramble  when  you  arrive. 
Your  admiring  reader, 

Alice  Warren. 


Manila,  Philippine  Islands. 
Dear   St.    Nicholas  :    We   are   now   in    Manila   at   the 
palace,    or    the    governor-general's    house,    because    my 
father  is  Governor-General  Harrison,  and  we  are  going 
to  stay  here  four  long  years. 

We    live    right    on    the    Pasig    River,    which    is    very 
muddy  and  dirty. 

Our  trip  was  very  interesting,  going  to  Japan  and  all 
that. 

I  have  never  seen  a  letter  -from  here  before. 
With  wishes  for  a  long  life  I  remain 
Your  loving  reader, 

Virginia  R.  Harrison  (age  12). 


YONKERS,    N.    Y. 

Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  taken  you  for  five  years. 
So  I  thought  I  would  write  and  thank  you  for  the 
many  hours  of  pleasure  you  have  given  me. 

"The  Land  of  Mystery,"  "Beatrice  of  Denewood," 
and  "More  Than  Conquerors"  are  my  favorites.  Father 
particularly  likes  the  last,  while  my  small  cousin  enjoys 
the  Brownies. 

I  am  a  member  of  the  St.  Nicholas  League,  and  my 
brother  and  I  have  both  been  once  on  the  first  Roll  of 
Honor. 

The    Letter-box    is    very   interesting.      I    could    never 
end  in  telling  you  how  much   I   like   St.   Nicholas.     I 
wonder  what  I  did  before  I  knew  you? 
Your  interested  reader, 

Helen  Snow. 


Eltham  Park,  London,  England. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  feel  I  must  write  and  tell  you 
how  I  like  your  magazine  ;  it  is  all  so  very  interesting, 
and  I  think,  on  the  average,  American  children  are 
more  clever  than  their  English  cousins.  This  is  com- 
plimentary, but  I  think  it  is  true,  at  least  from  the 
League  contributions  it  seems  so.  I  wish  I  could  get  a 
lot  more  English  children  to  join.     I  think  I  will  try. 

I  have  felt  a  greater  inclination  for  drawing  since  I 
heard  about  the  League.  I  was  always  fond  of  sketch- 
ing, but  never  found  anywhere  to  send  my  sketches.  I 
had  a  short  story  brought  out  in  a  magazine  last  May, 
but  I  find  more  encouragement  in  your  magazine. 

I  would  like  to  tell  you  that  I  liked  the  article  on 
London  fire-engines  very  much  indeed.  Our  Eltham 
horse-drawn  engine  was  quickest  to  turn  out  in  a  com- 


petition for  all  the  London  stations.  It  had  the  swing- 
ing harness,  an  American  device,  but  now  we  have  a 
motor  fire-engine.  It  was  the  first  engine  of  its  kind 
used  in  the  London  district. 

I  can  speak  both  French  and  German.     I  like  German 
best,  though. 

I  have  to  lie  down  a  good  deal,  and  I  nearly  always 
read  you  then  ;  you  are  one  of  my  best  companions. 

With  best  wishes, 

Your  devoted  reader, 

Edith  Mabel  Smith  (age  16). 


Pietersburg,  Transvaal,  South  Africa. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  find  the  greatest  pleasure  in 
reading  your  stories,  especially  the  interesting  articles 
called  "With  Men  Who  Do  Things."  "Beatrice  of  Dene- 
wood"  was  such  a  pretty  story,  I  enjoyed  it  immensely. 
I  love  reading,  and  like  nothing  better  than  to  spend  an 


the  split  rock. 

afternoon  with  a  book.  I  've  only  taken  you  since 
October,  1912,  but  look  forward  to  my  month's  copy 
regularly. 

I  live  in  South  Africa  and  love  this  country,  it  's  so 
very  sunny  and  bright.  It  was  almost  unbearably  hot 
here  before  Christmas  ;  we  thought  we  would  never  sur- 
vive the  heat.     It  really  was  awful. 

I  am  inclosing  a  snap-shot  which  I  took  when  out  for 
a  picnic  sixteen  miles  from  town.  It  is  of  a  split  rock 
which  is  quite  unique,  for  it  has  a  winding  path  right 
through  it,  and  one  can   walk  through  it  with  comfort. 


382 


THE   LETTER-BOX 


It   is   caused   simply   by   the   constant   trickling   of   rain 
through  the  tiny  cracks  in  this  huge  rock. 

From  your  most  interested  reader, 

Geraldine  Allin  (age  15). 


Bayhead,  N.  J. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Please  excuse  me  for  not  writing 
in  ink,  'cause  Mother  and  Father  won't  let  me,  'cause  I 
spill  it  all  over  myself.  I  have  had  your  magazine  for 
nearly  three  years,  and  I  like  it  very  much.  I  like 
"Beatrice  of  Denewood"  better  than  any  story  I  have 
ever  read. 

I  just  got  my  magazine  this  morning.  I  have  started 
about  twenty  times  to  write  to  you,  but  something  al- 
ways happens  ;  nothing  happened  this  time. 

With  much  love, 

Forsyth  Patterson  (age  9). 

Elizabeth,  N.  J. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  This  is  only  the  second  time  I 
have  written  to  you,  but  I  really  must  again  tell  you 
how  much  I  enjoy  you.  I  have  belonged  to  the  League 
for  about  three  months,  but  I  have  never  yet  sent  any- 
thing ;  I  think  I  will  try  this  month. 

You  have  been  a  companion  to  me  for  three  years, 
and  I  hope  to  continue  right  along. 

I  think  "The  Land  of  Mystery"  is  one  of  the  most 
exciting  stories  I  have  ever  read,  and  I  also  liked  "Dor- 
othy, the  Motor-girl"  and  "The  Lady  of  the  Lane,"  and 
was  sorry  when  they  stopped. 

I  am  very  fond  of  writing  stories,  and  a  friend  and  I 
are  at  work  on  a  series.  We  hope  we  will  make  a  suc- 
cess of  them. 

Your  devoted  reader, 

Barbara  Coyne  (age  11). 


Hexham-on-Tyne,  England. 
Dear   St.    Nicholas  :    I   received   my   first  copy   of  you 
this  month,  and  liked  it  very  much. 

I  think  the  serial  story  called  "The  Runaway"  is  very 
interesting,  and  I  can  hardly  wait  for  the  next  number 
to  go  on  with  it.  Most  of  the  other  stories  I  have  re- 
read several  times  already. 

Although  I  am  English,  I  have  lived  in  America  for 
five  years.  It  was  at  a  pretty  seaside  place  called  Win- 
throp,  near  Boston,  Massachusetts. 

A  year  ago,  we  came  back  to  England  on  the 
Cunarder  Franconia,  a  ship  of  18,000  tons,  and  the 
largest  in  the  Boston  service. 

Hexham  is  a  pleasantly  situated  town  on  the  banks 
of  the  river  Tyne,  twenty  miles  from  the  nearest  city, 
Newcastle.  Although  comparatively  small,  it  is  some- 
what historic. 

In  the  year  1464,  a  battle  took  place  at  Hexham  be- 
tween Henry  VI  and  Lord  Montacute,  during  the  War 
of  the  Roses.  Probably  many  know  the  pretty  little 
story  about  the  escape  of  Queen  Margaret  and  her  in- 
fant son,  for  when  the  king's  army  was  defeated,  they 
were  obliged  to  flee  into  the  woods,  where  they  met  a 
robber  who  was  very  kind  to  them,  and  gave  them 
shelter  in  his  cave.  A  cave  which  fringes  the  Dipton 
burn  near  Hexham  is  called  Queen  Margaret's  cave  on 
the  strength  of  this  story.  Although  a  great  many 
believe  it  to  be  the  actual  cave,  it  is  in  reality  a  fiction 
as  far  as  Northumberland  is  concerned,  for  the  incident 
really  took  place  in  the  forest  of  Hainault.  Moreover,  the 
nature  of  the  rock  is  such  as  to  render  the  very  exis- 
tence of  the  cave  at  that  time  doubtful. 


Hexham  Abbey  is  also  of  interest.  It  was  built  by 
St.  Wilfred  six  or  seven  hundred  years  ago,  but  is 
called  "The  Priory  Church  of  St.  Andrew."  It  was 
burned  down  when  Galloway,  Wallace,  and  Bruce  de- 
stroyed the  town  at  different  periods,  only  its  walls 
remaining  standing.  Since  then,  it  has  been  rebuilt, 
and  a  year  or  two  ago,  a  new  section  was  built  on.  The 
Chapter  House  is  still  in  ruins  however. 

The  abbey  has  a  very  beautiful  chime  of  bells. 
These  bells  are  so  celebrated  that  a  gentleman,  visiting 
in  Rome,  in  listening  to  some  organ  music  in  the  streets 
there,  was  told  that  a  certain  part  of  the  music  was  an 
imitation  of  the  beautiful  Abbey  Church  bells  at  Hex- 
ham, in  England.  The  present  peal  was  recast  in  1742 
from  a  peal  of  six  which  had  hung  in  the  old  abbey 
tower  for  centuries,  and  which  was  praised  by  many 
tourists  of  note.  The  present  peal  consists  of  eight 
bells. 

The  Moot  Hall  is  the  next  building  of  interest  to  the 
abbey.  The  Duke  of  Somerset  was  beheaded  there, 
after  the  battle  of  1464.  In  earlier  years,  it  is  supposed 
to  have  been  used  to  defend  the  abbey  and  its  property 
in  time  of  danger,  or  for  a  tower  on  which  sentinels 
could  look  out  for  the  approach  of  an  enemy. 

The  manor  office  is  also  of  note,  and  was  probably 
used  for  similar  purposes  as  the  Moot  Hall,  though  not 
quite  as  old  as  the  latter  building. 

Although  now  living  in  Hexham,  I  am  not  a  native 
of  the  town.  I  belong  to  a  little  place  called  Halt- 
whistle,  fifteen  miles  west  of  Hexham,  where  we  lived 
before  going  to  America  in  1907. 

Your  interested  reader, 

Elsie  M.  Bell  (age  15). 


Tolland,  Colo. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  am  in  the  mountains  at  a  height 
of  9000  feet.  My  little  five-year-old  sister  and  I  are 
having  a  very  nice  time  up  here.  I  have  just  gotten  in 
a  lot  of  wood  in  the  push-cart  we  have.  Father  chopped 
it,  and  then  he  helped  me  to  bring  it  in  and  fill  the  big 
wood-box.     Most  of  the  wood  I  get  in  is  lodge-pole  pine. 

We  see  a  lot  of  birds,  and  we  see  a  lot  of  flowers. 
Mother  planted  an  alpine  gentian  last  year  when  we 
were  here,  and  we  think  it  has  come  up  this  year,  too. 

Mother  thought  up  a  little  verse  for  us  to  fit  into  that 
poem  of  yours  called  "A  Vacation  Song."     Here  it  is: 

I  know  where  I  '11  be,  I  '11  be, 
As  soon  as  I  'm  free,  so  free, 

On  mountains  high 

So  near  the  sky, 
The  clouds  will  play  with  me,  with  me. 

Your  loving  reader, 

Joseph  Denison  Elder  (age  7). 


Southsea,  England. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  never  written  to  you  before, 
but  I  must  write  to  you  now  to  tell  you  how  much   I 
enjoyed  "The  Land  of  Mystery." 

My  mother  is  an  American,  and  she  always  used  to 
have  St.  Nicholas  when  she  was  a  little  girl. 

In  1908,  we  went  out  to  Mauritius  for  three  years. 
It  was  very  hot  there,  and  many  of  the  natives  died  of 
the  plague.  We  had  many  pets  out  there,  a  dog,  a  cat, 
two  pigeons,  two  canaries,  and  a  duck,  also  a  big  horse, 
called  Percy.  I  was  only  four  years  old  when  I  went 
out  to  Mauritius,  and  now  I  am  nine.  I  have  a  sister 
named  Betty  who  is  six  and  a  half. 

Your  loving  reader, 

Peggy  Waymouth. 


THE 


6§X 


Brawn.    3.  Eared.    4.  Swede. 


ANSWERS  TO  PUZZLES  IN  THE  JANUARY  NUMBER 

Double  Word-square,    i.  Obese.   5 

5.  Ended.     1.  Raw.     2.  Are.     3.  Wed. 

Word-square,    i.  Caste.    2.  Abhor.    3.  Shine.    4.  Tonic.    5.  Erect. 

Roman  Diagonal.  Hannibal.  Cross-words:  1.  Heraclea.  2.  Cati- 
line. 3.  Sentinura.  4.  Cornelia.  5.  Philippi.  6.  Superbus.  7.  Aure- 
lian.     8.  Quirinal. 

Novel  Acrostic.  Initials,  Emancipation;  third  row,  Proclamation. 
Cross-words:   1.   Empty.     2.   Marsh.     3.  Aloud.     4.  Nicer.     5.   Colon. 

6.  Image.     7.  Pumas.     8.  Alarm.     9.    Total.     10.    Idiot,      n.  Odors, 
12.  Nancy. 

Oblique  Rectangle.  i.  A.  2.  Imp.  3.  Amain.  4.  Piles.  5. 
Never.  6.  Sepia.  7.  Rifle.  8.  Alarm.  9.  Error.  10.  Molar,  n. 
Rajah.  12.  Rapid.  13.  Hives.  14.  Deter.  15.  Serum.  16.  Rupee. 
17.  Metre.  18.  Erase.  19.  Essay.  20.  Eased.  21.  Yearn.  22.  Drain. 
23.  Nihil.     24.  Niter.     25.  Leg.     26.   R. 

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  November  Number  were  received  before  November  24  from  Helen  G.  Robb — Douglass  Mar- 
baker — Eleanor  E.  Carrol — Horace  B.  Davis— Russell  Herman — Gladys  S.  Conrad — Gavin  Watson — Hildegarde  L.  Maedje — Anne  Barton 
Townsend — Harold  Kirby — Max  Stolz — Marjorie  Marks — Mary  L.  Ingles — Arnold  Guyot  Cameron — William  T.  Flickinger — Evelyn  Hillman 
— Frances  B.  Gardiner — "Terrapin" — Ruth  V.  A.  Spicer — Janet  Brouse — "Chums" — Lothrop  Bartlett — Helen  A.  Moulton — Thomas  D.  Cabot 
— Lois  Hopkins — Katharine  Chapman — Gertrude  Van  Home — Dorothy  Livingston — John  T  Brown — "  Allil  and  Adi" — Esther  Ward — Jessie 
Weiss — Florence  S.  Carter — "  Midwood" — Edgar  H.  Rossbach — Theodore  H.  Ames — Florence  M.  Treat — Claire  A.  Hepner — Sophie  Rosenheim. 

Answers  to  Puzzles  in  the  November  Number  were  received  before  November  24  from  Henry  G.  Herzog,  8 — Martin  H.  White,  8 — -Tina 
O'Leary,  8 — Eleanor  Manning,  8 — Fanny  Schleisner,  7 — Albert  E.  Griffin,  Jr.,  7 — Janet  B.  Fine,  6 — Philip  H.  Ward,  6 — Marian  E.  Stearns,  6 — 
Amy  Erlandsen,  6 — Dorothy  Hieber,  4 — Helen  E.  Ney,  4 — Cornelia  F.  Goldbeck,  4 — Dorothy  Crane,  3 — Frances  K.  Marlatt,  3 — Rosalie  L. 
Smith,  3— Nellie,  3— R.  Bartlett,  3— H.  Okell,  2— E.  Bray,  2— N.  French,  2— C.  F.  Chandler,  2— G.  M.  Potter,  2— F.  Rogers,  2— G.  Aich,  2— 
"  Puzzler,"  2— C.  Hartt,  2 — David  P.  G.  Cameron,  2 — C.  M.  Wood,  2— C.  A.  Rinaldi,  1 — M.  Feuerman,  1 — V.  A.  L.,  1 — S.  Mammano,  1 — A. 
Harrisson,  1— F.  W.  Floyd,  Jr.,  1— E.  Mayo,  1— R.  M.  Regan,  1— E.  Carpenter,  1— R.  L.  Wiel,  1— J.  G.  Greene,  1— H.  Herren,  1— F.  Cuntz, 
1 — R.  Leech,  1. 


New-Year's  Acrostic.  Primals,  Maria  Edgeworth;  finals,  "Cas- 
tle Rackrent."  Cross-words:  1.  Mimic.  2.  Arena.  3.  Rebus.  4.  In- 
apt. 5.  Annul.  6.  Elite.  7.  Drear.  8.  Greta.  9.  Ethic.  10.  Wreak. 
11.  Osier.     12.  Rifle.     13.  Token.     14.  Haunt. 

Triple  Beheadings  and  Triple  Curtailings.  Robert  Burns.  1. 
Ope-rat-ive.  2.  Abs-orb-ent.  3.  Pro-bat-ion.  4.  Imp-end-ing.  5.  Int- 
rod-uce.  6.  Con-tin-ent.  7.  Rab-bin-ism.  8.  Sat-urn-ian.  9.  Mat-rim- 
ony.     10.  Mag-net-ism.     11.  Sen-sat-ion. 

Illustrated  Diagonal.  Mozart.  1.  Mortar.  2.  Poodle.  3.  Liz- 
ard.    4.  Banana.     5.  Retort.     6.  Cornet. 

Numerical  Enigma. 

"  Music  washes  away  from  the  soul  the  dust  of  every-day  life." 

Novel  Double  Diagonal.  Greece,  Servia.  From  1  to  8,  Belgrade ; 
9  to  14,  Athens.  Cross-words:  1.  Gorges.  2.  Draper.  3.  Emerge.  4. 
Havens.     5.  Bisect.     6.  Alcove. 


CROSS-WORD  ENIGMA 

My  first  is  in  hat,  but  not  in  cap  ; 
My  second  in  sleep,  but  not  in  nap  ; 
My  third  is  in  bread,  but  not  in  meat ; 
My  fourth  is  in  warm,  but  not  in  heat  ; 
My  fifth  is  in  ink,  but  not  in  water ; 
My  sixth  is  in  niece,  but  not  in  daughter ; 
My  seventh   in  grove,  but  not  in  tree  ; 
My  whole  is  a  fish  we  sometimes  see. 

Alfred  curjel  (age  10),  League  Member. 

CENTRAL  ACROSTIC 

All  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number  of 
letters.  When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another,  the  central  row  of  letters  spell  the  name  of  a 
famous  American   writer. 

1.  A  guide.  2.  Obscurity.  3.  To  misuse.  4.  A  water- 
nymph.  5.  An  insertion.  6.  A  frolic.  7.  To  let.  8.  A 
feminine  nickname.  9.  In  disguise.  10.  A  throng.  11. 
A  city  of  Montana.     12.  To  bury. 

Elizabeth  m.  brand  (age  1 3),  League  Member. 


DIAGONAL 

All  of  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number 
of  letters.  When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another,   the   diagonal,   beginning   with   the   upper,   left- 


hand  letter  and  ending  with  the  lower,  right-hand  letter, 
will  spell  the  name  of  a  beautiful  city. 

Cross-words  :  1.  A  region  uninhabited  by  human 
beings.  2.  Pouched  animals.  3.  Hopeless.  4.  A  poison- 
ous weed.  5.  Imaginary.  6.  A  kind  of  small  brig  hav- 
ing no  square  mainsail.  7.  To  collect  into  an  assem- 
blage. 8.  Casual.  9.  Amusement.  10.  Place  of  abode. 
marjorie  k.  gibbons  (age  15) ,  Honor  Member. 

CONUNDRUM 

Which  cutting  tool  would  make  the  best  incubator? 
sherwood  buckstaff  (age  12),  League  Member. 

NOVEL  DOUBLE  ZIGZAG 

Cross-words:  i.  Part  of  a 
flower.  2.  A  king  of  Troy. 
3.  To  surmise.  4.  Circum- 
ference. 5.  Frilled  or  plaited 
lace.  6.  Bashfully.  7.  Mean- 
ing. 8.  A  Russian  measure 
of  length. 

Primal  zigzag,  a  flower ; 
final  zigzag,  the  gem  which 
is  assigned  to  the  month  named  by  the  figures  from  1  to 
8  ;  from  9  to  17,  a  pleasant  remembrance  often  bestowed 
during  that  month. 

eugene  scott  (age  1 5),  Honor  Member. 


13 


10 


14 
15 


16 
4 


17 


383 


384 


THE   RIDDLE-BOX 


ILLUSTRATED  NUMERICAL  ENIGMA 

In  this  numerical  enigma,  the  words  forming  it  are  pic- 
tured instead  of  described.  The  answer,  consisting  of 
forty-four  letters,  is  a  quotation  from  Charles  Lamb. 

ARITHMETICAL  PUZZLE 

(Silver  Badge,  St.  Nicholas  League  Competition) 
When   Harold  asked  his  friend  Jack  how  old  he  was, 
Jack  replied  : 

"I  am  two  years  older  than  one  sixth  of  my  father's 
age.  Four  years  ago,  I  was  one  seventh  as  old  as  my 
father.  Eight  years  from  now,  I  will  be  two  thirds 
older  than  I  am  now." 

How  old  were  Jack  and  his  father? 

J.    ROY    ELLIOTT    (age    13). 

CONCEALED  DOUBLEJTRANSPOSITIONS 

(Silver  Badge,  St.  Nicholas  League  Competition) 

Example  : 

Jack  Brown  resides  on  Simpson  Street ; 
He  says  he  's  sure  our  side  will  beat. 
In  the  above  is  concealed  a  day  in  March  ;  the  letters 
in  this  word  may  be  transposed  to  make  expires  and  rim. 
Answer,  ides  (in  resides)  ;  dies  ;  side. 

1.  Their  side,  the  one  that  won  the  candy; 
Her  ace,  the  card  that  came  in  handy. 

A  contest ;  a  measure  of  surface  ;  solicitude. 

2.  Less  than  a  hundred  shares  were  sold  ; 
The  company  had  lost  its  hold. 

A  timid  rodent ;  to  heed  ;  a  Greek  goddess. 

3.  "Can't  come,"  he  called,  "  'cause  I  feel  bad  ; 
I  '11  come  sometime — don't  look  so  mad." 

A  famous  island  ;  misery ;  capable. 

4.  The  time  elapsed  ;  she  reappeared, 
Too  thinly  clad,  her  mother  feared. 

A  fruit ;  to  peel ;  to  harvest. 

5.  "Hope  Annie  found  you  all  quite  well; 
I  arrived  in  time  to  visit  Nell." 

A  falsifier  ;  to  scoff  ;  a  den. 

6.  The  captain  gave  a  sudden  start ; 
Despairing  fear  seized  every  heart. 

Lairs  ;  to  transmit ;  terminates. 

7.  Oh,  what  a  clamor  then  arose  ; 
"Our  soldiers  have  attacked  the  foes  !" 

A  flower;  the  god  of  love;  painful. 

8.  Irene  gave  illness  as  a  reason  ; 


It  seemed  but  little  less  than  treason. 
To  conceal ;  wickedness  ;  a  masculine  name. 
9.  The  doctor's  aid  was  not  required ; 

The  little  boy  was  only  tired. 
Uttered  ;  a  throne  ;  assists. 

10.  I  had  good  cause  to  doubt,  in  sooth, 
For  Emma  never  spoke  the  truth. 

Hair  on  the  neck  of  a  beast ;  title  ;  stingy. 

11.  His  Christmas  presents  gave  him  joy; 
The  first  a  book  to  please  a  boy. 

To  pierce  ;  bits  of  lace  on  a  bonnet ;  heavy  clubs. 

The  initials  of  the  last  of  the  three  words  defined 
(eleven  letters  in  all)  will  spell  the  name  of  a  noted 
English  essayist  born  in  February. 

LOWRY  A.   BIGGERS    (age    l6). 

FRIMAL  AND  CENTRAL  ACROSTIC 

All  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number  of 
letters.  When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another,  the  initial  letters  will  spell  a  famous  queen  of 
ancient  times,  and  the  central  letters  will  spell  a  famous 
queen  of  the  Middle  Ages. 

Cross-words:  i.  Neat.  2.  A  flowering  shrub.  3. 
Banishment.  4.  Flows  gently.  5.  A  thick  board.  6.  A 
book  for  photographs.  7.  Subject.  8.  Proportion.  9. 
To  detest. 

ida  cramer  (age  12),  Honor  Member. 

DOUBLE  ZIGZAG 

All  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number  of 
letters.  When  rightly  guessed,  the  zigzag  beginning 
with  the  upper,  left-hand  letter  and  ending  with  the 
lower,  left-hand  letter,  forms  a  quotation  from  Soph- 
ocles. The  zigzag  beginning  with  the  upper,  right- 
hand  letter  and  ending  with  the  lower,  right-hand  letter, 
forms  another  quotation  from  Sophocles. 

Cross-words  :  i.  Not  present.  2.  To  blast.  3.  To 
protect.  4.  To  accompany.  5.  Muscular.  6.  Not  able. 
7.  To  labor  hard.  8.  To  stick  fast.  9.  Severe.  10.  A 
separate  portion  of  a  sentence.  11.  The  reputed  home 
of  Ulysses.  12.  Profits.  13.  One  who  makes  beer.  14. 
Gaudy.  15.  To  revolve  round  a  central  point.  16.  A 
famous  Greek  poetess.  17.  Tiny  fragments  of  bread. 
18.  One  who  employs  a  legal  adviser.  19.  A  coarse 
shoe.     20.  To  dismount.     21.  To  prepare  by  boiling. 

Isidore  helfand  (age  15),  Honor  Member. 


THE    DE   V1NNE    PRESS,  NEW  YORK. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


0sj*h  Campbell  Co«?  A 


"Fin  no  clam.    But  I'm 
for  this  Clam  Chowder!" 

"I'm  for  it,  strong.     And  I'm  all  the  stronger  for  it. 

"The  delicious  broth  makes  me  think  I'm  down  at  the  shore 
again  in  July  with  the  sea  breeze  blowing  over  the  beach. 

"And  the  tender  clams  that  are  cut  up  in  the  broth,  the  bits 
of  salt  pork  and  the  cubed  potatoes  and  the  tomatoes  and  all — 
0  my!  It  makes  me  hungry  just  to  think  of  it.  Campbell's  is 
a  real  clam  chowder!" 

You'll  say  so,  too.     Try  it  for  dinner  today. 

Your  money  back  if  not  satisfied. 

21  kinds  10c  a  can 


Asparagus 

Beef 

Bouillon 

Celery 

Chicken 

Chicken-Gumbo  (Okra) 


Clam  Bouillon 
Clam  Chowder 
Consomme 
Julienne 
Mock  Turtle 


Mulligatawny 
Mutton  Broth 
Ox  Tail 
Pea 
Pepper  Pot 


Printanier 

Tomato 

Tomato-Okra 

Vegetable 

Vermicelli-Tomato 


mnmmmm. 


tfmAMLSovps 

Look  -for  -'the  re6-c\n&VJnris  JaixsJ 


13 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Tell  Your  Friends  About 
Holeproof 


LET    your    friends   know  what 
j    Holeproof     Hosiery    saves 
for    you.       Show     them 
the  "style"  —  let  them   feel   the 
"comfort." 

For  every-day  wear,  travel,  or  ex- 
ercise ;  for  business  men  who  walk  a 
great  deal;  for  stremions  children;  for 
women  who  want  style  with  more  than 
a  day's  wear — Holeproof  is  the  logical 
hosiery. 

Get  the  lightest,  sheerest  weights  if 
you  want  them.  Six  pairs  of  Holeproof 
will  wear  half  a  year  without  holes  or 
tears.     That  is  guaranteed. 


If  any  of  the  six  pairs  fail  in  that  time 
we  will  replace  them  with  new  hose 
free. 

See  if  there  is  a  single  wanted  hosiery 
advantage  that  you  do  not  find  in  Hole- 
proofs. 

The  genuine  Holeproof  is  sold  in  your 
own.        Write    for  the   dealers'   names. 
We  ship  direct  where  no  dealer  is  near, 
charges    prepaid,    on    receipt   of  remit- 
tance. 

HOLEPROOF   HOSIERY   COMPANY 
Milwaukee,  Wisconsin 

Holeproof  Hosiery  Co.  of  Canada,  Ltd.,  London,  Can. 
Holeproof  Hosiery  Co. ,  10  Church  Alley,  Liverpool,  Eng. 


osierq 

AND  CHILDREN-^ 


$1.30  per  box  and  up  for  six  pairs  of 
men's:  of  women's  and  children's,  $2.00 
and  up:  of  infants'  (4  pairs),  $1.00.  Above 
boxes  guaranteed  six  months. 

$2.00  per  box  of  three  pairs  of  men's 
SILK  Holeproof  Socks;  of  women's  SILK 
Holeproof  Stockings,  $3.00.  Boxes  of  silk 
guaranteed  three  months. 


"&**<&*/£ 


FOR  WOMEN 


Write  for  the  free  book  about 
Holeproof  Silk  Gloves,  and 
ask  for  the  name  of  the  dealer 
£S^~k  who  sells  them.  These  are 
the  durable  sty  lish  gloves  that 
every  woman  has  wanted. 
Made  in  all  sizes,  lengths  and 
colors.  (527) 


14 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


A  Quiet  Little  Spread. 

Nothing  has  more  charm  for  college  girls  than  the  very  exclusive  little  spreads  enjoyed  in  their 
rooms  at  night,  and  they  tell  us  they  serve 


on  these  occasions  because  it  can  be  made  into  a  great  variety  of  just  such 
dainty  dishes  as  they  like  best,  and  "anybody  can  fix  it  in  a  minute." 

For  big  dinners  and  for  little  spreads  Jell-O  is  alike  suitable. 

It  can  be  made  into  so  great  a  variety  of  dishes  that  one  for  any  occa- 
sion can  be  prepared  from  it. 

A  beautiful  new  Recipe  Book,  with  brilliantly  colored 
pictures  by  Rose  Cecil  O'Neill,  author  and  illustrator  of  "The 
Kewpies,"  will  be  sent  free  to  all  wbo  write  and  ask  Us  for  it. 

There  are  seven  Jell-O  flavors,  all  pure  fruit  flavors,  as  follows : 
Strawberry,  Raspberry,  Lemon,  Orange,  Cherry,  Peach,  Chocolate. 

1 0  cents  a  package  at  any  grocer's  or  any  general  store. 

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. 


15 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


16 


AN   OLD-FASHIONED   NOSEGAY 

A   VALENTINE    FANTASY 
PAINTED  FOR   THE   CENTURY   BY   ANNA   WHELAN   BETTS 


This  is  the  black  color-plate  of  a  picture  exquisitely 
reproduced  in  full  colors  in  the  February   Century. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"What  made  you  reject  that  man?" 

I  asked  an  army  sergeant  on  recruiting  service, 
as  a  broad  shouldered  would-be  soldier  was 
turned  away. 

"Bad  teeth!"  replied  the  sergeant.  'You  would  be 
surprised  to  know  that  from  six  to  eight  per  cent,  of  the 
recruits  applying  for  enlistment  in  the  U.  S.  Army  within 
one  year  were  rejected  because  of  defective  teeth  alone. 
And  that  thirty-five  per  cent,  of  the  catarrhal  cases  in  the 
U.  S.  Army  were  directly  traceable  to  diseased  oral  con- 
ditions. ' ' 

Perfect  cleanliness  of  the  teeth  is  absolutely  essential  to  Good  Health. 
A  pleasant,  sure  way  to  perfect  cleanliness  is  the  twice-a-day  use  of 
Colgate's  Ribbon  Dental  Cream,  and  the  twice-a-year  visit  to  your 
dentist. 

\bu  too  should  use 

COLGATE'S 

RIBBON  DENTAL  CREftM 


TRADE       MASK 


17 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"PRACTISING" 

This  nttle  boy  practising  his  scales  will 
be  ready  for  his  piano  lesson  on  Satur- 
day. He  has  been  reading  that  new 
book  that  all  little  musicians  should 
read,  play  and  sing — 

Improving  Songs 

for 

Anxious  Children 

with  fascinating  illustrations 
and  beautiful  little  tunes  by 

John  and  Rue  Carpenter 

containing  little  stories  to  music,  of 
War,  Stout,  Red-Head,  Maria,  The 
Glutton,  Brother,  Making  Calls,  A 
Wicked  little  Boy,  The  Liar,  and 
The  Vain  Little  Lady  whose  picture 
is  shown  below.  Ask  for  this  book,  it 
costs  only  $1.50  and  is  published  by 

G.  SGHIRMER  (inc.) 
3  East  43d  St.  New  York 

FOR  SALE  AT  ALL  MUSIC-STORES 


•VANITY" 


, , 

THE 

BGDK 

ml  it! .  Jilii      Wtefo 

MAN 

Where  are  you  going  next  summer?  If  it 's 
back  to  the  farm  where  you  have  played  every 
summer  since  you  can  remember,  that  's  quite 
the  jolliest  of  anything  that  could  happen. 
Perhaps,  however,  there  is  n't  any  farm  for 
you  to  go  to;  and  you  are  to  travel  a  bit  with 
Mother  and  Father.  In  either  case,  a  very 
happy  book  to  get  acquainted  with  these  win- 
ter evenings  is  a  recent  volume,  by  Robert 
Haven  Schauffler,  called  "Romantic  America." 
It  is  a  wonderfully  beautiful  book,  with  pic- 
tures and  pictures  and  pictures ;  and  it  shows 
you  what  beautiful  and  interesting  places 
America  has  waiting  for  us  all  to  visit — Cape 
Cod,  Virginia,  Mammoth  Cave,  Yellowstone 
Park,  the  Yosemite  Valley,  the  Grand  Canon, 
fascinating  New  Orleans,  all  the  glory  of 
Maine,  and — can  you  guess  which  of  our  cities 
it  is? — "the  City  of  Beautiful  Smoke."  If  you 
have  any  love  of  travel  in  you — and  which  of 
us  has  not — you  will  have  great  joy  in  this 
book,  and  it  will  make  you  eager  to  see  your 
own  country  before  any  other — thus  carrying 
out  what  the  author  declares  is  the  aim  of  his 
book,  as  expressed  in  a  phrase  of  Emerson's, 
"to  cast  out  .  .  .  the  passion  for  Europe  by 
the  passion  for  America." 

You  have  all  read  Kipling's  "Jungle  Book," 
of  course ;  but  you  will  love  it  better  than  ever 
in  the  new  edition  which  has  sixteen  very 
beautiful  full  pages  in  colors  by  Maurice  and 
Edward  Detmold,  two  famous  English  artists, 
and  a  very  lovely  cover. 

Did  you  know  that  Kipling's  books  to-day 
sell  better  than  those  of  any  other  living  au- 
thor? "The  Jungle  Book"  and  "The  Second 
Jungle  Book"  are  considered  almost  the  best 
things  he  ever  did;  and  all  critics  agree  that 
there  are  no  books  so  rich  in  the  magic  and 
mystery  and  charm  of  the  great  open  and  its 
life. 

There  have  been  fairy  stories  before,  of 
course,  where  man  and  beast  talked  together ; 
but  never  before  has  so  perfect  a  scheme  of 
contact  been  carried  out.  Mowgli  and  Baloo 
and  Bagheera  and  Kaa  and  Mother  Wolf— 
they  are  more  real  than  most  folks,  even  those 

(Contimied  on  page  /9.) 


18 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 

THE  BOOK  MAN— Continued 

who  dwell  under  the  same  roof,  and  far  more 
interesting  and  delightful. 


THE  LATE  DR.  S.   WEIR  MITCHELL 

All  of  you,  as  you  grow  older,  will  want  to 
read  Dr.  S.  Weir  Mitchell's  novels.  Dr. 
Mitchell,  whose  death  came  rather  suddenly 
January  4,  1914,  was  one  of  the  most  inter- 
esting and  important  figures  in  all  American 
literature;  and  his  "Hugh  Wynne,  Free 
Quaker,"  and  "Westways,"  are  probably  the 
greatest  of  American  historical  novels.  There 
is  a  charming  picture  in  "Westways"  of  the 
happy  life  which  two  cousins,  boy  and  girl, 
had  on  a  beautiful  country  estate  in  Pennsyl- 
vania in  the  fifties  of  the  last  century.  They, 
both,  rode,  and  swam,  and  ran  at  will  through 
the  woods ;  and  Dr.  Mitchell  made  it  evident 
that  he,  as  well  as  his  characters,  loved  a  horse 
and  the  comradeship  between  man  and  horse. 

Later  in  the  book  comes  a  wonderful  pic- 
ture of  the  Civil  War,  not  as  a  whole,  but  as 
it  seemed  to  the  individual  man  and  woman 
as  they  went  on  their  daily  way.  It  is  all  told 
with  a  scholarly  finish  and  rare  literary  qual- 
ity that  make  its  reading  richly  worth  while. 
The  Book  Man  urges  all  the  older  boys  and 
girls  who  read  these  columns  to  try  "West- 
ways"  soon. 

While  Dr.  Mitchell's  writings  were  almost 
entirely  for  older  readers  there  is  one  book  of 
his,  "Prince  Little  Boy  and  Other  Tales  Out 
of  Fairy-land,"  which  every  child  should  read. 
The  spell  of  Fairy-land  is  in  every  one  of 
these  tales  in  rare  degree,  and  the  magic  of  a 
writer  who  had  himself  found  the  way  to 
Fairy-land  and  never  quite  forgotten  it.  To 
read  the  book  is  the  next  best  thing  to  visiting 
Fairy-land;  and,  such  is  its  magic  that  he  who 
reads — unless  he  is  very,  very  stupid,  or  very, 
very  unworthy — will  find  the  path  to  Fairy- 
land, and  get  glimpses  inside  the  fence,  and, 
perhaps,  find  the  Fairy  whose  kiss  means  love 
of  the  sun  and  the  woods  and  all  living  crea- 
tures, and  what  birds  talk  about,  and  what 
songs  the  winds  sing  to  the  trees. 

The  artists  who  made  the  pictures  have 
been  to  Fairy-land,  too. 

{Continued  on  page  20.) 


ESKAYS 
FOOD 

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  on  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 
ones  food  and  health. 

TEN  FEEDINGS  FREE 


Smith,  Kline  &  French  Co.,  462  Arch  St.,  Philadelphia  | 

I  Gbntlkmen:  Please  send  me  free  10  feedingsof  Eskfiy's  Food  and  your 
I  helpful  book  for  mothers.  "  How  to  Care  for  the  Baby." 

|  Kame , 

[  Street  and  No 

City  and  State 

'        '  '■■ —   i  -i  in  i  i 

-  ii    ii  Hi 


19 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


~ycou0  73o^x/^r^ 


^  \-      BRAND    :M±\ 
L ONDENSEU 

MILK 


For  three  generations  has  been  the  World's 
Leading  Brand  for  Infant  Feeding.  For 
Sale  everywhere;  always  uniform  in  com- 
position; easily  prepared;  economical.  It 
provides  a  safe,,  wholesome  substitute  when 
Nature's  Supply  fails.  Send  for  Booklet 
and  Feeding  Chart. 

BORDEN'S  CONDENSED  MILK  CO. 

ESTAB.  1857.  Leaders 

NEW  YORK  °n..,!u„ 


THE  BOOK  MAN— Continued 

It  is  interesting  to  know  that  the  first  private 
library,  according  to  the  best  authority,  was 
that  of  Aristotle.  One  of  the  most  famous  of 
all  early  collections  of  books  was  the  library 
of  the  Emperor  Julian,  which  had  over  its  en- 
trance the  following  inscription : 

"Some  have  horses  and  hawks  and  hounds, 
some  pine  for  riches,  but  I,  since  my  boyhood, 
have  pined  for  books." 

And  how  many  of  you  know  that  George 
Washington  was  one  of  our  first  great  book- 
collectors  ?  Many  of  you,  probably,  have  seen 
some  of  the  volumes  which  were  part  of  his 
collection. 

The  careful  handling  of  a  good  book  is  a 
courtesy  every  real  lover  of  books  never  fails 
to  give  these  silent,  faithful  friends.  Never 
open  a  book,  your  own  or  another's,  or  a  pub- 
lic library  book,  violently,  nor  bend  back  the 
covers.  When  getting  acquainted  with  a 
new  book  lay  it  back  downward,  on  a  smooth 
table  or  surface.  Press  the  front  cover  down 
until  it  touches  the  table,  then  the  back  cover, 
holding  the  leaves  in  one  hand  while  you  open 
a  few  of  the  leaves  at  the  back,  then  at  the 
front,  alternately,  pressing  them  down  gently 
until  you  reach  the  center  of  the  volume.  This 
should  be  done  two  or  three  times.  A  true 
lover  of  books  comes  to  find  it  impossible  to 
handle  a  book — any  book — carelessly,  and  a 
careful  handling  of  all  books  goes  far  to  train 
a  thoughtless  boy  or  girl  to  a  right  regard  for 
books. 

One  of  the  young  folks  who  wrote  recently 
to  the  Book  Man,  and  whose  letter  showed  a 
wide  acquaintance  with  good  books,  asked, 
"What  kind  of  a  book  is  'Daddy  Do-Funny'?" 


DADDY  DO  FUNNYS 
WISDOM  JINGLES 


RUTH  M?ENERY  STUART 


Well,  "Daddy  Do-Funny"  is  a  book  of  jin- 
gles in  negro  dialect,  full  of  rhythm  and  fun 
—  sunny,  jolly  reading.  But  it  is  something 
more  than  mere  surface  sparkle  — the  jingles 
hold  a  real  and  quaint  philosophy  of  the  kind 
which  appeals  to  the  mind  of  the  negro,  and 
which  is  akin,  at  the  heart,  to  all  philosophy, 
making  the  book  one  of  the  best,  if  not  the 

{Continued  on  page  21.) 


20 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


THE  BOOK  MAN— Continued 

best,  illustrations  of  folk-lore  in  our  literature. 
Here  are  two  quotations  from  the  book  : 

DADDY'S  WEATHER  PRAYER 

One  asks  far  sun,  an'  one  for  rain, 

An'  sometimes  bofe  together. 
I  prays  for  sunshine  in  my  heart 

An'  den  forgits  de  weather. 

THE  OLD  ROOSTER 

Ef  de  hoa'se  ol'  rooster  would  n't  crow  so  loud 
He  mought  pass  for  young  in  de  barn-yard  crowd  ; 
But  he  strives  so  hard,  an'  he  steps  so  spry, 
Dat  de  pullets  all  winks  whilst  he  marches  by. 

An'  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat,  in  dat — 

An'  he  ain't  by  'isself  in  dat ! 

You  will  find  that  every  one  who  reads  the 
book — young  and  old — chuckles  over  it — and 
that  's  a  pretty  good  commendation  of  a  book, 
is  n't  it? 

Of  course,  the  Very  Little  Folk  do  not  read 
these  columns;  but  Big  Brothers  and  Sisters 
do — as  the  many  letters  coming  to  the  Book 
Man  pleasantly  prove.  Let  them  remember 
that  every  little  brother  and  sister  should 
have  the  most  beautiful  picture  book  of  many 
years,  the  Arthur  Rackham  Mother  Goose. 
And  such  is  the  power  of  genius  that  all  ages 
grow  young  together  in  their  enjoyment  of 
the  wonderful  color  and  delicious  humor  of 
Rackham's  drawings. 

The  Book  Man  has  been  specially  interested 
in  one  letter  from  a  thirteen-year-old  St. 
Nicholas  reader  way  off  in  Berlin,  who  is 
more  interested  in  the  Century  Dictionary, 
Cyclopedia,  and  Atlas  than  in  any  of  the  books 
talked  about  in  these  columns.  And  why?  For 
the  best  of  reasons,  because  the  Dictionary, 
Cyclopedia,  and  Atlas  have  the  "answers  to 
almost  all  my  questions." 

The  Dictionary  habit  is  a  splendid  one  to 
form;  and  you  will  find  turning  for  informa- 
tion to  the  pages  of  the  Century  Dictionary, 
Cyclopedia,  and  Atlas  increasingly  fascinating. 
Often  the  exact  meaning  of  an  unfamiliar 
work  opens  up  a  new  world;  and  the  Atlas, 
with  its  many  beautiful  maps,  gives  you  a 
bird's-eye  view  of  the  whole  world. 

If  you  have  n't  a  set  of  the  new  edition  of 
the  Century  Dictionary,  Cyclopedia,  and  Atlas 
— which  the  Book  Man  believes  is  the  best 
work  of  its  kind  ever  published— and  if  you 
are  really  interested  in  having  a  set  for  your 
home,  just  drop  a  line  to  the  Book  Man.  He 
will  be  very  glad  to  write  you  some  very  in- 
teresting facts  about  the  value  of  this  won- 
derful reference  work. 

The  Book  Man  likes  to  hear  from  St.  Nich- 
olas readers.  The  more  letters  the  better. 
Address 

THE  BOOK  MAN 
St.  Nicholas  New  York 


IIIIIIIMIIIIMIIMIIlailHlllllllllllllllllllllllllllHIIIIIIIIIHIIIIIIIllllllllllllllllllllll 


Beech-Nut 


Boys! 


The  next  time  you  want 
something  specially  good 
to  eat,  ask  Mother  to 
spread  your  bread  thick 
with  Beech-Nut  Peanut 
Butter. 

Fine  for  your  school-lunch 
— for  a  snack  along  in  the 
afternoon  playtime  —  and 
about  the  best  ration  you 
can  take  for  a  day' s  Scouting 
with  your  Patrol. 

Mother  knows  about  Beech- 
Nut  Peanut  Butter.  She  will  be 
glad  for  vou  to  have  it. 

It  is  one  of  the  Beech-Nut 
Delicacies,  served  by  a  million 
American  women  who  appreciate 
delicious  flavor. 

Beech-Nut  Peanut  Butter  comes  in 
■vacuum-sealed  jars  of  three  sizes — try 
the  15-cent  size.  Sold  by  representa- 
tive grocers  and  provisioners  every- 
where. 

Send  your  name  on  a  post  card  for 
"Happy  Little  Beech-Nuts"— jingle 
booklet,  beautifully  illustrated. 

Beech-Nut  Packing  Company 
canajoharie,  n.  y. 


""" luiniiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiniiiimiiiiiiiimiiiiiiiininimiinnniiiiiHmnmi 


21 


St.  Nicholas  A  advertising  Competition,  No.  146. 


Time  to  send  in   answers   is   up  February   20.     Prize-winners  announced  in  the  April  number. 


The  judges  feel  that  for  some  time  past 
they  have  been  setting  competitions  which 
appeal  especially  to  those  fond  of  puzzles; 
but,  as  those  of  you  who  have  read  these 
competitions  for  more  than  a  year  know, 
it  is  not  the  intention  to  confine  them  to 
the  solving  of  puzzles.  At  times,  we  shall 
give  work  in  which  the  young  artists  may 
display  their  skill;  at  other  times,  we  shall 
afford  the  writers  a  field  to  try  their  abil- 
ity ;  again,  we  shall  set  tasks  that  appeal 
especially  to  young  people  of  a  practical 
turn  of  mind. 

For  the  present  competition,  we  wish 
you  to  write  an  account  of  some  article 
you  have  seen  advertised. in  the  January 
number  of  St.  NICHOLAS  or  THE  CEN- 
TURY. But  this  account  is  to  be  written 
in  a  particular  manner. 

All  of  you  must  have  seen,  at  some 
time,  articles  or  stories  in  which  a  thing, 
such,  for  example,  as  a  penny,  a  pin,  a 
doll,  or  other  such  thing,  tells  its  own  story 
or  adventures  as  if  it  were  a  person. 

It  is  in  this  way  that  we  wish  you  to 
write  about  some  advertised  article.  Tell 
us  its  whole  story  as  well  as  you  can  — 
where  it  comes  from,  how  it  is  made,  or 
packed,  into  whose  hands  it  goes,  how  it 
is  sold,  sent  home,  and  used.  Of  course, 
you  will  know  much  of  the  story  from  the 
beginning,  and  we  suggest  that  what  you 
do  not  know,  you  may  easily  learn,  either 
through  the  dealer,  or  the  manufacturer, 
or  the  advertiser  who  handles  the  article. 

You  need  not  try  to  make  your  story 
especially  "literary."  Such  a  story  may 
be  written  in  very  simple  style,  or  may  be 
made,  if  you  choose,  a  little  adventurous 
or  fanciful.  If  you  do  not  care  to  tell  the 
whole  history  of  the  article,  tell  the  part 
that  interests  you  most. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  wide  choice  al- 
lowed permits  you  to  tell  almost  any  kind 
of  a  story — practical,  amusing,  romantic, 
even  exciting. 

The  stories  must  not  exceed  five  hun- 
dred words,  but  should  contain  interesting 
information  about  the  article  which  tells 


its  adventures.  By  inquiry,  you  will  find 
that  the  dealers  in  the  better  known 
articles  will  be  glad  to  send  you  material 
describing  them,  and  giving  facts  about 
their  history.  We  think  that  a  little  con- 
sideration will  set  your  imagination  to 
work  as  soon  as  you  have  chosen  your 
subject.  For  example,  the  story  could  be 
told  of  a  Victor  Record,  a  bottle  of  Mel- 
lin's  Food,  a  cake  of  one  of  the  well-known 
soaps,  a  box  of  Domino  Sugar  or  Nabisco 
Wafers.  The  Polly  and  Peter  story  shows 
you  the  adventures  a  bottle  of  Pond's  Ex- 
tract may  take  part  in  ;  and  as  for  the  Pet 
Department,  there  is  no  end  to  its  sugges- 
tions. We  mention  these  few,  but  are 
equally  interested  in  ah  the  rest. 

Let  us  see  what  your  imaginations  can 
do  with  this  suggestion. 

As  usual,  there  will  be  One  First  Prize,  $5.00, 
to  the  sender  of  the  most  interesting  letter  show- 
ing evidence  of  careful  thought  or  investigation. 

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.  Nicholas  are  given  special  subscription 
rates  upon  immediate  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.  There  is  no  age  limit,  and 
no  endorsement  of  originality  is  required. 

2.  In  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  your  letter 
give  name,  age,  address,  and  the  number  of  this 
competition  (146). 

3.  Submit  answers  by  February  20,  1914.  Do 
not  use  a  pencil. 

4.  Write  on  one  side  of  your  paper  only,  but 
be  sure  your  name  and  address  is  on  each  paper, 
also  that  where  there  is  more  than  one  sheet  they 
are  fastened  together. 

5.  Be  sure  to  comply  with  these  conditions  if 
you  wish  to  win  a  prize. 

6.  Address  answer:  Advertising  Competition 
No.  146,  St.  Nicholas  Magazine,  Union 
Square,  New  York. 


(See  also  page  29.) 


22 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Polly  and  Peter  Ponds 

have  gone  away  to  school.    Their  letters 
will  appear  in  this  magazine  each  month 

Dear  Polly: 

I  got  your  letter  about  the  to- 
boggan all  right.  Girls  are  always 
getting  into  silly  scrapes.  You 
were  lucky  to  get  off  so  easily. 
It  has  been  a  long  time  since  I  have 
written  to  you,  but  we  have  been 
awfully  busy  with  skating  and 
exams,  and  school  elections  and 
things. 

Say,  maybe  we  are  n't  having 
a  great  winter  up  here.  Why,  the 
snow  in  places  is  'way  over  the 
fences,  and  you  can  walk  over  them 
some  days  on  the  crust.  And, 
my!  it  does  get  cold,  though. 

This  morning  when  Billy  West 
and  I  came  out  of  Chapel,  he 
said,  "I  bet  I  can  beat  you  down 
to  the  fish-pond."  And  I  bet  he 
could  n't,  and  we  went  ofFlickety- 
split.  Well,  he  did  get  there  first, 
because  I  got  in  a  hole  clear  up 
to  my  arms  in  snow.  When  we  got  there  I  said,  "Let 's  roll  some  big  snowballs," 
and  we  started  a  good  one.  When  we  were  about  half  done,  he  said,  "Oh,  Peter, 
look  at  the  hawk  up  there,"  and  I  started  to  look,  but  I  thought  he  was  up  to  some- 
thing and  looked  back  quickly,  and  there  he  was,  picking  up  a  chunk  of  snow  to  throw 
at  me.  And  I  just  grabbed  that  big  snow-ball  and  lifted  it  up  over  my  head,  and  before 
he  could  get  up  he  got  it — mostly  down  the  back  of  his  neck.  Well,  he  grabbed  me 
and  we  rolled  over  and  over  in  the  snow,  and  I  think  we  must  have  gotten  about  a 
peck  of  it  down  our  backs  and  up  our  sleeves. 

Just  then  the  Chapel  clock  struck  nine,  and  we  both  had  to  run   back  like  time  to 
Latin  class.      We  were  wet  and  a  bit  chilly  before  it  was   over,  but  as   soon  as  we 

could  i  go tmy         poND'S  EXTRACT 

and  we  both  had  a  good  rub-down  and  changed  our  clothes,  and  I  feel  just  fine  and 
dandy  to-night.      Oh,  yes,  and  we  rubbed 

POND'S  EXTRACT  VANISHING  CREAM 

into  our  faces  and  hands,  and  the  skin  is  as  smooth  and  soft  as  anything,  but  some  of 
the  fellows'  knuckles  and  cheeks  are  chapped  and  split  all  up.  I  've  got  to  tell  them 
all  about  the  Pond's  Extract  Company's  things. 

Well,  it  's  bedtime  now,  so  good-by  till  the  next  letter.      With  love, 

Your  affectionate  brother,  Peter. 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY 

131  Hudson  Street      -      -       New  York 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY'S  Vanishing  Cream 
— Talcum  Powder — Toilet  Soap  —  Pond's  Extract. 


1 


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1 


ST.  NICHOLAS   STAMP   PAGE 


HOW  TO  KNOW  STAMPS 

IN  this  second  article  on  the  above  subject,  we  are 
to  consider  those  stamps  upon  which  no  national 
name  appears.  Some  coun- 
tries issued  their  earlier 
stamps  without  names,  but 
most  of  these  are  so  rare  that 
they  are  not  apt  to  be  found 
in  the  collection  of  a  begin- 
ner— for  whose  help  alone 
this  article  is  written.  There 
are  several  countries  whose 
recent  or  current  stamps  bear 
no  name,  and  which  bother 
the  young  collector  not  a  lit- 
tle, judging  from  the  stamps 
submitted  to  us  for  identifica- 
tion. Of  these  the  three  most 
common  ones  are  Germany, 
Great  Britain,  and  Turkey. 
Again  there  are  other  coun- 
tries which  print  a  name  on 
some,  but  not  all  of  their 
stamps.  These  last  will  be 
considered  later. 

When  no  name  appears 
upon  a  stamp,  we  must  de- 
pend upon  the  inscription, 
the  design,  or  the  currency 
to  help  us  identify  it.  If  we 
have  a  stamp  which  bears  the 
word  "Freimarke"  in  old 
German  type,  and  the  value 
is  expressed  in  silbergroschen 
(usually  contracted  to  silb. 
grosch.)  or  in  kreutzers,  we 
have  a  German  stamp  of  the 
earlier  issues.  Norddeutscher 
is  for  North  Germany.  The 
first  series  of  the  German 
Empire  bear  the  words 
Deutsche  Reichspost,  and  with 
these  there  seems  to  be  but 
little  trouble ;  but  the  next 
issues,  bearing  the  word 
Reichspost,  are  not  so  readily 
identified.  Illustration  No. 
i  shows  the  ten-pfennig  with 
eagle  or  arms  in  the  center. 
No.  2  the  ten-pfennig  with 
a  head  representing  Germania 
in  the  center.  The  current 
series  of  Germany  again 
has  "Deutsches"  upon  it. 
The  above  will  help  you 
with  all  of  your  German 
stamps. 

Great  Britain,  the 
mother  of  stamps,  does 
not  print  her  name  upon 
any  of  her  issues.  Cu- 
riously enough,  we  have 
sent  us  for  identification 
more  stamps  of  England 
than  of  any  other  coun- 
try, unless  it  may  be  Hungary.     Doubtless  one  rea- 


&:  is 


son  for  this  is  the  fact  that  English  stamps  are  so 
common  as  to  readily  come  into  the  hands  of  the 
least  experienced  of  collectors.  When  you  obtain  a 
stamp  which'  bears  no  name,  but  has  the  words  "Post- 
age" or  "Postage  and  Revenue,"  and  the  value  is 
expressed  in  pence  or  shillings,  you  have  a  stamp  of 
Great  Britain.  It  may  bear  the  portrait  of  Queen 
Victoria  (Illustration  No.  3)  or  of  King  Edward  VII 
(No.  4)  or  of  King  George  V  (No.  5),  but  it  is  an 
English  stamp.  Note  that  in  all  three  types  the  head  is 
turned  toward  the  left.  It  is  the  custom  upon  Eng- 
lish coins  to  turn  alternatively  to  right  and  left ;  that 
is,  the  profile  on  the  coin  of  each  ruler  faces  in  the 
opposite  direction  from  that  of  his  predecessor. 

Turkish  stamps  have  the  values  expressed  in 
paras,  or  piasters,  in  English  lettering,  and  have 
other  words  in  a  language  which  the  English-speak- 
ing boy  cannot  read.  Then,  too,  they  usually  have 
conspicuously  upon  the  stamp  a  star  and  crescent,  or 
a  funny-looking  device  which  is  called  the  "Toghra" 
(see  Illustration  No.  6 — the  Toghra  appearing  in  a 
little  circle  in  the  center  of  the  stamp).  These  de- 
signs in  connection  with  the  coin  names  of  para  and 
piaster  will  enable  you  to  recognize  Turkish  stamps 
without  trouble. 

We  shall  in  our  next  number  consider  those  coun- 
tries whose  names  appear  upon  some  but  not  all  of 
the  stamps  they  have  issued. 


NEW  ISSUES 

THIS  month  brings  us  an  unusually  interesting 
number  of  new  issues.  The  most  attractive 
of  them  all  is  a  new  and  temporary  issue  by  Turkey, 
or,  as  the  stamps  themselves  indicate,  by  the  Otto- 
man Empire.  There  are  only  three  values  in  the 
set,  the  ten-paras  (in  green),  the  twenty  (red),  and 
forty  (blue).  The  face-value  of  the  entire  set  is 
very  small ;  the  low  price  and  the  beauty  of  the 
design  will  combine  to  make  it  very  popular.  As 
the  stamps  are  to  be  in  use  for  only  one  month,  they 
will  probably  advance  in  value  as  time  goes  by. 

During    the    late    war    between    Turkey    and    the 
various   allied   Balkan    States,   we   read   daily   in  the 


newspapers  of  the 
prolonged  siege  of 
Adrianople,        and 
were  told  how  des- 
perately the  Turks 
fought     to      retain 
possession    of    the 
)    sacred  city  and  its 
famous        mosque. 
}    The  central  part  of 
'    the     new      stamps 


pictures  this  mosque,  so  holy  in  the  eyes  of  the  Moham- 
medans. The  design  further  shows,  in  the  upper  left 
corner,  the  Toghra;  in  the  upper  right,  the  Star  and 
Crescent;  while  in  the  lower  corners  appear  the  value, 
ten  paras,  to  the  left  in  English,  to  the  right  in  Arabic. 
The  effect  is  very  striking,  and  the  stamps  make  a 
beautiful  and  instructive  addition  to  any  collection. 
The  next  two  cuts  illustrate  the  new  Chinese  set ; 
the  half-cent  shows  a  Chinese  junk  in  full  sail, 
the  15-cent,  a  native  working  in  a  rice-field.  The 
values  of  the  issue  run  as  high  as  ten  dollars.     The 


S&a4^aS:i322222222^ 


24 


(Continued  on  page  aq. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP  DIRECTORY 


CONTINENTAL  fo^ATx5AinfhVs%eTvy 

cardboard  covers,  160  pictures.  Spaces  for  546  stamps  from 
135  countries. 

SPECIAL  BARGAINS 

108  all  different  stamps  from  Paraguay.Turkey,  Venezuela, 
etc.,  10c.  35  different  stamps  from  Africa,  a  dandy  packet, 
25c.  Finest  approval  sheets,  5(ffo  commission.  Send 
for  big:  84-page  pnce-list'and  monthly  stamp  paper  free. 
We  publish  Scott's  Catalogue,  1000  pages.  Prices,  paper 
covers,  85c,  post  free;  cloth  covers,  #1.00,  post  free. 

Scott  Stamp  &  Coin  Co. 
127  Madison  Ave.  New  York  City 

STA  MPS  105  China,  Egypt.etc.stamp  dictionary  and  list  3000  |S1 
bargains  2c.   Agts.,  50%.     Bullard  &  Co.,  Sta.  A,  Boston.  Bs 


16 


different  free.    Norway,  Denmark,  Sweden  only.    Post- 
age 2c.  Robt.  MillardCo.,  325  W.  Ferry  Ave.,  Detroit. 


1000  Different  ™g2&£5£  $33  for  $1.95 

2000  different  mounted  in  a  Scott's  2d  hand  large  Album. 
Many  stamps  list  $2.00  each.     Catalog  $100  for  $10. 

Ecuador       50  different  new Catalog  $22.50  for  $2.00 

Nicaragua  145        "         "    "         14.70    "      1.00 

Gold  California  $i,  each  35c;  $£,  each  65c;  25  diff.  Foreign 
Coins,  25c.   Jos.  F.  Negreen,8  East 23d  St.,  New  York  City. 

DANDY  PACKET  STAMPS  free  for  name,  address  2  collec- 
tors, 2c  postage.  Send  to-day.  U.T.K.  Stamp  Co.,  Utica,  N.  Y. 

Breaking  collection  formed  before '85.  What  do  you  need  tofillout 
set?  Send  want  list  and  reference.  Dr.Vedder.Wellsboro,  Pa. 

Brand  New  Approval  Sheets  at  50% 
Discount  Now  Ready 

Also  a  special  series  at  25%  DISCOUNT,  many  of  them  UN- 
USED. Send  reference,  and  we  will  show  you  some  approvals 
better  than  any  you  ever  had.  Our  1914  price  list  and  sample  of 
the  New  England  Stamp  Monthly  FREE. 

NEW  ENGLAND  STAMP  CO. 
43  Washington  Bldg.  Boston,  Mass. 

|\/|  V  ^PFf~" I  A  I  TY  Stampsof  the  European  Continent. 


approval. 


Write  for  a  "  Country"  or  two  on 
H.  W.  Protzmann,  103128th  St.,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 


I  T  •.  1  Ci._i.__  approvals.  Do  they  interest  you?  Try 
Cmiea  OlalcS  mine  at  net  prices,  any  issue  desired. 
Write  for  a  selection  to-day.    O.  C.  Lashar,  Neenah,  Wis. 

pmr  I  TO   atrial.  Precanceled  U.  S.  on  approval.  U.S., 
V*—  V  d  UJ   Colonies  and  Envelopes.    20th  century  foreign, 
used  and  unused.    Reference,  please.   Want  lists,  penny-sheets. 
Clark  &  Co.,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

STAMPS  108  ALL  DIFFERENT. 

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  Brillante  Av.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

STAMPS  FREE,  100  ALL  DIFFERENT 

For  the  names  of  two  collectors  and  2c.  postage.  20  different 
foreign  coins,  25c    Toledo  Stamp  Co.,  Toledo,  Ohio,  U.S.A. 

Ci,mrv.    500  U.  S.  and  Foreign  mixed,  fine,  only  12c 
-lamps         H.  N.  Haas,  440  E.  3d  St.,  Bloomsburg,  Pa. 

SNAPS   20°  ALL  DIFFERENT  FOREIGN  STAMPS 

-J11..1  O  for  only  10c  65  All  Dif.  U.S.  including  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 


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., 
FREE!    WE  BUY  STAMPS. 

Hussman  Stamp  Co.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


FINE  HAYTI  SET,  1904,  1,  2,  5,  10,  20,  50c.  rnrr 
THE  CATALOG  VALUE  of  this  SET  is  48c.  rK__ 


If  you  send  10c.  for  10  weeks'  subscription  to  Mykeel's  Stamp 
Weekly,  Boston,  Mass. ,  the  best  stamp  paper  in  the  whole  world. 
All  the  news,  stamp  stories  and  bargains  galore. 

6  jnos.  25c.  and  Choice  of  These  Premiums: 
No.  1 — 205  different  foreign  stamps,  the  world  over. 
No.  2— A  collection  of  102  different  U.  S.  stamps. 
No.  3 — Illustrated  book  describing  U.  S.  stamps. 
No.  4 — Nice  stamp  album,  holds  600  stamps. 
No.  5 — Book  giving  full  facts  "How  to  Deal  in  Stamps." 
Mykeel's  Weekly  Stamp  News  Boston,  Mass. 

FREE  Packet  of  Stamps  forname  and  address  of  two  collectors. 
Enclose  4c.  for  postage.  RedJacketStampCo.,PennYan,N.Y. 

50  VARIETIES  STAMPS 
FROM  50  DIFFERENT  COUNTRIES 

sent  with  our  60%  approval  sheets  for  5c 
Palm  Stamp  Co.,  Box  174,  Arcade  Sta.,  Los  Angeles,  Cal. 

7CA  J  Iff  _,»•_,-.*.  stamps  —  one  Imperial  Stamp  Album 
/OU  Ulirereni  and  one  package  of  hinges  for  $2.00. 
Stamps  at  one  cent  each.   Owen  Dicks,  Box  75,  Kenmore.N.Y. 


1  AHjfJ  imported  stamp  hinges  to  each  applicant  for  my  ap- 
X  UVJVJ  provals  at  one-half.     Catalogue. 

Albert  Wellman,  145  Main  St.,  Torrington,  Conn. 

Golden  Rule  Packets  and  Approvals 

500  all  different   Postage   Stamps only  $  .60 

500    "        "     all  XX  Century"      "       1.95 

1000    "        "  Postage         "      "      2.45 

70%  discount  —  Approval  Selections  —  70%  discount 
All  as  good  as  the  best  —  money  returned  if  not  pleased 
A.  O.  Durland,  Evansville,  Indiana. 

60  different  foreign  SSSUjtS.  A different 

M.  E.  Jackson,  645  Hyde  St.,  San  Francisco,  Cal. 

^framntc  i  333  Foreign  Missionary  stamps,  only  7c  lOOfor- 
JlauipS  •  eign,  no  2  alike,  incl.  Mexico,  Japan,  etc.,  5c. 
100  diff.  U.  S.  fine,  30c.  1000  fine  mixed,  20c.  Agents  wanted, 
50%.  List  free!    I  Buy  Stamps.    L.  B.  Dover,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

RARf,  AINS    EACH  SET  s  CENTS. 
BrtlVUAIMJ     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. 

FI1MF"  stamPs  so1d cheap.  50% and  more  allowed  from  Scott's 
ril^lE.  prices.     International  Stamp  Co.,  De  Graff,  O. 

Vro-r   Drtr'Virx   watermark  detector 

V  H.O  1  rL»LI\.L  1  and  50  different  Stamps,  only  10c 
BurtMcCann,515NewYorkLifeBldg.,Minneapolis,Minn. 

/"■  J  Stamps  on  approval.  Send  to-day  and  receive  stamp 
VjOOO  cat.,  18c,  free.  H.  W.  Aldrich,  Box 544,  Alvin,  Texas. 

RARE  Stamps  Free.  15  all  different,  Canadians,  and  10  India 
x^j^5>.  with  Catalogue  Free.  Postage  2  cents.  If  possible  send 
iMnSw  names  and  addressesof  two  stamp  collectors.  Special 
[K  JMl  offers,  all  different,  contain  no  two  alike.  50  Spain, 
WLJ&J  llc-\40  fapan,  5c;  I""  \  .  S.,  20c;  1"  Paraguay,  7c:  17 
nS^^S)/  M  ijxic<>,  Inc.:  20 Turkey,  7c:  1"  Persia, ;  c . :  3  Sudan,  5c; 
^isOr  lOChile,  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. 


(  Continued  on  page  2g. ) 


25 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The  "Baby  Grand' 


For  Your  Boy's 
Birthday 

Give  that  boy  of  yours  a  genuine  Bruns- 
wick Billiard  Table  on  his  next  birthday. 

Its  inexhaustible  resources  of  wholesome  amuse- 
ment will  make  home  life  doubly  attractive. 

The  foremost  educators  and  trainers  of  young 
men  endorse  billiards  as  the  ideal  amusement  and 
recreation  for  active,  fun-loving  boys. 

"BABY  GRAND" 

Home  Billiard  Table 

The  "Baby  Grand"  is  made,  sold  and  guaranteed 
by  the  famous  House  of  Brunswick,  whose  Regula- 
tion Tables  have  for  sixty-five  years  maintained  their 
pre-eminent  place. 

Made  of  Mahogany,  attractively  inlaid.  Has  Slate 
Bed,  Monarch  Cushions,  accurate  angles  and  unex- 
celled scientific  playing  qualities.  Accessory  Drawer 
holds  complete  Playing  Outfit.  Sizes,  3x6,  3^x7 
and  4x8. 

Attractive  Prices 

Very  Easy  Terms 

We  offer  all  styles  of  Brunswick  Home  Billiard 
or  Pocket- Billiard  Tables  at  lowest  factory  prices 
and  on  easy  payments,  extending  over  a  year. 

Playing  Outfit  Free 

Complete  Playing  Outfit  goes  with  table,  includ- 
ing Cues,  Balls,  Bridge,  Rack,  Markers,  Chalk,  Cover, 
Book  "How  to  Play,"  etc.,  etc. 

De  Luxe  Book  Free 

Send  the  coupon  for  a  complimentary  copy  of  our 
beautiful  color-illustrated  book,  "Billiards  —  The  Home 
Magnet."  Shows  all  styles  of  Brunswick  Home  Billiard 
and  Pocket-Billiard  Tables.  Gives  Special  Factory  Prices 
and  Easy  Terms. 


The  Brunswick-Balke-Collender  Co. 


Dept.  PO,  623-633  S.  Wabash  Ave.,  Chicago 

Please  send  me  the  free  color-illustrated  book, 

"  Billiards — The  Home  Magnet' 


Nnt. 


Address.- 
Town 


ill 

For  the 
Bath  and  Toilet 

always  use  the  genuine 

MURRAY  ttX, 

LANMAN'S  ] 

Florida  Water 

Imitations  of  this  delicious  perfume 

are  numberless,  but  it  has 

never  been  equalled. 

IT  REFRESHES  AND  DELIGHTS 

as  docs  no  other. 


Always  look  for  the  Trade  Mark, 


PREPARED  ONLY   BY 

LANMAN  ®,  KEMP 

NEW   YORK 

For  sale  by  all  Druggists 

and 

Perfumers. 


Sample  size  mailed  for  six  cents  in  stamps. 
Ask  for  our  booklet,  "Health  and  Beauty." 


PREVENTS  RUsf 
LUBRICATES 

TYPEWRITERS 

BICYCLES 

GUNS 

SEWING  MACHINES 

TALKING  MACHINES 

RAZORS/1  STROPS 

three'in  ONE  OIL  CO. 


^SJr    3-in-One 
oils,  cleans, 
polishes,  pre- 
vents rust.  Lub- 
ricates   sewing 
machines    and    all 
light  machinery.    Re- 
stores new  look  to  time- 
worn  furniture.  Keeps 

bathroom   fixtures   bright.      Makes  the 
finest  dustlees  duster  in  the  world. 

3-in-One  oil 

does   scores    of   useful   things    which    can't    be 
mentioned   here.      Sold    by   hardware,    drug, 
grocery,  housefurnishing-  and  general  stores: 
1   oz.  bottle,  10c:  3  oz.  25c;  8  oz.  (1-2  pt), 
50c.    Also  in  Handy  Oil  Cans,  3  1-2  oz. 
25c.    If  your  dealer  has  n't  these  cans, 
we  will  send  one  by  parcel  post,  full  of 
3-in-One  for  30c 

A  Library  Slip  with  every 
bottle. 
FREE- "Write    for    a   gen- 
erous free  sample   and  the 
3-in-One  Dictionary. 

Three-in-One  Oil  Co. 

42  QG.  Broadway 

New  York 


26 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Sold  Everywhere. 


Also  gives  Perfect 

Freedom  and  the 

Longest  Wear. 

Ma.de  in  many  styles  for  Women 

Child's  Sample  Palr,16c.  postpaid  (give  age; 

GEORGE  FROST  CO.  -  MAKERS,  BOSTON 


Favors  for  St.  Valentine's  Day  and 
Washington's  Birthday 


"Cupid,  that  's  me"  Crepe  Paper  Basket         WasMngton  on  Pedestal 

Bisque  Cupid  with  inscription  "Cupid,  that's  me,"  10c,  25c, 
50c,  $1.00 each.  Bisque  Cupids  (to  suspend),  10c,  25c ,  50c  each. 
Bisque  Cupids,  assorted  positions  and  styles,  5c,  10e.,  25c:  each. 
Miniature  China  Favors  such  as  Slippers,  Keys,  Hearts,  Rings, 
Locks,  Anchors,  Watches,  Doves,  etc,  5c  each.  Heart  Mirrors, 
Gold  Wishbones,  Metal  Arrows,  Metal  Cupids,  Wedding  Rings. 
Engagement  Rings,  Heart  Thermometers,  Cupid  Mail  Bags,  5c. 
each.  Heart  Box  Favors,  5c,  10c,  25c  each.  Lace  Heart  Ice 
Cream  Cases,  50c.  dozen.  Crepe  Paper  Basket  trimmed  with 
hearts,  $1.20  dozen;  Salted  Nut  size,  $1.00  dozen.  Flat  Crepe 
Paper  Heart  containing  favor,  5c  each. 

Washington  on  Pedestal,  15c.  Rustic  Cherry  Log  Boxes,  5c, 
10c,  25c.  each.  Valley  Forge  Tents,  5c,  10c,  15c  each.  Cherry 
Sprays,  5c,  10c.  each.  Silk  Flags  with  Staff,  5c,  10c,  25c  each. 
Paper  Flags  on  pins,  10c  dozen.  Celluloid  Flags  on  pins,  25c, 
50c  dozen.  Silk  Flags  or  Bows  on  Pin,  5c  each.  Miniature 
Hatchets  on  Pin,  10c  dozen.  Hatchets  (box),  5e.  each.  Silk 
Shield  Box,  10c  Brum  Boxes,  5c  Continental  Hats,  10c 
Straw  Market  Basket  with  Cherry  Spray,  10c  Washington 
Crossing  Delaware  (Figure),  15c.  Washington  Buttons,  30c 
dozen.  TJ.  S.  Shield  Ice  Cream  Cases,  50c.  dozen.  Crepe  Paper 
Hatchet  containing  favor,  5c  Patriotic  Snapping  Mottoes,  25c , 
50c  per  box.  Crepe  Paper  Basket  with  Cherry,  10c.  each; 
Salted  Nut  size,  $1.00  dozen. 

The  Following  for  Either  Day 
Jack  Horner  Pies,  12  Ribbons,  $4.00 ;  Crepe  Paper  Napkins,  35c. 
package.     Dinner  Cards,  25c  dozen.     Tally  Cards,  25c  dozen. 
Ten  feet  folds  of  Decorated  Crepe  Paper,  10c  per  fold.     Cata- 
log free  on  request. 

Special  assortment  of  Favors  for  either  day  $2.00,  $3.00 
and  $5.00.     We  positively  do  not  pay  mail   charges. 

B.SHACKMAN&CO.,  906-908  Broadway,  DePt.l4,  New  York. 


IT'S  pretty  hard  to  wait  that 
last  half- hour  before  daddy 
comes  with  the  box  of  ■<*&$£&. 
But  <&$£#  are  worth  "waiting 
for.  They  always  taste  just  a 
little  better  than  you  remember. 


i 


Bonbons  r     Chocolates 


Children  like  *&$&#  best  be- 
cause they  are  most  delicious. 
Mother  likes  them  best  for  the 
children  because  they  are  al- 
ways pure  and  fresh,  •e^x* 
come  in  so  many  varieties  that 
they  suit  every  age  and  taste. 


■*&%£&  candies  are  sold  by 
•e&jt£&  agents  (leading  druggists 
everywhere)  in  United  States 
and  Canada.  If  there  should 
be  no  sales  agent  near  you, 
write  to  us. 

64   IRVING   PLACE 
NEW  YORK 

Frank  DeK.  Huyler,  President 

<!&%&&  Cocoa  —  the    greatest    drink  for 

young  people 

Write  for  Huyler's  New  Cocoa  and  Chocolate  Cook  Book 


27 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


I  keep  six  honest  serving  men 

(They  taught  me  all  I  knew), 
Their  names  are  What  and  Where  and  When 

And  How  and  Why  and  Who. 

See  page  Sj,  "Just  so  Stories." 

WE  offer  you  twelve  other  honest  serving  men,  who  have  been  so  care- 
fully taught  and  trained  by  the  great  men  and  women  of  this  country 
that  they  will  answer  all  of  your  questions — no  matter  how  many  or  how 
strange  they  may  be — and  best  of  all,  they  answer  right  and  right  away. 

They  know  all  about  people,  and  places,  and  history  past  and  present; 
electricity,  machinery,  and  railroad  work;  and  animals,  birds,  fishes, 
flowers,  trees,  and  all  kinds  of  growing  things. 

Why,  these  twelve  honest  serving  men  know  more  than  any  hundred  men  or 
women  in  the  world,  and  they  will  tell  it  all  to  you  if  you  will  only  go  and  ask. 


The  Century  Dictionary, 
Cyclopedia  and  Atlas 


TEAR    OFF    THIS    COUPON    AND    MAIL    TO-DAY 


TMmMA*. 


The  Century  Co., 

Union  Square,  New  York  City. 

Send  me  to-day  full  information 
about  the  new  edition  of  the  Century 
Dictionary,  Cyclopedia  and  Atlas,  with 
the  understanding  that  this  request 
incurs  no  obligation  or  expense  on 
my  part. 


Name. 


Street 


Town 


State . 


SLN.-2-14 


28 


Report  on  Advertising  Competition  No.  144 


Jap-A-Lac  is  the  stumbling  block  that  caused 
most  of  the  failures  in  this  competition,  the  "a" 
being  small  instead  of  the  capital  letter. 

However,  that  did  n't  prevent  a  large  number 
of  you  from  handing  in  correct  lists  which,  of 
course,  forced  us  to  fall  back  upon  the  letters  to 
decide  prize-winners. 

Many  of  you  did  n't  tell  what  you  were  asked  to 
tell.  Here  is  a  letter,  for  instance,  which  is  very 
good,  and  yet  does  n't  say  definitely  whether  the 
whole  family  reads  the  advertising  pages,  or  only 
part  of  them. 

"No  one  can  help  reading  even  the  smallest 
advertisement,  when  'Alexander  the  little' 
makes  such  splendid  puzzles  for  St.  Nicholas 
folks  to  solve. 

"  My  Mother  and  I  imagine  him  wearing 
Holeproof  Hosiery,  fastened  with  Velvet  Grip 
Supporters.  On  his  feet  are  Coward  Shoes 
with  O'Sullivan's  Rubber  Heels  so  he  won't 
make  so  much  noise.  I  do  not  know  if  he  uses 
soap,  (boys  usually  have  to  be  reminded)  but 
feel  sure  that  his  sister  Alexandra  uses  Fairy 
Soap  and  Colgate's  Dental  Cream  faithfully 
every  day.  Am  certain  he  chews  Wrigley's 
Spearmint  Gum.  Huyler's  Chocolate  would 
suit  me  better.  With  such  a  brain  Meccano 
toys  must  just  suit  him.  In  winter  Alexander 
is  probably  the  king  of  the  hill  with  his  new 
Flexible  Flyer,  and  when  he  goes  home  I  won- 
der if  he  puts  Pond's  Vanishing  Cream  on  his 
chapped  lips." 

(See  also 


The  Judges  hope  many  of  you  made  the  New 
Year  resolution  to  read  carefully  all  the  rules  and 
conditions  governing  the  competitions,  because 
that  is  the  only  thing  in  a  great  many  cases  which 
prevents  young  folks  from  winning  prizes. 

Here    are    the    names    of    the   lucky  folks  this 
month  (all  are  entitled  to  special  subscription  rates 
on  application): 
One  First  Prize,  $5. 00  : 

Miss  Dorothy  M.  Rogers,  age    19,  Massachu- 
setts. 
Two  Second  Prizes,  $j.oo  each: 

Miss  Patrina  M.  Colis,  age  16,  New  York. 

Miss  Mary  Shufelt  Esselstyn,   age   14,    New 
York. 
Three  Third  Prizes,  $2.00  each: 

Clement  P.  Cobb,  age  13,  New  York. 

Anna  Hamlin,  age  15,  Illinois. 

Jim  L.  Scott,  age  13,  Virginia. 
Ten  Fourth  Prizes,  $1.00  each: 

Gertrude  Davis,  age  14,  Massachusetts. 

Richard  G.  Baumhoff,  age  14,  Missouri. 

Edward  S.  Hinckley,  age  10,  Illinois. 

Priscilla  Safford,  age  13,  New  York. 

Doris  M.  Wood,  age  14,  Canada. 

Bessie  H.  Rockwood,  age  13,  New  York. 

Loretta  Smith,  age  14,  New  York. 

Beatrice  A.  Clephane,  age  15,  Maryland. 

Celia  Carr,  age  17,  Iowa. 

Helen  T.  Scudder,  age  12,  New  York. 
>age  22) 


STAMP  PAGE— Continued 

designs  of  the  higher  values  show  a  temple  of  Con- 
fucius, and  are  printed  in  two  colors. 

Zanzibar  presents  us  a  new  issue  of  artistic  de- 
sign, showing 
the  portrait  of 
the  sultan, 

Kalifa  bin  Ha- 
rub,  who  suc- 
ceeded to  the 
throne  about  a 
year  ago.  Here 
the  values  of 
"J  the  set  run  as 
high  as  two  hundred  rupees,  or  about  sixty-six  dollars. 
So  that  it  will  cost  a  collector  quite  a  pretty  penny  to 
get  the  whole  set,  unused.  Is  it  npt  a  strange  fact  that 
the  most  important  of  the  nations,  like  France,  Ger- 
many, England,  or  the  United  States,  are  able  to  get 
along  with  stamps  valued  at  five  dollars  or  less, 
while  many  much  smaller  countries  require  excessive 
values?  Perhaps  they  need  money  and  regard  the 
stamp-collector  as  their  legitimate  victim.  And  pos- 
sibly he  is. 

The  last  new 
issue  pictured 
this  month  is 
from  Hondu- 
ras. It  is 
coarsely  print- 
ed, and  is  not 
at  all  attrac- 
tive, either  in 
workmanship 
or  design.  Each  value  bears  a  different  portrait. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP 
DIRECTORY 

Continued  from  page  25 


STAMPS  100  VARIETIES  FOREIGN,  FREE.  Postage  2c. 
Mention  St.  Nicholas.    Quaker  Stamp  Co.,   Toledo,  Ohio. 

UO     Postage  and  Revenue  I  The  Hobby  Co.,  P.O.  Box  403. 
•  »J»       Foreign  Postage  Springfield,  Ohio. 

STAMPS  FREE 

Six  entire  used  postal  cards,  including  a  very  curious  one 
from  Japan,  and  six  unused  stamps.  This  offer  good  only  to 
March  1,  1914. 

Chas.  A.  Townsend,  847  W.  Market  St.,  Akron,  Ohio. 

1  f\t\(\  different  stamps  since  1900,  mounted  in  book, 
1 UUU  $5.50.    500  for  $1.40.        A.  Roessler,  Newark,  N.  J. 

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. 

APPROVALS  at  50%  discount.     So  var.  free  if  requested. 
Harry  C.  Bradley,  Dorchester  Center,  Mass. 

PHILADELPHIA  STAMP  NEWS 

A  weekly  stamp  magazine  established  April  1, 1910.    Illustrated. 
Official  and   Reliable   News.     Best  Articles  by   Best  Writers. 
Subscriptions  $1.00  per  year  ;  trial  20  weeks  for  25  cents. 
Percy  McS.  Mann,  Publisher,  Station  C,  Philadelphia,  Pa. 

^tarnn  l"""-»t    25c,  FREE  to  all  who  send  reference  with 

Jiarnp  V^ai.  application  for  British  Colonial  Approvals. 

Sholley,  3842  Thomas  Avenue  So.,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

FOREIGN  STAMPS  FREE  £4*ff£!3! 

ing  China  and  Venezuela,  to  all  who  apply  for  our  high  grade 
approval  selections.     Send  two  cent  stamp  for  return  postage. 
The  Edgewood  Stamp  Co.,  Dept.  S,  Milford,  Conn. 

5    VARIETIES  PERU  FREE. 
With  trial  approval  sheets.    F.  E.  Thorp,  Norwich,  N.Y. 


29 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


IN  the  following  pages  you  will  find  where  most  ideal  gifts  may  be  found.  Dolls  can't  play  with  you,  games 
sometimes  grow  tiresome,  and  toys  wear  out,  but  a  loving  little  -,et  will  bring  a  new  companionship  and 
happiness  into  the  home,  growing  stronger  with  passing  years,  ofitirr.es  aiding  in  health  and  character  build- 
ing 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.   ST.  NICHOLAS   PET  DEPARTMENT 


Snow  White  Esquimo  and 
English  Bull  Puppies 

ESQUIMOS.  Black  nose,  small 
sharp  ears,  snaggy  coat  as  fine  as 
silk,  big  plume  tail  carried  up  over 
the  back,  cunning  as  a  fox,  romp 
from  daylight  till  dark,  proud  as  a 
peacock,  and  the  handsomest  dog 
living.  Natural  trick  dogs  that 
possess  almost  human  intelligence. 
Absolutely  safe  for  children,  ideal 
house  pets  that  are  naturally  clean 
in  habits.  The  dog  all  children 
want.  I  sold  65  just  before  Christ- 
Nmas  and  they  were  all  perfectly 
satisfactory. 

My  ENGLISH  BULLS  are  from  the  best  imported  stock  in 
the  U.  S.,  and  are  all  registered.  They  have  really  a  good  dispo- 
sition but  are  the  ugliest  looking  brutes  living,  and  are  natural 
home  protectors  and  body-guards.  Big  undershot  jaw,  smashed- 
up  face,  sour  expression,  and  verybenchy.  Just  the  thing  for 
your  Auto.  Beockway's  Kennels,  Baldwin,  Kansas. 


Feed  SPRATT'S  DOG  CAKES 
AND  PUPPY  BISCUITS 

They  are  the  best  in  the  world 

Send 2c.  stamp  for  "Dog  Culture" 

SPRATT'S  PATENT  LIMITED 
Factory  and  chief  offices  at  NEWARK,  N.J. 


^^DODSON  BIRD  HOUSES  v^ 

3K  V\: 


~f\y 


GET     MR.    DODSON'S    BOOK 
ABOUT   BIRDS— IT  IS  FREE 

T^ONTyou  want  bird  friends  living:  in  your 
■^  garden?  —  Bluebirds,    Wrens,    Martins, 
Swallows?       You  can  win  back  our  Native 
Song-  Birds  by  putting-    out    Dodson    Bird 
Houses.      Thousands    of   these  houses  all 
over  America  are  inhabited  by  birds. 
Mr.  Dodson  builds  more  than  a 
dozen  kinds  of  Bird  Houses, rang- 
ing- in    price  from  $2  to  $70. 

Among  the  most  popu- 
lar are — 

The     Dodson     Sheltered 

Food  House  for   Birds; 

saves  many  birds' lives 

in    winter  and  spring — 

$8;   or  with    all  copper 

roof,  $10  f.o.b.  Chicago. 

Sheltered     Feeding 

Table    $6,    or   with    all 

copper"  roof  $7.50,  f.o.b. 

Chicago.    Shelter  Shelf, 

$1.50,  or  with  all  copper 

roof  $2,  f.o.b.  Chicago. 

The  Dodson  Blue-  The  Dodson  "Wren 
bird  House  —  solid  House — solid  oak, 
oak, ^cypress  shin-  cypress  shingles, 
gles,  copper  cop-  copper  coping, 
ing.  Price  $5  f.  Price  $5,  f.o.b. 
o.b.  Chicago.  Chicago. 


The  Dodson  Purple  Martin 
House — 3  stories  and  attic; 
26  rooms.  Price  $12,  f.o.b. 
Chicago. 


The  famous  Dodson  Sparrow  Trap  is  doing  great  work  in  ban- 
ishing this  national  pest.     One  trap  catches  as  many  as  75  spar- 
rows a  day.       It  works  automatically — you  remove  sparrows 
once  a  day.        This  trap  is  of  tinned  wire,  electrically  welded, 
strong  and  durable.      Has  needle  points  at  mouths  of  two  fun- 
nels.    Size  36  x  18  x  12  inches.     Price  $5,  f.o.b.  Chicago. 
Mr.  Dodson  s  book  explains  all  about  his  7nany 
houses  and  other  devices  for  helping  our  Native 
Birds.         Write  for    this    book.         Address^ 

Joseph  H.  Dodson,  1217  Association  Bldg.,  Chicago,  111. 

(Mr.  Dodson  is  a  Director  of  the  Illinois  Audubon  Society) 


KITTENS 


CATS 


PUPPIES 

E"eryboy  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 

BLACK  SHORT  HAIRED  CATTERY 
OHADELL,  N.  J. 

DOGS 


York  Office  — 154  West  57th  Street 


THE  VERY  BEST  BRED  AND  BEST  TRAINED 
POINTERS  AND   SETTERS   IN   AMERICA 

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. 
CORNUCOPIA  FARM   KENNELS,  Dept.  L,  De  Soto,  Mo. 


Scottish  Terriers 

Offered    as    companions.       Not 
given   to    fighting   or    roaming. 
Best  for  children's  pets. 
NEWCASTLE  KENNELS 
.  Brookline,  Mass. 


Money  inSquabs-t 


'*  1 


Learn  this  immensely  rich  business  I 
we  teach  you;  easy  work  at  home;  Mppjf 
everybody  succeeds.  Start  with  our 
jumbo  Homer  Pigeons  and  your  success  is  assured. 
Send  for  large  Illustrated  Book.  Providence 
Squab   Company,      Providence,    Rhode    Island. 


H  Shetland  Pong 

—is  an  unceasing  source 
of  pleasure.  A  safe  and 
ideal  playmate.    Makes 
the  child  strong  and  of 
robust  health.   Inexpensive 
f  to  buy  and  keep.     Highest 
types  here.  Complete  outfits. 
Entire    satisfaction.     Write 
for  illustrated  catalog. 
BELLE  MEADE  FARM 
Dept.  9.        Markham,  Va. 


If  you  are  in  any  way  interested  in  dogs,  you  cannot  afford 
to  miss  reading 

The  Independent  Kennel  Reporter 

America's  most  interesting  I>og  Journal 

Cartoons— Dog  Stories — News — Photos — Humor 

$1 .00  per  year  anywhere  in  the  world 

Julian  R.  Brandon,  Jr.,  Publisher,  1632  California  Street,  San  Francisco,  California 

"Do  it  now"  " 'Lest  you  forget" 


30 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


j^t  ^tc^olajs  pet  department 


— 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. 
FRANCIS  E.  LESTER         Depti  TF-3-K 
Meailla  Park,    New  Mexico 


I    Do  You  Know  the  Judging    | 
I  Points  of  the  Dog?  | 

E  Booklet  giving  all  the  information  and  = 

=  points  of  the  dog,  ten  cents,  postpaid  5 

|    THE  C.  S.  R.  CO.,  P.  0.  Box  1028,  New  York  City    | 

fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiNiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii 


Shady  Nook  Shetland 
Pony  Farm 

Beautiful  and  useful  little  pets,  for  chil- 
dren and  breeding,  for  sale.  Am  offer- 
ing some  extra  good  broken  pony  mares, 
some  of  them  in  foal,  at  mostreasonable 
prices.   "Write  your  wants."    Dept.  M. 

SHADY  NOOK  FARM 
No.  Ferrisburg  Vermont 


8  Grape  Vines,  6  Currant  Bushes 

All  best  3  year  old  stock.  If  planted  now  or  early  spring  /tfc  *M 
will  fruit  next  summer.  Should  ground  be  frozen  we  tell  ?|fc  I 
you  how  to  protect  and  keep  them  dormant  ready  for  early  *r  ■*■ 
spring  planting.  Orders  accepted  now  and  forwarded  at  any  future 
time  if  preferred.  Grapes  are  Worden,  Niagara,  Iona,  Concord, 
the  best  early  medium  and  late  varieties.  Large  cherry  currants. 
Write  for  list  of  our  #1  Friend  Makers  consisting  of  all  kinds  of  Fruit 
Trees,  Berries  and  Roses.  Cultivating  Horsc-ltadiah.  Back-yard, 
Field,  or  Farm.  Nothing  as  profitable.  We  tell  you  all  about  it 
THE  LANDSCAPE  GARDEN  CO.,  Newburgh,  N.   Y. 

I^v  Send  10c.  and.  any  size  roll  of  Kodak  films. 

I  I  f*      Will  develop  and  print  6  pictures  from  best 
^^  ^  •  negatives.      Good  work ;  prompt  service. 
ROANOKE  CYCLE   CO.,  Roanoke,  Va. 


CLASS  PINS 


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.  V. 


We  Ship  on  Approval 

without    a    cent    deposit,  prepay    the    freight  and   allow 

(IO    DAYS    FREE    TRIAL  on  every  bicycle.     IT  ONLY 

COSTS  one  cent  to   learn  our  unheard  of  prices   and 

marvelous  offers  on  highest  grade  1914  models. 

FACTORY  PRICES  fPa^&^me^ 

one  at  any  price  until  you  write  for  our  new  large  Art 
Catalog  and  learn  our  -wonderful proposition  od  the  first 
sample  bicycle  going  to  your  town. 

RlftPR  ARFMTQ  everywhere  are  making  big 
niUtn  HUUll  I  O  money  exhibiting  and  selling 
our  bicycles.    We  Sell  cheaper  than  any  other  factory. 

TIRES,   Coaster -Brake  rear    wheels,  lamps* 
repairs  and  sundries  at  half  usual  prices.    Do  Not  Walt; 
■write  today  for  our  latest  special  offer  on  *'  Ranger"  bicycle. 

MEAD  CYCLE  CO.       Dept.T-272   CHICAGO 


ELECTRICITY 


BOYS— This  book— our  brand-newcatalog 
-is  a  mine  of  electrical  knowledge.  128  pages 
full  of  cuts,  complete  description  and  prices  of  the 
latest  ELECTRICAL  APPARATUS  for  experi- 
mental 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.) 
VOLTAMP  ELECTRIC  MFG.  CO.,  Nichol  Bldg.,  Baltimore,  Md. 

FRENCH,     GERMAN,      SPANISH,     ITALIAN 

Can  be  learned  quickly,  easily,  and  pleasantly  at  spare  mo- 
ments, in  your  own  home.     You  hear  the  living  voice  of  a 
native  professor  pronounce  each  word  and  phrase.  In  a  sur- 
risingly  short  time  you  can  speak  a  new  language  by  the 

LANGUAGE-PHONE  METHOD 

combined  with 

ROSENTHAL'S  PRACTICAL  L1NCUISTRY 

Disc  or  Cylinder  Records.    Can  be  used  on  your  own 

talking  machine.     Send  for  Particulars  and  Booklet. 

The  Lawriiiige-Phoiic  Method 

979  Putnam  Building.  2  West  45th  Street.  N.  Y. 


Have  you  a 

Bible  of 
your  own? 


Here  is  an  edition 
especially  edited  for  you, 
printed  in  big,  clear  type, 
with  twenty-four  full- 
page  illustrations. 

The  Century  Co. 

Union  Square,  New  York 

Inclosed  find  $1.73  for  one  copy  of 
"The  Bible  for  Young  People,"  postage 
prepaid.      Send  to 

Name 


Address. 


S.  F. 


31 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


THE 
CENTURY   COMPANY 

Announces 

the  appointment  of 

MR.  DON    M.  PARKER 

as  Advertising  Manager  of 

THE   CENTURY   MAGAZINE 

AND 


ST.  NICHOLAS 


32 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


What  Every  Baby 
Needs  in  Winter 

Here  is  a  shirt — double-thick  over  the  front  to  protect 
the  chest,  lungs  and  abdomen.  It  is  a  Rubens — a  shirt 
without  open  laps  or  buttons,  but  adjustable,  so  it  always  fits. 
A  comfortable  shirt,  never  too  loose  nor  too  tight — a  shirt  that 
prevents  hundreds  of  coughs  and  colds. 

15,000,000  babies  have  been  safeguarded  with  it.  Many  owe 
their  health  to  it.  Millions  who  wore  it  years  ago  are  now  sturdy, 
ruddy-cheeked  boys  and  girls.   Don't  you  want  it  for  your  baby? 


Ask  for  Rubens  Shirts  and  be  sure  that  this  label  ap- 
pears on  the  front.  This  shirt  is  our  invention,  and  this 
whole  factory  is  devoted  to  its  right  production.  Don't 
be    misled    by    imitations    on    a   garment    so   important. 


/X^£-cV6C>c> 


No  Buttons  No  Trouble 

Reg.  U.  S.  Pat.  Office  (83) 


Rubens  Shirts 

For  Infants 

Sizes  for  any  age  from  birth.  Made  in  cotton,  wool  and  silk.  Also 
in  merino  (half  wool).  Also  in  silk  and  wool.  Prices  run  from 
25  cents  up. 

Sold  by  dry  goods  stores,  or  sold  direct  where  dealers  can't  supply. 
Ask  us  for  pictures,  sizes  and  prices. 

RUBENS    &   MARBLE,  Inc.,  354  W.   Madison   St.,  Chicago 


For  the  Manly  Boy 

St.  Nicholas,  a  rod,  a  gun,  a  canoe,  and  Forest 
and  Stream,  well  mixed  and  taken  in  proper  sea- 
son, will  make  a  real  man  of  a  red-blooded  boy. 

Trial  subscription  offer  to  St.  Nicholas  readers : 
six  months  for  $  1 .00.    Regular  price  $3.00  a  year. 

Forest  and  Stream 

(A  weekly  journal  of  outdoor  life) 
22  Thames  St.  '         New  York  City 


Boys-Make  Moneys 

It's  great  to  make  money  by  your  own  efforts, 
and  you've  never  had  abetterchancethan  this, 
— easy.pleasant  and  highly  profitable  work.    Get  a 

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The  one  minute  camera 
that  makes  photos  on  poBt 

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or  dark  room.   The  most  wonderful 

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"'    experience  needed  to  operate 

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spare  time,  after  school  and 

during  vacation  you  can  earn 

$10  to  $25 
a  Week 

Just  a  small  investment 
is  all  you  need.  Send  a 
postal.    Ask  ub  aboutit. 

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Sold  by  leading  dealers. 

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SUCCESSOR    TO    MERIDEN  6AITANNU    CO. 

The  World's  Largest  Makers  of  Sterling  Silver  and  Plate.  ; 

"J 


33 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


TT 

Hopi 


Binuhve  Incnan  liie  soon  will  be 
a  inm&  of  me  past.  See  it  now  at 

Grand  Gnyon  /Arizona 

The  Grand  Canyon  region  is  the  heart  of  the  "bronze 
man's"  country.  Here  the  Indian  truly  belongs.  -  His 
mode  of  life,  his  dress  and  religion,  harmonize  with  the 
wide  desert  reaches  and  Arizona's  incomparable  chasm. 


One  tribe,  the  Supais,  live  three 
thousand  feet  beneath  earth's  pie- 
crust, in  a  tributary  gorge.  To  get 
there  you  drive  thirty-five  miles  and 
then  hit  the  trail  for  fifteen  miles 
more. 

To  visit  the  Hopi  pueblos  you  cross 
the  Painted  Desert,  an  easy  camping 
trip.  Almost  every  month  the  Hopis 
have  ceremonial  dances,  the  most 
spectacular  being  that  of  the  snakes 
in  August. 

The  Navajos  are  nomads,  wander- 
ing from  place  to  place  with  great 
flocks  of  sheep.  They  are  noted 
blanket-weavers  and  silversmiths. 

Members  of  these  three  tribes  fre- 
quently come  to  the  Grand  Canyon 
at  El  Tovar.  Visiting  Hopis  are 
housed  in  a  stone-adobe  building, 
while  earth  and  brush  hogans  are 
provided  for  the  Navajos.  The 
Supais  damp  out  in  the  woods. 


A  three  days'  stay  at  Grand  Can- 
yon, as  a  side  tour  from  Santa  Pe 
main  line  at  Williams,  Ariz.,  costs 
$35  to  $40.  El  Tovar  Hotel  and 
Bright  Angel  Camp  are  managed  by 
Fred  Harvey. 

The  California  Limited  is  a  steel 
car  train,  daily  the  year  'round  — 
between  Chicago,  Kansas  City,  Los 
Angeles,  San  Diego  and  San  Fran- 
cisco —  exclusively  for  first-class 
travel — has  a  sleeper  for  Grand 
Canyon. 

The  Santa  Fe  de-Luxe  —  once  a 
week  in  winter  season  —  extra  fast, 
extra  fine,  extra  fare  —  between 
Chicago  and  Los  Angeles. 

Three  other  daily  trains  —  all 
classes  of  tickets  honored  —  they 
carry  standard  and  tourist,  sleepers 
and  chair  cars. 

Meal  service  by  Fred  Harvey. 


On  request  will  gladly  send  you  our  two  copiously  illustrated  travel  books, "  Titan  of  Chasms  —  Grand  Canyon  " 
and  "  To  California  over  the  Santa  Fe  Trail."    Address 

W.  J.  Black,  Passenger  Traffic  Manager,  A.  T.  &  S.  F.  Ry.  System, 
1072  Railway  Exchange,  Chicago. 


34 


[The  entire  contents  of  this  Magazine  are  covered  by  the  general  copyright,  and  articles  must  not  be  reprinted  without  special  permission.] 

CONTENTS  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  FOR  MARCH,  1914. 

Frontispiece.     Children  in  Kensington  Gardens,    London.      Painted  by 

Arthur  Rackham.  Page 

Arthur  Rackham :  The  Wizard  at  Home.     Sketch Eleanor  Farjaon 385 

Illustrated  by  Arthur  Rackham,  and  from  photographs  made  for  St.  Nicholas. 

The  Deacon's  Little  Maid.    Story Ruth  Hatch 392 

Illustrated  by  George  Varian. 

The  Seasons'  Calendar.    Verse Harriet  Prescott  Spofford 394 

The  Game  I  Love.     Serial Francis  Ouimet 395 

Illustrated  from  photographs  and  with  a  drawing. 

Fairy  Tea.    Verse D.  K.  s 400 

Illustrated  by  Fanny  Y.  Cory. 
"On  Guard!"     Picture.     Drawn  by  C.  Clyde  Squires 402 

The  Runaway.     Serial  Story Allen  French 403 

Illustrated  by  Charles  M.  Relyea. 

Fractions.     Verse Caroline  Hofman 410 

Illustrated  by  Rachael  Robinson  Elmer. 

The  Goose-Fair  at  Warsaw.     Verse Nora  Archibald  smith 411 

Illustrated  by  Reginald  Birch. 

The  Lucky  Stone.     Serial  Story Abble  Farwell  Brown 413 

Illustrated. 

The  Tracks  in  the  Snow.     Verse Enos  B.  Comstock 418 

Illustrated  by  the  Author. 

With  Men  Who  Do  Things.     Serial  Story A.  Russell  Bond 420 

Illustrated  by  Edwin  H.  Bayha,  and  from  photographs  and  diagrams. 

The  Grown-up  Me.    Verse Margaret  Wlddemer 428 

Illustrated  by  Harriet  Repplier  Boyd. 

Mauled  by  an  Elephant.     Story. J.  Alden  Lorlng 429 

Illustrated  by  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

"Melilotte."     A  Fairy  Operetta David  Stevens 434 

Illustrated  by  Dugald  Stewart  Walker. 

The  Story  of  the  Silhouette.    Sketch Walter  K.  Putney 448 

The  Housekeeping  Adventures  of  the  Junior  Blairs.     Serial Caroline  French  Benton 449 

Illustrated  by  Sarah  K.  Smith. 

Books  and  Reading Hildegarde  Hawthorne 454 

Illustrated. 

For  Very  Little  Folk : 

The  Baby  Bears '  Fifth  Adventure.     Verse Grace  G.  Drayton 457 

Illustrated  by  the'Author. 

Nature  and  Science  for  Young  Folks 460 

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

Drawings,  Photographs,  and  Puzzles 468 

Illustrated. 

Editorial  Notes 476 

The  Letter-Box 476 

Illustrated. 

The  Riddle-Box 479 

St.  Nicholas  Stamp  Page Advertising  page 22 

The  Century^  Co.  audits  editors  receive  manuscripts  andart  material,  submitted  for  publication,  only  on  the  understanding  that  they  shall 
not  be  responsible  for  loss  or  injury  theretowhile  in  tlieir  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,  jSl.OO.  We  bind  said  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.  PUBLISHED  MONTH L  Y. 

WILLIAM  W.  ELLSWORTH,  „■,,„    ^_^TmTTT^,T    „^  WILLIAM  W.  ELLSWORTH,  President 

IRA   H.  BRAINERD,  THE    CENTURY    CO.  IRA   H.  BRAINERD. Vice-President 

GEORGE  INNESS.JK.  __     .  ,_         DOVGI.AS  Z.  DOTY,  Secretary 

Trustees  Union  Square,  New  York,  N.  Y.     rodman  gilder.  Treasurer 

GEORGE  L.  WHEELOCK,  Ass't  Treasurer 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


UNCLE  GLEN  ON  ST.  NICHOLAS  NEXT  MONTH 


DEAR  St.  Nicholas  Reader  :  Louise  said  to  me 
last  Sunday,  "Uncle  Glen,  do  you  really  expect 
me  to  take  any  poignant  interest  in — " 

"Louise,"  I  exclaimed,  "you  evidently  can  pro- 
nounce 'poignant';  but  can  you  spell  it?" 

As  you  are  aware,  Louise  is  at  times  impatient. 
This  was  one  of  the  times.  But  the  only  way  she 
showed  it  was  by  the  slightest  little  toss  of  her  head. 
She  went  right  on  with  her  question  without  answer- 
ing mine. 

" — in  the  'Adventures  of  the  Baby  Bears'  that 
have  been  printed  in  St.  Nicholas  lately?" 

Now  I  am  very  fond  of  Louise.  In  fact,  for  years 
and  years  she  was  my  favorite  niece,  and  even  now 
— but  I  must  n't  be  too  outspoken  about  my  likes 
and  dislikes  !  An  uncle  is  not  supposed  to  have  a 
favorite  niece  or  nephew.  He  should  be  absolutely 
impartial ;  he  should  give  sound  advice  on  every 
subject ;  he  should  preserve  his  avuncular  dignity  at 
all  times. 

I  thought  of  this  matter  of  dignity  the  other  day 
while  I  was  running  for  a  trolley,  when  Billy  caught 
me  behind  the  left  ear  with  a  soft-boiled  snowball. 
I  am  going  to  speak  severely  to  him  about  it  the  next 
time  we  meet. 

But,  to  return  to  Louise's  remark  about  the  series 
of  "Baby  Bear"  pictures  for  "very  little  folk"  :  Of 
course  Louise  does  not  take  much  interest  in  them 
— though  she  does  look  them  ever  every  month.  She 
is  too  big  to  enjoy  them  as  much  as  a  younger  girl 
would. 

But  is  n't  it  a  good  plan  to  have  a  few  pages  in 
every  number  of  St.  Nicholas  for  the  "very  little 
folk"?  What  would  Louise  think  of  a  household 
that  had  no  high  chair  tucked  away  in  the  corner 
of  the  dining-room  in  case  some  little  tad  came  to 
supper?  Is  n't  it  more  hospitable  to  be  ready  for 
the  little  children  as  well  as  the  bigger  ones? 

YES. 

(I  wrote  that  word  "Yes"  there  to  save  you  and 
Louise  the  trouble  of  writing  it  on  a  postal  card  and 
sending  it  to  me.) 

Here  I  am  devoting  all  this  space  to  Billy  and 
Louise  when  my  real  subject  is  "St.  Nicholas 
NEXT  month."     Well,  here  goes  : 

With  Louise's  permission  there  are  going  to  be  six 
pictures  showing  the  thrilling  adventures  of  the  two 
little  bear-cubs  "fat  but  trim,"  as  they  were  de- 
scribed in  the  November  number  when  they  first 
appeared. 

UNDER  THE  BLUE   SKY 

Perhaps  April  is  a  little  early  to  be  thinking  seri- 
ously of  vacations,  but  St.  Nicholas  is  now  running 
one  of  the  best  series  it  ever  had  :  "Under  the  Blue 
Sky,"  and  I  want  to  speak  of  it.  You  remember  that 
bob-sled  article  last  month?  In  April  and  the  fol- 
lowing months  there  will  be  more  of  these  fine, 
fresh,  helpful  out-of-door  stories.  In  April,  boys  AND 
GIRLS  will  learn  about  "Fishing  Tackle  for  Boys." 

It  is  hard  to  say  what  part  of  a  boy's  vacation  is 
most  pleasantly  spent — that  which  he  enjoys  along 
shady  stream  or  open  lake,  pitting  his  skill  against 
that  of  the  wary  fish,  paddling  his  canoe  over  the 
wind-rippled  surface  of  the  bay,  or  hoisting  a  pair 
of  tiny  sails  and  skimming,  like  a  white-winged  gull, 
in  that  canoe,  toward  the  evening  camp,  on  some 
distant  headland  where  he  will  pitch  his  tent,  build  his 
camp-fire,  and  be  the  most  independent  boy  on  earth. 

Perhaps  the  best  time  of  all  is  that  spent  within 
canvas  walls,  rising  with  the  sun,  taking  a  morning 
dip,  and  coming  in  to  breakfast  with  a  most  wonder- 
ful appetite,  which  makes  the  camp  cookery  taste 
better  than  anything  that  was  ever  prepared  at  home. 

The  readers  of  St.  Nicholas  will  have  an  oppor- 
tunity to  judge  for  themselves  which  IS  the  best  part 
of  the  vacation,  for  the  great  outdoor  series  "Under 
the  Blue  Sky"  will  tell  how  Dick,  Jack,  Charley, 
Fred,  Harry,  and  the  redoubtable  Freckles  fished, 
camped,  and  canoed, — what  they  used,  what  and  how 
they    made    it,    and    what    they    bought — also    how, 


where,   and   when   they  found  their  outfits   could   be 
improved. 

The  series  is  by  E.  T.  Keyser,  whose  long,  prac- 
tical experience  in  outdoor  life  gives  the  weight  of 
authority  to  his  advice,  and  whose  ability  to  put  his 
knowledge  into  a  good  story,  makes  this  series  alone 
something  that  no  outdoor  youngster  can  do  without. 

BILLY  EVANS,   THE  GREAT   UMPIRE 

"Freak  Plays  and  Superstitions"  is  a  base-ball  ar- 
ticle in  the  April  number  by  the  unrivaled  League 
umpire  Billy  Evans,  who  is  writing  a  series  for  St. 
Nicholas.  Even  those  few  people  who  are  not  base- 
ball fans  will  enjoy  these  articles,  and  as  for  the 
fans  themselves —  ! 

FRANCIS   OUIMET,   THE  GREAT   GOLFER 

The  young  champion  golf  player,  Francis  Ouimet, 
contributes  his  second  article  to  the  April  St.  Nich- 
olas. What  do  you  think  of  his  first  article  in  this 
number?  It  was  interesting,  was  n't  it?  I  think 
the  others  will  be  even  more  so. 

OTHER  APRIL   FEATURES 

In  the  April  number  is  a  story  that  all  girls  will 
like  ;  and  I  think  the  boys  will  read  it,  too.  (You 
know  some  boys  say  haughtily,  "Oh,  that  's  a  story 
about  girls!"  But  I  notice  they  sometimes  read  it 
all  the  same!)     It  is  called  "Peggy's  Chicken  Deal." 

A  very  exciting  story  with  an  unexpected  end  is 
called  "When  the  Indians  Came."  The  Rose  Alba 
children  have  all  kinds  of  adventures  trying  to  earn 
some  money  and  the  Junior  Blairs  invent  a  perfectly 
delightful  way  of  having  a  rainy  day  party. 

As  for  the  serials,  "The  Runaway"  is  getting  so 
interesting  that  I  'm  sure  even  tire  oldest  members 
of  the  family  will  be  reading  and  trying  to  solve  the 
puzzles  in  it,  particularly  the  latest  development. 
"The  Lucky  Stone,"  too,  increases  in  interest;  and 
the  boys  in  "With  Men  Who  Do  Things"  learn 
about  the  great  Keokuk  Dam  across  the  Mississippi 
River  which  is  going  to  save  the  country  8,000,000 
tons  of  coal  a  year. 

Did  you  know  that  "Will"  Shakspere  was  born  in 
April  ?  There  is  a  poem  "In  Shakspere's  Room" 
which  is  going  to  please  everybody.  There  are  deco- 
rations for  it  by  Reginald  Birch. 

"Nature  and  Science"  is  going  to  have  a  full  arti- 
cle on  the  Rocky  Mountain  conies.  Do  you  know 
what  a  conie  is?  Dallas  Lore  Sharp,  who  wrote  "A 
Watcher  in  the  Woods"  and  "Roof  and  Meadow," 
will  tell  you  about  them. 

The  St.  Nicholas  League,  Riddle-Box,  and  Let- 
ter-Box  are  getting  more  fascinating  than  ever,  and 
are  attracting  thousands  of  new  competitors.  Speak- 
ing of  the  League,  do  you  appreciate  the  fact  that 
many  of  the  articles  and  writers  who  help  to  make 
the  magazines  of  America  are  graduates  of  St. 
Nicholas  League? 

I  have  told  you  how  Billy,  the  eldest,  is  allowed 
to  have  St.  Nicholas  first,  and  how  poor  Louise 
sometimes  simply  cannot  wait  and  goes  and  buys 
another  copy  for  herself.  This  is  hard.  But  did 
you  ever  think  how  much  harder  it  would  be  if 
Louise,  instead  of  being  second,  had  to  be  fifth  ? 

Suppose  The  Century  Magazine  and  St.  Nich- 
olas,— which  as  you  know  are  both  published  by 
The  Century  Co., — were  bound  up  together  each 
month.     Then  the  order  would  be 

First,  Mother. 

Second,  Father. 

Third,  Grandma. 

Fourth,  Billy. 

Fifth,  poor  little  Louise. 

You  and  Louise  just  think  this  over,  and  be  thank- 
ful that  children  have  in  St.  Nicholas  a  MAGA- 
ZINE ALL  THEIR  OWN. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


What  Birthday  Present  are  You 
Going  to  Give  Your  Best  Friend? 


A  Birthday  Card 


A    BIRTHDAY    LETTER 


St  ?&%«?""' 


vii.iJne.ii.  uau  a  UXxinau  uj'vitruxau  ana,  Wat.  diitii 
uau  eacr).  manin  ian,  tWeWc  manir%&,  Witn  trie, 
hxiihaau   a/ieetinaA 


Is  there  any  better 
present  than  twelve 
fine  numbers  of 

St.  Nicholas? 

Just  read 
"Uncle  Glen  on 
St.  Nicholas 
NEXT  month"  and 
see  what  is  in  store 
for    St.  Nicholas 
readers! 

An  Arthur  Rackham   Gift  Card 


Here  is  some- 
thing new: 

St.  Nicholas  has  a  great 
new  plan  to  double  the  St. 
Nicholas  family  before 
May  i. 

Even  if  you  are  not  at  this 
moment  planning  a  gift,  for 
your  best  friend,  send  for 
the  details  of  the  Plan. 

COUPON 


The  Century  Co., 

Union  Square,  New  York 

I  am  interested  in  the 
new  St.  Nicholas  plan. 
Please  send  me  full  details. 

Birthday 


Name. 


Address. 


S.  N.  3-14 


Q)t.   c/lic-kau 


a£ 


Will   dibit   uo.il   tar. mantrji', 

isianiirta   With   trie.... nu.mb.eA., 

at   trie.   tecLueiX   al 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


TOU:  "Look/  Here  is  the  Table  of  Contents  for  this  month's  Cen- 
tury Magazine.     What  do  you  think  of  it?" 

TO  UR  FA  THER :  "It  is  a  rich  feast.  Tour  Mother  and  Father 
feel  about  The  Century  as  you  do  about  St.  Nicholas:  we  can't 
afford  to  miss  a  single  number." 

CONTENTS  OF  THE  MARCH  CENTURY 
"Truly  this  Man  was  the  Son  of  God" Frontispiece 

From  the  painting  by  George  Inness,  Jr. 

The  Education  of  Popo.    a  story maria  cristina  mena 

By  the  author  of  "  John  of  God,  the  Water-Carrier, "  etc.    Pictures  by  F.  Luis  Mora. 
Three  Sisters.      From  charcoal  drawings  by JOHN  S.  SARGENT 

What  Have  Women  Done  with  the  Vote? george  creel 

Catching  It.    a  story amy  wentworth  stone 

Opera  in  English Reginald  de  koven 

The  Golden  Temple  of  Amritsar e.  f.  benson 

By  the  author  of  "The  Relentless  City,"  etc. 

Leon  Bakst.      A  Brilliant  Russian  Colorist ADA  RAINEY 

Eight  Designs  for  Costumes  from  the  Color  Sketches  by  Bakst. 

"Hares" paul  barchan 

The  World  Set  Free h.  g.  wells 

By  the  author  of  "  Tono  Bungay,"  etc.     Portrait  of  the  author,  and  picture  by  George  Inness,  Jr. 

Origins  of  the  American  People edward  alsworth  ross 

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The  Crucible,    verse robert  haven  schauffler 

Decorations  by  Charles  S.  Chapman. 
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Of  LoVC      Verse ) MARVIN  FERREE 

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Love's  Lantern,    verse joyce  kilmer 

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Charles  Eliot  Norton.      Pencil  Sketch  of  Dr.  Norton  by  William  Fuller  Curtis.      WALTER  LITTLEFIELD 

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How  Very  Comfortable ! 

This  is  the  sort  of  feeling  that  you  have  after  a  bath  or 
awash  with  Pears — a  feeling  of  natural  freshness — the  exhil- 
aration due  to  a  sense  of  perfect  cleanliness — the  glow  and 
delight  of  a  healthy  stimulating  influence. 

Pears  is  composed  entirely  of  natural  saponaceous  in- 
gredients of  the  highest  emollient  and  detergent  properties. 
It  is  so  daintily  soothing  and  softening  to  the  skin  surface, 
and  it  promotes  in  a  pre-eminent  degree  that  natural  beauty 
of  complexion  which  is  universally  admired. 

Pears'  Soap 

Best  aid  to  the  Health  and  Beauty  of  the  Skin 

Matchless  for 

the  Complexion 

Pears  is  the  Most 
Economical  of  Toilet 
Soaps  because  of 
its  Double-Lasting 
ualities.  7| 


1 


I 


I 
I 


■d 


~y- 


1  All  rights  secured'*'' 

OF  JiLL  SCENTED  SOJtPS   PEERS'    OTTO    OF  ROSE  IS   THE  BEST 


' 


CHILDREN  IN  KENSINGTON  GARDENS,  LONDON. 

PAINTED    BY    ARTHUR    EACKHAM. 


ST.  NICHOLAS 


Vol.  XLI 


MARCH,  1914 


No.  5 


MR.    RACKIIAM    IX    HIS   GARDEN. 


ARTHUR  RACKHAM:   THE  WIZARD  AT  HOME 

BY  ELEANOR  FARJEON 


There  have  been  three  creators  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle.  The  first,  who  was  Washington  Irving, 
created  him  with  his  pen ;  the  second,  who  was 
Joseph  Jefferson,  created  him  with  his  personal- 
ity ;  and  the  third,  who  is  Arthur  Rackham,  cre- 
ated him  with  his  brush.  And  all  three  owed 
much  to  another,  far  earlier,  and  unknown  crea- 
tor—the nameless  imagination  which,  in  many 
lands,  through  many  ages,  built  up  the  haunted 
storehouse  of  lore  and  legend  to  which  only  the 
true  imaginations  of  later  ages  possessed  the 
key.  Irving,  Jefferson,  and  Rackham,  all  true 
imaginers  in  their  different  veins,  have  all  held 
that  key  in  their  possession ;  and  though  it  is  of 
the  third  holder,  only,  that  I  am  writing,  it  is  for 
a  particular  reason  impossible  for  me  to  think  of 


him  without  thinking  of  the  other  two  as  well. 
For  Joseph  Jefferson  was  my  grandfather,  and 
Rip,  in  my  family,  is  regarded  as  a  household 
god  by  inheritance. 

Rip  was  the  first  book  to  bring  Arthur  Rack- 
ham fame,  and  I  doubt  whether  it  had  to  pass 
through  so  severe  a  test  at  the  hands  of  the 
qualified  critics  as  at  our  hands,  who  judged  it 
from  a  special  personal  standpoint.  But  we 
were  captured  instantly.  There  was  never  doubt 
that  this  dear  vagabond  figure  of  Rip  in  his  tat- 
terdemalion youth  — this  wild,  pathetic  figure  of 
Rip  in  his  lorn  age  — was  our  "Rip";  or  that  the 
red-roofed  village  under  the  haunted  mountains 
was  his  village,  or  that  the  haunted  mountains 
were  the  "Kaatskills"  of  Hendrik  Hudson. 


Copyright,   1914,  by  The  Century  Co.     All  rights  reserved. 
385 


386 


ARTHUR  RACKHAM:  THE  WIZARD  AT  HOME 


[Mar., 


We  knew  Arthur  Rackham's  Rip  before  we 
knew  Arthur  Rackham,  but  it  was  inevitable  that, 
after  knowing  the  book,  we  should  know  the 
man.  A  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  separates  our 
houses,  and  it  was  not  long  before  that  ground 
was  covered. 

I  had  always  had  the  impression,  from  the  in- 
timate inside  knowledge  of  Fairy-land  which  his 
work  betrayed,  that  Arthur  Rackham  was  a  kind 
of  wizard;  that  he  only  pretended  to  call  him- 
self Arthur  Rackham,  and  hobgoblins  really 
hailed  him  by  some  more  mystic  name  on 
stormy  nights  on  Hampstead  Heath,  which  is  an 
easy  broomstick  ride  from  a  certain  little  house 
in  Chalcot  Gardens.  Acquaintance  has  not  en- 
tirely allayed  the  suspicion.  Arthur  Rackham 
looks  rather  like  a  wizard  — a  wizard  of  the  un- 
malicious  order,  who  dabbles  in  sly,  freakish, 
and  delightful  arts.  He  watches  you  from  be- 
hind the  Spectacles  of  Cunning,   and  there   's  a 


into,  in  case  he  should  turn  me  into  a  speckled 
toad. 

If  you  know  Arthur  Rackham's  fairy-land  of 
books  — if  you  know  ancient  ^Esop  and  modern 
Peter,  and  their  immortal  equals,  Rip,  Undine 
and  Alice,  Puck  and  Mother  Goose;  if  you  know 
Grimm,  who  is  better  than  painted  gingerbread 
and  striped  sugar-sticks,  and  if  you  know  the 
gods  and  giants  and  dwarfs  and  nymphs  of  the 
legendary  Rhine  — not  only  through  the  wonder- 
makers  who  first  shaped  them  for  our  hearts, 
but  also  through  the  wonder-maker  who  has  re- 
shaped them  for  our  eyes— then  you  really  know 
as  much  of  Arthur  Rackham  as  can  be  told.  But 
nowadays  we  cannot  leave  our  wonder-makers 
alone ;  we  must  know  how  they  live  and  where 
they  live,  and  what  they  do  when  they  are  not 
weaving  the  spells  that  have  enchained  us. 

You  must  not  be  disappointed  to  learn  that  this 
particular  magician   does  not  weave  his  particU- 


TJlli    I)INIX<;-R(IOM. 


whimsical  line  in  his  face  that  can  translate  it-  lar   spells  underneath   a   hollow   tree,   in   one   of 

self  into  the  kindliest  of  smiles.     He  is  light  and  those   tiny    caverns   with   pillars   and   rafters    of 

spare   and  alert,   so  that   I  imagine  his  favorite  twisted  roots  which  time  and  again  in  his  books 

form   of   transformation   to   be    some   kind   of   a  he  has  peopled  for  us  with  delicate  elves.     There 

bird.      But   these   are   matters    I   do    not    inquire  is  nothing  disappointing  about  the  little  house  in 


1914] 


ARTHUR  RACKHAM:  THE  WIZARD   AT   HOME 


387 


MR.    RACKHAM  S    HOUSE    IN    CHALCOT    GARDENS,    SOUTH    HAMPSTEAD,    LONDON 


Chalcot  Gardens.  Outwardly  it  is  not  unsuited 
to  the  pages  of  fairy  tale.  It  has  a  mellow  red- 
and-brown  charm,  and  is  the  kind  of  house  that 
could  very  well  have  been  built  of  gingerbread 
and  candy.  Behind  the  house  is  the  kind  of  gar- 
den that  makes  me  feel  six  years  old  again ;  a 
place  where  the  grass  and  trees  seem  to  preserve, 
in  an  atmosphere  of  quiet  sunshine,  a  share  of 
memories  that  are  almost  like  expectations  — it 
might  be  memories  of  a  child  they  expect  to 
come  again.  Some  gardens  have  this  air  for  me 
—  I  never  quite  know  why,  unless  they  resemble 
a  garden  I  played  in  when  I  was  six— and  I  am 
filled  with  momentary  hope  that  I  am  the  child 
they  remember  and  expect.  But  this  garden  has 
its  child,  blue-eyed  and  golden-haired,  green- 
frocked  and  deep  in  fancy.  Her  name  is  Bar- 
bara. If  you  want  to  find  her,  do  not  walk 
straight  down  the  road,  for  that  is  the  way  to 
miss  the  house.  It  is  a  house  that  says  "Come 
and  find  me"  as  it  steps  back  a  little  in  the  cor- 
ner of  a  curbed  inclosure,  secure  from  the  com- 
mon traffic  of  automobiles  and  motor-bicycles, 
things  which  Arthur  Rackham  has  been  heard 
to  declare  are  at  the  root  of  most  modern  evils. 
With  them  he  classes  telephones  and  type-wri- 


ters ("I  would  rather,"  he  told  me,  "have  a  page 
of  hand-writing  I  could  n't  read  than  a  type- 
written manuscript")  ;  and  he  ought  to  include 
the  Automatic  Piano-Player  that  lives  in  his 
very  beautiful  un-automatic  dining-room.  But 
he  must  have  music  at  any  price,  and  he  has 
confessed  that  he  is  incapable  of  playing  com- 
mon time  with  one  hand  and  triple  time  with 
the  other,  so,  for  once,  he  has  had  to  fall  victim 
to  a  machine.  I  suppose  he  has  been  seen  in  a 
taxi  in  his  day,  but  I  am  sure  he  would  prefer  to 
amble  across  London  on  a  camel ;  and  I  know 
from  experience  that  a  magic  carpet  is  kept  in 
the  house  for  personal  use. 

There  's  magic,  too,  in  the  green  carpets  on 
the  stairs.  They  are  the  color  of  grass-rings 
after  fairies  have  danced  in  a  meadow,  so  it  is 
not  hard  to  guess  what  takes  place  up  and  down 
the  Rackham  staircase  after  the  lights  are  out. 
The  very  stairs  are  tricksy  things,  branching 
different  ways  like  forked  twigs  on  a  tree ;  I  am 
never  certain  that  it  is  always  the  same  fork 
which  leads  me  to  the  Wizard's  studio.  It  is  a 
big  room,  innocent  enough  at  first  sight,  but  it 
has  its  surprises.  Look  at  that  easel  — half- 
visible    gnomes    lurk    there,    and    are    on    every 


388 


ARTHUR  RACKHAM:  THE  WIZARD  AT  HOME 


[Mar., 


table,  and  in  every  bookcase.  In  one  corner 
there  's  a  wooden  door  sunk  under  an  arch,  and 
if  you  open  it  unexpectedly,  you  may  find  your- 
self looking  over  the  world  in  sudden  light,  on 
a  giddy  little  platform  with  a  spiral  stair  running 
down  as  fast  as  it  can  into  the  garden.  In  an- 
other corner  of  the  room,  almost  as  far  away  as 
possible  from  the  daylight  door,  the  Wizard 
keeps  a  second  door,  up  a  dark  stair.  I  have  n't 
had  the  courage  to  mount  that  stair  and  discover 
the  mystery  behind  that  door.  I  can  only  guess 
that,  as  behind  the  first  door  the  Wizard  keeps 
his  brightest  spells,  so  behind  the  second  he  keeps 
his  blackest. 

Luckily  for  me,  he  was  in  a  harmless  mood 
enough  the  last  time  I  saw  him.  I  had  almost 
said   that,    for   a   wizard,    he    was    in    a   helpless 


and-such— where  is  that  letter?  did  I  leave  it  in 
Barbara's  room?"  (Here  he  vanished  without 
so  much  as  hey  presto  !  and  reappeared  as  rap- 
idly.) "No,  I  can't  find  it — and  so  etc.,  etc.,  etc., 
—you  really  should  hear  the  letter,  but  it  is  n't 
here,  or  here — let  me  look  once  more."  (Again 
he  vanished,  and  again  came  empty-handed.) 
"Of  course,"  he  reflected,  picking  up  some  kind 
of  a  portfolio  in  a  discouraged  way,  "this  is 
where  it  ought  to  be."  He  opened  the  portfolio, 
and  that  was  where  it  was.  Then,  looking  at 
me  warningly  through  the  Spectacles  of  Cun- 
ning, he  observed:  "Ah!  now  you  see  the  mis- 
take of  putting  things  in  their  proper  places  !" 

It  is  one  of  his  peculiarities  that,  like  his  own 
house,  Arthur  Rackham  steps  back  a  little  in 
the  corner  off  the  highway  the  moment  you  try 


THE    STUDIO. 


mood.  He  was  looking  for  a  letter,  in  much  the 
same  way  as  my  mother  looks  for  her  house- 
keeping bag  seven  times  a  day.  We  were  chat- 
ting about  odds  and  ends  as  he  hovered  vaguely 
among  the  furniture. 

"You  see,"  he  was  saying,  "so-and-so,  and  so- 
and-so,  and  so-and-so  .  .  .  but  I  must  read  you 
that  letter  .  .  .  and  then  such-and-such,  and  such- 


to  come  and  find  him.  I  don't  mean  by  this  that 
he  literally  shuts  his  mouth  and  runs  away.  On 
the  contrary,  his  instincts  are  social.  He  likes 
company,  and  he  likes  fun.  And  he  is  far  from 
locking  himself  up  in  his  studio.  He  is  to  be 
found  almost  as  often  in  the  garden,  where,  in 
his  own  words,  he  is  "continually  moving  paths 
and    flower    beds"  — a    process    that    entails    long 


IQI4-] 


ARTHUR   RACKHAM:  THE   WIZARD  AT   HOME 


389 


expostulations  with  a  robin,  who  insists  on  com-  can,   in   the   studio.     Nevertheless,   a    few   of   us 

ing  and  getting  in  the  way  of  the  spade  and  the  believe  that  he  is  of  less  account  than  one  other 

rake   whenever   there    is    the    chance   of    a    grub  member  of  the  family— the  child   for  whom  the 

turning  up.     But  if  the  unexplained  charm  of  the  garden  keeps  its  memories  and  expectations. 


MR.    ARTHUR    RACKHAM:    THE    WIZARD    AT    WORK. 


garden  is  due  to  the  Wizard's  influence,  it  is  the 
Wizard's  wife  who  is  responsible  for  the  unex- 
plained charm  of  the  house.  She  really  ought 
to  have  an  article  all  to  herself,  but  she  is  as 
shy  and  elusive  as  the  little  green  people  of  her 
native  Irish  hills,  so  I  've  small  hopes  of  catch- 
ing her.  In  the  little  house  in  Chalcot  Gardens, 
the  sweet  fellowship  of  dailv  life  is  made  perfect 
by  the  fellowship  of  work.  Under  that  roof 
Mrs.  Rackham  has  her  own  studio ;  things  pass 
from  it  now  and  again  to  the  walls  of  the  Royal 
Academy,  and  one  of  her  paintings  has  lately 
found  a  permanent  resting-place  in  the  Luxem- 
bourg. 

Perhaps  the  most  important  inhabitant  of  the 
house— certainly  in  his  own  eyes  — is  Jimmie. 
who  goes  on  four  feet,  and  purrs.  To  formal 
acquaintances  he  is  Sir  James;  he  was  named 
after  J.  M.  Barrie,  and  of  course  he  too  must 
have  his  baronetcy.  He  does  not  consider  kit- 
chens the  place  for  the  toilets  of  titled  cats,  and 
makes  a  point  of  being  combed,  as  often  as  he 


It  is  pleasant,  after  you  have  been  chatting 
with  Arthur  Rackham  upon  every  subject  from 
Shakspere  to  skeeing,  to  hear  him  say,  "Now 
come  and  see  Barbara.  We  shall  have  her  to 
ourselves.     Mademoiselle  is  out." 

It  is  pleasanter  still  to  see  him,  in  what  is  sup- 
posed to  be  Barbara's  "Rest  Hour,"  solving  puz- 
zles for  her  that  St.  Nicholas  brought  on  De- 
cember the  sixth ;  or  playing  Cinderella  while 
she  plays  the  Prince;  or  teaching  her  to  dance 
with  a  hop  and  a  skip  across  the  floor ;  and  pres- 
ently (since  it  is  her  Rest  Hour)  whispering, 
"Slip  out  quietly  so  that  she  does  n't  notice." 

Between  Barbara  and  Barbara's  mother  and 
Jimmie,  and  skeeing  in  Switzerland,  and  fishing, 
tennis,  and  golf  in  England  (he  is  the  only 
golfer,  good  or  bad,  that  I  ever 'heard  say,  "Yes, 
I  play  golf,"  and  then  talk  about  something  else), 
and  the  automatic  piano-player  in  the  dining- 
room,  it  is  rather  to  be  wondered  at  that  the 
studio  sees  anything  of  him.  And  it  is  in  that 
part   of   himself,    the    part   which    produces   the 


390 


ARTHUR  RACKHAM:  THE  WIZARD  AT  HOME 


[Mar., 


ONF;    OF    ARTHUR    RACKHAM  S    EARLY 
DRAWINGS    FOR    ST.    NICHOLAS. 


work  we  know  and  love,  that  Arthur  Rackham  corner.  He  is  willing  to  talk,  and  does  talk, 
reminds  me  of  his  own  house  retiring  round  the  well  and  definitely,  about  a  multitude  of  sub- 
jects, with  equal  keenness  and  interest;  but  if 
you  mention  Rip,  he  will  talk  of  Irving  and  Jef- 
ferson, rather  than  of  Rackham.  And  it  is  in- 
teresting to  hear  Rip's  last  creator  on  his  prede- 
cessors.    Of  my  grandfather  he  has  said: 

"One  feels  it  was  he  who  made  the  character 
for  all  time  the  great  living  entity  that  it  is.  At 
least  I,  for  one,  very  much  doubt  whether  Ir- 
ving's  playful  fiction  or  morality  would  have 
become  immovably  established— to  the  degree  of 
a  creed,  a  genuine  local  legend — if  Jefferson 
had  n't  given  Rip  the  living  personality  that  we 
now  recognize  him  by.  I  think  Rip  one  of  the 
most  remarkable  of  created  characters.  Created 
as  the  sheerest  piece  of  pleasant  moralizing,  'ac- 
knowledging, even,  that  it  was  cribbed  from  old- 
world  sources,  here  is  Rip  as  firmly  fixed  in  the 
hearts  of  all  good  Americans  as  any  genuine 
myth.  I  can  think  of  hardly  another  modern  in- 
stance." 

Personally,  I  think  that  among  recent  inven- 
tions Peter  Pan  might  have  lived  as  the  same 
kind  of  local  myth,  if  his  author  had  not  cre- 
ated two  entirely  different  Peters.  The  Peter  of 
the  play  is  not  the  Peter  of  the  book,  and  the 
play  has  so  outdistanced  the  book  in  its  power 


MR.    RACKHAM  S    LITTLE    DAUGHTER,    BARBARA. 


I9I4-] 


ARTHUR   RACKHAM:  THE  WIZARD  AT   HOME 


391 


of  appeal,  that  the  name  of  Peter  Pan  now  in- 
stantly calls  to  mind,  not  Kensington  Gardens, 
but  the  Never-Never  Land. 

Yet  it  is  impossible  to  say  that  the  chance  of 
a  permanently  haunted  Kensington  Gardens  has 
quite  been  let  slip.  Arthur  Rackham  has  many 
times  put  a  fine  imagination  to  the  service  of  the 
finest  imaginations  that  have  set  the  earth  aglow 
—  he  has  created  kingdoms  of  humorous  goblins 
and  fairies  with  rainbow-colored  wings;  of  two- 
headed  ogres  with  knotted  clubs ;  of  gnomes,  and 
dragons,  and  witch-wives,  and  other  shapes 
minute  and  mighty,  fearsome  and  fair— but  his 
magic  never  held  so  firm  as  when  he  took  the 
Kensington  Peter  for  his  theme. 

He  had  done  marvels  in  the  Catskills,  and  was 
yet  to  do  marvels  in  the  wood  near  Athens 
(which  is  really  a  wood  in  Warwickshire).  He 
was  to  draw  Robin  Goodfellow  (and  I  do  not 
know  who  could  draw  Robin  Good  fellow  that  had 
not  really  seen  him).  But  when  our  wizard  did 
marvels  with"  fairy-land  in  London,  he  perhaps 
made  Peter  more  inseparably  his  than  any  other 
of  his  creations. 

Under  the  roots  that  the  trees  and  plants  send 
down  into  the  earth  he  has  fashioned  for  us 
an  elfin  realm  so  fantastic,  so  incomparable,  so 
complete,  that  we  can  no  longer  doubt  what  we 
should  find  if,  like  the  icing  off  a  cake,  we  should 
slice  the  top  layer  off  Kensington  Gardens.  And 
the  seen  has  as  much  enchantment  as  the  unseen, 
the  tree-tops  as  much  fairyhood  as  the  tree- 
trunks,  the  colors  of  the  Serpentine  as  much 
mystery  as  the  glimmering  fairy  lights  which  it 
reflects. 

When  the  wizard  shows  us  the  delicate  webs 
of  leafless  branches  traced  against  a  wintry  sky, 
when  he  paints  evening  light  for  us,  or  pale  mar- 
bled clouds,  or  patterns  upon  water,  or  children 


and  flowers  as  well  as  fairies  in  the  Gardens — 
then  he  reveals  a  magic  which  Londoners  may 


TWO    OF    MR.    RACKHAM  S    CHARACTERS. 

encounter  day  by  day.  And  if,  through  years  of 
apathy,  we  have  grown  numb  to  it,  it  is  from 
Arthur  Rackham  that  we  may  catch  the  angle  of 
true  vision  again. 


"Priscilla  !  Priscilla  !"  Mistress  Abbott's  voice 
carried  all  too  well,  and  Priscilla  dared  not  pre- 
tend not  to  bear.  Slow  and  unwilling,  she 
dragged  up  to  the  house  where  her  hated  sampler 
was  waiting,  for  she  knew  that  she  should  have 
done  her  stint  before  going  out  to  play.  Si- 
lently her  mother  handed  her  the  square  of  linen 
where,  already,  stiff,  cross-stitched  roses  bloomed 
in  the  border,  and  neat  and  clear  stood  out : 

x         i 789        X 
x  Priscilla  Abbott  is  my  name  x 

x  America  my  nation  x 

x  Andover  town  my  dwelling-place         x 

x         And  Christ  is  my  salva 

Priscilla  gat  down  on  the  door-step  and  began 
her  work,  but  the  thread  would  tangle,  and  the 
needle  would  prick  her  finger,  and  she  hated  to 
sew  anyway.  In  the  garden,  the  early  November 
sun  shone  warm  and  bright,  dead  leaves  whirled 
in  the  breeze,  and  the  corn-stalks  rustled  tanta- 
lizingly.  The  little  maid  was  only  ten  years 
old,  and  her  feet  ached  to  run  about. 

Finally,  however,  a  crooked,  straggling  t  was 
done.  How  Mistress  Abbott  frowned  when  she 
saw  it. 

"Priscilla,  that  must  come  out.  What  kind  of 
a  needlewoman  will  you  become  if  you  do  such 
work  ?  Cousin  Elizabeth  Osgood  has  already 
hemmed  her  father's  ruffles.  My  daughter  should 
do  as  well.     Take  out  that  letter,  every  stitch." 

"Won't !"  answered  Priscilla,  stamping  her 
foot.  Such  disobedience  was  unheard  of,  and 
her  mother  could  scarcely  believe  her  ears.  But, 
"Won't !"  Priscilla  repeated. 

Before  she  had  a  chance  to  say  more,  Mis- 
tress Abbott  gathered  up  the  sampler  and  work- 


(&Q  %xac  Story) 

Jtuth   Snatch 


box  in  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  she 
grasped  the  little  maid's  arm  and  led  her  up-stairs 
to  her  own  chamber. 

"Stay  here  until  you  can  be  good  and  have  fin- 
ished the  whole  word  as  it  should  be  done !  Then 
you  may  come  to  me." 

The  door  shut,  and  Priscilla  was  alone.  Down- 
stairs she  heard  the  clatter  of  kettles;  outside 
the  bare  branches  of  the  cherry-tree  tapped 
against  the  window,  the  crows  called  over  the 
fields,  "Come  !  come  !"  She  looked  at  the  sam- 
pler. 

"I  hate  you  !  I  hate  you  !  I  won't  learn  to 
sew !  I  wish  Mother  would  n't  make  me.  Moth- 
ers may  like  to  sew,  but  girls  don't.  Well,  Cousin 
Elizabeth  may,  but  she  is  different ;  she  never 
wants  to  play.  She  is  always  so  good  !  Well, 
I  'm  not  Cousin  Elizabeth  !     I  hate  to  sew  I" 

The  unfortunate  sampler  was  kicked  under  the 
bed,  and  Priscilla  flung  herself  down  on  the  floor 
in  a  storm  of  angry  tears.  The  cherry-tree 
brushed  against  the  window.  She  lifted  her  head. 
She  climbed  upon  the  sill.  One  foot  slipped  out 
onto  a  limb,  the  other  followed,  and,  in  a  moment, 
down  the  tree  slid  the  child. 

An  hour  later,  Mistress  Abbott  heard  a  clear, 
shrill  voice  singing  the  song  that  the  Andover 
men  had  brought  back  from  camp : 


"Ye  that  reign  masters  of  the  serf, 
Shake  off  your  youthful  sloth  and  ease; 
We  '11  make  the  haughty  Tories  know 
The  tortures  they  must  undergo 
When  they  engage  their  mortal  foe  ! 
Huzza,  brave  boys!  " 

There  was  Priscilla  running  through  the  gar- 
den, quite  forgetful  of  her  misdeeds.  Her 
mother  was  very,  very  angry,  and  Priscilla  was 
again  shut  up,  this  time  in  a  room  with  no  con- 
venient tree,  with  many  Bible  verses  to  learn 
about    the    punishment    of    disobedience,    and    a 


MY   GLOVE  HAS  RIPPED,    CHILD;    WILL   YOU    MEND    IT    FOR   ME 
WITH   SUCH    FAIR   SEWING?'"     (see  next  page.) 

393 


394 


THE   DEACON'S  LITTLE   MAID 


coarse,  hard  seam  to  sew.  Then  she  was  sorry, 
and,  next  morning,  in  all  Massachusetts  no  bet- 
ter, busier  little  maid  might  be  found  than  the 
deacon's  daughter  as  she  sat  in  the  great  room 
of  Abbott's  Tavern  in  Andover  town,  and  none 
made  neater,  fairer  stitches. 

Suddenly,  there  was  a  great  stir  and  a  hurry- 
ing hither  and  yon,  as  several  men  on  horseback 
drew  up  before  the  door.  Deacon  Abbott  him- 
self rushed  to  help  the  tall  stranger  on  the  gray 
horse  to  dismount,  never  so  much  as  noticing 
Master  Phillips,  who  was  president  of  the  Massa- 
chusetts Senate,  and  who  rode  with  him.  Mis- 
tress Abbott  curtseyed  in  the  doorway,  and  men 
and  maids  bobbed  and  bowed.  Priscilla  looked 
on  in  wonder  until  she  caught  the  magic  name, 
"General  Washington."  This  tall' man,  all  dusty 
and  travel-stained,  with  the  tip  of  his  finger 
showing  through  his  torn  riding-glove,  was  Gen- 
eral Washington,  her  hero  ! 

Her  head  drooped  shyly  over  her  sampler  when 
he  entered  the  room.  Then  a  kind  voice  said  to 
her,  "Art  the  deacon's  little  maid?" 

She  slipped  from  the  great  settle  to  greet  him, 
and  her  sampler  fell  at  his  feet.  There  it  lay, 
each  letter  clear  and  plain,  each  stitch  straight 


and  neat.  General  Washington  himself  quickly 
picked  it  up.  How  glad  she  was,  then,  that  she 
had  taken  out  that  crooked  t,  and  made  another, 
quite  perfect ! 

The  great  man  smiled  as  he  looked  at  it.  "The 
little  maid  is  indeed  a  fine  needlewoman,  Mis- 
tress Abbott.  Many  an  older  person  might  be 
proud  of  these  stitches.  My  glove  has  ripped, 
child ;  will  you  mend  it  for  me  with  such  fair 
sewing  while  I  breakfast?" 

Her  heart  was  so  full  of  joy  at  the  praise  that 
she  could  not  speak,  but  only  nodded  and  took 
the  glove.  Stitches  firm  and  even,  the  very  best 
she  had  ever  made,  Priscilla  set  in  the  glove. 

Just  as  the  men  came  out  to  ride  away  again, 
the  work  was  done.  General  Washington  took 
the  glove.  "I  thank  thee,  little  maid,"  he  said, 
and  he  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her. 

Priscilla  could  dream  of  no  greater  honor. 
But  suppose  she  had  never  learned  to  sew?  She 
never  saw  him  again,  after  he  vanished  around 
the  turn  of  the  road,  but  for  a  whole  week  she 
would  not  wash  the  cheek  he  had  kissed,  and  to 
the  end  of  her  life  she  was  proud  to  tell,  again 
and  again,  the  story  of  the  day  when  General 
Washington  kissed  the  deacon's  little  maid. 


THE    SEASONS'    CALENDAR 


When  I  think  of  winter, 

I  think  of  driving  snows, 
Of  whirling  flakes,  and  dazzling  drifts, 

And  every  wind  that  blows. 
I  think  of  sparkling  night-time 

With  all  the  starry  crew ; 
I  think  of  great  Orion 

On  the  midnight  blue. 
I  think  of  chestnuts  in  the  fire 

Bursting  and  telling  fates, 
I  think  of  sleigh-bells  in  the  dark, 

Of  sleds,  and  skees,  and  skates. 

When  I  think  of  springtime, 

I  think  of  rushing  rains, 
Of  grass  that  springs  to  meet  the  sun 

In  all  the  country  lanes ; 
Of  venturous  dandelions 

Glowing  with  friendly  gold, 
Of  willow-trees  that  on  the  wind 

Their  yellow  fringe  unfold. 
I  think  of  apple-blossoms— 

As  if  the  world  had  wings!  — 
And  gardens  that  I  mean  to  make 

In  the  time  of  pleasant  things. 


When  I  think  of  summer, 

Comes  sweetness  on  the  air, 
With  roses,  roses,  roses, 

Blowing  everywhere ! 
I  think  of  ringing  scythes;  of  sails  — 

The  outbound  fishing  fleet ; 
The  rhythmic  sound  of  distant  oars 

That  in  the  rowlocks  beat ; 
Of  thrushes  singing  in  the  shade 

O'er  swimming-pools,  and  all 
The  strawberries  in  the  mowing-field, 

The  peaches  on  the  wall. 

When  I  think  of  autumn, 
I  think  of  scarlet  heaps 

Of  apples  underneath  the  trees 
Where  the  gray  squirrel  leaps ; 

Of  towering  woodsides'  crimson  glow- 
Bare  boughs  against  the  sky 

In  lacy  lines ;  of  wings  that  sweep 
Southward,  with  trumpet  cry— 

The  wild-geese  clanging  from  the  north ; 
Of  Indian  summer  days, 

And  of  the  first  fire  on  the  hearth;  — 
And  warm  me  in  its  blaze. 

Harriet  Prescott  Spofford. 


C7Ae 

GAME 
I  LOVE 

Francis  Ouimet 

(Zyfational  Golf  (Champion 
of<^?n~ 


fmertca 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood. 


MY   INTRODUCTION    TO   GOLF 

"Big  brothers"  have  a  lot  of  responsibility  in 
life,  more  than  most  of  them  realize.  "Little 
brother"  is  reasonably  certain  to  follow  their  ex- 
ample, to  a  greater  or  less  degree,  hence  the 
better  the  example  set,  the  better  for  all  con- 
cerned. My  own  case  is  just  one  illustration. 
Whether  I  was  destined  to  become  a  golfer  any- 
way, I  cannot  say ;  but  my  first  desire  to  hit  a 
golf  ball,  as  I  recall,  arose  from  the  fact  that  my 
older  brother,  Wilfred,  became  the  proud  pos- 
sessor of  a  couple  of  golf-clubs  when  I  was  five 
years  old,  and  at  the  same  time  I  acquired  the 
idea  that  the  thing  I  wanted  most  in  the  world 
was  to  have  the  privilege  of  using  those  clubs. 

Thus  it  was  that,  at  the  age  of  five  years — 
fifteen  years  ago— my  acquaintanceship  with  the 
game  of  golf  began.  To  say  that  the  game  has 
been  a  wonderful  source  of  pleasure  to  me  might 
lead  the  reader  to  think  that  the  greatest  pleasure 
of  all  has  been  derived  from  winning  tourna- 
ments and  prizes.  I  can  truthfully  say  that  noth- 
ing is  further  from  the  fact.  Of  course,  I  am 
pleased  to  have  won  my  fair  share  of  tourna- 
ments ;  I  appreciate  the  honor  of  having  won  the 
national  open  championship ;  but  the  winning  is 
absolutely  secondary.  It  is  the  game  itself  that 
I  love.  Of  all  the  games  that  I  have  played  and 
like  to  see  played,  including  base-ball,  foot-ball, 
hockey,  and  tennis,  no  other,  to  my  mind,  has 
quite  so  many  charms  as  golf,  —  a  clean  and 
wholesome  pastime,  requiring  the  highest  order 
of  skill  to  be  played  successfully,  and  a  game 
suitable  alike  for  the  young,  the  middle-aged,  and 
the  old. 


MY  FIRST      GOLF  COURSE 

The  first  "golf  course"  that  I  played  over  was 
laid  out  by  my  brother  and  Richard  Kimball  in 
the  street  in  front  of  our  home  on  Clyde  Street, 
Brookline,  Massachusetts,  a  street  which  forms 
the  boundary  of  one  side  of  The  Country  Club 
property.  This  golf  course,  as  I  call  it,  was 
provided  by  the  town  of  Brookline,  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  town's  officials.  In  other 
words,  my  brother  and  Kimball  simply  played 
between  two  given  points  in  the  street.  With 
the  heels  of  their  shoes  they  made  holes  in  the 
dirt  at  the  base  of  two  lamp-posts  about  120 
yards  apart,  and  that  was  their  "course." 

Nearly  every  afternoon  they  played,  while  I 
looked  on  enviously.  Once  in  a  while  they  let  me 
take  a  club  and  try  my  hand,  and  then  was  I  not 
delighted  !  It  made  no  difference  that  the  clubs 
were  nearly  as  long  as  I  was  and  too  heavy  for 
me  to  swing,  or  that  the  ball  would  only  go  a 
few  yards,  if  it  went  at  all.  After  all,  as  I  look 
back,  the  older  boys  were  only  dealing  me  scanty 
justice  when  they  occasionally  allowed  me  to 
take  a  club,  for  when  they  lost  a  ball,  I  used  to 
go  searching  for  it,  and,  if  successful,  they  al- 
ways demanded  its  return.  In  the  case  of  such  a 
demand  from  two  older  boys,  it  is  not  always 
wise  to  refuse. 


MY    FIRST    CLUB 

"Big  brother"  was  responsible  for  getting  me 
interested  in  golf;  "big  brother"  likewise  was  in 
great  measure  responsible  for  keeping  me  inter- 
ested.    On  my  seventh  birthday,  he  made  me  a 


396 


THE  GAME   I   LOVE 


[Mar., 


birthday  present  of  a  club  — a  short  brassy.  Here 
was  joy  indeed!  Not  only  had  I  now  a  club  all 
my  own  with  which  to  practise,  but  I  already  had 
amassed  a  private  stock  of  seven  or  eight  golf 
halls.  The  way  this  came  about  was  that  the 
journey  from  my  house  to  school  (this  school, 
by  the  way,  had  only  eight  pupils  in  it,  and  the 
school-house  was  built  in  Revolutionary  days) 
took  me  past  the  present  sixth  hole  of  The  Coun- 
try Club  course,  and  I  generally  managed  to  get 
a  little  spare  time  to  look  for  lost  golf  balls. 

Some  boys  do  not  like  to  get  up  early  in  the 
morning.  Any  boy  or  girl  who  becomes  as  inter- 
ested in  golf  as  I  was  at  the  age  of  seven,  will 
have  no  difficulty  on  that  score.  It  was  my  cus- 
tom to  go  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock,  and  then  get 
up  by  six  o'clock  the  next  morning,  and  go  out 
for  some  golf  play  before  time  to  get  ready  for 
school.  The  one  hole  in  the  street  where  my 
brother  and  Richard  Kimball  first  played  had 
now  been  superseded  by  a  more  exacting  golfing 
layout  in  a  bit  of  pasture-land  in  back  of  our 
house. 


DON  T    PICK    OUT      THE    EASY    PLACES       TO    PLAY 

Here  the  older  boys  had  established  a  hole  of 
about  130  yards  that  was  a  real  test  for  them, 
and,  at  first,  a  little  too  much  for  me.  On  the 
left,  going  one  way,  the  ground  was  soft  and 
marshy,  an  easy  place  to  lose  a  ball.  If  the  ball 
went  on  a  straight  line  from  the  tee,  it  generally 
went  into  a  gravel  pit,  which  had  an  arm  extend- 
ing out  to  the  right.  There  also  was  a  brook 
about  a  hundred  yards  from  the  tee,  when  the 
play  was  in  this  same  direction.  Here,  then, 
was  a  hole  requiring  accuracy ;  and  I  cannot  but 
think  that  a  measure  of  what  accuracy  my  game 
now  possesses  had  its  foundation  back  in  those 
days  when  I  was  so  young  and  just  taking  up  the 
game.  I  believe,  moreover,  that  any  boy  or  girl 
who  becomes  interested  in  golf  should  not  pick 
out  the  easy  places  to  play  at  the  start,  simply 
because  they  like  the  fun  of  seeing  the  ball  go 
farther. 

What  bothered  me  most,  in  those  days,  was  the 
fact  that  I  could  not  drive  over  that  brook  going 
one  way.  The  best  I  could  do  was  to  play  short 
of  the  brook,  and  then  try  to  get  the  second  on 
the  improvised  green.  Every  now  and  then,  I 
became  bold  enough  to  have  another  try  to  carry 
the  brook,  though  each  time  it  was  with  the 
knowledge  that  failure  possibly  meant  the  loss 
of  the  ball  in  the  brook,  in  a  time  when  one  ball 
represented  a  small  fortune.  At  last  came  the 
memorable  morning  when  I  did  manage  to  hit 
one  over  the  brook. 


"OVER  THE  BROOK"  — AT  LAST  ! 

If  ever  in  my  life  a  golf  shot  gave  me  satis- 
faction, it  was  that  one.  It  did  more  — it  created 
ambition.  I  can  remember  thinking  that  if  I 
could  get  over  the  brook  once,  I  could  do  it  again. 
And  I  did  do  it  again— got  so  I  could  do  it  quite 
a  fair  proportion  of  my  tries.  Then  the  shot 
over  the  brook,  coming  back,  began  to  seem  too 
easy,  for  the  carry  one  way  was  considerably 
longer  than  the  other.  Consequently  I  decided 
that  for  the  return  I  would  tee  up  on  a  small 
mound  twenty-five  to  thirty  yards  in  back  of  the 
spot  from  which  we  usually  played,  making  a 
much  harder  shot.  Success  brought  increased 
confidence,  and  confidence  brought  desired  re- 
sults, so  that,  in  course  of  time,  it  did  not  seem 
so  difficult  to  carry  the  brook  playing  either  way. 
This  was  done  with  the  old,  hard  ball,  then 
generally  known  as  the  "gutty,"  made  from  gutta- 
percha. About  this  time  I  picked  up,  one  morn- 
ing, a  ball  which  bounced  in  a  much  more  lively 
fashion  than  the  kind  I  had  found  previously. 
Now,  of  course,  I  know  that  it  was  one  of  the 
early  makes  of-  rubber-cored  balls,  but,  at  that 
time,  I  simply  knew  that  it  would  go  much  far- 
ther than  the  others,  and  that,  above  all  things, 
I  must  not  lose  it.  That  ball  was  my  greatest 
treasure.  Day  after  day  I  played  with  it,  until 
all  the  paint  was  worn  off,  and  it  was  only  after 
long  searching  that  I  managed  always  to  find  it 
after  a  drive. 


HOW    I    LOST    MY    FIRST       TREASURE 
CORED    GOLF   BALL 


-a  rubber- 


Realizing  that  something  must  be  done  to  retain 
the  ball,  I  decided  to  repaint  it,  and  did  so  with 
white  lead.  Next,  I  did  something  that  was  al- 
most a  calamity  in  my  young  life.  To  dry  the 
white  lead,  I  put  the  ball  in  a  hot  oven  and  left 
it  there  for  about  an  hour.  I  went  back  thinking 
to  find  a  nice  new  ball,  and  found— what  do  you 
suppose?  Nothing  but  a  soft  mass  of  gutta- 
percha and  elastic.  The  whole  thing  simply  had 
melted.  The  loss  of  a  brand-new  sled  or  a  new 
pair  of  skates  could  not  have  made  me  grieve 
more,  and  I  vowed  that  in  future,  no  matter  how 
dirty  a  ball  became,  I  never  would  put  another 
in  a  hot  oven  to  dry  after  repainting. 


ON    THE    COUNTRY    CLUB    COURSE  — AND    OFF   AGAIN  ! 

All  this  time  I  had  been  playing  with  the 
brassy  that  Brother  gave  me,  and  all  my  energies 
were  devoted  to  trying  to  see  how  far  I  could 
hit  the  ball.     My  next  educational  step  in  play 


1914] 


THE  GAME  I  LOVE 


397 


came  when  Wilfred  made  me  a  present  of  a 
mashy,  whereupon  I  realized  that  there  are  other 
points  to  the  game  than  merely  getting  distance. 
Previous  practice  with  the  brassy  had  taught  me 
how  to  hit  the  ball  ,with  fair  accuracy,  so  that 
learning  something  about  mashy  play  came  natu- 
rally. Being  now  possessed  of  two  clubs,  my 
ambitions  likewise  grew  proportionately.  The 
cow-pasture  in  back  of  our  house  was  all  right 
enough,  as  far  as  it  went,  but  why  be  so  limited 


forth  over  the  one  130-yard  hole  three  times, 
each  using  the  same  clubs.  We  even  got  to  the 
point  where  we  thought  it  would  add  excitement 
by  playing  for  balls,  and  one  day  I  found  myself 
the  richer  by  ten  balls.  But  let  me  add  that  it  is 
a  bad  practice  for  boys.  There  is  too  much  hard 
feeling  engendered. 

As  we  became  more  proficient  in  play,  we  be- 
gan to  look  over  the  ground  with  an  eye  to 
greater  distance  and  more  variety,  until  finally  we 


imk 


'OVER  THE  BROOK 

AT  LAST! " 


in        my       surroundings? 
There    was    the    beautiful 
course    of    The    Country 
Club     across     the     street, 
with      lots      of      room      and 
smoother      ground ;      nothing 
would  do  but  that  I  should  play 
at   The   Country   Club.      I   began 
going  over  there  mornings  to  play, 
but  soon  discovered  that  the  grounds-keeper  and 
I  did  not  hold  exactly  the  same  views  concern- 
ing   my    right    to    play    there.      Whatever    argu- 
ment there  was  in  the  matter  was  all  in  favor  of 
the  grounds-keeper.    Of  course  I  know  now  that 
he  only  did  his  duty  when  he  chased  me  off  the 
course. 


COW-PASTURE    PLAY 

While  my  brother's  interest  in  golf  began  to' 
wane,  because  foot-ball  and  base-ball  became 
greater  hobbies  with  him,  other  boys  in  our  neigh- 
borhood began  to  evince  an  interest  in  it,  until  it 
became  a  regular  thing  for  three  or  four  of  us 
to  play  in  the  cow-pasture  after  school  hours 
and  most  of  the  day  Saturday.  We  even  had  our 
matches,  six  holes  in  length,  by  playing  back  and 


lengthened    out    the    orig- 
inal  hole   to   what   was   a 
good  drive  and  pitch   for 
us,   about   230   yards ;    like- 
wise we  created  a  new  hole 
of  about  ninety  yards,  to  play 
with  the  mashy.    From  the  new 
green,  back  to  the  starting-point, 
under    an    old    chestnut-tree,    was 
about  200  yards,  which  gave  us  a  triangle  course 
of  three  holes.     In  this  way  we  not  only  began 
gradually  to  increase  the  length  of  our  game,  but 
also  to  get  in  a  greater  variety  of  shots. 

BEGINNING    RIGHT 

As  I  look  back  now,  I  become  more  and  more 
convinced  that  the  manner  in  which  I  first  took 
up  the  game  was  to  my  subsequent  advantage. 
With  the  old  brassy  I  learned  the  elementary 
lesson  of  swinging  a  club  and  hitting  the  ball 
squarely,  so  as  to  get  all  the  distance  possible 
for  one  of  my  age  and  physical  make-up.  Then, 
with  the  mashy,  I  learned  how  to  hit  the  ball 
into  the  air,  and  how  to  drop  it  at  a  given  point. 
I  really  think  I  could  not  have  taken  up  the 
clubs  in  more  satisfactory  order.     Even  to  this 


398 


THE  GAME  I   LOVE 


[Mar., 


day,  I  have  a  feeling  of  confidence  that  I  shall 
be  sure  to  hit  the  ball  cleanly  when  using  a 
brassy,  which  feeling  probably  is  a  legacy  from 
those  old  days. 

And  a  word  of  caution  right  here  to  the  boy  or 
girl,  man  or  woman,  taking  up  the  game:  do  not 
attempt  at  the  start  to  try  to  hit  the  ball  as  far 
as  you  have  seen  some  experienced  player  send 
it.  Distance  does  not  come  all  at  once,  and  accu- 
racy is  the  first  thing  to  be  acquired. 

I  DO   PLAY  ON  THE  COUNTRY  CLUB  COURSE 

The  first  time  that  I  had  the  pleasure  of  walk- 
ing over  a  golf  course  without  the  feeling  that, 
at  any  moment,  I  would  have  to  take  to  my  heels 
to  escape  an  irate  greens-keeper  was  when  I  was 
about  eleven  years  old.  I  was  on  The  Country 
Club  links,  looking  for  lost  golf  balls,  when  a 
member  who  had  no  caddy  came  along  and  asked 
me  if  I  would  carry  his  clubs.  Nothing  could 
have  suited  me  better.  As  this  member  was  com- 
ing to  the  first  tee,  I  happened  to  be  swinging  a 
club,  and  he  was  kind  enough  to  hand  me  a  ball, 
at  the  same  time  asking  me  to  tee  up  and  hit  it. 

That  was  one  occasion  in  my  golfing  career 
when  I  really  felt  nervous,  though  by  this  time 
I  had  come  to  the  point  where  I  felt  reasonably 
confident  of  hitting  the  ball.  But  to  stand  up 
there  and  do  it  with  an  elderly  person  looking 
on  was  a  different  matter.  It  is  a  feeling  which 
almost  any  golfer  will  have  the  first  time  he  tries 
to  hit  a  ball  before  some  person  or  persons  with 
whom  he  has  not  been  in  contact  previously.  I 
can  remember  doubting  that  I  should  hit  the  ball 
at  all,  hence  my  agreeable  surprise  in  getting 
away  what,  for  me,  was  a  good  ball. 

Evidently  the  gentleman,  who  was  not  an  espe- 
cially good  player  himself,  was  satisfied  with  the 
shot,  for  he  was  kind  enough  to  invite  me  to  play 
with  him,  instead  of  merely  carrying  his  clubs. 
He  let  me  play  with  his  clubs,  too.  That  was  the 
beginning  of  my  caddying  career.  Some  of  the 
other  members  for  whom  I  carried  clubs  occa- 
sionally made  me  a  present  of  some  club,  so  that 
it  was  not  long  before  my  equipment  contained 
not  only  the  original  brassy  and  mashy,  but  also 
a  cleik,  mid-iron,  and  putter. 

Needless  to  say,  they  were  not  all  exactly  suited 
to  my  size  and  style  of  play ;  yet  to  me  each  one 
of  them  was  precious.  I  took  great  pride  in  pol- 
ishing them  up  after  every  usage.  The  second 
time  I  played  with  the  gentleman  who  first  em- 
ployed me  as  caddy,  I  had  my  own  clubs.  I  had 
the  pleasure  of  playing  with  him  two  years  later, 
after  he  came  home  from  abroad,  in  which  round 
I  made  an  84,  despite  a  9  at  one  hole. 


All  this  time,  my  enthusiasm  for  the  game  in- 
creased, rather  than  diminished,  so  that,  during 
the  summer  of  1906,  I  was  on  the  links  every  mo- 
ment that  I  could  be  there  until  school  opened  in 
September;  after  which  I  caddied  or  played  af- 
ternoons and  Saturdays  until  the  close  of  the 
playing  season. 

A  TRYING  EXPERIENCE 

Somewhere  along  about  that  time  I  had  a  most 
trying  experience.  My  brother  Wilfred,  who, 
being  older,  had  become  better  posted  on  the 
technical  side  of  the  game,  advised  me  to  change 
my  swing.  I  had  been  using  what  was  more  or 
less  of  a  base-ball  stroke,  a  half-swing  that 
seemed  to  be  all  right  so  far  as  accuracy  went, 
but  was  not  especially  productive  in  the  matter 
of  distance.  Wilfred's  advice  struck  me  as  sen- 
sible—almost any  golfer,  young  or  old,  thinks 
well  of  advice  that  bids  fair  to  lengthen  his  game. 

At  any  rate,  I  altered  my  swing,  taking  the 
club  back  much  farther.  For  the  succeeding  two 
months  I  discovered  that  my  game,  instead  of 
improving,  gradually  was  getting  worse.  The 
old-time  accuracy  was  missing.  More  than  that, 
a  good  many  golf  balls  also  soon  became  missing, 
for  in  playing  on  my  old  stamping-grounds— the 
pasture  in  back  of  the  house— I  seemed  to  have 
the  unhappy  faculty  of  getting  them  off  the  line 
into  the  swamp,  where  to  find  the  ball  was  like 
looking  for  a  needle  in  a  haystack. 

Being  quite  disgusted,  I  tried  to  go  back  to  my 
old  style,  only  to  find  that  that,  too,  was  impossi- 
ble. Here  was,  indeed,  a  dilemma  !  On  thinking 
it  over,  there  were  only  two  conclusions  to  reach : 
one  was  that  to  become  at  all  accurate  in  either 
the  old  style  or  the  new,  meant  to  make  up  my 
mind  to  use  one  of  them  permanently,  and  then 
simply  to  keep  on  practising  in  the  hope  that 
accuracy  would  come ;  the  other  was  that  even 
though  the  new  style  had  impaired  my  old  game, 
at  the  same  time  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  that,  in 
the  long  run,  it  probably  would  be  the  better  style 
of  the  two.  Under  the  circumstances  there  was 
only  one  thing  to  do,  and  that  was  to  continue 
with  the  longer  swing. 

Perhaps  then  I  did  not  realize  the  full  sig- 
nificance of  the  choice.  I  do  now.  Had  I  kept 
on  with  the  old  swing,  the  result  would  have  been 
that  I  probably  would  have  advanced  to  a  certain 
proficiency  so  far  as  accuracy  goes,  but  my  game 
would  have  been  stilted,  and  lacking  in  the  va- 
riety of  shots  which  not  only  betters  the  stan- 
dard of  play,  but  which  gives  all  the  more  per- 
sonal satisfaction  to  the  player.  It  was  possibly 
two  months   after   I   took   Brother's  advice   that 


I9I4-] 


THE   GAME   I   LOVE 


399 


I  began  to  notice  a  gradual  improvement.  I  be- 
gan to  hit  the  ball  with  the  same  certainty  as  of 
old,  and,  to  my  delight,  found  that  the  ball  trav- 
eled farther  than  I  ever  had  been  able  to  hit  it 
before,  and  also  with  less  expenditure  of  effort. 


than  others.  They  were  the  ones  who  felt  that 
it  was  much  easier  to  leave  out  five  or  six  holes 
in  the  course  of  the  round  and  "guess"  what  they 
would  have  done  at  these  holes.  I  can  just  re- 
member   that    scores    as    low   as   yy   to   80   were 


"THE    FIRST    'GOLF    COURSE      THAT    I    PLAYED    OVER    WAS    IN    THE    STREET    IN    FRONT    OF    OUR    HOME    IN    RROOKLINE- 
A   STREET    WHICH    FORMS    ONE    SIDE   OF   THE   COUNTRY   CLUB    PROPERTY."    (SEE   PAGE   395.) 


At  first  the  added  distance  was  at  the  expense  of 
direction,  but  it  was  not  long  before  my  control 
over  the  new  swing  became  nearly  as  good  as  of 
old. 


A    CADDY    TOURNAMENT  — AND    A    LESSON 

Back  in  those  early  days  of  my  golfing  career, 
I  can  remember  an  incident  which  taught  me  the 
lesson  of  always  being  honest  with  myself  or 
with  an  opponent  in  the  matter  of  scoring.  The 
Country  Club  arranged  for  a  caddy  tournament, 
—  I  think  it  was  the  custom  then  to  have  these 
tournaments  late  in  the  fall,  when  they  would  not 
interfere  with  the  members.  At  any  rate,  this 
particular  tournament  happened  to  come  on  a  day 
when  there  was  snow  on  the  ground.  The  boys, 
however,  were  so  keen  for  play  that  this  little 
handicap  did  not  bother  them. 

Some  of  them  had  less  reason  to  be  bothered 


handed  in  to  the  officials  in  charge,  and  that  soon 
there  was  a  wrangle  over  the  correctness  of  some 
of  the  figures  returned.  The  upshot  of  it  all  was 
that,  after  considerable  argumentation,  it  was  de- 
cided that  no  prizes  should  be  given  at  all. 

It  was  a  good  lesson  for  all  of  the  boys  con- 
cerned, though  a  little  hard  on  those  who  had 
tried  to  do  what  was  right.  The  sooner  a  boy, 
or  a  man  for  that  matter,  learns  to  live  up  to  the 
motto  "Honesty  is  the  best  policy"  in  golf,  as  in 
other  things,  the  better  for  him.  There  is  no 
game  which  gives  a  competitor  a  better  opportu- 
nity to  cheat ;  but  for  that  very  reason  there  is 
no  game  in  which  the  cheat,  when  discovered,  as 
it  usually  is  sooner  or  later,  is  looked  upon  with 
greater  contempt. 

Having  told,  as  best  I  can,  something  of  my 
earliest  experiences  in  golf,  I  will  in  the  next 
article  endeavor  to  relate  something  about  golf  in 
my  high-school  days. 


FAIRY  TEA 


BY  D.  K. 


'T  was  very,  very  long  ago,  in  days  no  longer  sung, 
When  giant  stood  about  so  high,  and  pixies  all  were  young; 
The  Queen  of  Fairies  said  one  day:  "I  'm  tired  of  honey-dew, 
So  hasten  now,  and  mix  for  me  a  cup  of  something  new. 

It  must  lift  the  drooping  spirit,  it  must  heal  the  wounded  heart; 
It  must  bring  the  smile  of  happiness,  and  bid  the  tear  depart; 
It  must  make  the  young  grow  younger,  and  the  old  no  longer  old ; 
It  must  make  the  poor  contented,  and  the  rich  forget  their  gold." 


Now,  you  can  just  imagine  how  the  pixies,  far  and  wide, 

Came  hurrying  and  scurrying  with  things  to  be  supplied. 

First,  they  bought  a  useful  caldron  which  some  witches  had  for  sale 

And  the  nixies  brought  sweet  water  from  the  Falls  of  Dryadvale. 


Then  they  took  some  sprays  of  heartsease  as  the  first  thing  to  infuse, 
And  they  added  Johnny-jump-up  as  an  antidote  for  blues. 
For  the  young  they  brought  the  May-bloom,  everlasting  for  the  old; 
For  the  rich  and  poor  the  joy-weed,  which  is  just  as  good  as  gold. 


When  it  boiled,  they  cooled  and  poured  it,  so  the  ancient  story  goes ; 
And  to  the  Queen  they  brought  it  in  the  chalice  of  a  rose. 
She  sipped,  delighted;  then  she  cried:  "I  issue  this  decree: 
The  cup  you  have  so  deftly  brewed,  I  christen  Fairy  Tea !" 

So  when  you  see  the  fairy  folk  "at  home"  in  Dingle  Dell, 
All  sipping  something  dainty  from  their  cups  of  heather-bell. 
You  will  notice  they  are  happy,  as  good  fairies  ought  to  be, 
And  that  's  because  they  always  use  their  famous  Fairy  Tea. 


THE    FAIRY    FOLK    "AT    HOME"    IN    DINGLE   DELL. 
401 


"ON  GUARD!" 

DRAWN    BY    C.  CLYDE    SQUIRES. 


402 


THE    RUNAWAY 

BY  ALLEN  FRENCH 

Author  of  "  The  Junior  Cup,"  "  Pelham  and  His  Friend  Tim,"  etc. 


Chapter  X 


THE    WAY    HOME 


Rodman,  still  seated  at  his  table  in  the  window 
of  the  bakery,  watched  Harriet  while  she  stood 
thinking.  "Well,"  he  said  to  himself,  "I  've 
eavesdropped.  But  I  don't  see  what  else  I  could 
do.  And  that  selfish—"  He  saw  Harriet's  face, 
a  little  flushed  with  feeling,  suddenly  droop  with 
an  expression  of  dismay.  She  turned  and  went 
out  of  his  sight.  Troubled,  he  rose  and  asked  for 
his  bill. 

"You  asked  about  turnovers,"  reminded  the 
baker. 

"I  can't  eat  any  more,"  answered  Rodman. 

When  he  was  in  the  street  again,  Johnson 
met  him.  "Say,"  he  began,  "I  've  got  another 
passenger,  that  nephew  of  Mr.  Dodd's.  Can  ye 
be  ready  in  about  ten  minutes?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  answered  Rodman. 

"I  '11  git  the  team,"  said  Johnson.  He  was 
a  good-natured,  cheerful  soul,  and  was  eager,  as 
Rodman  saw,  to  begin  a  long  talk  with  his  two 
passengers  on  the  chances  of  the  game.  But 
Rodman  suddenly  felt  a  distaste  for  such  an  ex- 
perience. 

"Coming  to  think  of  it,"  he  said,  "I  can't  go 
with  you.     My  suit  won't  be  ready  in  time." 

Johnson  looked  his  dismay.  "I  could  wait 
for  ye,  any  other  day,  but—" 

"Don't  wait,"  replied  Rodman.  "Of  course  you 
must  be  home  in  time." 

"But  how  '11  you  git  back?"  inquired  Johnson. 

"That  will  be  all  right,"  answered  Rodman, 
carelessly.  He  knew  that  the  chances  were 
against  his  getting  a  ride  home,  and  that  he  might 
have  to  carry  his  bundles  all  the  way.  "Any  one 
will  take  me,"  he  said.    The  two  separated. 

In  the  meantime,  Harriet  was  weighing  her 
own  difficulties.  She  had  told  Brian  that  she 
was  not  afraid  to  drive  Peter  home  alone.  Afraid 
she  certainly  was  not,  but  quite  as  certainly  she 
was  uneasy.  She  knew  Peter  too  well.  On  the 
drive  to  Winton,  his  first  freshness  had  left  him, 
and  he  had  been  quiet  and  steady  among  the 
sights  and  sounds  of  the  town,  none  of  which 
happened  to  be  very  exciting.  But  Harriet  knew 
that  after  two  hours  of  rest  the  horse  would  be 
fresh  again,  and  might  take  it  into  his  head  to 
make  trouble.  And  even  if  he  were  not  fright- 
ened on  the  way  home,   she   did  not   relish  the 


idea  of  the  long  stiff  pull  against  his  unyielding 
mouth.  Peter  was  a  hard-bitted  horse  if  ever 
there  was  one ;  further,  a  curb-bit  could  not  be 
used  with  him,  since  it  excited  him.  So  when  at 
last  Harriet  had  got  her  package  at  the  post-office, 
and  at  the  livery-stable  had  ordered  her  carriage, 
she  was  of  two  minds  whether  to  get  one  of  the 
stable-men  to  drive  her  home.  But  there  was  the 
expense  to  consider,  and  the  difficulty  of  getting 
the  man  back  again.  Besides,  if  she  did  this, 
some  one  would  be  sure  to  ask  why  Brian  had 
not  stayed  with  her.  She  did  not  wish  to  betray 
him.  Finally,  she  disliked  to  give  in.  So,  with 
Peter  champing  at  his  bit,  she  drove  out  alone 
into  the  street  that  led  toward  home. 

Close  by,  on  the  curbstone,  stood  Rodman,  a 
bundle  under  each  arm.  He  saw  her  and  bowed. 
Harriet  immediately  stopped. 

"Rodman,"  she  asked,  "may  n't  I  take  you 
home?" 

His  face  lighted  up.  "It  would  be  a  great 
help." 

"Put  the  bundles  in  behind,  then,"  she  directed, 
"and  get  in  quickly.     Peter  does  n't  like  to  stand." 

So,  while  Peter  started,  backed,  sidled,  and 
fidgeted,  Rodman  stowed  his  bundles  under  the 
seat  and  quickly  sprang  into  the  runabout.  Har- 
riet smiled  at  him  as  she  gave  rein  to  the  horse. 
"Your  ankle  does  n't  seem  to  trouble  you." 

"It  's  entirely  well,"  he  informed  her.  "But 
I  'm  glad  to  be  spared  the  walk  home." 

"And  the  wrist?"  she  asked. 

"The  doctor  warns  me  to  be  careful  with  it," 
he  answered.     "But  to  me  it  feels  quite  well." 

An  electric  car  came  humming  along  the  street, 
and  Harriet  put  her  attention  on  her  driving. 
The  car,  an  automobile,  and  a  motor-truck  were 
all  safely  passed,  Peter  behaving  well  in  answer 
to  reins  and  voice.  That  is,  he  behaved  well  for 
him.  But  Harriet  knew  that  if  once  he  wished 
to  run,  she  could  not  possibly  control  him.  His 
mouth  seemed  made  of  iron,  and  she  felt  that  he 
knew  how  little  force  she  could  put  upon  the 
reins.  It  was  not  with  very  great  ease  of  mind, 
then,  that  she  approached  the  worst  spot  in  all 
Winton  for  drivers  of  mettlesome  horses. 

Here  the  road  dipped  slightly  and  passed  un- 
der the  railroad.  A  train  thundering  overhead, 
a  hot  cinder  falling,  might  very  well  cause  a 
runaway.  But  the  passage  was  safely  made,  and 
no  train  was   in   sight.     Harriet  breathed  more 


403 


404 


THE  RUNAWAY 


[Mar., 


easily  as  she  turned  Peter  up  the  hill  that  ran  for 
a  hundred  yards  parallel  with  the  tracks.  Three 
minutes  more,  and  she  would  be  above  their 
level,  and  safe  in  this  particular.  But  she  had 
barely  begun  to  feel  at  ease  before  she  perceived, 
just  as  Peter  began  to  climb  the  hill,  a  puffing 
freight-engine,  evidently  dragging  a  heavy  train, 
swing  into  sight  around  the  curve  and  come 
straight  at  her. 

Harriet  shortened  the  reins,  took  a  firm  grip, 
and  shifted  a  little  forward  in  her  seat.  She 
took  pains  not  to  tighten  the  reins,  lest  in  that 
way  her  apprehension  might  be  conveyed  to 
Peter;  but  she  was  ready  for  what  he  might  do. 
For  half  a  minute  he  went  steadily  uphill;  then 
the  snorting  engine  drew  his  attention.  He  quiv- 
ered, and  then  swung  to  the  right,  where  a  flimsy 
fence  was  all  that  stood  between  the  carriage  and 
a  steep  hillside. 

Harriet  touched  him  lightly  with  the  whip. 
"Go  on,  Peter  \" 

Peter  went  on,  but  with  delicate  steps,  his  head 
turned  toward  the  train.  Harriet  thought,  "Any 
horse  would  be  afraid  of  that."  Then  the  mon- 
ster was  upon  them,  smoking  and  roaring.  Peter 
tossed  his  head,  and  then  began  to  rear,  prepar- 
ing to  turn  about  and  run.  Again  she  flicked 
him.     "Peter,  behave  !" 

Peter  hesitated,  dropped  upon  his  fore  feet 
again,  and  for  a  moment  pranced.  But  this 
chance  was  gone.  With  a  rush,  the  engine  passed 
him,  and  all  that  there  was  to  face  was  the  sway- 
ing, grinding  cars.     Harriet  felt  easier. 

Yet  the  horse  disliked  the  situation.  To  turn 
about  was  but  to  chase  the  engine;  therefore  the 
only  thing  to  do  was  to  hurry  by  these  noisy  and 
overhanging  cars.  He  plunged  forward,  and 
Harriet  was  almost  dragged  from  her  seat. 

"Peter !"  she  implored. 

But  Peter  quickened  his  pace.  The  more  he 
saw  of  these  cars  the  less  he  liked  them.  His 
speed  increased,  and,  although  Harriet  gripped 
the  reins  with  all  her  strength,  she  felt  not  only 
that  she  was  less  able  to  brace  herself  against 
the  foot-rest,  but  also  that  the  reins  were  slowly 
slipping  through  her  fingers.  Peter  was  going 
faster  and  faster.    If  he  should  really  run  — 

At  that  moment,  she  perceived  that  Rodman's 
hand  was  just  above  the  reins,  ready  to  take 
them.  His  voice  said,  "You  'd  better  let  me 
help." 

Harriet  was  unwilling  to  give  in.  She  held  on 
for  a  moment  longer,  but  again  the  reins  slipped. 
Helplessly  she  gasped,  "Take  him !" 

She  felt  Rodman's  grip  close  firmly  on  the 
reins,  and  instantly  the  strain  was  removed  from 
her  hands,   her  shoulders,   her  back,  her  knees. 


She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  with  relief  saw 
Peter  respond  to  Rodman's  hand  and  voice. 
Where  the  road  turned  away  from  the  track,  the 
corner  was  sharp,  and  if  taken  at  full  speed 
might  have  been  dangerous ;  but  by  the  time 
Peter  reached  it,  he  was  well  under  control.  In 
another  minute,  the  up-grade  began  to  tell  on 
him.  His  trot  slowed,  and  at  last  he  dropped 
into  a  walk. 

Rodman  turned  to  Harriet.  "You  managed 
him  well." 

"Oh,"  she  responded,  "I  am  not  strong  enough 
for  him.  I  am  so  glad  you  took  him.  The  reins 
were  slipping." 

Rodman  nodded.  "I  saw ;  otherwise  I  should 
n't  have  interfered.  You  'd  better  let  me  drive 
him  till  you  're  rested." 

"Won!t  you  drive  him  all  the  way?"  she  asked. 
"Oh,  I  forgot  your  wrist." 

"I  believe  it  's  quite  well,"  he  assured  her. 
"And  I  '11  drive  with  pleasure." 

Peter  behaved  himself  the  rest  of  the  way 
through  the  town.  He  was  not  a  bad  horse,  Har- 
riet explained.  If  only  he  went  to  Winton 
oftener,  he  would  get  used  to  town  sights.  And 
he  was  so  good  in  answering  to  the  voice;  it  was 
quite  as  important  as  the  reins.  The  two  dis- 
cussed horses  and  roads  and  driving  with  much 
fluency  and  good  spirits ;  Harriet's  relief  made 
her  more  talkative  than  usual,  and  Rodman  re- 
sponded readily.  He  was  very— no,  not  polite, 
but  courteous.  The  old-fashioned  word  repre- 
sented his  old-fashioned  way  of  listening,  and 
bowing,  and  speaking  with  a  sort  of  deference 
which  Harriet  had  not  yet  met  with  in  a  boy,  but 
had  seen  in  older  men.  Harriet  felt  sure  that  he 
had  had  little  to  do  with  girls.  One  thing  she 
noted  that  pleased  her :  not  once  did  she  see  in 
his  eyes  the  hunted  look. 

By  this  time,  they  had  left  Winton  behind. 
Peter  had  climbed  two  long  hills,  and  some  of 
his  spirit  had  gone  out  of  him.  Now  they  en- 
tered the  woods,  and  as  they  drove  along  under 
the  trees,  sometimes  speaking  and  again  remain- 
ing silent,  Harriet  began  to  feel  peaceful.  Her 
nerves  still  tingled  from  the  struggle  with  Peter, 
and  she  was  glad  not  to  be  driving,  yet  she  felt 
quite  secure.  It  was  at  this  moment  that  they 
were  passing  the  opening  of  another  road  which, 
heavily  masked  with  underbrush,  joined  the  main 
road  on  the  left  side,  coming  at  an  angle  from 
behind. 

Suddenly,  she  found  herself  clutching  the  arm 
of  her  seat.  The  air  was  ringing  with  an  inhu- 
man shriek.  The  shriek  ceased,  but  there  was  a 
rattle  and  a  roar  almost  as  loud,  and  the  ground 
shook.    Harriet  understood— an  automobile !    Out 


I9'4-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


405 


'A    FLIMSY    FENCE    WAS    ALL    THAT    STOOD    BETWEEN    THE    CARRIAGE    AND  A    STEEP    HILLSIDE. 


from  the  side  road  a  great  touring-car  shot  at     faces,  swayed  and  rattled  at  their  very  side,  and, 
full  speed,  shrieked  again  its  warning  into  their     as  it  swung  in  a  wide  curve,  its  rear  skidded  in  a 


406 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Mar., 


cloud  of  dust,  and  fairly  brushed  Peter's  nose. 
Rolling  for  a  moment  like  a  ship,  yet  never  slack- 
ening speed,  the  automobile  regained  the  middle 
of  the  road,  and  darted  away  from  them.  Had 
the  carriage  been  but  its  length  farther  on,  it 
must  have  been  smashed. 

Peter  was  instantly  in  the  air.  Harriet  saw 
him  towering  over  her  as  if  to  fall  backward. 
Rodman  cut  him  sharply  with  the  whip,  and  the 
horse  dropped  forward,  only  to  plunge  sidewise 
into  the  bushes.  There  the  carriage,  careering 
on  two  wheels,  crashed  along  through  the  splin- 
tering brush;  then  Rodman,  pulling  hard  upon 
one  rein,  managed  to  guide  Peter  onto  the  road. 
He  spoke  sharply  and  commandingly ;  but  Peter 
plunged  again,  half  reared,  and  now  shot  almost 
off  the  road  on  the  other  side.  Harriet,  shaken 
and  confused,  could  only  cling  to  the  seat,  set  her 
teeth,  and  wait.  With  senses  almost  bewildered, 
she  heard  the  pounding  of  the  hoofs,  the  creak- 
ing of  the  wagon,  and  the  snorting  of  the  horse. 

Then  it  was  all  over.  With  a  final  plunge, 
Peter  steadied,  and,  after  a  single  attempt  to 
gallop,  took  again  his  trot.  He  was  whirling  the 
carriage  rapidly  along,  but  the  danger  had  passed, 
and  he  was  again  under  control.  Rodman  turned 
his  head  toward  Harriet,  and  found  her  with 
cheeks  aflame,  her  eyes  shining,  and  with  her  lips 
almost  smiling.     He  smiled  himself.     "All  right?" 

"All  right !"  she  responded.  "That  was  a  close 
shave." 

'"It  was  pretty  near  to  manslaughter,"  he  re- 
sponded.    "But  we  're  well  out  of  it." 

"I  'm  glad  that  I  was  not  driving,"  she  said. 
She  knew  that  she  could  not  have  held  Peter. 
But  also  she  knew,  with  a  little  thrill  of  satisfac- 
tion, that  she  had  not  for  a  moment  been  fright- 
ened. Now  she  saw  Rodman  guide  Peter  to  the 
roadside  and  stop  him,  with  the  evident  intention 
of  getting  out.     She  asked:  "Is  anything  wrong?" 

He  answered:  "The  shaft  is  broken." 

So  it  was.  Peter's  plunges  had  been  too  much 
for  the  right  shaft,  and  it  had  broken  about  mid- 
way. Rodman  leaned  forward  to  examine  it. 
The  break  was  clean  and  slanting,  dangerous, 
therefore,  for  the  two  sharp  points  might  wound 
the  horse.  The  shaft  was  needed,  also,  to  control 
him.  The  break  must  be  repaired  before  they 
could  proceed. 

"I  must  splice  it,"  said  Rodman.  "Lucky  I  have 
a  bundle  of  string.  I  '11  have  to  tie  Peter  and 
cut  some  sticks." 

"What  for?"  she  thought;  but  she  kept  her 
question  to  herself.  Rodman  hitched  Peter  to  a 
tree,  and,  taking  out  his  knife,  went  into  the 
bushes.  Before  very  long,  he  returned  with  four 
straight  sticks,   each   about   the   thickness  of  his 


finger,  and  three  feet  long.  When  he  laid  one 
of  them  along  the  shaft,  lapping  the  break,  Har- 
riet saw  what  he  meant  to  do.  She  stooped  down, 
and,  feeling  a  lumpy  bundle  under  the  seat,  drew 
it  out.     "This  is  your  string?"  she  asked. 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "Will  you  give  me  a  ball 
of  it?" 

She  opened  the  bundle,  and  discovered  a  half- 
dozen  balls  of  twine.  "It  's  very  light,"  she  said 
doubtfully. 

"We  '11  make  it  do,"  he  answered.  Drawing 
out  about  twenty-five  feet  of  the  twine  and  cut- 
ting it  off,  he  gave  her  an  end  to  hold.  He 
himself  took  the  other  end.  "Now  twist,"  he  di- 
rected. "We  must  twist  in  opposite  directions." 
For  some  moments  they  twisted  the  string;  then, 
when  it  was  ready  to  kink,  he  came  quickly  to- 
ward her,  gave  her  his  end  to  hold,  and  carefully 
smoothed  the  string  as  it  twisted  upon  itself.  The 
result  was  a  strong  cord  some  ten  feet  long. 

"Good  !"  she  cried. 

With  this  cord  Rodman  now  lashed  the  four 
rods  to  the  shaft,  surrounding  the  break.  With 
other  cords,  similarly  made,  he  made  the  splice 
strong.  By  the  time  he  had  used  up  the  ball  of 
string,  the  shaft  looked  like  the  property  of  a 
shiftless  farmer,  but  it  was  dependable.  Rod- 
man, putting  his  hand  on  it  and  shaking  it,  smiled 
with  satisfaction  at  Harriet. 

"That  will  take  us  home,"  he  said.  He  untied 
Peter,  headed  him  into  the  road,  and,  getting 
into  the  carriage,  where  Harriet  now  gave  him 
the  driver's  seat,  took  the  reins.  Then  he  smiled 
once  more  at  Harriet.  "Don't  you  think  we  've 
had  enough  excitement  for  one  drive?" 

She  was  about  to  answer  when,  looking  down- 
ward, she  could  not  miss  seeing  the  crimson  band 
that  showed  on  his  wrist." 

"Rodman,"  she  cried,  "you  've  hurt  your  arm  !" 

He  looked  at  the  bandage.  "Sure  enough,"  he 
said  slowly.     "It  's  bleeding." 

"Does  n't  it  hurt?"  she  demanded. 

"I  had  noticed  it,"  he  admitted.  "But  it  does 
n't  amount  to  much." 

She  tried  to  take  the  reins  from  him,  saying, 
"You  must  let  me  drive."  But  he  held  them  out 
of  her  reach. 

"I  am  good  for  it,"  he  said.  "Harriet,  the 
horse  is  in  no  condition  for  you  to  manage." 

"But  your  wound!"  she  cried,  distressed.  "It 
must  have  opened  again,  and  you  will  do  yourself 
great  harm." 

"Nothing  much,"  he  answered  steadily.  "I 
think  the  bleeding  has  stopped.  Besides,  I  shall 
use  my  left  hand." 

She  was  forced  to  be  content.  Looking  at  his 
face,  she  saw  that  he  was  not  pale;  therefore  try- 


I9M-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


407 


ing  to  believe,  with  him,  that  the  hurt  was  trifling, 
she  endeavored  to  be  cheerful.  Thanks,  she  knew, 
would  embarrass  him,  so  she  spoke  of  the  woods, 
the  drought,  the  ball  game,  anything  but  himself. 
They  passed  over  some  miles  without  incident, 
until  it  was  evident  that  they  were  approaching 
the  village.  They  were  near  the  end  of  the 
woods. 

Rodman  turned  to  her.  "Peter  's  tired  now, 
and  I  don't  think  he  '11  make  any  more  trouble. 
It  might  be  noticed  if  I  drove  home  with  you  in- 
stead of— of  your  cousin.  If  I  get  out  at  the 
cross-roads  ahead,  would  you  mind  driving  home 
alone?" 

Harriet  noticed  Rodman's  consideration  not 
only  for  her  but  for  Brian,  who  so  little  deserved 
it.  But  in  answer  to  his  question  she  shook  her 
head.  "I  am  going,"  she  said,  "to  drive  you  to 
the  doctor's." 

He  smiled  in  polite  opposition.  "I  must  go  to 
Nate's." 

With  a  little  feeling  of  helplessness,  she  real- 
ized that  his  will  was  stronger  than  her  own. 
"Very  well,"  she  said.  "I  will  drive  home  from 
the  cross-roads." 

Then,  as  they  approached  the  joining  of  the 
roads,  she  felt  that  she  could  not  be  satisfied  with 
saying  so  little.  "Rodman,"  she  began,  "I  must 
tell  you  how  much—" 

Rodman,  suddenly  drawing  Peter  into  a  walk, 
turned  to  Harriet.  "Don't  say  it,"  he  inter- 
rupted, looking  squarely  at  her.  "I  know  what 
you  want  to  say,  and  I  'm  glad  of  it,  but  let  us 
just  agree  that  I  have  done  a  little  to  repay  you. 
No,  don't  say  any  more.  Your  cousin  's  right 
here  by  the  cross-roads." 

"Brian?"  exclaimed  Harriet.  She  looked 
ahead.  A  figure  had  indeed  stepped  out  from 
the  bushes,  and  had  advanced  into  the  road  to 
meet  them.  In  silence  Brian  waited,  and  in  si- 
lence the  others  approached  until  Rodman  stopped 
the  carriage  before  him. 

Brian's  face  was  red  and  sullen.  There  was 
nothing  that  he  could  say :  he  knew  that  the 
others  would  understand  that  he  could  not  go 
home  and  face  the  family.  He  had  thought  it 
easy  to  make  his  peace  with  Harriet,  but  it  filled 
him  with  disgust  to  find  her  driving  with  Rod- 
man. He  almost  wished  that  he  had  risked  going 
on  alone.  He  thought  eagerly  for  some  familiar, 
offhand  way  in  which  to  claim  the  driver's  seat. 
But  in  spite  of  himself  he  could  find  nothing  to 
say,  and  felt  that  he  made  a  shamefaced  picture, 
waiting  to  see  what  would  happen.  Would  that 
fellow  give  up  his  place? 

To  his  relief,  Rodman,  handing  the  reins  to 
Harriet,   jumped    from   the   runabout.     Then,   as 


Brian  prepared  to  climb  up,  Harriet  moved  into 
the  right-hand  seat,  and  motioned  Brian  to  come 
around  to  the  other  side.  He  turned  to  pass  in 
front  of  the  horse,  and,  so  doing,  his  eye  fell  on 
the  clumsily  repaired  shaft. 

"Why,"  he  exclaimed,  "that  's  been  broken!" 

Harriet  did  not  answer ;  she  was  very  indig- 
nant with  him.  In  silence  she  waited  while  Brian 
took  his  place  beside  her.  But  then  Rodman, 
having  taken  his  bundles  from  the  carriage, 
came  and  looked  up  at  Brian. 

"We  broke  the  shaft  in  this  way,"  he  ex- 
plained. "Back  there  where  the  road  comes  in 
from  East  Winton,  an  auto  swung  out  in  front  of 
us,  and  Peter  took  us  into  the  bushes,  where  he 
broke  the  shaft.  But  he  quieted  down ;  he  's 
pretty  good  if  only  you  speak  to  him.  I  mended 
the  break  with  four  oak  sticks ;  they  're  easy 
enough  to  cut  if  you  bend  them  at  the  ground 
and  draw  your  knife  across  them.  The  string  is 
twine,  doubled  and  twisted ;  I  used  a  whole  ball. 
You  can  see  how  I  made  the  splice."  He  turned 
to  Harriet,  and  took  off  his  cap. 

"Good-by,"  he  said.  "Thank  you  for  the  lift." 
He  bowed  and  turned  away.  . 

Harriet,  lost  in  wonderment  at  his  giving  so 
much  information  to  Brian,  was  forced  to  call 
after  him :  "Good-by.  You  are  n't  half  as  much 
obliged  as  I  am."  He  threw  her  a  smile  over 
his  shoulder,  but  said  nothing.  In  a  moment 
more,  he  was  out  of  sight  among  the  bushes,  and 
Harriet  drove  on. 

Not  a  word  did  she  say  to  Brian.  She  was  so 
out  of  patience  with  him  that  she  scarcely 
thought  of  his  humiliation  and  his  regret.  He 
stole  glances  at  her  face,  and  found  it  unforgiv- 
ing. Then  he  grew  uneasy.  Would  she  tell  ? 
When  the}'  were  close  to  the  house,  he  ventured 
to  speak. 

"Harriet,  had  n't  I  better  drive?" 

"No !"  she  answered  firmly.  With  her  little 
chin  set  determinedly,  she  drove  the  remaining 
distance  and  turned  in  at  the  gate.  Standing  on 
the  piazza  were  her  father  and  mother,  Bob,  and 
Pelham.  As  she  stopped  the  horse,  the  coach- 
man came  and  took  the  bridle. 

Pelham  came  running  down  the  steps.  "You 
people  had  the  best  of  it,"  he  cried.  "There  was 
no  game.  We  waited  an  hour,  and  then  the  other 
team  telephoned  that  they  'd  broken  down  on  the 
road."    He  helped  Harriet  from  the  carriage. 

She  was  in  no  mood  to  respond,  but  forced 
herself  to  do  so.  "I  'm  sorry,  Pelham.  I  sup- 
pose we  had  all  the  fun."  She  had  suddenly  be- 
gun to  wonder  how  the  broken  shaft  was  to  be 
explained.    Could  Brian  escape  any  longer? 

"So  you  lost  nothing,  Brian,"  went  on  Pelham. 


408 


THE  RUNAWAY 


[Mar., 


Brian  answered  something,  Harriet  did  not 
hear  what,  for  she  was  giving  the  package  to 
her  father.  What  she  did  hear  was  the  sudden 
remark  of  the  coachman : 

"You  've  been  breakin'  of  the  shaft." 

"H'm!"  said  Mr.  Dodd.  "And  spliced  it  too. 
How  did  it  all  happen?" 

Shrinking,  Harriet  looked  up  at  him.  What 
should  she  say?  With  relief,  she  saw  that  his 
eye  was  fixed  on  Brian.  Indeed,  all  were  look- 
ing at  him.  She  stepped  to  the  door,  but  having 
reached  it,  turned  with  a  little  feeling  of  satis- 
faction.    What  Would  he  be  able  to  say  ? 

Brian  was  red  to  his  ears.  His  voice  was  not 
clear  as  he  answered.  "Back  there  in  the  woods 
where  the  road  comes  in  from  the  side— the  East 
Winton  road,  I  think?  — an  automobile  swung 
out  in  front  of  us  so  quick  it  startled  Peter.  He 
got  into  the  bushes,  and  managed  to  break  the 
shaft." 

Pelham,  who  had  been  examining  the  splice, 
looked  up  in  admiration.  "You  did  well  to  stop 
him.  And  this  bit  of  mending,  that  's  well  done 
too  !" 

Brian  forced  a  smile.  "Just  four  oak  sticks. 
They  're  quickly  cut  when  you  know  how — just 
bend  'em  down  and  cut  at  the  bend.  The  string 
was  too  small,  but  we  made  it  bigger  by  doubling 
and  twisting." 

Harriet  choked  with  indignation.  She  saw  her 
mother,  impetuous  as  a  girl,  run  down  the  steps 
and  kiss  Brian.  It  was  on  Harriet's  lips  to  say, 
"Ask  what  happened  at  the  railroad  bridge."  But 
she  saw  on  Brian's  face  a  hangdog  look  of  shame, 
and,  turning  quickly,  went  into  the  house. 

Chapter  XI 

PELHAM    TAKES   A    HAND 

Pelham  and  Brian  occupied  the  same  room. 
Here,  while  Brian  sat  looking  moodily  out  of 
the  window,  Pelham  was  walking  up  and  down. 
He  had  just  come  from  Harriet. 

"Neither  you  nor  Harriet  seems  to  want  to 
talk,"  he  complained.  "Now  here  am  I  as  mad 
as  I  can  be  about  that  automobile — why,  they 
might  have  killed  you !  A  little  farther,  and 
you  'd  have  been  side-wiped,  I  should  say." 

"Looked  like  it,"  answered  Brian. 

"Probably  it  was  that  big  machine  that  passed 
through  town  an  hour  and  a  half  ago.  A  limou- 
sine, was  n't  it?" 

"I  guess  so,"  Brian  replied. 

Pelham  stopped  in  his  walk.  "Don't  you 
know  ?" 

"My  dear  fellow,"  said  Brian,  "I  had  my  hands 
full  with  the  horse." 


"Of  course  !"  answered  Pelham,  resuming  his 
tramp.  "But  here  I  am,  getting  angry  about  that 
automobile,  while  you  and  Harriet  are  as  cool  as 
fishes." 

"Very  natural,  I  should  say,"  explained  Brian. 
"We  're  glad  enough  not  to  have  been  hurt." 

"Well,"  cried  Pelham,  stopping  again,  and  go- 
ing to  his  cousin's  side,  "so  am  I !  I  'm  just  be- 
ginning to  realize  what  might  have  happened— 
and  what  it  might  have  meant.  You  know—" 
he  hesitated,  but  then  went  on,  "I  'rn  begin- 
ning to  wonder  what  I  'd  have  done  if  Harriet 
had  been  — hurt.     You  saw  how  Mother  felt?" 

"Yes,"  mumbled  Brian.  His  aunt's  kiss  still 
burned  his  cheek  like  fire. 

"Father  does  n't  say  much,"  went  on  Pelham, 
"but  he  was  really  scared."  Pelham  put  his  hand 
on  Brian's  shoulder.  "Harriet  never  could  have 
managed  the  horse  herself.  Brian,  we  're  all 
tremendously  obliged  to  you." 

Brian  rose  suddenly.  "That  's  all  right,  Pel- 
ham. Only— well,  just  let  's  forget  it.  It  's— I— 
it  's  nothing,  you  know." 

Pelham  looked  at  his  cousin,  who  was  not  look- 
ing at  him.  He  clapped  Brian  on  the  back,  and 
laughed.  "You  need  n't  be  ashamed  of  it,  you 
know.     Well,  we  '11  drop  it." 

"No  hope  of  any  base-ball  ?"  asked  Brian,  hur- 
riedly. 

"I  'm  waiting  to  do  an  errand  for  Father," 
Pelham  said.  "But  I  told  the  fellows  I  thought 
we  could  have  a  scrub  game  about  four." 

"Good !"  cried  Brian. 

Bob,  whose  steps  had  been  sounding  on  the 
stairs  and  in  the  hallway,  now  looked  into  the 
room.  "Pelham,"  he  said,  tossing  a  package  at 
his  brother,  "take  that  over  to  the  office,  will 
you?  Father  and  .1  won't  be  through  with  that 
letter  for  another  fifteen  minutes,  but  Brian  will 
mail  it,  I  guess.  And  then  you  can  have  your 
game."     He  disappeared. 

Pelham,  stuffing  the  package  into  his  pocket, 
started  for  the  door.  "That  will  just  give  me 
enough  time  to  call  a  couple  of  fellows  who  don't 
know  that  we  're  to  play.  See  you  at  the  field, 
Brian.  By  the  way,  will  you  lend  me  your  knife? 
Mine  is  so  dull,  and  I  have  n't  time  to  sharpen  it." 

Brian  went  to  the  bureau.  "I  never  carry  a 
knife,  you  know.  Most  of  us  don't."  Pelham 
stared  at  his  cousin's  back.  He  knew  that  by 
"us"  Brian  meant  the  boys  with  whom  he  usu- 
ally associated.  Now  he  was  not  surprised  that 
city  boys  did  not  carry  pocket-knives ;  what  use 
had  they  for  them?  But  that  Brian's  knife  was 
in  his  bureau  — 

"It  's  pretty  dull,  anyway,"  went  on  Brian, 
rummaging. 


I9'4-] 


THE   RUNAWAY 


409 


His  knife  dull?  Pelham  stared  the  more. 
Those  oak  sticks  with  which  the  shaft  had  been 
spliced  had  been  cut  with  a  sharp  knife. 

But  Pelham  said  nothing.  He  knew  that  Har- 
riet had  no  knife,  and  he  wanted  time  to  think. 
When  Brian  finally  produced  the 
knife,  he  saw  that  it  was  more  pen- 
knife than  jack-knife,  scarcely  capa- 
ble, unless  exceedingly  sharp,  of 
cutting  the  stout  saplings.  He  opened 
it  and  thumbed  the  blade.  "A  lit- 
tle better  than  mine,"  he  said. 
"Thanks  !"  He  hurried  away,  and 
as  he  went  he  thought. 

Brian,  left  to  himself,  , began  to 
pace  up  and  down.  The  awkward- 
ness of  his  position,  forced  to  take 
the  praise  that  belonged  to  Rodman, 
bothered  him  greatly.  It  was  all 
very  well  to  escape  the  blame  that 
he  deserved,  and  he  was,  when  he 
thought  of  this,  glad  that  Harriet 
had  escaped  from  an  accident.  He 
believed,  also,  that  he  could  have 
done  quite  as  well  as  Rodman,  had 
he  stayed  with  Harriet.  Indeed,  he 
felt  a  little  resentment  against  the 
boy  who  had  so  neatly  taken  his 
place.  But  he  saw  the  dishonesty 
of  his  course,  and,  to  do  him  justice, 
was  uncomfortable  in  consequence. 
Further,  he  was  afraid  lest  any  mo- 
ment he  might  betray  himself.  How 
was  he  to  know  whether  that  had 
been  a  limousine  or  a  touring-car? 

Quite  unconscious,  however,  of 
the  joint  that  Pelham  had  already 
found  in  his  armor,  Brian  presently 
answered  his  uncle's  call.  Mr.  Dodd 
was  in  the  writing-room,  with  a 
packet  in  his  hand.  It  was  long  and 
narrow,  tied  with  string,  and  well 
plastered  with  postage-stamps. 

"Brian,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  weighing 
the  packet  in  his  hand,  "you  see 
now  why  I  sent  you  over  to  Winton 
to-day.  Here  are  those  papers  that 
you  brought,  ready  to  go  out  again 
by  this  afternoon's  mail.  I  want  you 
to  take  it  to  the  post-office  and  reg- 
ister it." 

Mr.  Dodd  was  in  the  habit  of  explaining  to  his 
children  many  of  his  acts,  at  least  such  as  they 
themselves  saw  or  helped  him  in.  His  belief  was 
that  whether  or  not  the  children  always  under- 
stood, in  the  long  run  they  learned  a  good  deal 
concerning  matters  which  were  valuable  to  them. 


Following  his  practice,  he  went  on  to  explain  to 
Brian:  "This  was  a  contract  that  you  brought. 
After  talking  it  all  over  with  Bob,  I  have  signed 
it.  The  people  that  I  'm  dealing  with  are  new  to 
me,  and  not  knowing  just  how  far  I  am  situated 


ENVELOP    SLIPPED    FROM    HIS    POCKET    AND    FELL 
FKOM    THE    BRIDGE."      (SEE    PAGE   410.) 

from  the  bank,  have  required  the  usual  deposit  to 
be  by  certified  check  or  else  by  cash.  It  's  too 
late  to  have  the  bank  at  Winton  certify  my  check, 
so  I  am  sending  two  hundred  dollars  in  bank-bills. 
That  is  why  the  package  must  be  registered,  and 
must  be  insured  for  that  amount." 


410 


THE   RUNAWAY 


Brian  listened  inattentively.  He  did  not  see 
how  this  could  affect  him,  but  he  answered  re- 
spectfully at  the  end,  "Yes,  sir." 

"The  mail  does  n't  close  for  an  hour  and  a 
half,"  said  Mr.  Dodd.  "Still,  I  think  if  I  were 
you,  I  'd  go  directly  and  get  the  matter  done. 
The  postage  is  correct,  and  you  will  have  nothing 
to  pay."     He  gave  the  boy  the  package. 

"Very  well,  sir,"  said  Brian.  He  put  the  packet 
in  the  side  pocket  of  his  coat,  and  started  to  leave 
the  room. 

Mr.  Dodd  looked  after  him.  The  long  envelop 
stood  well  out  of  the  pocket,  and  he  called  a 
warning:  "Be  careful  of  it,  Brian." 

"Yes,  sir,"  answered  Brian,  and  departed. 


As  he  afterward  explained,  all  he  did  was  to 
go  straight  to  the  post-office,  stopping  for  a  few 
minutes  on  the  bridge  over  the  mill-stream.  It 
was  a  very  natural  place  to  stop;  a  hundred  peo- 
ple did  it  daily,  for  rushing  water  is  always  fasci- 
nating. But  Brian's  few  minutes  were  longer 
than  he  thought.  Frowning  down  into  the  swirl- 
ing eddies,  puzzling  over  the  pitfalls  that  might 
catch  him  before  the  incidents  of  Harriet's  drive 
were  forgotten,  he  restlessly  shifted  from  foot  to 
foot.  In  so  doing,  he  rubbed  his  coat  against  the 
railing,  until,  presently,  the  envelop  slipped  from 
his  pocket  and  fell  from  the  bridge.  The  noise 
of  the  water  covered  the  sound  of  the  fall,  and 
Brian,  still  frowning,  went  on  his  way. 


{To  be  continued.) 


FRACTIONS 

BY  CAROLINE  HOFMAN 


They  've  given  me  a  lot  of  things 
The  Governess  calls  "fractions," 

And  all  because  I  learned  those  old 
Additions  and  subtractions  ! 


I  think,  to  take  half  off  a  thing 
Would  leave  it  all  lop-sided— 

And  "one"  I  'm  sure  is  small  enough, 
Why  should  it  be  divided? 


Ufa  ©oose^air  crt  Warsaw 

^    iVfora  ^Tctybald  ^miil? 


Hiss  !  Hiss  !     Quack  !  Quack  ! 

The  geese  are  trooping  to  Warsaw ! 
In  Warsaw  there  's  a  giant  Fair, 
And  through  the  chill  December  air, 
O'er  hills  and  uplands  brown  and  bare, 
Waddling  here  and  waddling  there, 

The  geese  go  forth  to  Warsaw. 

Hiss  !  Hiss  !  Quack  !  Quack  ! 

The  geese  are  trooping  to  Warsaw ! 
For  every  winter,  I  've  been  told, 
A  Goose-Fair  in  that  town  they  hold, 
And  be  they  young  or  be  they  old, 
Sweet  maiden  j 

Thev  all  mus 


412 


THF,   GOOSE-FAIR  AT  WARSAW 


Hiss  !  Hiss  !  Quack  !  Quack  ! 

The  geese  are  trooping  to  Warsaw ! 
A  million  geese,  or  so  they  say, 
In  noisy  flocks  are  on  the  way. 
There  '11  be  the  very  deuce  to  pay 
If  such  an  army  goes  astray, 

Of  geese  that  tramp  to  Warsaw. 

Hiss!  Hiss!  Quack!  Quack! 

The  geese  are  trooping  to  Warsaw ! 


The  goose-herds  drive  them,  all  a-row, 
And  very  well  indeed  they  know 
That  geese  can  never  barefoot  go, 
O'er  frozen  ground  and  eke  on  snow, 
The  many  miles  to  Warsaw. 

Hiss  !  Hiss  !  Quack  !  Quack  ! 

The  geese  are  trooping  to  Warsaw ! 
But  ere  they  leave  their  master's  land, 
They  walk  through  tar  and  then  through  sand, 
And  so  on  well-shod  feet  they  stand, 
As,  in  a  feathered  army  grand, 

The  geese  march  on  to  Warsaw. 


Hiss!  Hiss!     Quack!  Quack! 
Jl'ifh  arching  neck  and  curving  back, 
The  booted  geese  go  cackling  dozun 
To  meet  their  fate  in  IVarsazv  town. 
Hiss!  Hiss! 


THE    LUCKY   STONE 

BY  ABBIE  FARWELL  BROWN 

Author  of  "The  Flower  Princess,"  "The  Loncsomest  Doll,"  etc. 


Chapter  V 


THE   ANCIENT   GUIDE 


You  must  not  fancy  that  nothing  happened  be- 
tween visits  to  the  "Fairy  Tryst,"  as  Maggie 
called  the  back  gate  of  Mr.  Penfold's  Park.  In 
Bonnyburn,  something  pleasant  was  happening 
all  the  time.  It  seemed  to  Maggie  that  she  had 
never  been  so  busy  in  all  her  life. 

They  visited  all  the  children's  favorite  play- 
places  :  the  sugar-house,  where  Mr.  Timmins 
made  maple-sugar  in  the  spring;  the  corn-field, 
where  lived  the  lonely  scarecrow  who  went  walk- 
ing abroad  every  night,  as  Maggie  declared. 
Then  there  was  the  big  rock  in  the  pasture  where 
they  played  ship,  sailing  on  an  ocean  of  sweet- 
smelling  fern ;  and  there  was  the  hollow  tree, 
where  Bess  kept  house  for  her  dolls ;  and  the 
spring  in  the  meadow,  where  lived  the  old  trout 
whom  nobody— not  even  Bob — could  catch.  The 
children  told  Maggie  all  their  secrets,  in  ex- 
change for  hers ;  and  very  good  secrets  they 
were,  too.  For  the  country  has  a  fairy  tale  all 
its  own,  in  the  wonders  of  every  day. 

But  it  is  not  with  these  every-day  doings  that 
this  story  is  concerned.  This  tells  of  the  strange 
things  that  happened  in  the  mysterious  precincts 
beyond  the  Park  wall. 

Promptly  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning,  the 
children,  wearing  their  magic  rings,  were  at  the 
usual  place  outside  the  gate.  When  Maggie  gave 
the  signal,  they  all  three  rubbed  their  rings  vio- 
lently with  their  left  hands,  and  recited  the  rune 
told  to  them  by  the  mysterious  old  woman.  They 
had  been  rehearsing  it  all  the  morning. 

"Open,  Gate,  I  pray, 
And  let  me  in  to-day!" 

Hardly  were  the  words  out  of  their  mouths, 
when  the  door  creaked  on  its  hinges,  and  swung 
open  just  far  enough  for  the  children  to  pass. 

"Enter !"  cried  a  voice  from  behind  the  gate. 
The  children  hesitated,  eager  but  timid. 

"Enter !"  cried  the  voice  again,  more  loudly. 
Bob  and  Bess  pushed  Maggie  forward.  Thus  en- 
couraged, she  tiptoed  in,  and  they  followed.  As 
they  stood  looking  about  them,  an  old  man  came 
toward  them  from  behind  the  gate,  which  he  had 
just  closed.  He  was  a  short  old  man— no  taller 
than  the  witch  of  yesterday— clad  in  a  long, 
brown  robe  girt  with  a  cord,  with  long,  white 


hair  curling  over  his  shoulders,  and  a  beard  fall- 
ing to  his  waist. 

"Who  are  you  ?"  said  he,  "who  know  the 
magic  spell  that  opens  this  gate  ?  And  what  do 
you  seek  within?" 

"We  want  to  see  the  palace,"  said  Maggie, 
simply,  "and  help  the  princess,  if  we  can." 

"The  princess  !"  said  the  old  man,  shaking  his 
head.  "Ah !  you  cannot  see  her.  But  what  token 
have  you  that  you  may  see  the  mysteries  of  this 
Park  ?"  The  children  looked  at  one  another 
blankly.  Suddenly  Bob  had  an  idea.  "I  guess 
he  means  the  rings,"  he  whispered.  The  old  man 
seemed  to  hear. 

"Only  the  kernels  of  the  magic  nuts  buy  en- 
trance here,"  he  said.  "Show  them  to  me."  The 
three  held  out  their  right  hands,  on  which  shone 
the  three  gold  rings.  The  old  man  bowed.  "You 
have  the  tokens,"  he  said.     "Follow  me." 

Bob  sprang  forward  eagerly.  Bess  and  Mag- 
gie squeezed  each  other's  hands.  "It  is  just  like 
your  fairy  stories  !"  whispered  Bess.  Suddenly 
the  old  man  turned  upon  them. 

"You  are  to  keep  close  by  me  and  not  stray 
aside,"  he  said  solemnly.  "For  this  is  enchanted 
land,  and  ill  may  befall  whomever  disobeys  the 
command."  He  looked  steadily  at  Bob,  whose 
eyes  drooped  before  the  keen  eyes  of  the  ancient, 
and  who  fell  back  beside  the  two  girls.  With 
open  eyes  and  mouths,  they  followed  their  strange 
guide  down  winding  paths,  through  groves  of 
maple  and  other  trees,  to  a  beautiful  great  gar- 
den. In  the  midst  a  fountain  played,  and  all 
kinds  of  lovely  flowers  were  growing,  some  of 
them  taller  than  the  children's  heads.  "Oh !" 
cried  Maggie,  stopping  short,  "I  never  saw  any- 
thing so  beautiful,  not  even  in  the  public  garden 
at  home  on  the  Fourth  of  July  !  I  bet  the  fairies 
go  to  bathe  in  that  lovely  fountain,  and  sail  their 
flower  boats  on  the  water." 

The  old  man,  bending  over  his  staff,  watched 
her  with  half-shut  eyes  as  she  stood  looking 
about  her,  flushed  and  happy.  Now  and  then,  she 
stooped  and  caressed  a  flower  with  gentle  hands. 
Bob  and  Bess  were  pleased,  too,  but  not  so  ex- 
cited as  Maggie.  Windows  full  of  pale  flower 
"slips"  in  tin  cans  were  the  popular  form  of  gar- 
den in  Bonnyburn,  where  land  was  cheap  but 
time  was  precious. 

At  the  farther  end  of  the  garden,  something 
moved.     It  was  like  a  bunch  of  gaudy  flowers 


413 


414 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


[Mar., 


come  to  life,  or  a  rainbow  in  motion.  It  was  a 
great  bird  with  a  fan  for  a  tail. 

"Gee!"  cried  Bob,  "I  never  saw  a  turkey-gob- 
bler like  that!" 

"Oh,  what  is  it?"  asked  Bess,  wondering.     "It 
looks  as   if   it   had   eyes   in 
its  tail !" 

"It  is  a  peacock,"  said 
their  guide.  "There  is  an- 
other." And  he  pointed  to 
the  second.  "Look,  he  has 
dropped  three  feathers  for 
you.  You  shall  each  have 
one  to  remember  the  day." 
Stooping  easily  for  so  old 
a  man,  he  gathered  the 
beautiful  feathers  and  gave 
them  to  the  children,  who 
took  them  gladly. 

"Peacocks  !"  cried  Mag- 
gie. "Oh,  I  know  about 
them,  but  I  never  saw  a 
real  one  before.  The  prin- 
cess feeds  them.  Do  they 
draw  her  ivory   chariot  ?" 

The  old  man  shook  his 
head  and  seemed  to  smile. 
"No,"  said  he.  "But  she 
whom  you  call  the  princess 
has  two  white  ponies." 

"Ponies !"  cried  Bob, 
eagerly.  "I  wish  I  could 
see  them." 

"Perhaps  you  may  some- 
time, but  not  to-day,"  said 
their  guide.  "Come,  we 
must  be  going." 

They  crossed  the  garden 
to  the  terrace,  where  the 
peacocks  were  strutting 
proudly  up  and  down  be- 
fore a  marble  balustrade. 
Here  the  children  gave  a 
chorus  of  joyous  cries. 
For  down  below  them, 
reached  by  a  flight  of  mar- 
ble steps,  was  a  lovely  lit- 
tle lake  which  had  been 
concealed    from    sight    till 

now.  Beds  of  beautiful  flowers  grew  around 
the  lake,  tall  lilies  were  reflected  in  its  mirror- 
like brightness,  and  there  was  a  little  wooded 
island  in  the  midst  of  it.  Three  white  swans 
drifted  to  and  fro,  arching  their  long  necks  and 
nibbling  quaintly  at  the  water.  At  the  foot  of 
the  steps  was  moored  a  tiny  green  boat,  the  oars 
waiting  in  the  rowlocks. 


"A  boat !"  cried  Bob.  "Gee !  how  I  'd  like  to 
go  in  it !  I  did  n't  know  there  was  a  boat  or  a 
pond  in  Bonnyburn." 

"There  are  many  things  you  don't  know,"  said 
the  guide,  solemnly.     "Come."     He  began  to  de- 


rHE    OLD    MAN    TOOK    THE    OARS    AND    PUSHED    AWAY    INTO 
THE    MIDDLE    OF   THE    LAKE." 


scene!  the  steps,  and  the  children  tripped  behind 
him.  When  they  were  all  seated  amid  the  pretty 
silk  cushions,  the  old  man  took  the  oars  and 
pushed  away  into  the  middle  of  the  lake.  The 
swans  followed  them  idly,  arching  their  necks. 
The  old  man  rowed  them  several  times  around 
the  lake,  pulling  lustily  for  his  age.  Bob  wanted 
to  take  an  oar,  but  he  did  not  dare  ask.    The  little 


1914.] 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


415 


girls  snuggled  on  the  cushions  and  dabbled  their 
hands  blissfully. 

At  last,  the  ancient  headed  the  boat  straight 
for  the  little  island,  where  a  big  rock  made  a 
landing-place.  Without  saying  a  word,  he  helped 
out  the  three  children.  Then,  to  their  surprise, 
he  got  back  into  the  boat  and  pulled  away,  leav- 
ing" them  staring  after  him  somewhat  anxiously. 

"I  shall  come  back  for  you  in  an  hour,"  he 
called  over  the  water,  seeing  their  blank  faces. 
"Until  then,  the  island  and  all  that  is  upon  it 
are  yours." 

"It  is  like  Robinson  Crusoe !"  cried  Maggie, 
clapping  her  hands.  "Mr.  Graham  told  us  all 
about  him  at  the  Settlement.    What  fun  !" 

Already  Bob  had  begun  to  investigate  the  place 
where  they  were  marooned.  He  disappeared 
through  the  bushes,  and  presently  a  shout  came 
down  from  the  top  of  the  little  wooded  hill.  Al- 
though the  island  was  so  tiny,  the  girls  could  not 
see  him  because  of  the  trees.  But  they  scrambled 
up  the  path  which  led  from  the  rock,  and  soon 
found  the  reason  of  Bob's  joy.  There  he  stood, 
jumping  up  and  down  in  front  ,of  a  tiny  log  hut, 
scarcely  bigger  than  some  doll-house.  It  had  a 
real  door  and  real  windows,  a  chimney  and  a 
piazza. 

Bess  and  Maggie  ran  up  the  steps  in  great  ex- 
citement. "Oh,  what  a  lovely  house  !"  cried  Mag- 
gie.    "Who  do  you  suppose  lives  here?" 

"Dinner  is  ready  on  the  table  !"  shouted  Bob. 
"Come  and  see  !"  The  girls  peeped  into  the  little 
doorway.  Sure  enough.  In  the  cabin  was  a  small 
table  with  the  chairs  drawn  up  about  it  and  places 
set  for  three  persons ;  and  on  the  table  was  the 
nicest  little  luncheon  all  ready  to  be  eaten.  Sand- 
wiches, and  cake,  and  lemonade,  fruit,  and 
candy.  It  looked  so  good,  as  the  children  stood 
staring  at  it,  that  their  mouths  watered. 

"Urn,  um !"  said  Bob,  "don't  I  feel  hungry, 
though  !" 

"Whom  do  you  suppose  it  is  for?"  asked  Bess, 
wistfully. 

"Why,  for  us,  of  course !"  cried  Maggie,  step- 
ping into  the  cabin  and  taking  a  chair.  "Did  n't 
the  old  man  say  the  island  and  everything  on  it 
was  ours?  He  meant  this.  It  is  just  like  the 
house  of  the  seven  wee  men  in  'Snow  White.'  I 
wonder  if  the  dwarfs  really  do  live  here.  The 
house  is  just  the  size  for  them.  How  I  wish  it 
was  mine  !" 

It  did  not  take  them  long  to  finish  the  goodies. 
At  the  bottom  of  the  dish  of  candy  was  a  scrap 
of  paper,  on  which  was  written,  "Feed  the 
crumbs  to  the  swans.    You  will  not  be  sorry." 

"Enchanted  swans !"  gasped  Maggie.  "I  sus- 
pected it,  because  there  always  are  three  of  them 


in  the  stories,  and  these  are  so  much  bigger  and 
whiter  than  those  in  the  public  garden,  and  have 
so  much  better  manners.  Probably  they  are 
princes  cast  under  a  spell.  Come,  let  's  feed 
them." 

She  gathered  up  the  crumbs  carefully  in  one 
of  the  paper  napkins,  and  ran  down  the  path  to 
the  landing.  The  swans  were  already  gathered 
there,  as  if  expecting  a  treat.  When  Maggie  held 
out  her  hand,  they  came  quite  close,  and  picked 
the  crumbs  daintily. 

"What  have  they  around  their  necks  ?"  cried 
Bess.  Sure  enough  !  each  swan  bore  around  his 
neck  a  little  canvas  bag  drawn  up  with  a  string. 

"There  is  one  for  each  of  us,"  cried  Bob,  reach- 
ing to  the  nearest  swan,  who  was  not  at  all  afraid 
of  his  touch. 

"So  there  is !"  Bess  drew  the  string  over  the 
neck  of  the  second  swan,  while  Maggie  took  the 
third  bag  with  some  difficulty  from  the  most 
timid  of  the  flock.  The  bags  jingled  when  they 
were  lifted.  "Oh,  there  's  money  inside!"  cried 
Maggie. 

They  opened  the  bags,  and  found  in  each  ten- 
cent  pieces  and  nickels,  which  they  counted ;  and 
it  turned  out  that  each  had  just  a  dollar  in 
change.  They  had  never  had  so  much  money 
to  spend  in  all  their  lives  before. 

"My,  ain't  it  a  wonderful  place !"  cried  Bess, 
with  shining  eyes.  "And  to  think  that  we  never 
knew  it  was  like  this,  Bob  !" 

"You  bet  it  's  great !"  cried  Bob,  fervently, 
jingling  his  money. 

"And  the  best  part  of  it  is  that  nobody  knows 
what  will  happen  next !"  sighed  Maggie,  raptur- 
ously. They  went  back  to  the  house  and  had  a 
beautiful  time  playing  in  the  funny  little  place. 
There  were  cupboards  to  hold  the  little  dishes, 
which  Bess  and  Maggie  washed  and  set  away 
nice  and  clean.  There  was  a  shelf  of  books  on 
the  wall,  and  to  Maggie's  delight  they  were  all 
fairy  books,  dog-eared  by  much  handling.  Mag- 
gie had  only  to  read  the  titles  to  know  they  were 
histories  of  all  her  old  friends  and  Mr.  Graham's. 

"It  is  a  fairy  library!"  said  she.  "I  am  sure 
the  enchanted  princess  comes  here  to  read !  I 
wish  she  would  come  here  now  !  If  we  could 
only  see  her,  I  feel  as  if  we  could  help  to  get  her 
back  into  her  own  form.  I  wonder  what  she  is 
like.     She  might  be  one  of  the  swans." 

Suddenly,  there  came  a  shrill  whistle  from  the 
water  below.  The  children  stopped  their  play 
and  listened.   Again  it  sounded ;  then  a  third  time. 

"It  must  be  the  old  man  come  back  for  us," 
said  Maggie,  starting  down  the  path. 

"Oh,  is  the  hour  up  already?"  cried  Bess,  re- 
gretfully.   "I  wish  we  could  stay  longer." 


416 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


[Mar., 


"We  must  do  as  he  said,"  whispered  Maggie, 
"or  something  might  happen  to  us!" 

When  they  reached  the  landing-place,  they  saw 
the  old  man  rowing  toward  them  across  the  wa- 
ter.     He   brought   the   boat   alongside,    and   mo- 


"THE    DOG    BEHAVED    QUEERLY,    COWERING    TOWARD    THE    FEET 
OF    THE    OLD    MAN."       (SEE    NEXT    PAGE.) 


tioned  them  to  take  their  places.  At  first  they 
were  silent,  looking  wistfully  back  at  the  island. 

"Well,"  said  their  guide,  rather  impatiently  it 
seemed,  "how  did  you  like  the  Island  of  Tiny 
Things?" 

"Oh,  it  was  beautiful !"  sighed  Maggie.  "I 
should  like  to  live  there  always." 

"There  was  no  bed  to  sleep  on,"  said  practical 
Bess.     "And  I  should  be  afraid  nights." 


"I  should  n't,"  said  Bob.  "I  could  sleep  on  the 
floor.  And  I  'd  kill  any  one  who  looked  in  at  the 
door." 

"No  one  but  fairies  could  come  in  without  a 
boat,"  declared  Maggie.  "And  you  could  n't  kill 
a  fairy,  if  you  wanted  to. 
Mr.  Graham  says  so.  I  sup- 
pose they  come  to  the  island 
riding  on  the  backs  of  the  en- 
chanted swans.  Were  they 
princes  once?"  She  appealed 
to  the  guide,  who  shook  his 
head. 

"I    do    not    know,"    he    an- 

..-a^L swered.     "Perhaps  so." 

/\\      "And  shall  we  see  the  prin- 

-  <•-   cess   to-day  ?"   asked   Maggie, 

eagerly.      "She    has    been    so 

kind  to  us,  we  want  to  try  to 

help  her.     Can  you  not  tell  us 

how  to  find  her?" 

Again  the  guide  shook  his 
head.  "You  cannot  see  her," 
he  said.  "She  wishes  to  re- 
main unknown  to  you.  But 
come  !  I  have  one  more  thing 
to  show  you  before  you  must 
go  home." 

When  they  had  disem- 
barked at  the  foot  of  the  mar- 
ble steps,  they  followed  the  old 
man  along  the  shore  of  the 
lake  and  down  a  side  path  un- 
til they  came  to  a  grove  of 
birch  and  hornbeam,  where  a 
spring  bubbled  up  out  of  the 
ground  into  a  rocky  basin. 
Over  it  grew  a  rowan-tree 
with  berries  turning"  crimson. 
On  a  mossy  ledge  beside  the 
fountain  was  a  cup  of  pearly 
shell,  reflecting  as  many  colors 
as  the  peacock's  tail. 

"This  is  the  wishing-well," 
said  the  old  man.  "I  have 
brought  you  here  so  that  you 
may  each  make  your  wish. 
These  wishes  will  not  come 
true  immediately.  Indeed,  they  may  never  come 
true,  if  you  wish  idly  or  wickedly.  Drink  of  the 
pure  water  and  speak  your  wish  aloud  as  you  toss 
a  few  drops  on  the  ground  for  the  fairies'  sake. 
You  first,"  he  turned  to  Bob. 

Bob  dipped  a  cupful  of  the  water  and  drank  it 
slowly,  while  he  thought  what  he  wanted  most. 
"I  wish  for  a  jack-knife,"  said  he;  "a  jack-knife 
with  all  kinds  of  tools  inside,  like  Jo  Daggett's." 


1914] 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


417 


"Don't  forget  the  fairies !"  they  had  to  remind 
him;  so  he  tossed  some  drops  of  water  on  the 
ground,  grinning  as  he  did  it.  It  was  Bess's 
turn.    She  had  her  choice  all  ready. 

"I  wish  for  a  new  doll,"  she  said;  "one  with 
real  hair— and  teeth,"  she  added  as  an  after- 
thought, tossing  a  shower  of  drops  on  the  moss. 

"Now  what  do  you  wish?"  asked  the  old  man, 
holding  the  cup  to  Maggie.  She  sipped  the  water 
thoughtfully.  "I  wish,"  she  said  slowly  at  last — 
"I  wish  that  I  may  find  a  way  to  help  the  prin- 
cess." She  scattered  a  generous  share  of  the 
water  for  the  fairies,  and  looked  up  at  the  old 
man  with  a  pleased  smile.  "Oh,  if  only  my  wish 
comes  true,  how  happy  I  shall  be !"  she  said. 

"And  so  shall  I !"  said  the  old  man,  quickly,  in 
a  gentle  tone  which  he  had  not  used  before.  "You 
are  a  good  little  thing  !"  • 

Suddenly  the  quiet  of  the  place  was  broken  by 
a  loud  barking.  The  old  man  raised  his  head 
and  seemed  startled.  Presently,  a  great  brown 
dog  came  bounding  down  the  path  toward  them, 
snarling  and  showing  his  teeth.  He  was  a  ter- 
rifying sight.  Bess  and  Maggie  shrank  instinc- 
tively to  Bob,  who  picked  up  a  stone  and  tried  to 
look  very  brave.  But  the  old  man  took  a  step  in 
front  of  the  three.  "Down,  Caesar,  down  !"  he 
called.  And  his  voice  had  strangely  changed. 
It  was  low  and  thrilling,  and  full  of  command. 
The  dog  behaved  queerly.  It  came  on,  growling 
savagely,  but  cowering  toward  the  feet  of  the 
old  man.  Suddenly,  it  gave  a  howl  of  pleasure, 
and,  leaping  up,  tried  to  kiss  his  face. 

"Down,  Csesar,  down  !"  again  cried  the  guide 
in  the  same  odd  voice ;  but  he  stretched  out  his 
hand  and  touched  the  dog  on  the  head.  In- 
stantly it  fell  on  all  fours  and  looked  up  beseech- 
ingly.    Maggie  whispered  to  Bess. 

"Magic!  Did  you  see  him  charm  that  dog?" 
And  Bess  nodded.  The  old  man  seemed  not  to 
hear,  but,  holding  up  a  warning  hand,  he  spoke 
to  Cassar,  again  in  the  high,  cracked  voice  which 
was  usual  with  him. 

"Do  not  hurt  these  children.  Be  good  to  them, 
do  you  hear?"  The  dog  seemed  to  understand. 
He  ran  up  and  sniffed  at  the  three  in  turn,  then 
thrust  his  cold  nose  into  Maggie's  palm  and 
looked  up  into  her  face. 

"Come,"  said  the  guide,  holding  up  his  staff  sol- 
emnly. "It  is  time  to  go."  And  with  Csesar  at 
his  side,  he  led  them  by  a  short  path  back  to  the 
gate  by  which  they  had  entered.  "Farewell," 
said  he,  opening  the  gate  with  the  great  key 
which  he  wore  at  his  girdle.  "And  may  your 
wishes  come  true  !" 

"Can't  we  come  again?"  asked  Maggie,  wist- 
fully.   The  old  man  pondered. 


"Not  to-morrow,"  said  he,  "but  the  day  after 
if  you  promise  to  be  obedient." 

"We  promise  !"  cried  the  children. 

The  old  man  closed  the  gate  behind  them. 
They  looked  at  one  another,  and  then  Bess  said : 
"I  feel  as  if  I  had  been  dreaming." 

"So  do  I !"  exclaimed  Maggie.  "But  it  is  n't  a 
dream  this  time.  It  's  all  true— a  lovely  thing  as 
true  as  the  horrid  things  usually  are." 

Whereupon  they  all  raced  home  as  fast  as  they 
could  go. 

Amid  all  the  excitements  of  Bonnyburn,  Mag- 
gie found  time  to  write  to  Mr.  Graham.  Her  first 
letter  was  very  brief,  but  the  second  was  longer, 
and  it  cost  her  many  a  torn  and  blotted  sheet  of 
paper.  This  is  what  Maggie  wrote,  except  that 
her  spelling  and  punctuation  were  more  original : 

Dear  Mr.  Graham : 

Bonnyburn  is  lovely !  The  country  is  lots  nicer  than 
I  thought.  There  is  flowers  and  grass  and  cows  and 
sheep  and  mountains  that  always  look  cool,  even  when 
you  're  hot.  And  there  's  mowing-machines  and  things 
with  teeth  that  look  like  Dragons.  And  oh !  Mr. 
Graham,  there  are  Fairies  too  !  Bess  and  I  think  they 
are  real  Fairies,  but  Bob  says  No.  But  he  don't  know 
about  Fairies  the  way  you  and  I  do,  so  it  don't  count, 
does  it?  Bob  and  Bess  wished  for  a  jack-knife  and  a 
doll.  But  I  wished  to  help  the  Princess.  I  hope  it  will 
come  true.  She  is  magicked,  Mr.  Graham,  and  we  can't 
see  her.  Once  she  was  the  happiest  lady  in  the  world, 
but  now  she  is  the  saddest,  so  she  must  be  awful  sad. 
I  think  some  wicked  person  magicked  her.  Maybe  there 
is  a  Dragon  too  in  the  Park.  I  will  tell  you  if  there  is, 
and  then  you  will  come  and  kill  him,  won't  you?  be- 
cause your  name  is  George.  We  have  griddle-cakes  for 
supper,  and  lovely  eggs,  and  the  hen  hides  them,  poor 
thing,  but  I  know  where  to  find  them  now,  so  I  'm 
sorry  for  her.  I  want  to  see  you  awfully.  I  wish  you 
would  come  up  and  see  the  country  and  your  affec- 
tionate little  friend, 

Maggie. 

P.S.  I  meant  the  hen  hides  the  eggs,  not  the  griddle- 
cakes. 

This  letter,  when  it  reached  Mr.  Graham,  who 
was  still  toiling  at  midsummer  in  the  hot  Settle- 
ment, made  him  sigh  and  laugh  and  look  puzzled 
all  at  the  same  time. 

"Mountains  and  flowers,"  he  said  to  himself, 
mopping  his  beaded  forehead;  "that  sounds  good 
to  me  !  Griddle-cakes  and  fresh  eggs,— um  !  um  ! 
Fairies  and  dragons  and  a  princess !  If  there 
are  any  fairies  in  Bonnyburn,  Maggie  would  be 
sure  to  find  them,  for  she  's  a  sort  of  fairy  her- 
self. And  I  believe  in  her.  I  believe  she  could 
work  a  spell.  But  who  is  this  enchanted  prin- 
cess? Some  one  who  has  been  mighty  nice  to 
those  children,  I  judge.  If  I  were  going  to  take 
a  vacation,  I  'd  like  nothing  better  than  to  run 
up  into  those  cool  mountains  and  help  my  little 
girl  with  her  fairy  tale." 


(Zb  be  continued.) 


THE    TRACKS    IN    THE    SNOW 

BY  ENOS  B.  COMSTOCK 

I  passed  by  this  way, 

In  my  walk  yesterday, 
And  the  snow  was  so  spotless  and  white, 

That  it  seems  very  queer 

All  these  tracks  should  be  here ; 
They  must  have  been  made  in  the  night. 

Now  that  looks  to  me 

Like  the  track  of  a  skee, 
And  there  some  one  had  a  bad  fall ; 

These  marks  are  the  claws 

Of  some  animal's  paws. 
I  don't  understand  it  at  all. 


If  I  could  be  sure 

I  was  safe  and  secure, 
I  would  steal  out  at  night  and  I  'd  go 

To  really  find  out, 

Beyond  any  doubt, 
Just  who  made  these  tracks  in  the  snow ! 
4,8 


4T    S 


'TO  REALLY  FIND  OUT, 
BEYOND  ANY  DOUBT, 
JUST   WHO  MADE  THESE   TRACKS  IN  THE   SNOW 


419 


WITH    MEN   WHO   DO   THINGS 

BY  A.  RUSSELL  BOND 

Author  of  "  The  Scientific  American  Boy  "  and  "  Handyman's  Workshop  and  Laboratory  " 


Chapter  V 

RAISING   A   WRECK   WITH    AIR 

"Well,  for  the  land's  sake!  If  there  is  n't  my 
friend  Fogarty,  the  wrecker  I  was  telling  you 
about,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Hawkins,  as  he  jumped 
off  the  train  at  Panama. 

"Where?"  we  cried,  trailing  after  him  and 
looking  in  vain  for  a  man  sufficiently  large  and 
powerful  to  fit  our  notions  of  the  individual  who 
had  figured  in  some  of  Mr.  Hawkins's  most  ex- 
citing stories,  and  who  made  it  his  business  to 
save  battered  wrecks  from  the  clutches  of  the 
ocean;  but  we  fetched  up  suddenly  as  Mr.  Haw- 
kins stopped  before  a  slight,  sandy-haired  man 
who  was  actually  shorter  than  either  of  us. 

They  greeted  each  other  like  long-lost  brothers, 
and  then  Mr.  Hawkins  turned  to  us,  saying, 
"Boys,  I  want  you  to  meet  the  hero  of  all  those 
yarns  I  spun  on  the  boat  coming  down  here." 

"So  you  have  been  making  a  hero  out  of  me !" 
laughed  Mr.  Fogarty,  noting  our  bewilderment; 
"and  here  these  young  chaps  have  been  looking 
for  a  swaggering  giant,  with  long  mustachios 
and  all  the  rest  of  the  dime-novel  outfit." 

"Well,  we  were  somewhat  taken  aback,"  I  ad- 
mitted; but  I  could  tell  from  the  firm  grip  he 
gave  me,  from  his  alert,  keen,  blue  eyes  and  ten- 
sity of  bearing,  that  he  was  a  masterful  man. 

"You  must  tell  us  all  about  yourself,"  pursued 
Mr.  Hawkins.  "Where  have  you  been  for  the 
last  five  years?  What  are  you  doing?  Where 
are  you  stopping,  anyway  ?" 

"Easy  there,  now;  easy!"  protested  Fogarty. 
"You  spring  too  many  questions  at  once,  and  all 
you  '11  get  at  present  is  an  answer  to  the  last 
one.  I  am  stopping  at  your  hotel.  Yes,  I  saw 
your  name  on  the  register  this  morning.  Let  's 
get  back  there  at  once.  I  'm  as  hungry  as  a  bear. 
Never  could  talk  on  an  empty  stomach,  anyway." 

Over  the  dinner-table  that  evening,  he  kept  us 
spellbound  with  story  after  story  of  the  most 
amazing  experiences.  He  was  certainly  an  un- 
usual character,  absolutely  fearless,  whether  com- 
bating a  storm  or  facing,  single-handed,  a  mu- 
tinous crew.  Although  a  contractor,  he  was, 
himself,  a  diver  of  rare  skill,  and  had  had  many 
a  stirring  adventure  under  water.  He  talked  for 
two  hours  about  the  events  that  had  happened 
since  he  last  saw  Mr.  Hawkins. 

Copyright,  1913.  by  A.  Russell  Bond.  4: 


"But  what  are  you  doing  now?"  Mr.  Hawkins 
finally  asked. 

"Oh,  I  'm  salving  a  steamer  off  Crooked  Is- 
land. You  remember  the  Madeline,  don't  you, 
the  steamer  that  struck  on  Bird  Rock  last  sum- 
mer?" 

"Bird  Rock?  You  mean  in  the  Bahama  Is- 
lands?" 

"Yes.  She  is  on  hard  and  fast,  with  a  reef 
sticking  through  into  her  center  compartment." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  will  have  to  raise  her  with 
pontoons  and  chains?" 

"Oh,  no;  we  could  n't  do  that.  It  is  too  rough 
off  Bird  Rock  for  any  such  work.  No,  we  are 
going  to  lift  the  vessel  off  with  air." 

A  gasp  of  astonishment  greeted  this  startling 
statement. 

"Why,  there  is  nothing  very  strange  about 
that.  We  are  closing  the  top  of  each  compart- 
ment with  a  stout  air-tight  deck,  and  we  are  using 
divers  to  repair  any  leaks  in  the  bulkheads  and 
make  them  tight.  When  that  is  done,  we  shall 
pump  air  into  the  compartments,  forcing  the  wa- 
ter out.  That  ought  to  float  her  free,  and  then 
we  '11  tow  her  around  into  the.  shelter  of  a  cove 
and  repair  the  leaks  in  the  bottom  at  leisure. 
Say,  why  don't  you  come  along  and  see  the 
work?  My  son  Howard  is  on  the  job  now,  and 
he  'd  be  tickled  to  death  to  have  company." 

Will  looked  at  me  expectantly.  "Say,  I  won- 
der if  we  could  n't !" 

"When  do  you  sail,  Mr.  Fogarty?"  I  asked. 

"Day  after  to-morrow  the  Caroline  is  going 
to  touch  at  Colon." 

"We  might  cable  for  permission,  Will.  What 
do  you  say?" 

"Sure  !     It  's  the  only  thing  to  do." 

That  very  night  our  cable  was  sent,  and  the 
next  day  the  answer  came: 

Yes.  Meet  Uncle  Edward  New  Orleans,  January  twenty, 
Hotel  Imperial. 

McGreggor. 

"New  Orleans !"  exclaimed  Mr.  Fogarty. 
"Why,  that  is  a  thousand  miles  out  of  your 
course.  I  don't  believe  he  knows  where  Crooked 
Island  is." 

"Well,  anyway,  he  has  given  us  over  a  month 
to  make  it  in.  Do  you  think  the  ship  will  be 
off  the  rocks  by  that  time  ?" 


WITH   MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


421 


"Unless  something  unexpected  happens.  You 
never  can  tell  in  the  wrecking  business." 

It  was  in  the  afternoon,  several  days  later,  that 
we  sighted  Crooked  Island.  The  sun  had  set 
before  we  reached  Bird  Rock,  but  the  wreckers 
were  on  the  watch  for  Mr.  Fogarty,  and  a  motor- 
driven  life-boat  put  out  to  take  him  on.  A  rope 
ladder  was  thrown  over  the  side  of  the  ship,  and 
we  had  to  scramble  down  it  as  best  we  could,  by 
the  flickering  light  of  a  lantern,  and  then  jump 
into  the  bobbing  boat  beneath  us. 

It  was  rather  rough,  and  the  night  was  dark, 
but  the  pilot  of  our  little  craft  threaded  his  way 
through  the  phosphorescent  sea,  between  the 
coral  reefs,  as  handily  as  if  it  were  daylight. 

Before  long  we  reached  the  wreck,  and  then 
came  an  upward  scramble  on  another  dangling 
rope  ladder. 

"Hello,  Howard !"  cried  Mr.  Fogarty,  as  he 
reached  the  deck.  "I  've  brought  you  some  com- 
pany. This  is  Will,  and  this  Jim,  a  couple  of 
lads  I  kidnapped  from  Panama.  It  's  up  to  you 
to  give  them  a  good  time,  answer  as  many  of 
their  questions  as  you  can,  and  make  them  feel 
at  home." 

"Do  you  stay  here  on  the  wreck  both  day  and 
night?"  was  my  first  query. 

"The  Madeline  is  a  passenger  vessel,"  said 
Howard,  "and  there  are  much  better  accommo- 
dations on  board  than  you  could  get  ashore." 

"What  if  a  storm  should  come  up?" 

"Oh,  we  are  n't  afraid  of  anything  short  of 
a  hurricane,  and  there  has  n't  been  one  of  them 
around  here  in  ten  years.  Besides,  we  don't  look 
for  them  at  this  season." 

The  living  and  sleeping  accommodations  on 
board  were  very  good  indeed.  The  only  thing 
unpleasant  about  our  quarters  was  that  the  ship 
had  a  decided  list  to  port,  and  we  had  to  sleep 
in  berths  that  slanted  uncomfortably. 

When  morning  came,  we  helped  Howard  with 
his  duties,  the  principal  one  being  to  work  one 
of  the  hand-pumps  that  supplied  a  diver  with  air. 
We  took  turns  with  him  at  the  pump  wheel.  In 
the  afternoon,  when  he  had  a  few  hours  to  him- 
self, Howard  proposed  that  we  fish  for  sharks. 

"Sharks  !"  I  exclaimed,  incredulously.  "There 
can't  be  any  around  here,  or  the  divers  would  n't 
dare  go  down." 

"Oh,  there  are  plenty  of  them.  Have  n't  you 
seen  how  all  the  divers  take  bayonets  with  them?" 

"Why  bayonets?" 

"Because  they  are  three-cornered.  If  they  used 
a  knife,  they  could  n't  keep  it  from  turning  when 
they  moved  it  through  the  water  quickly.  It 
would  slide  around  just  like  a  fan  when  you 
whip  it  through  the  air." 


Howard  had  made  a  telescope  out  of  a  wooden 
bucket  with  a  pane  of  glass  set  in  the  bottom. 
We  got  into  a  small  boat,  and,  leaning  over  the 
side  with  the  glazed  end  of  the  telescope  sub- 
merged, we  could  see  plainly  to  a  considerable 
depth.  Half  a  dozen  sharks  were  in  sight.  "Lit- 
tle fellows,"  Howard  called  them,  only  five  or  six 
feet  long.  Howard  had  a  bamboo  pole  with  a 
bayonet  lashed  to  it.  He  would  poise  this  spear 
above  the  water  while  he  peered  through  his 
telescope,  and  when  one  of  the  fish  came  within 
reach,  he  would  hurl  it  at  him.  But  quick  as  he 
was,  they  were  too  quick  for  him.  They  did 
not  seem  a  bit  timid,  but  would  come  tantaliz- 
ingly  near,  only  to  dart  away  the  instant  we 
struck  at  them.  We  spent  weeks  at  this  fruitless 
game,  and  must  have  grown  more  expert,  be- 
cause, at  last,  we  succeeded  in  hitting  them  now 
and  then,  although  we  never  did  much  more  than 
scratch  them  with  our  crude  weapon. 

After  the  novelty  of  the  situation  wore  off, 
time  went  very  slowly  on  board  the  Madeline. 
Once  or  twice  we  went  off  on  an  expedition 
ashore,  but  there  was  little  to  see  except  for  a 
few  native  huts.  Therefore  it  was  with  great 
joy  that  we  heard  Mr.  Fogarty  say,  one  day: 

"Well,  boys,  we  '11  have  her  off  in  the  morning 
sure !  She  is  holding  fine,  and  the  air-pumps 
will  have  her  afloat  before  daylight." 

Sometime  during  the  night,  I  was  awakened 
by  a  violent  rocking  of  the  boat,  which  was  a 
novel  experience  after  spending  a  month  on  a 
vessel  so  firmly  wedged  in  the  rocks  that  it  was 
as  steady  as  a  house.  I  tumbled  out  of  bed  and 
lighted  a  candle.  Just  then  the  ship  gave  such 
a  sudden  lurch  that  it  rolled  Will  out  of  his 
berth  and  sent  him  sprawling  on  the  floor. 

"Wh-what  's  happened?"  he  cried,  rubbing  a 
bruise  on  his  head  and  trying  to  get  up. 

"The  ship  is  afloat,  I  guess." 

"You  guess !"  he  exclaimed.  "Well,  believe 
me,  it  is,  and  what  's  more,  they  are  going  to 
have  no  cinch  towing  it  around  into  the  cove  !" 

Just  then  a  wave  lifted  the  ship  high ,  and 
brought  it  down  on  a  rock  with  a  crash  that 
made  the  old  vessel  tremble  from  stem  to  stern. 
The  candle  was  dashed  out  of  my  hand  and 
rolled  off  somewhere  under  the  berth,  leaving 
us  in  darkness. 

Some  one  staggered  down  the  passageway  and 
hammered  our  door  open.  It  was  Howard,  with 
a  lantern.  "Say,  fellows !  it  's  blowing  great 
guns.  Dad  says  it  's  going  to  be  a  real  hurri- 
cane, and  we  've  got  to  give  up  the  ship  and 
make  for  shore.  And,  I  can  tell  you,  it  's  got 
to  be  some  storm  before  Dad  will  give  up  to  it. 
Get  your  things  on,  quick." 


422 


WITH   MEN   WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Mar., 


"That  's  what  we  're  doing,  as  fast  as  we  can," 
I  said,  groping  for  my  clothes.  "Bring  your 
light  here;  I  can't  find  my  shoes!" 

"What  's  happened  to  my  collar?"  cried  Will, 
in  desperation. 

"Oh,  you  swell !  what  do  you  want  of  a  collar 
—  or  shoes  either,  for  that  matter?  I  tell  you  the 
old  ship  can't  weather  this  storm ;  the  only  way 


THE   BIG    OVAL   COFFER-DAM    MADE    UP   OF   CYLINDERS 
SMALL    ARCS    CLOSING    THE   JOINTS    BETWEEN    THE 

they  can  save  her  is  to  sink  her,  and  we  '11  have 
to  swim  for  it." 

"Swim  for  it !" 

"Sure !  you  can't  expect  to  launch  a  boat  in  a 
hurricane.  Besides,  every  boat  we  have  is 
smashed  except  the  motor  life-boat.  That  is 
standing  by,  waiting  to  pick  us  up." 

It  did  n't  take  us  a  minute  to  complete  our 
toilet  after  that,  and  we  rushed  out  into  the 
night ;  at  least  we  thought  it  was  still  night.  As 
a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  after  sunrise,  but  the  sky 
was  black  with  the  storm.  The  wind  was  howl- 
ing through  the  rigging,  and  huge,  light  green 
waves  topped  with  steaming  foam  poured  over 
the  lower  decks,  making  a  most  terrific  noise  as 
the  iron  doors  were  slammed  against  the  plating. 
About  a  hundred  yards  to  the  leeward,  we  could 
see  the  motor  life-boat  battling  against  the  waves 
as  she  struggled  to  stand  by  us,  while  the  big 
life-boats  on  deck  were  going  to  splinters. 

"Hurry  up,  boys!"  shouted  Mr.  Fogarty.  "Put 
on  these  life-preservers  and  swim  for  it !" 

"But  how  can  a  fellow  swim  in  such  a  sea  as 
this?"  I  protested. 

"It  's  up  to  you,"  was  the  only  sympathy  I  got. 
"You  can't  stay  here.  Come,  now,  dive  in,  and 
the  wind  will  carry  you  over !" 

Already  a  number  of  the  crew  had  taken  the 
leap.     We  could  see  a  couple  of  bobbing  heads. 


"Come  on  in,  fellers,  I  '11  race  you !"  cried 
Howard. 

"But  how  about  my  suitcase?"  wailed  Will. 
"Forget    it,    and    think    about   your   life,"    was 
Mr.    Fogarty's    advice.      "Here,    wait    a    minute, 
Howard.     Let  me  see  if  your  life-preserver  is  on 
right.     There  now.     Git!" 

In  a  jiffy,  Howard  was  over  the  rail.  A  mo- 
ment later,  he  bobbed  up  on  the  crest 
of  a  wave,  and  then  disappeared  from 
view.  While  Will  and  I  hesitated,  a 
great  mountain  of  green  water  came 
over  the  side  of  the  ship,  picked  us  off 
our  feet,  and  carried  us  along,  fighting 
and  struggling  in  a  smother  of  foam. 
It  seemed  as  if  I  was  being  turned 
over  and  over  for  an  eternity.  When, 
finally,  I  came  to  the  surface,  there 
was  nothing  in  sight  but  billows,  with 
curling  crests  that  threatened  to  beat 
the  life  out  of  me.  I  dived  through  an 
ugly  comber  and  was  nearly  suffocated 
in  the  foam,  which  seemed  charged 
with  a  choking  gas  like  soda-water. 
Then,  as  I  was  carried  up  again  by  a 
wave,  I  made  out  the  life-boat  and 
struck  out  for  it.  In  a  few  minutes, 
that  seemed  like  ages,  I  covered  the 
distance,  and,  thoroughly  exhausted,  was  fished 
out  of  the  water  with  a  boat-hook. 

Howard  had  already  arrived,  and,  much  to 
my  relief,  Will  was  picked  up  a  couple  of  min- 
utes later.  We  watched  the  rest  of  the  crew 
plunge  from  the  wreck  one  by  one  and  make 
the  perilous  trip.  Last  of  all,  Mr.  Fogarty  made 
the  leap.  Then,  with  every  soul  accounted  for, 
we  headed  for  the  cove. 

The  storm  was  growing  fiercer  by  the  minute, 
and  our  tiny  craft  had  the  fight  of  its  life,  mak- 
ing its  way  past  the  treacherous  rocks.  My,  how 
it  did  blow !  and  the  rain  swept  down  in  torrents. 
I  thought  we  were  heading  for  shelter,  but  even 


WITH 

M. 


>--       Top  VIEW  OF  A  SHEET-PILE  SHOWING   BY  DOTTED 
LINES    HOW    IT   INTERLOCKS  WITH    PILES    AT    EACH    SIDE. 


in  the  cove  there  was  such  a  sea  that  it  was  all 
we  could  do  to  land. 

There  we  were,  a  party  of  wreckers,  wrecked. 
We  had  come  off  with  nothing  but  our  lives,  and 
we  were  lucky  at  that.  It  was  a  three-day  storm, 
the  wildest  hurricane  that  had  struck  that  coast 
within  the  memory  of  the  oldest  inhabitant.  It 
swept  away  over  three  hundred  houses, 


[914.3 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


423 


Mr.  Fogarty  overheard  us  bewailing  the  loss  "It  was  only  a  small  part  of  the  battle-ship 
of  our  clothes.  "And  is  that  all  you  have  to  that  they  buried  at  sea,"  answered  the  first 
worry  about!"  he  exclaimed.  "1  'm  out  fifty  speaker.  "Most  of  it  was  such  a  tangle  of  junk 
thousand  dollars.     That  wreck  is  a  total  loss!"       that  all  they  could  do  was  to  haul  out  the  bigger 

He  was  right.  When,  after  the  storm,  we  pieces  and  cut  off  those  that  projected  above  a 
visited  the  wreck,  we  found  that  it  had  been 
stripped  clean.  The  ship  had  been  pounded  on 
the  rocks  until  the  hull  was  all  crushed  in,  the 
boilers  and  engines  had  fallen  through  the  bot- 
tom, and  the  whole  stern  had  been  smashed  in. 

We  had  seen  all  we  cared  to  see  of  wrecking, 
and  so  we  booked  on  the  first  little  native 
schooner  that  left  the  island  for  Nassau.  Thence, 
after  replenishing  our  wardrobe,  we  headed  for 
New  Orleans,  via  Havana. 


Chapter  VI 

BARING  THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  MAINE 

Darkness  overtook  us  before  our  steamer  crept 
past  the  grim  old  Morro  Castle  and  entered  the 
harbor  of  Havana.  We  did  not  warp  up  to  a 
dock,  but  anchored  out  in  the  middle  of  the  bay 
while  the  Cuban  health  authorities  boarded  the 
vessel  to  see  that  we  brought  no  disease  with  us. 
"We  have  come  to  anchor  just  over  the  spot 
where  the  Maine  was  sunk,"  I  heard  a  man  say 
to  a  companion,  as  he  peered  over  the  rail  into 


LIFTING   HALF  A   TEMPLET   OUT   OF  A 
COMPLETED   CYLINDER. 

the  water  below.     "There  must  be  relics  of  that 
disaster  directly  under  us." 

"Why,  I  thought  they  had  carried  it  all  away 
and  sunk  it !"  the  other  fellow  said. 


A  PARTLY  COMPLETED    CYLINDER    SHOWING   THE    TEMPLET 
ABOUT   WHICH   THE   SHEET-PILES   HAVE   BEEN    DRIVEN. 

thirty-five-foot  depth.  The  rest  they  left  buried 
in  the  mud  of  the  harbor  bottom." 

"It  is  too  bad  they  buried  the  old  hull.  It 
should  have  been  towed  back  to  the  United 
States;  or,  if  that  was  impossible,  the  Cubans 
should  have  found  a  place  for  her— to  com- 
memorate their  independence." 

"They  have  a  piece  of  the  Maine  now.  The 
after  turret  of  the  old  ship  was  presented  to  the 
Cuban  Government,  but  it  is  still  waiting  to  be 
set  up  in  a  place  of  honor." 

Will's  sharp  elbow  suddenly  dug  me  in  the 
ribs.  "We  '11  have  to  hunt  up  that  relic  to-mor- 
row and  see  if  we  can't  get  some  one  to  tell  us 
how  the  ship  was  raised.  The  work  must  have 
been  very  interesting." 

I  might  write  a  whole  chapter  about  our  queer 
experiences  in  Havana :  how,  after  the  officials 
had  satisfied  themselves  that  we  were  fit  persons 
to  enter  their  country,  they  gave  us  each  a  little 
ticket  of  admission;  how  we  were  ferried  over 
to  the  custom-house,  where  our  baggage  was 
thoroughly  examined ;  about  the  funny  hotel 
with  its  yard  inside,  instead  of  outside,  of  the 
building;  about  the  lizard  I  found  in  my  bed, 
and  the  centipede  Will  found  in  his  shoe,  the 
next  morning.  But  this  is  not  a  travel  story, 
and  I  must  stick  to  engineering  facts. 

Early  the  next  day  we  were  astir.  Our  first 
quest  after  breakfast  was  the  relic  of  the  Maine. 
We  found  it  at  last,  lying  neglected  on  a  dock, 
covered  with  rust  and  all  pitted  by  the  barna- 
cle and  oyster  shells  that  had  anchored  them- 
selves to  it  during  the  fourteen  years  it  had  lain 
under  tropical  waters.  As  we  gazed  upon  the 
noble  old  turret  that  had  once  stood  so  proudly 
on  one  of  the  finest  ships  of  our  navy,  a  couple 


424 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Mas., 


of  men  came  up  whom  we  recognized  at  once  as 
the  two  we  had  overheard  talking  about  the 
Maine  the  evening  before. 

"It  is  too  bad,"  the  taller  one  was  saying, 
"that  you  could  n't  get  down  here  last  year, 
when  they  had  the  coffer-dam  around  her." 

"It  must  have  been  a  pretty  big  coffer-dam  to 
go  around  a  whole  ship,"  remarked  Will  to  me, 
having  in  mind  the  boxlike  coffer-dams  that 
were  used  for  the  piers  of  the  sea-going  railroad. 

"Why  don't  you  ask  him  about  it?"  said  I. 

"Why  don't  you?"  he  retorted. 


THE    DREDGE    (IN    THE    DISTANCE)    PUMPING    THE 
CYLINDERS    FULL   OF   CLAY. 


"Oh,  I  don't  mind  speaking  to  him."  But  all 
the  same  I  hesitated. 

"You  know,"  continued  the  stranger,  "some 
of  our  sheet-piling  was  bought  by  the  Cuban 
Government." 

"Excuse  me,  sir,"  I  ventured,  "did  you  have 
anything  to  do  with  the  raising  of  the  Maine?" 

The  man  looked  surprised  at  the  interruption, 
but  his  answer  was  cordial  enough :  "Why,  bless 
you,  boy,  I  was  here  from  the  very  start,  to  rep- 
resent the  company  that  furnished  the  sheet-pil- 
ing for  the  coffer-dam  !" 

"But  I  thought  a  coffer-dam  was  a -wooden 
thing,  like  a  box  without  any  top  or  bottom," 
broke  in  Will.  "That  is  what  a  man  on  the  Key 
West  Railroad  said  it  was." 

"That  is  true  enough,  but  a  coffer-dam  is  a 
general  name  for  any  kind  of  a  wall  used  to 
dam  off  the  water  from  what  is  normally  sub- 
merged. In  this  case  the  dam  went  all  the  way 
around  the  ship.  And  it  was  no  small  job  build- 
ing that  wall.  Nothing  like  it  was  ever  done  be- 
fore. You  see,  the  Maine  was  so  deep  in  the 
mud  that  we  had  to  get  down  about  forty  feet 
before  we   could  uncover  her  completely.     That 


meant  enormous  pressure  on  the  coffer-dam,  and 
it  had  to  be  made  very  strong,  particularly  as  the 
bed  of  the  harbor  is  nothing  but  deep  clay." 

"But  why  did  n't  they  pass  chains  under  the 
wreck  and  haul  it  up  without  building  a  coffer- 
dam?" asked  Will,  calling  to  mind  the  vessel  that 
had  been  raised  that  way  in  New  York  Bay,  dur- 
ing the  summer. 

"That  was  suggested,  but  it  was  not  carried 
out,  for  two  very  good  reasons :  if  chains  were 
passed  under  the  hull — and  that  would  have 
been  an  awful  job  in  itself — it  was  feared  that 
they  would  crush  through  the  sides  of  the  ship, 
weakened  as  it  was  by  years  of  exposure  under 
water.  But  the  principal  reason  was  that  the 
Maine  was  going  to  be  raised  not  only  for  the 
purpose  of  giving  it  an  honorable  burial,  but  also 
to  settle,  once  for  all,  the  mysterious  cause  of 
th  catastrophe.  You  know,  some  people  claimed 
that  it  was  blown  up  by  the  spontaneous  explo- 
sion of  its  own  magazines,  while  others  held  that 
the  disaster  had  been  caused  by  a  mine.  In  or- 
der to  settle  the  matter,  it  was  necessary  to  lay 
bare  the  whole  wreck  before  disturbing  it." 

"How  big  was  the  ship?"  I  queried. 

"Three  hundred  and  twenty-four  feet  long, 
with  a  beam  of  fifty-seven  feet ;  but  we  made  our 
coffer-dam  in  the  shape  of  an  oval  about  four 
hundred  feet  long,  and  nearly  two  hundred  nd 
twenty  feet  wide;  like  this—"  and  with  his  cane 
he  scratched  out  a  plan  of  the  coffer-dam.  "These 
circles  are  cylinders  of  sheet-piling." 

"But  what  do  you  mean  by  sheet-piling?"  I 
interrupted. 

"Why,  don't  you  know?  They  are  long  sheets 
of  steel,  about  a  foot  wide,  with  hooked  grooves 
along  each  edge,  like  this,"  showing  us  a  watch 
charm  that  was  a  miniature  section  of  the  type 
of  steel  pile  put  out  by  the  company  he  repre- 
sented. "You  see,  when  we  drive  these  piles, 
the  hooked  edges  of  each  pile  interlock  with  the 
hooked  edges  of  the  piles  at  each  side  of  it.  We 
set  the  piles  out  in  big  circles  fifty  feet  in  diam- 
eter." The  man  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  a  pic- 
ture showing  a  number  of  completed  cylinders. 

"How  in  the  world  did  you  get  such  perfect 
cylinders,  Perkins?"  exclaimed  the  man's  friend. 

"Why,  we  used  a  templet,  or  skeleton  frame- 
work.    First  we  drove  a  wooden  pile  for  a  cen- 
ter, and  then  floated  a  wooden,  circular  frame  < 
over  it,  pivoting  it  on  this  center." 

"What  did  you  pack  the  joints  with,  between 
the  piles,  to  keep  out  the  water?"  Will  inquired. 

"We  did  n't  pack  them.  You  see,  we  filled  the 
cylinders  with  clay  sucked  up  from  the  bed  of 
the  harbor  by  a  suction  dredge,  and  the  weight 
of  the  clay  made  the  cylinders  swell  out,  draw- 


I9M-] 


WITH   MEN   WHO   DO  THINGS 


425 


ing  the  joints  tight.  Then  there  was  another 
thing  that  helped:  no  sooner  was  the  piling  down 
than  barnacles  and  other  marine  growths  got 
busy  and  incrusted  the  piles  so  thickly  that  no 
water  could  get  in.  Besides,  the  clay  filling  it- 
self was  an  excellent  seal.  Between  the  cylin- 
ders we  placed  these  arcs 
(see  drawing,  page  422),  and 
filled  them  up  with  clay. 

"After  the  wall  had  been 
built  all  the  way  around  the 
wreck  and  the  cylinders  had 
all  been  filled  with  clay,  we 
started  to  pump  out  the 
coffer-dam.  But  our  trou- 
bles were  not  over  yet.  We 
soon  had  to  stop  pumping 
because  it  was  found  that 
the  tremendous  pressure  of 
the  mud  and  water  outside 
was  forcing  the  cylinders  in- 
ward. You  see,  there  was 
nothing  but  clay  to  drive 
them  into,  and  there  was 
nothing  but  clay  to  fill  them 
with.  It  would  have  been 
much  better  to  have  used 
stone  for  the  filling,  but 
stone  could  not  be  found 
readily,  near  by.  We  found 
it  necessary  at  length  to 
dump  some  broken  rock  in- 
side, against  the  walls  of  the 
coffer-dam;  then,  later, 
when  the  Maine  had  been 
uncovered,  we  ran  braces 
across  from  one  side  to  the 
other." 

"What  did  the  wreck  look 
like?"  I  asked  eagerly. 

"The  wreck?  Oh,  it  was 
a  horrible  sight !  The  worst 
conglomeration  of  tangled 
and  twisted  steel  I  ever  saw. 
You  know  a  commission  ex- 
amined it,  and  they  found  a 
plate  that  was  bent  in  such  a 
way  as  to  show  without  a  shadow  of  a  doubt  that 
there  had  been  an  explosion  of  a  mine  against  the 
outside  of  the  ship.  That  plate  came  from  under 
one  of  the  magazines  which  must  have  been  set 
off  by  the  concussion,  or  even  by  the  flame  from 
the  explosion  of  that  mine.  From  the  way  the 
plate  was  stretched,  they  knew  that  a  peculiarly 
slow  explosive  must  have  been  used,  which  puz- 
zled them  until  they  learned  of  a  powder  that  the 
natives  used  to  manufacture.     Experiments  with 


this  powder  proved  it  to  have  just  the  qualities 
that  would  account  for  the  condition  of  the  plate. 
The  after  part  of  the  ship  was  in  a  pretty  good 
state  of  preservation,  but  everything  was  covered 
with  thick,  black  mud,  and  what  was  n't  buried  in 
mud   was   thickly   incrusted   with   barnacles   and 


1  I    MADE    OUT 


LIFE-BOAT  AND    STRUCK  OUT   FOR   IT.         (SEE    PAGE   422.) 


oyster  shells.  They  had  to  chop  away  the  wreck- 
age with  the  oxy-acetylene  torch ;  but  I  suppose 
you  don't  know  what  that  is." 

"Indeed  we  do !"  I  assured  him.  "We  saw 
one  at  work  this  summer.  It  's  a  flame  of  oxy- 
gen and  acetylene  that  is  so  hot  that  it  cuts  right 
through  iron." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  know  that  that  intensely 
hot  flame,  although  it  cuts  iron,  does  not  readily 
cut  through  wood?" 


426 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Mar., 


THE    OFFICERS    QUARTERS    ON    THE    "MAINE,      SHOWING    THE    WOODEN    PARTITIONS    EATEN    AWAY    BY  WORMS    EXCEPT 
WHERE    PROTECTED    BY    MUD.       NOTE    THE    SHELL-INCRUSTED    ELECTRIC-LIGHT    BULB    AT    THE    CEILING. 


"Does  n't  it?     Why,  how  is  that?" 

"It  seems  the  torch  is  not  quite  hot  enough  to 

melt  the  iron,  but  it   raises  it  to   a  white   heat. 

Then  a  fine  stream  of  pure  oxygen  is  played  on 

the  metal,  and  it  burns  instead  of  melting.     You 


THE  AFTER-DECK  OF  THE  "MAINE,   UNCOVERED  AS  THE  WATER 
WAS  PUMPED  OUT  OF  THE  COFFER-DAM. 


know  rust  is  oxidized  iron,  and  the  torch  will 
not  burn  through  rusty  metal  very  well,  because 
the  coat  of  rust  has  already  consumed  all  the 
oxygen    it    can    take    up.      The    rust    had    to   be 


scraped  away  before  the  torch  could  be  used,  and 
yet  that  jet  of  flame  that  would  only  char  wood, 
would  cut  through  armored  steel  eight  inches 
thick  without  any  trouble,  only  we  had  to  be 
careful  to  run  the  cut  so  that  the  slag  from  the 
burning  steel  would  flow  out. 
"Well,  they  cleaned  up 
most  of  the  wreckage,  and 
fastened  chains  to  the  larger 
pieces  so  that  they  could  be 
hauled  out  after  the  water 
was  let  back  into  the  coffer- 
dam again.  Then  they 
cleaned  up  the  after  end  of 
the  ship,  cut  it  loose  from 
the  wreckage,  and  closed  up 
the  end  with  a  bulkhead. 
The  men  had  to  be  very 
careful  when  working  in  that 
black  mud,  because  a  slight 
cut  or  a  scratch  on  the  bar- 
nacles meant  blood-poison- 
ing, sure.  It  is  a  wonder 
that  no  one  was  seriously 
hurt.  About  the  queerest 
experience  was  one  that  I 
had  myself.  I  was  crawling 
into  the  hold  of  the  vessel 
one  night,  when  my  back  came  in  contact  with 
the  bare  wires  of  an  electric  motor  that  was  run- 
ning at  one  end  of  the  wreck.  The  heavy  cur- 
rent contracted  my  muscles  so  that  I   could  n't 


I9I4-] 


WITH   MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


427 


move.  And  there  I  was  held  in  the  dark,  yelling 
for  help.  I  thought  they  would  never  hear  me. 
It  seemed  hours  before  any  one  came  to  my  res- 
cue, but  I  suppose  it  was  only  about  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes.  Anyway,  I  was  n't 
seriously  hurt." 

"Did   they   work   there   at 
night?"  I  asked. 

"Oh,  yes,  part  of  the  time. 
We  had  electric  light  from 
Havana.  When  the  after 
part  of  the  vessel  had  been 
prepared  for  floating,  it  was 
feared  that  the  suction  of 
the  mud  would  hold  it  down, 
so  holes  were  drilled  through 
the  bottom  of  the  hull  so  that 
water  could  be  forced  through 
to  wash  away,  the  mud  from 
the  bottom.  But  this  proved 
unnecessary.  The  braces 
that  were  run  from  the  cof- 
fer-dam to  the  ship  to  keep 
the  coffer-dam  from  caving 
in,  were  slanted  upward 
slightly,  and  before  we  knew 
it,  they  were  actually  push- 
ing the  ship  up  out  of  the 
mud.  When  water  was  let 
into  the  coffer-dam,  the  ves- 
sel, or  rather  piece  of  a  vessel,  floated  nicely.  Of 
course  the  holes  in  the  bottom  were  plugged  up, 
but  they  were  used  afterward  to  help  sink  the 
ship  at  sea. 

"To  let  the  ship  out  of  the  coffer-dam,  we  had 
to  remove  two  of  the  cylinders.  Then  we  real- 
ized what  the  barnacles  had  done  to  the  piling. 
We  had  to  batter  the  piles  with  a  steam-hammer 
before  they  would  budge. 

"I  need  not  tell  you  about  how  the  Maine  was 
buried  at  sea  with  honors.  You  must  have  read 
about   that.      But    a   rather    interesting   job    was 


done  after  the  Maine  was  buried.  At  the  time 
of  the  explosion,  the  top  of  one  of  the  turrets 
was  blown  so  far  that  it  lay  outside  of  the  cof- 
fer-dam, and  it  was  found  to  lie  just  above  the 


THE   AFTER   PORTION   OF  THE    "MAINE       FLOATED   OUT   OF   THE   COFFER-DAM 
AND   READY   TO    BE    BURIED   AT   SEA   WITH   HONORS. 

depth  to  which  the  harbor  was  to  be  cleared.  It 
was  a  pretty  heavy  piece  to  raise,  so  what  did 
they  do  but  bury  it.  A  trench  was  dredged 
around  it,  undermining  it  as  much  as  possible, 
so  that  it  must  have  looked  like  an  enormous 
submarine  mushroom.  Then  a  charge  of  dyna- 
mite, exploded  on  the  head  of  that  mushroom, 
drove  it  down  to  the  prescribed  depth. 

"Good  gracious !  look  at  the  time,"  he  said 
suddenly,  looking  at  his  watch.  "I  would  n't 
mind  talking  all  day,  but  I  have  lots  to  attend  to 
before  taking  the  night  train  for  Santiago." 


( To  be  continued. ) 


THE   GROWN-UP   ME 

BY  MARGARET  WIDDEMER 


I  do  so  wish  that  I  could  see 
The  grown-up  girl  that  will  be  me  — 
Such  heaps  of  things  I  want  to  know, 
And  she  could  tell  me  if  they  're  so: 

If  they  let  her  stay  up  till  late, 
And  not  go  off  to  bed  at  eight, 
And  how  it  feels,  way  off  in  then, 
To  stay  down-stairs  awake  till  ten? 


And  if  she  ever  wants  to  cry, — 
The  grown-up  me  in  by-and-by  — 
(But  I  don't  think  she  could,  do  you? 
If  all  the  things  I  want  come  true?) 

But  when  She  's  here,  grown-up  and  tall, 
There  '11  be  no  "little  me"  at  ail- 
So  I  shall  never,  never  see 
The  grown-up  girl  who  will  be  me ! 


428 


MAULED  BY  AN 
ELEPHANT 

BY  J.   ALDEN    EORING 

ILLUSTRATED   BY  CHARLES   LIVINGSTON    BULL 


"Butiaba,  Uganda,  Africa;  Jan.  5,  1910.  On  the 
shore  of  Albert  Nyanza."  So  begins  one  of  the 
entries  in  my  journal  during  the  Roosevelt  Afri- 
can Expedition,  of  which  I  had  the  good  fortune 
to  be  a  member. 

We  were  due  at  Butiaba  the  day  before,  but 
were  detained  a  day  by  waiting  at  the  last  camp 
to  secure  the  tusks  and  feet  of  an  ugly  old  rogue 
elephant  that  the  Colonel  had  killed  at  the  ear- 
nest solicitation  of  the  natives. 

The  great  brute  was  a  sort  of  outcast  among 
his  fellows,  and  for  some  time  had  been  wan- 
dering about  terrorizing  the  people  by  visiting 
the  "shambas"  (gardens)  at  night  and  feeding 
on  the  crops.  He  had  wrecked  several  grass  huts 
and  killed  one  native ;  and,  as  our  coming  was 
heralded  through  the  country  several  months  in 
advance,  the  childish  people,  who  were  appar- 
ently at  the  brute's  mercy,  anxiously  awaited  our 
arrival. 

We  were  not  in  camp  fifteen  minutes  before 
the  chief  of  the  district  appeared  and  asked  the 
Colonel  to  relieve  his  people  of  their  tormentor. 
For  several  days,  the  cunning  old  native  had  sta- 
tioned men  to  watch  the  rogue,  and  he  said  that 
the  two  men  who  accompanied  him  were  guides 
that  had  just  left  the  brute  taking  his  midday 
siesta  under  a  tree  less  than  a  mile  from  camp. 

The  Colonel  heard  the  story  in  silence,  and 
then  said :  "But,  Cuninghame,  tell  him  that  I 
have  secured  all  the  elephants  I  want,  and  that 
we  lack  the  men  to  carry  the  skin  and  skeleton 
even  though  we  did  want  it." 

"Yes,  Colonel,  that  's  true,"  said  Cuninghame ; 
"but  this  animal  is  really  a  pest  to  the  country, 
and,  if  he  is  not  killed,  his  depredations  may 
compel  the  people  to  desert  their  village  and 
move  from  the  locality.  Such  an  occurrence  is 
not  unusual.  Besides,  it  is  one  of  the  customs  of 
the  country,  a  thing  that  these  natives  expect  of 
a  white  man— that  he  should  deliver  them  from 
a  rogue  elephant— and  if  you  do  not  acquiesce, 
they  will  look  upon  it  as  a  lack  of  courtesy,  so  to 
speak." 

"Oh,  well,  if  that  's  the  case,  certainly  I  will 
try  my  best." 


"'THE    GRASS   PARTED   AS   THOUGH   A   SNOW-PLOW 

WERE    BEING    DRIVEN    THROUGH    IT.'  " 

(SEE    PAGE    432.) 

So  saying,  he  called  to  Kermit,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  the  two,  accompanied  by  their  gun-bear- 
ers, left  with  the  guides,  after  being  warned  by 
the  chief  that  the  rogue  was  dangerous,  and 
would '  probably  charge  as  soon  as  it  saw  or 
scented  them. 

As  they  disappeared,  I  thought  how  typical  of 
the  Colonel  this  dialogue  was,  for,  during  the 
eleven  months  that  we  were  in  Africa,  he  rarely 
shot  an  animal  that  was  not  used  for  a  specimen 
or  for  food,— the  only  exception  being  crocodiles, 
which  every  year  kill  hundreds  of  women  and 
children  as  they  wade  out  to  fill  their  water-jars. 

Seizing  a  bag  of  traps,  I  called  to  my  boys  and 
started  out  to  collect  some  small  mammals.  I  had 
set  only  a  few  traps  when  I  heard  a  shot,  then 


430 


MAULED   BY  AN   ELEPHANT 


another,  and  finally  several  'in  rapid  succession. 
The  roar  of  the  heavy  405  Winchester  and  the 
double  report  of  the  Colonel's  Holland  rifle  were 
unmistakable.  A  few  minutes  later  I  heard  the 
exultant  shouts  of  the  gun-bearers  and  the 
guides,  and  I  knew  that  the  rogue  elephant  was 
an  animal  of  the  past. 

The  hunters  had  come  upon  the  brute  in  the 
tall  grass,  and,  true  to  the  chief's  warning,  it 
charged  the  instant  that  it  saw  them,  and  before 
a  shot  had  been  fired. 

After  seeing  the  brute,  I  did  not  wonder  that 
the  natives  hesitated  about  attacking  it,  for  it 
measured  ten  feet  nine  inches  from  the  soles  of 
its  front  feet  to  the  top  of  the  back,  and  its  tusks 
weighed  one  hundred  and  ten  pounds. 

As  we  marched  into  Butiaba,  we  were  met  by 
Captain  Hutchison,  then  head  of  the  Uganda 
Marine,  which  was  at  the  time  a  fleet  of  several 
miniature  naphtha  launches.  He  congratulated 
the  Colonel  on  his  recent  feat,  adding  that  escape 
from  a  charging  elephant  of  any  kind,  and  par- 
ticularly a  "rogue,"  deserved  congratulations,  as 
he  could  testify  from  a  certain  "close  call"  he 
once  had  in  elephant-hunting. 

"Now,  Captain,"  spoke  up  the  Colonel,  "I  feel 
sure  that  you  have  an  interesting  story  to  relate, 
so  please  give  it  to  us  at  once." 

"Well,  it  was  a  bit  awkward,  I  must  admit," 
began  the  captain,  "and  so  upset  me  that  I  have 
never  'taken  on'  an  elephant  since. 

"It  happened  just  north  of  the  Lado  country. 
I  had  been  out  ivory  hunting  for  some  time  with- 
out having  much  luck,  when  one  of  my  boys 
brought  in  word  that  he  had  struck  a  herd  in 
which,  judging  from  the  enormous  track,  there 
was  an  immense  tusker.  He  guided  me  to  the 
spot,  and,  sure  enough,  there  was  a  huge  track 
that  was  well  worth  following. 

"The  trail  was  made  several  hours  before, 
and  evidently  there  were  about  twenty  elephants 
in  the  bunch.  They  were  traveling  at  a  good 
rate,  and  we  knew  that  they  probably  would  not 
stop  before  feeding  time,  late  in  the  afternoon. 

"Elephants  may  look  slow  and  clumsy  in  cap- 
tivity, but  when  they  are  walking  at  an  ordinary 
gait,  a  person  must  step  along  at  almost  a  dog- 
trot in  order  to  overhaul  them.  It  was  about  ten 
o'clock  when  we  took  the  'spoor'  (a  sign  of  any 
kind),  and  we  knew  that  it  meant  a  hard  twenty- 
mile  journey  at  least,  before  we  should  overtake 
them.  Frequently  ivory  hunters  will  follow  a 
herd  of  elephants  for  days  before  catching  up 
with  their  game.  The  trail  was  not  hard  to  keep, 
for  a  herd  of  twenty  elephants,  following  single 
file  through  the  ten-foot  elephant-grass,  makes 
more  than  a  well-worn  path. 


"As  they  marched  along,  they  had  amused 
themselves  by  snatching  a  bunch  of  grass  and 
tossing  it  aside;  then,  as  they  had  passed  through 
a  grove  of  thorn-trees,  they  had  broken  off  limbs 
and  dragged  them  a  hundred  yards  or  more  be- 
fore dropping  them.  Several  times  one  had 
halted  long  enough  to  dig  a  hole  in  the  ground 
three  or  four  feet  in  diameter  with  his  tusks,  and 
then  we  saw  where  he  had  galloped  on  to  over- 
take his  comrades.  Once  they  gave  us  an  advan- 
tage by  stopping  for  some  time  to  wallow  in  a 
water-hole,  and,  as  they  emerged,  they  rubbed  their 
bodies  against  the  first  trees  they  passed,  leaving 
the  mud  plastered  ten  feet  high  on  the  bark. 
These  and  other  signs,  growing  fresher  and 
fresher  all  the  time,  told  us  that  we  were  slowly 
overtaking  our  game. 

"About  five  o'clock,  we  surmised  that,  if  the 
elephants  were  still  traveling,  we  must  be  within 
five  miles  of  them;  but,  as  it  was  feeding  time, 
I  thought  it  practical  to  send  my  best  tracker 
ahead  to  reconnoiter,  while  we  followed  more 
slowly.  In  an  hour  he  returned,  and  reported 
that  he  had  overhauled  the  herd  feeding  in  a 
grove  of  thorn-trees,  of  which  they  are  particu- 
larly fond. 

"By  the  time  we  had  arrived,  they  had  passed 
out  of  the  grove  and  were  again  in  the  elephant- 
grass,  which,  owing  to  its  height  and  density, 
made  it  impossible  for  us  to  see  them.  Even 
when  we  mounted  an  ant-hill,  the  growth  was  so 
tall  that  we  got  only  an  occasional  glimpse  of  a 
back  or  of  a  few  snakelike  trunks  waving  about 
in  the  air.  The  wind  was  scarcely  in  our  favor, 
so  we  circled  them  to  a  large  tree,  and  I  sent  one 
of  the  boys  up  to  see  if  he  could  locate  the  big 
tusker. 

"Our  prize  was  on  the  far  side  of  the  herd,  and 
in  such  a  position  that,  should  we  attempt  to  stalk 
him,  there  would  be  risk  of  some  of  the  ele- 
phants catching  the  scent  and  giving  the  alarm. 
Nothing  could  be  done,  therefore,  but  to  keep 
watch  until  he  had  worked  around  to  a  more  fa- 
vorable position. 

"At  last,  the  long-looked-for  time  arrived,  for 
the  tusker  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  herd,  and 
the  wind  was  favorable.  We  circled  to  his  side, 
and  stealthily  drew  near— my  gun-bearer,  tracker, 
and  myself  — while  the  other  boys  remained  in 
the  rear. 

"The  tall  grass  prevented  us  from  even  catch- 
ing a  glimpse  of  the  beasts,  but  it  was  easy  to 
locate  them  by  the  noise  they  made  while  feed- 
ing. 

"We  held  to  the  elephant  trails,  as  no  one 
could  penetrate  that  jungle  of  grass  and  travel 
silently.     Next  to  silence  we  had  to  watch  the 


"THE   GREAT    BRUTE    HAD    W 


RECKED    SEVERAL   GRASS    HUTS. 


43' 


432 


MAULED  BY  AN   ELEPHANT 


[Mar., 


wind,    for,   once   the   animals   caught   our   scent, 
they  would  either  dash  away  or  charge. 

"So  far,  our  plans  had  worked  out  admirably; 
the  elephants,  unconscious  of  our  presence,  were 
still  tearing  up  the  grass  directly  in  our  front, 
while  my  boys  and  myself  proceeded  inch  by  inch 
and  strained  our  eyes  to  catch  sight  of  the  brutes. 
These  boys  had  been  my  companions  on  many  an 
elephant-hunt,  and  I  had  the  utmost  confidence  in 
them,  knowing  well  that,  if  it  were  neces- 
sary, they  would  not  hesitate  to  give  up 
their  lives  to  save  mine. 


\ 


were  pointed  at  my  chest,  and  the  towering  trunk 
between  them  gave  the  head  a  fiendish  look  not 
often  found  outside  of  Hades.  The  other  ele- 
phants took  up  the  trumpeting,  and  the  uproar 
was  appalling. 

"My  rifle  was  at  my  shoulder  from  the  second 
the  brute  began  his  charge,  and  the  instant  that 
he  hove  in  sight,  I  fired  both  barrels  point-blank 
into  his  face.  Without  a  second's  hesitation,  I 
reached  back  to  my  gun-bearer  for  the  '450,'  and 
brought  it  to  position.  Immense  though  the  brute 
was,  he  looked  three  times  his  normal  size  as  I 


'AS  THEY  MARCHED  ALONG,  THEY  PASSED  THROUGH  A  GROVE  OF  THORN-TREES 


"I  don't  care  how  many  elephants  a  man  may 
have  encountered,  while  he  is  sneaking  upon  his 
game,  a  feeling  of  uneasiness  steals  over  him  un- 
til the  critical  moment  arrives;  then  things  hap- 
pen so  quickly  and  his  brain  works  so  rapidly, 
that  all  sense  of  fear  is  for  the  moment  lost. 

"With  both  hammers  of  my  rifle  raised,  I  cau- 
tiously sneaked  nearer  and  nearer,  my  faithful 
boys  following  at  my  very  heels.  At  last,  we 
were  within  fifty  feet  of  the  elephant,  and,  as  he 
moved  toward  me,  I  could  see  the  top  of  the  grass 
swaying  violently  from  side  to  side.  Suddenly, 
fate  turned  against  us,  for  a  shifting  current  of 
air  must  have  warned  the  brute  of  danger.  I 
saw  a  huge  trunk  rise  above  the  grass,  heard  a 
shrill,  deafening  trumpet,  and  knew  that  the  fight 
was  on.  The  grass  parted  as  though  a  snow- 
plow  were  being  driven  through  it,  and  the 
next  instant  there  loomed  up,  not  twenty  feet 
away,  a  monster  head  with  wing-like  ears  pro- 
truding on  either  side  like  the  sails  on  a  dhow. 
Two   shiny  tusks   of  ivory,    fully   six   feet   long, 


cast  my  eyes  along  the  barrels  leveled  at  his  head 
not  five  feet  away.  I  pressed  one  trigger,  then 
the  other,  but  there  was  no  report,  and,  with  a 
sickening  feeling  of  horror,  I  realized  that  my 
gun-bearer,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment,  had 
failed  to  raise  the  hammers. 

"Before  I  could  lower  the  rifle  from  my  shoul- 
der, the  brute  was  upon  me !  With  a  scream  of 
rage  he  twined  his  trunk  about  my  body,  and, 
lifting  me  high  above  his  head,  brandished  me 
about  in  the  air  as  though  I  were  a  feather. 
, Every  instant,  I  expected  to  be  hurled  fifty  feet 
or  more  through  space,  which  I  welcomed  as  the 
only  possible  likelihood  of  escape.  But  no,  at 
that  moment  I  struck  the  ground  with  a  thud. 
Three  times  I  was  lifted  high  and  brought  crash- 
ing through  the  grass  to  earth.  The  last  time 
the  elephant  uncoiled  his  trunk  and  left  me  lying 
there,  stunned  and  dazed,  and  staring  blankly 
into  his  wicked  little  eyes,  now  hot  with  rage. 

"Then  dropping  to  his  knees  before  me,  he 
knelt  there  hesitating,  as  though  to  give  me  time 


1914] 


MAULED   BY  AN   ELEPHANT 


433 


to  deliberate  before  the  end  should  come.  But 
he  did  not  keep  me  waiting  long,  for  slowly  the 
two  great  tusks  began  descending.  With  all  my 
waning  strength  I  threw  my  body  snug  up  against 
his  bending  knees,  and  the  tusks  passed  harm- 
lessly over  me,  just  grazing  my  back,  and  tore 
great  holes  in  the  earth  beyond.  Again  the  pon- 
derous head  was  raised,  and  again  his  tusks  bore 
down  upon  me  and  probed  deeply  into  the  earth 
behind  me. 

"Evidently    the    animal    had    been    somewhat 
blinded  by  my  shots,  for,  assuming  that  he  had 


charged.  The  explosion  had  no  doubt  assisted 
to  revive  me. 

"My  men  told  me  that  my  life  was  saved  by 
the  quick  action  of  my  tracker,  who  appeared  on 
the  scene  with  a  spear  at  about  the  time  that  I 
lost  consciousness,  and,  rushing  in,  plunged  the 
spear  into  the  elephant's  side.  Leaving  me,  the 
animal  took  after  its  new  tormentor,  and  the 
agile  native,  twisting  and  doubling  in  the  thick 
grass,  managed  finally  to  escape.  The  elephant 
had  devastated  the  grass,  bushes,  and  small  trees 
in  his  search  for  the  man,  and,  fortunately,  had 
not  returned  to  me. 

"While  it  is  undoubtedly  true  that  the  native's 
action  had  much  to  do  with  saving  me,  one  rea- 


ANU    HAD    BROKEN    OFF    LIMBS,    DRAGGING    THEM    A    HUNDRED     YARDS     OR     MORE. 


done  his  work,  he  started  to  rise,  and  as  he  did 
so,  the  sudden  thought  came  over  me  that  he 
would  probably  attempt  to  trample  me  to  death, 
the  usual  method  that  an  elephant  employs  to 
obliterate  an  enemy.  So,  as  he  slowly  rose,  in 
some  unaccountable  manner  I  managed  to  scram- 
ble between  his  fore  feet,  and  grabbed  him  by 
the  leg,  then  loosed  my  grip,  and,  working  back, 
seized  hold  of  his  hind  foot. 

"Once  more  I  felt  the  snakelike  trunk  being 
wound  around  me,  next  I  was  being  waved  about 
over  the  grass-top— then  the  ground  seemed  sud- 
denly to  rise  and  meet  me,  and  I  lost  conscious- 
ness. How  many  times  I  was  hammered  on  the 
ground  I  do  not  know. 

"Three  hours  later,  I  came  to  myself  and  found 
my  boys  dashing  water  into  my  face.  When  I 
opened  my  eyes,  I  saw  the  gun-bearer  holding  a 
smoking  rifle  in  his  hands.  He  had  just  returned 
from  the  scene  of  my  mauling,  and  brought  in 
my  rifles,  one  of  which  he  had  attempted  to  un- 
load, and,  in  some  manner,  had  accidentally  dis- 


son  why  I  was  not  dashed  to  death  lies  in  the 
fact  that  an  elephant's  trunk  is  the  tenderest  part 
of  his  body,  and  being  twined  about  me,  it  re- 
ceived the  brunt  of  the  blow  each  time  that  I 
struck  the  ground,  and  evidently  the  pain  kept 
the  animal  from  using  the  force  needed  to  kill  me. 

"As  a  result  of  this  mauling,  I  was  laid  up  for 
six  weeks  before  I  was  well  enough  to  hobble 
about  again. 

"That  elephant  may  be  alive  at  this  present 
moment,  for  all  I  know.  My  native  attendants 
were  too  terror-stricken  over  the  outcome  of  the 
hunt  to  give  the  brute  any  further  attention  after 
I  was  mauled,  so  no  one  followed  him  up  to  dis- 
cover what  damage  my  shots  had  done.  But, 
judging  from  the  amount  of  vigor  that  was  left 
in  his  great  hulk  at  the  time  he  put  me  to  sleep, 
he  could  not  have  been  seriously  wounded. 

"Well,  as  I  have  said,  Colonel,"  concluded  Cap- 
tain Hutchison,  "that  hunt  used  up  my  stock  of 
courage,  and  I  doubt  if  I  shall  ever  'take  on'  an- 
other elephant,  unless  in  self-defense." 


CHARACTERS 
Melilotte,  a  very  good  girl.  Dock    \ 

The  Turtle  Woman,  mysterious  and  behind  the  styles.     Dodder  [■  financiers  of  Frogbit  Lane. 


Silver  Dollar,  an  honest  coin. 
Three  Silver  Quarters,  small  change. 
Silver  Dime,  very  small  change. 


Scene  :  The  interior  of  a  poor  hut  in  the  forest.  There 
is  a  door  in  the  center  with  a  window  on  each  side. 
Another  door,  on  the  right,  which  probably  leads  into 
another  room.  The  furniture  of  the  room  consists 
of  a  table,  two  stools,  a  bench,  and  a  cupboard,  the 
latter  standing  near  one  of  the  windows.  On  the  left 
is  a  fireplace  with  a  very  low  fire,  which  will  go  out 
directly  unless  it  has  some  wood ;  but  there  is  n't 
any.    It  is  a  stormy  night  in  the  forest. 

{When  the  curtain  rises,  Melilotte,  who 
ought  to  be  in  bed,  is  seen  counting  pennies 
into  a  child's  savings-bank.) 


SONG 


Melilotte. 


w^^^^^mm^ 


Nine-ty  six  and  nine- ty   sev-en,  nine- ty  eight  and  nine; 


^rr^ 


mm 


^n-t- 


-i  -i  j- 


rm 


rj=d=Sl=d: 


3^ 


=t=t 


J-   -J-    *- 


1^=1=7- 


=t=2 


m 


Squill  ) 

Thistle  Bloom  I,  ■        .- 

T-.  t->  (fairy  spinners. 

Pansy  Bud         y      ■"    ' 


This  one  makes  a  hundred,  what  a    luck  -  y  girl  am    I !      But 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


435 


These  are  things  I  ought  to  have  :  some  faggots  for  the  fire ; 


some  good  fai-  ry  would  but  seek  and  find  my  Ione-ly    cot,    And 


Bread  and  milk  and  but-ter     I  shall  cer-  tain  -  ly    re-quire  ;    A 


li: 


=1=1: 


5=3=3 


m 


BSE* 


=JZ 


=1S= 


3=»: 


3e§eS 


fe 


^ 


bring  good  fortune  to  the  door  of     lit  -  tie  Mel  -  i  -  lotte! 

^5q=P^r^=T=f?i=^^ 


(  Counting  on  her  lingers) 


rfr— B— P~  g— h"— g: 


zfrt    N  i*     |»=p= 


adzLjzzp— *— k~  _t 


rp: 


peck  of  new  po  -  ta-  toes  and    a    bit    of   wa  -  ter  -  cress,  But 


«&r 


-"&-»- 


z£=z£±£-- 


-* — »— b»- 


y=&—<jiz 


most  of    all     I     real -ly  need  a    linsey-woolsey  dress!  How 


illig^^^^i 


S:===F 


-a** 


^ 


*fc£ 


JU— N— jN— N— N-L-^- V->-  j  |-  J*-f-?=zzp\ 

=F=^= 

ca»    I  spend  so  much  and  have  a  pen-  ny  left   to  s 

pare?  But 
r— t-      -  N 

i 

~=j 3 3 4" 

— i — -i — i — i- 

~d — ■£- 

1 

sh  "  *i   H   *i  «r~ 

raj     a|     *l~*j~ 

d-^j-^- 

-*r— *- 

•J      *  5C  St  * 

*   5   St    ■*■ 

-j-  -j-  *  -j- 

■J-- 

/ 

^:r^  *  J^ 

^WH: 

H-H-sfcdz 

\ 

SSri 1—*- *L 

"i*  * 

to« 


zw=mzzv=£. 


:g=g— g— g-l-k— * 


O!  my  grate  is  emp-ty  and  the  cup-board  shelf  is  bare!  If 


(As  she  ceases,  a  knock  is  heard  at  the 
door.  Melilottc  starts  to  her  feet  in  alarm.) 

Melilotte.     A  knock  !    Shall  I  unlatch  the  door  ? 
None  ever  came  so  late  before. 

(She  hastily  puts  her  savings-bank  into 
the  cupboard.     The  knock  is  repeated.) 

Who  comes? 
A  Voice  (outside).    I  come! 
Melilotte.    What  do  you  seek? 
The  Voice.     With  Melilotte  I  wish  to  speak. 
Melilotte  (hesitating).    Shall  I  unlatch?    I  shake 

with  fright ! 
The  Voice  (testily).    Don't  keep  me  waiting  here 
all  night ; 
Unlatch  the  door! 

Melilotte   (going  to  the  door).     Don't  think  me 
rude, 
I  'm  all  alone  and  have  no  food ; 
But  shelter  I  can  give  and  will — 
I  've  that,  at  least,  to  offer  still. 

(Melilotte  opens  the  door,  and  the  Turtle 
Woman  enters.  She  is  very  ugly,  and 
zuears  a  turtle-shell  on  her  back  out  of 
which  her  head  and  arms  emerge.) 

Turtle  Woman  {crossly).    You  took  your  time  to 
draw  the  latch ! 
A  night  like  this  one  needs  a  thatch 
Above  her  head,  which  I  had  not. 
What  is  your  name? 

Melilotte.    'T  is  Melilotte. 

Turtle  Woman.    Ah,  Melilotte !   I  guessed  aright ; 
'T  is  you  I  'm  looking  for  to-night. 

Melilotte.    But  who  are  you,  mysterious  dame? 

Turtle  Woman.     Pray  listen— you  shall  hear  my 
name. 

SONG 
The  Turtle  Woman. 

As  the  Turtle  Woman  I  am  known, 
I  have  no  real  name  of  my  own ; 
In  Dismal  Swamp  I  live  alone, 
And  that  's  a  pity ! 
Melilotte. 

O  !    That  's  a  pity  ! 


436 


MELILOTTE"— A 


W3E 


(Turtle  Woman) 


KbS^S: 


m=m 


-&E 


As  the  Tur  -   tie       Wo  -  man       I        am  known   I 
O  !  sad       my       lot  !      1         nev  -  er     smile,    I'm 


fete: 


:4=Jz 


I! 


gfe 


^==S~- 


^ 


«F 


FAIRY  OPERETTA 

(Melilotte) 


[Mar., 


te 


-fcffz 


=Nt 


s^fe 


^ 


(  Turtle  Woman 
and  Melilotte) 


J-f= 


£^PP 


that's     a    pi- ty  ! O  !  that's    a    pi- ty!  O '.that's   a    pi  -  ty, 


=P=St 


e*- 


m 


p^ 


& 


^a= 


f=f 


17*- 


S 


=Ft 


I 


^3-^^ 


Efe^ 


e=r=w=ez 


tr-t 


kfr 


mz 


3=== 


have  no    real  name    of 
out    of     fash  -  ion     all 


my  own  ;  In      Dismal  Swamp  I 
the  while,  You  see  your-self     I 


live    a- lone, And  that's 
have  no  style.And  that's 


a"  pi-ty  !0  !  that's    a    pity!  You 
a    pi- ty  !  O  !  that's   a    pi-ty!  Ob- 


cer  -  tain  -  ly  would  nev  -  er  guess  That,  tho'  I'm    ve  -  ry 
serve  my  gown, which  does-n't    fit,    My      cap     I      do    not 


^SSSE 


^m 


=%& 


m 


m 


s 


£j=i 


3=3=^1=1 


-1 — I- 


— "   -J-  *  -I 

fond  of   dress,  This  one    is     all   that      I      pos-sess,  And 
like    a      bit ;      I       am    a    sight    I        do     ad  -  mit,  And 


t=P 


^sst 


g§ 


m 


-r— i- 


33 


qcrrt 


-&- w>~ 


m 


^=£z 


— i — i — _j- 


I^^E 


THIRD  VERSE 

(Turtle  Woman) 

But  Turtle  Women  cannot  dress 

In  modes  that  add  to  comeliness — 

The  shell  impedes  them,  more  or  less — 

And  that  's  a  pity! 

(Melilotte) 

O!  that's  a  pity! 

(Turtle  Woman) 

So  I  am  doomed,  as  you  can  see, 
Behind  the  style  to  always  be 

Till  from  this  turtle-shell  I  'm  free, 

And  that's  a  pity! 

(At  the  conclusion  of  the  song,  they  dance.) 

Turtle  Woman.    I  'd  thank  you  for  a  cup  of  tea. 
I  'm  just  as  cross  as  I  can  be ! 

Melilotte.    Alas!  good  dame,  what  shall  I  do? 
I  've  nothing  here  to  offer  you. 

Turtle  Woman.    No  food  or  drink!    Unhappy 
maid ! 
That  's  carelessness  I  am  afraid. 
We  '11  buy  them  then,  if  you  don't  mind; 
A  Silver  Dollar  you  must  find. 

Melilotte  (dismayed) .'    A  Silver  Dollar  you 
demand  ? 
I  never  saw  a  thing  so  grand. 

(She  runs  to  the  cupboard  and  produces 
her  savings-bank.) 

Here  is  my  bank — and  its  contents 
Amount  to  just  one  hundred  cents. 

(The  Turtle  Woman  takes  the  bank.) 

Turtle  Woman.     One  hundred  cents  one  dollar 
make; 
So,  when  I  give  your  bank  a  shake 
And  place  it  in  the  cupboard  here, 
The  Silver  Dollar  shall  appear. 

(She  shakes  the  bank  up  and  down  in 
time  to  her  sing-song  chant.) 

One  hundred  pennies  !     Fol-de-rollar-0  ! 
Turn  into  a  Silver  Dollar-0 ! 

(The  Turtle  Woman  hastily  replaces  the 
bank  in  the  cupboard  and  shuts  the  door. 
A  tremendous  jingling  of  pennies  is  heard 
within,  which  gradually  ceases,  and  three 
knocks  sound  from  the  inside  of  the  door.) 

Now  open,  little  Melilotte, 

And  we  shall  see  what  you  have  got. 

(Melilotte  opens  the  cupboard  door  and 
the  Silver  Dollar  steps  out  briskly.  His 
body  has  the  appearance  of  a  silver  dollar, 
his  arms  and  legs  coming  out  at  convenient 
places.    He  begins  to  sing  at  once.) 


I9I4-] 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY   OPERETTA 


437 


THE    DANCE    OF    MELILOTTE    AND    THK    TURTLE    WOMAN. 


SONG 
The  Silver  Dollar. 

I  used  to  be  nothing  but  copper  cents, 

The  scorn  of  the  money  spender; 
But  now,  among  other  accomplishments, 

I  've  those  of  a  Legal  Tender. 
I  go  in  the  best  of  society, 

For  I  am  a  welcome  caller ; 
Whenever  I  talk,  you  will  all  agree, 

I  'm  as  bright  as  a  silver  dollar! 

Refrain.        Hi !    O-hi !  sing  Diddy-o-di ! 
For  king  or  sage  or  scholar ; 

Than  all  of  the  three  I  'd  rather  be 
An  honest  Silver  Dollar ! 

Trio.  Hi !    O-hi !  sing  Diddy-o-di ! 

For  king  or  sage  or  scholar ; 

Than  all  of  the  three  he  'd  rather  be 
An  honest  Silver  Dollar! 


mm 


w 


^g 


I     used      to  be  noth-ing    but    cop  -   per  cents,   The 
I'm    read  -   y  to  work  for   the    low        or    high,   And 


f3SF**=£ 


m^s=m 


^m 


35=*" 


Ji-m- 


scorn  of  the  mon  -  ev  spend  -  er ;  But  now  among  oth  -  er    ac  - 
ev  -  er-  y  man  will  take   me  ;  I'm  nimble  and  quick,  and  I 


b=J 


^ 


^ 


gEEE 

— — <*— 5- 


fe^ 


comp-Hshments,  I've  those  of    a     Le   -    gal    Ten  -  der.       T 
al-ways    try     To   trav  -  el     as   far  as  you  make   me.     I'll 

-, k— I hrJ^*'*— I 


*$=Sf3e^ 


^fc-EE^Et^£ 


^E 


THE    HONEST    SILVER    DOLLAR. 


438 


MELILOTTE  "— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


[Mar., 


17   v.  c-^  j.   *^p?-*- 


go         in    the    best        of      so   -    ci     -     e    -    ty,        For 
be  a  good  friend       if    em- ployed        a  -  right,       A 


fc 


^ 


TvJr^r-jtT&r^ 


sis 


--«*- 


U^ 


-M-fr, 


1*=*>z 


I      am    a    wel-come  cal  -  ler ;  Whenev- er   I  talk,  you  will 
bad  one    if  you      a  -  buse  me  ;  Don't  struggle  to  keep  me  for- 


Pf* 


fe?r 


^ 


IS 


*!^ya 


^ffrz 


T= 


fe^fe* 


--B* 


fe£ 


all         a  -  gree,    I'm      as    bright     as      a       Sil     -     ver 
ever       in      sight,  Nor weep       if    you     hap-pen   to 


*E^^^|5fegg 


Hi!       O-hi!     Sing  Did- dy-o-di!     For 

!■—■ *,     r 

mm 


k-=i~k: 


!*=g=k 


{Repeat  for  refrain} 


^^l^gE^fflgEl^ 


=* 


king    or  sage     or     schol  -  ar ;  Than  all    of  the  three   I'd 


^m^m 


ms& 


(They  dance.) 


Turtle  Woman.    Now,  Master  Dollar,  go  you 
straight 
And  fetch  us  fuel  for  the  grate, 
With  bread,  and  milk,  and  Oolong  tea, 
For  little  Melilotte  and  me. 

Silver  Dollar.    A  welcome  task,  indeed,  say  I  ; 
And  so  I  bid  you  both  good-by! 

(He  runs  out  of  the  door.) 

Turtle  Woman.    Now  spread  the  board  for  our 
repast, 
The  nimble  Dollar  travels  fast. 

DUET 

Melilotte  and  Turtle  Woman 
(As  Melilotte  sings,  she  brings  from  the 
cupboard  the  articles  she  names,  and  both 
engage  in  setting  the  table.) 


(Melilotte) 


(Turtle 
Woman') 


rfcr 


Mi£ 


:?=!= 


The         ta  -   ble    cloth 
And       here      we      have 


we       first    must      lay ;   That's 
our       but   -    t^r      plate;      A 


>:H" 


^ 


35 


ife 


{Melilotte) 


true     be-yond      a    doubt, 
ve  -  ry  good    one    too. 


:g— 1— «fc 


'Twill  have    to     go     the 
The  knives  and  forks,  we 


^ 


g§ 


3^ 


3 


3t 


( Turtle 
Woman) 


^=2=&T- 


P= 


oth  -  er    way,  'twas  fold  -  ed  wrong-side    out! 
lay  them  straight,  for  that's  the  way     to       do  ; 


Now 
The 


m: 


*=£= 


^ 


*=?=*=?-- 


I  Off —f==- 

1 — 1 ' 1 — 

s — f— 

— f— 

— r* — 

—rf- 

-*— 

— S — 

— J— 

1 

%sy       i 

you 
tea    - 

-f* 

— 1 — 

take 
pot 

— 1 

milk 
we 

I 

and 
must 

1^ 

i 

not 

-1 

take 
for    - 

tea, 
get, 

J-- 

As 
Then 

&=1- 

=3 

— »** 

-^— 

— f= — 

— 1 

J         * 

-=s — 

£ 

W$    i~ 

— ■ 

— 1 m r m 

=- — J— 

- — 1 

H ' 

L-J — 

—\ 

t~^J 

I9I4-] 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 

(Melilotte) 


439 


(A  knock  is  heard,  and  Melilotte  throws 
open  the  door.  Instead  of  the  Silver  Dol- 
lar, three  Silver  Quarters  enter.  One  car- 
ries fagots,  another  a  loaf  of  bread  and  a 
jug  of  milk,  while  the  third  has  a  package 
marked  "  Tea."  Melilotte  is  amazed.  They 
step  in  briskly  and  stand  in  a  row.) 

Melilotte.    We  sent  our  Silver  Dollar  hence 
To  buy  us  food  at  his  expense ; 
Now  who  are  you,  with  faces  strange? 


g:3: 


^gg^EJillg 


Silver  Quarters  (in  unison).  So  please  you,  miss, 
we  are  the  change  ! 

(They  put  down  their  packages  and  sing.) 


SONG 
The  Silver  Quarters. 

We  hope  you  will  kindly  take  care  of  us, 

For  easily  you  can  see 
We  are  not  remarkably  numerous, 

In  fact  we  are  only  three. 
Your  Silver  Dollar  stayed  behind 

His  business  to  arrange, 
But  sends  you  word  to  bear  in  mind 

To  always  count  the  change. 


We  hope   you  will  kind-  ly  take  care      of 
Of  course  you  will  count  us,  for    we       sus 


-pect 


For 
It's  the 


440 


"  MELILOTTE  "— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


[Mar., 


eas  -  i  -  ]y  you  can     see  ....     We    are  not  re-mark- a  -  bly 
reg  -  u- lar  thing  to      do We  hope  you  will  find  we  are 


z?=*z 


'Jg-  zm. 


m 


3*=3* 


nu  -  mer-ous,     In    fact  we  are   on  -  ly       three...      Your 
quite    cor-rect,  Tho'  we    are  so    ve  -  ry       few And 


$=?- 


jtS- 


T-i— 1* 


^S 


S=S- 


Sil  -  ver    Dol  -lar  staved  behind,   His  busi-ness  to      ar- 
if       you   have  some   lit  -  tie  task,   An    er  -  rand  to     be 

1 


±=±* 


r- 


=tpc 
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range But  sends  you  word    to      bear    in  mind   To 

run Why,  here  we  are— you've  but     to  ask, — The 


5-1  wn* 


-«!—=- 


i 


5S4=3# 


^ 


!•= 


^= 


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i 


=S=S- 


=£ 


al  -  ways  count  the      change, . . .      To      al  -  ways  count  the 
thing's  as  good    as      done, The  thing's  as  good     as 


$ 


* 


S=^ 


leS 


eg 


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r—£ 


f^f 


£ 


19- 


(Repeat  for  refrain) 


f 


«£ 


g 


r~» 


E£:? 


^^ 


ifcafc 


king    or  sage    or     schol-    ar ;  Than  all     of  the  three   I'd 


pHi 


mm 


*=S: 


^ 


j  JJ-. 


4 fcr' 


£^£ 


S 


3t 


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^^ 


JLJL— L 


rath  •  er    be       a       Quar-ter     of 


Dol 


lar! 


i 


t 


3czp 


"S^ 


¥* 


#5 


4= 


^£ 


^^^E 


s 


sg 


(77?^  refrain  is  again  repeated,  and  all 
join  in  a  dance.  At  the  conclusion  of  the 
dance,  the  Silver  Quarters  seat  themselves 
on  the  bench.  Melilotte  places  the  fagots 
in  the  fireplace  and  puts  the  kettle  on  the 
hob.  Meanwhile,  the  Turtle  Woman  has 
set  the  food  on  the  table,  and  they  are 
about  to  sit  down,  when  Melilotte  looks 
at  her  ragged  frock.) 

Melilotte.    I  'm  very  shabby,  I  confess; 
I  wish  I  had  another  dress. 

Turtle  Woman.     These  lively  little  urchins  here 
Will  bring  one  quickly,  never  fear. 

{She  addresses  the  Silver  Quarters.) 

Go  you  at  once  to  yonder  town 
And  buy  a  linsey-woolsey  gown. 
And  mind  you  get  a  good  one,  too ! 

Melilotte.    I  think  I  'd  like  to  have  it  blue. 

{The  Silver  Quarters  hop  down  from  the 
bench  and  promptly  reply,  in  unison.) 

Silver  Quarters.    Yours  received ;  we  note 
request ; 
Always  glad  to  do  our  best. 
Understand  the  matter  clearly. 
Kind  regards  and  yours  sincerely! 

{They  bow  politely  and  run  out  of  the 
door.  Melilotte  takes  the  kettle  from  the 
hob  and  makes  the  tea.  They  are  about  to 
begin  their  meal,  when  there  is  a  loud 
knock  at  the  door.) 

Melilotte.    Come  in !  come  in  !  the  door  's  ajar; 
You  're  welcome  here,  whoe'er  you  are ! 


19*4-1  "MELILOTTE"— A 

(The  door  opens,  and  Dock,  Dodder,  and 
Squill  enter  solemnly.  They  are  dignified 
gentlemen  who  strangely  resemble  frogs  in 
appearance,  each,  in  fact,  being  dressed  in 
a  frog-skin  from  top  to  toe.) 

Melilotte  (amazed).    Your  names  pray  tell  us, 

if  you  will. 
Dock  (gruffly).    I  'm  Dock! 
Dodder  (in  a  similar  voice).    I  'm  Dodder! 
Squill  (also  gruffly).    I  am  Squill! 
Dock,  Dodder,  and  Squill.    Ger-ump!    Regarding 

our  careers, 
We  beg  to  state  we  're  financiers. 


FAIRY  OPERETTA 

(Dodder) 


THE    FINANCIERS,    DOCK,    DODDER,    AND   SQUILL. 

Melilotte.    Your  manners  rather  make  one  jump, 
They  're  so  abrupt,  you  know — 
Dock,  Dodder,  and  Squill.    Ger-ump! 

SONG 

Dock,  Dodder,  and  Squill. 

As  you  can  see,  we  number  three. 
Dock.    Ger-ump ! 

Dodder.    Ger-ump ! 

Squill.    Ger-ump! 


(  Trio) 


(Dock) 


JC--3: 


^ 


As     you       can     see,       we      num  -  ber    three;    Ger 
To      say      we're  crust  -  y  is         ab  -  surd ;   Ger 


3^ 


eg 


fes 


B^ 


(Squill) 


441 

(  Trio) 


e£ 


sS=s 


fi  -   nan-ciers      of   high     de- gree  ;  Ger    -    ump! 
al  -  ways  have     a   pleas- ant  word ;  Ger    -    ump! 


i=f-^ 


mm 


Pf 


feS 


wB. 


gjSt 


rfl 


¥ 


m 


^* 


^ 


When  peo  -  pie  owe    and   can  -  not  pay,    And 
To  bank  your  gold  with    us       is  bliss,  And 


^-*,     l—l-i 1 


1        r 


F^E 


r-    r 


ask      us    for        a   slight     de  -  lay,    We      al-ways  shake  our 
to      withdraw     it       is        re-  miss ;  But,     if     you   do,     we 


^# 


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13 


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fe 


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=#* 


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heads  and  say:  Ger-ump!    ger-ump!    ger-ump! 
smile  like  this  :  Ger-ump  1   ger-ump!    ger-ump! 


442 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


[Mar., 


^3^1^ 


Dock,  Dodder,  and  Squill  are    we,    Our  bank    ac-count     is 


m 


^=p= 


-P=w: 


S 


plump ;            Our     of  -  fice  hours    are     ten       to  three ;  Ger- 
I ; 


^r^P 


(This  is  followed  by  a  Frog-Financier 
dance,  at  the  conclusion  of  which  they 
address  Melilotte.) 

Dock.    What  can  we  do  — 

Dodder.    For  you  to-day? 

Squill.    Provided  we — 

Dock,  Dodder,  and  Squill   (very  hoarsely).     Can 

make  it  pay ! 
Melilotte.     Oh,  thank  you  very  much  indeed  ; 
I  've  all  the  money  that  I  need. 

(As  she  speaks,  the  door  opens,  and  Silver 
Dime  enters.  He  is  very  small,  and  car- 
ries a  large  bundle  marked  "Linsey-W  ool- 
sey.") 

Why,  bless  my  stars!  and  who  is  this? 

Silver  Dime.     I  'm  all  that  's  left,  respected  miss. 
But  here  's  your  gown — a  lovely  blue, 
And  I,  they  say,  belong  to  you. 

Melilotte  (sadly).    Of  fortune  I  'm  almost  bereft 
If  you  are  all  that  I  have  left. 

Silver  Dime  (stoutly).    I  am  not  what  you  'd 
call  a  man, 
But  always  do  the  best  I  can. 

Turtle  Woman.     (To  Melilotte  and  Silver  Dime.) 
Don't  let  it  worry  you,  my  dears  ; 
This  case  is  one  for  financiers. 

Dock.    As  senior  member  of  this  co., 
I  beg  to  add  :  exactly  so  ! 
Leave  money  matters  to  the  skill 
Of  Dock- 

Dodder.    And  Dodder— 

Squill.    Likewise  Squill ! 


Turtle  Woman.     Then  this  is  what  we  '11  have 
to  do : 
Intrust  our  Silver  Dime  to  you. 
He  seems  a  willing  little  boy, 
And  ought  to  thrive  in  your  employ. 

Dock.    The  plan  that  you  propose  is  best, 
If  he  will  take  an  interest 
In  our  affairs;  no  doubt  he  will 
With  Dock- 

Dodder.    And  Dodder— 

Squill.    Likewise  Squill! 

Silver  Dime.    That  I  am  very,  small,  I  know, 
But  in  your  care  I  'm  sure  to  grow. 

Dock.    Well,  then,  our  business  is  complete ; 
We  '11  forward  you  our  firm's  receipt. 
We  hope  to  see  you  soon  again, 
Our  office  stands  in  Frogbit  Lane 
Right  opposite  the  Village  Pump; 
Good-day !  ger-ump ! 

Dodder.    Ger-ump! 

Squill.    GER-UMP! 

(They  go  out,  leading  Silver  Dime.) 

Melilotte.    The  pangs  of  hunger  now  I  feel ; 
Suppose  we  have  our  evening  meal. 


"'lJUT    HERE'S    'SOUR    GOWN  —  A    LOVELY    BLUE. 

Turtle  Woman.    Well  said,  my  little  Melilotte; 
I  wonder  if  the  tea  is  hot. 

(They  sit  at  .the  table  and  proceed  with 
the  business  of  eating.  After  a  moment, 
Melilotte  springs  suddenly  to  her  feet.) 

Melilotte.    But,  Turtle  Woman,  I  declare ! 
You  have  n't  had  an  equal  share. 
My  money  's  gone— what  shall  I  do 
To  get  a  stylish  gown  for  you? 

Turtle  Woman.    Alas !  the  gown  for  which  I  sigh 
Is  one  that  money  cannot  buy. 
The  fabric,  light  as  elfin  thought, 
By  fairy  spinners  must  be  wrought, 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


And  fashioned  by  their  cunning  skill ; 
I  've  waited  long — I  'm  waiting  still 
For  some  young  heart,  from  falsehood  free, 
To  ask  this  fairy  gift  for  me. 

{She  rises  from  the  table.) 

Melilotte  (rising  also).    I  offer  you  my 
humble  aid — 
I  try  to  be  a  truthful  maid; 
But  fairy-folk — I  know  them  not! 

Turtle  Woman.    But  they  know  gentle  Melilotte. 

(She  goes  to  the  door  and  throws  it  wide 
open.  The  storm  has  ceased,  and  the  full 
moon  shines.) 

Behold !  the  moon  is  shining  bright ! 
The  fairies  will  be  out  to-night. 
Come,  sit  you  here  and  sing  your  song, 
You  '11  find  they  won't  be  very  long. 
Blow  out  the  candle— mend  the  fire. 

(As  she  speaks,  she  extinguishes  the  can- 
dle and  stirs  the  fire,  then  goes  to  the 
door  on  the  right.) 

Now,  fairies,  grant  my  Heart's  Desire ! 

(She  disappears  through  the  door  on  the 
right.  The  other  door  stands  open,  and 
the  moonlight  streams  into  the  room. 
Melilotte  seats  herself  on  a  stool  near  the 
door  and  sings.) 


Melilotte. 

Barcarole 


SONG 


m 


— j, — i— 1_ — ^ 

On  the     sea     where    moon -beams   play,       Are 

Fash    -    ion       it         with       fai     -     ry      hand     With 


*$- 


-m=j)z 


Jsqrt 


zmz=B- 


Mel  -  i-lotte    is      wait    -     ing...  Pluck    the  moon-rays 
Mel  -  i-lotte    is      wait    -     ing...    Deck     it    with   the 

I 


444 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


[Mar., 


in  -  to  shreds  of  moon  light,  flax     of     bub    -    ble, 
dew-drop  gem,  and  shake   the  moon-dust  from  the  hem, 


i'/ 


tt^= 


fcrifcrft 


:ta=t 


qff=ff= 


=*=p: 


Twist  them  in   -  to    film  -  y  threads, Weave   the  mus  -  lin 
Fold  and  fetch    it,   Tar  -  ry    not —     To       the  wait  -  ing 


I 


fe&=e= 


m 


-s=ss- 


m 


m 


£ — u  i     E 


S=f 


J- 


feii 


P 


DANCE  AND  SONG 
The  Fairy  Spinners. 

From  Fairyland, 
At  your  command, 
We  bring  the  heart's  desire 
Of  one  whose  fate 
Disconsolate 
To  lighten  we  conspire. 

So  gently  lift 

Our  fairy  gift, 
And  bid  her  wear  it  well ; 

'T  is  rare  indeed, 

And  guaranteed 
To  work  a  magic  spell. 

(Melilotte  takes  the  basket  with  great 
care  and  goes  out  through  the'  door  on 
the  right.  The  Spinners  continue  their 
song,  and  Melilotte  reenters  almost  imme- 
diately.) 

Grazioso 


S3 


t 


J 


gg— *- 


S3- 


$ 


P^ 


=*Ns 


Et=*: 


(y4£  f/ie  £W(f  of  the  song,  the  Fairy  Spin- 
ners appear  in  the  doorway,  bearing  a 
basket  which  holds  the  fairy  robe.  Meli- 
lotte starts  to  her  feet.  The  Spinners  en- 
ter, carrying  the  basket  between  them.) 


THISTLE    BI.OOM    AND    PANSY    BUD    BRINGING    THE  FAIRY    ROBE. 


1914J 


"MELILOTTE"— A 


FAIRY  OPERETTA 


445 


3»     X     J 


i^B 


=)=*= 


one        whose  fate 
af      -       ter     she 


Dis  -  con 

Will    nev 


so  -  late 
er       be 


To 
So 


f£ 


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Jt=P=B= 


T=P=»=^^Be=i: 


^ 


iV    i r 

■d — *- 

■=rj = 

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work           a 
love          and 

mag     -     ic 
sym     -     pa 

f*   *  1 

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s   '1 
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light    -    en      we  con  -  spire- 

quick        to     crit  i    -    cize.. 


So 
With 


-S=M_-»; 


*y=l=i 


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:^^; 


e£* 


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^^ 


Melilotte.     (Having  lighted  a  candle.}     I  'm  all 
impatience  now  to  view 
The  Turtle  Woman's  toilet  new ! 

(The  door  on  the  right  opens.) 

Fairy  Spinners.    Behold!  she  comes— in  sprite's 
attire ! 

(The  Turtle  Woman  enters,  a  beautiful 
vision.  She  wears  a  wonderful  fairy  gown, 
and,  in  fact,  has  magically  changed  into  a 
regular  fairy  like  the  Spinners.) 

Turtle  Woman  (now  Fairy).    At  last  I  have  my 

heart's  desire ! 
Melilotte  (astonished  but  delighted).     Well,  you 
are  changed,  without  a  doubt ! 
Pray  tell  me  how  it  came  about. 
Turtle  Woman  (no  longer).    I  was  a  naughty 
fairy  once, 
In  fact  I  was  a  fairy  dunce. 


446 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


[Mar., 


uhJ 


Because  I  would  not  acquiesce 
In  fairy  styles  and  fairy  dress. 
I  wanted  mortal  fashions  new, 
And  very  rashly  tried  a  few. 
Forthwith  I  was,  by  stern  decree, 
A  Turtle  Woman  doomed  to  be, 
Till  I  should  see  my  error  vain, 
And  seek  my  fairy  gown  again. 

Melilotte.    Then  everything  is  quite  complete — 
I  think  your  gown  is  peri ectly  sweet ! 

(A  boisterous  voice  is  heard  singing  out 
side. ) 
The  Voice. 

Hi-o-hi !  sing  Diddy-o-di ! 
For  king  or  sage  or  scholar ; 
Than  all  of  the  three 
I  'd  rather  be 
An  honest  Silver  Dollar! 

(Silver  Dollar   dances   in    the   door,  fol 
lowed  by  Dock,  Dodder,  and  Squill.) 


S^^S^I^^^^ 


promise  you'll  nev-er    rue      it;   I'll  make  all  the  money  you 


urn 


:£± 


1914.] 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY  OPERETTA 


447 


$*  ,  - 

fc-jT- 

ump ! 

ger  -  ump !         ger  - 

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oft-  en    seek  this  hum-  ble    cot,    To    see    my    gen -tie 


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448 


"MELILOTTE"— A  FAIRY   OPERETTA 

(Omnes) 

(Melilotte) 


{All  join  hands  and  dance,  everybody  being  perfectly  satisfied.) 
(curtain) 


THE    STORY  OF   THE 
SILHOUETTE 


Who  has  not  had  his  silhouette 
taken  or  attended  a  silhouette 
party?  But  who  knows  the  real 
origin  of  the  silhouette?  There 
is  quite  a  history  attached  to  the 
name. 
About  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  century,  the 
French  minister  in  charge  of  the  national  treas- 
ury was  a  man  named  Silhouette.  At  that  time, 
the  finances  of  France  were  at  a  low  ebb,  and  the 
minister  was  very  anxious  to  better  the  condi- 
tions. Therefore,  he  attempted  to  enforce  econ- 
omy wherever  possible,  and  he  tried  to  persuade 
the  king  and  his  court  to  do  the  same.  Poor  Mon- 
sieur Silhouette  was  only  ridiculed !  Indeed,  he 
became  very  unpopular  and  the  subject  of  all 
sorts  and  kinds  of  derision. 

The  people,  when  they  saw  that  the  king,  Louis 
XV,  had  no  intention  of  reforming,  turned  about 
and  began  to  practise  a  kind  of  economy  that 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  fool's  idea  of  the 
word.  Snuff-taking  was  a  very  popular  fad,  and 
every  gentleman  and  lady  of  the  court  possessed 
exquisite  snuff-boxes  made  out  of  gold  and  silver 
set  with  all  manner  of  precious  stones.  Imme- 
diately when  Silhouette  preached  economy,  the 
ladies  sighed,  the  gentlemen  pretended  to  become 
very  sober,  and  every  one  laid  by  his  beautiful 


5 


snuff-box  and  bought  one  of  the 
plainest  wood.  The  gentlemen 
wore  ridiculously  short  coats 
without  sleeves,  and  the  ladies 
sacrificed  all  the  fancy  trimmings 
from  their  dresses.  Even  shoes 
were  made  of  as  little  leather  as  possible,  on  the 
plea  of  this  ridiculous  economy.  Then  it  was 
that  the  "silhouettes"  as  we  know  them  came  into 
use.  These  same  fun-makers  thought  it  would  be 
a  good  scheme  to  economize  along  the  line  of  art 
and  picture-making,  so  they  gravely  laid  aside  the 
magnificent  portraits  in  their  beautiful  gilt 
frames,  and  in  their  places  they  had  made  what 
they  considered  very  comical  little  outline  pic- 
tures, cut  with  their  scissors  from  cloth  or  paper, 
exactly  as  we  cut  out  the  silhouettes  at  silhouette 
parties.  In  fact,  it  was  considered  quite  "the 
thing"  to  hold  "parties  a  la  Silhouette." 

The  luckless  minister  was  treated  so  abomi- 
nably that  he  was  forced  to  resign  his  office.  After 
he  retired  the  fashion  changed,  and  these  ri- 
diculous fads  and  fancies  passed  away.  But  the 
style  and  name  still  clung  to  this  form  of  picture- 
taking,  which  to-day  is  practically  the  same1  as  it 
was  when  it  was  first  introduced  in  ridicule  of  the 
idea  of  economizing,  by  those  misguided  French 
aristocrats. 

Walter  K.  Putney. 


•V- 


iMIITl  »  HJiH»i  » 

'WHAT   DO   YOU   LIKE    BEST   TO   EAT   IN   ALL   THE   WORLD?'" 


THE    HOUSEKEEPING    ADVENTURES   OF 
THE   JUNIOR    BEAIRS 

BY  CAROLINE  FRENCH  BENTON 

Author  of  "A  Little  Cook  Book  for  a  Little  Girl,"  "  Margaret's  Saturday  Mornings,"  etc. 


JACK'S  SCHOOL-LUNCHEONS 

"Mother,"  said  Jack,  one  evening,  "I  'd  like  to 
take  my  lunch  to  school  for  the  next  few  weeks ; 
all  the  fellows  are  going  to,  so  we  can  have  more 
time  for  class  elections  and  so  on.  Do  you  sup- 
pose Norah  could  put  up  one  for  me  every  morn- 
ing?" 

"Why  not  let  Mildred  put  it  up?  Her  school 
is  so  near  that  she  does  not  have  to  start  till 
long  after  you  do ;  and  then,  Jack,  you  could 
easily  pay  her  for  her  trouble  by  helping  her  with 
her  Latin ;  you  know  she  is  bothered  with  that 
just  now." 

Mildred  was  overjoyed  at  the  suggestion  of 
the  bargain.  "Oh,  Jack !  I  '11  do  you  up  the 
most  beautiful  luncheons  in  the  world  if  you 
will  only  help  me  with  that  horrid  Caesar !  I  'm 
just  as  stupid  as  I  can  be  about  it.  What  do  you 
like  best  to  eat  in  all  the  world?" 

Jack  said  he  was  n't  very  particular  as  long  as 


he  had  plenty  of  pie  and  cake  and  pickles  and 
pudding  and  ice-cream;  Mildred  laughed,  and 
said  she  guessed  she  could  manage  to  think  up 
a  few  other  things  beside. 

So  the  very  next  morning  she  put  up  the  first 
luncheon.  But,  alas,  Norah  had  no  nice  cold 
meat  to  slice  —  only  bits  of  beefsteak  left  from 
dinner;  and  not  a  single  piece  of  cake.  All  she 
could  find  for  lunch  was  some  plain  bread  and 
butter,  which  she  cut  rather  thick,  a  hard-boiled 
egg,  and  an  apple.  "Pretty  poor,"  she  sighed,  as 
she  saw  him  trudge  off  with  the  box  under  his 
arm. 

That  afternoon,  when  she  came  home  from 
school,  she  went  to  Mother  Blair  for  help.  "I 
must  give  him  nice  luncheons,"  she  explained. 
"Now  what  can  I  have  for  to-morrow?  I  can't 
think  of  anything  at  all,  except  bread  and  cake, 
and  stupid  things  like  those." 

"Oh,  there  are  lots  and  lots  of  things,"  said 
her  mother.     "Putting  up  lunches  is  just  fun!     I 


450 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


[Mar., 


only  wish  you  would  do  up  some  for  me,  too  ! 
And  first,  dear,  you  had  better  see  that  there  is 
plenty  of  bread,  because  it  takes  a  good  deal  for 
sandwiches,  and  it  must  not  be  too  fresh  to  slice 
nicely,  nor  too  stale ;  day-okl  bread  is  best.  And 
if  you  can  find  some  brown  bread  as  well  as 
white,  that  will  be  ever  so  nice.  You  will  want 
cake,  too,  and  fruit ;  you  might  ask  Norah  what 
she  has  on  hand." 

In  a  moment,  Mildred  came  back  with  the  news 
that,  as  there  was  to  be  fish  for  dinner,  there 
would  be  no  left-over  meat  at  all  in  the  morning; 
the  bits  of  steak  were  still  there.  "But  imagine 
beefsteak  sandwiches  \"  said  she,  scornfully.  And 
though  there  was  no  cake  now,  Norah  was  going 
to  make  some. 

"I  think  we  had  better  learn  first  how  to  make 
all  kinds  of  sandwiches,  because  that  will  help 
you  more  than  anything  else  in  putting  up 
lunches,"  her  mother  said,  getting  out  her  cook- 
book. "You  will  need  some  paraffin  paper  for 
them,  too,  and  paper  napkins;  suppose  you  look 
on  the  top  shelf  of  the  kitchen  closet  and  see  if 
we  had  any  left  over  from  summer  picnics." 

By  the  time  Mildred  had  found  these,  as  well 
as  a  box  to  pack  the  lunch  in,  these  recipes  were 
all  ready  for  her  to  copy  in  her  own  book : 

SANDWICHES 

Use  bread  that  is  at  least  a  day  old.  Spread 
the  butter  smoothly  on  the  loaf  ;  if  it  is  too 
cold  to  spread  well,  warm  it  a  little ;  slice 
thin,  with  a  sharp  knife ;  spread  one  slice 
with  the  filling,  lay  on  another,  press  to- 
gether, and  trim  off  the  heavy  part  of  the 
crust ;  cut  in  two  pieces,  or,  if  the  slices  are 
very  large,  in  three.  Put  two  or  three  sand- 
wiches of  the  same  kind  together,  and  wrap 
in  paraffin  paper. 

MEAT  SANDWICHES 

Take  any  cold  meat,  cut  off  the  gristle  and 
fat,  and  put  it  through  the  meat  chopper. 
Add  a  pinch  of  salt,  a  pinch  of  dry  mustard, 
a  shake  of  pepper,  and,  last,  a  teaspoonful  of 
melted  butter  ;  press  into  a  cup,  and  put  away 
to  grow  firm. 

"Now  you  see  the  nice  thing  about  this  rule  is, 
that  any  sort  of  cold  meat  will  do  to  use,  and  if 
you  have  bits  of  two  or  more  kinds,  you  can  use 
them  together.  There  are  those  beefsteak  ends; 
all  you  have  to  do  is  to  follow  your  rule,  and  they 
will  make  as  nice  sandwiches  as  anything  else." 

"But,  Mother,  if  you  had  nice  roast-beef  slices, 
you  would  not  chop  those  up,  would  you?" 

"No,  indeed !  I  would  make  sandwiches  of 
plain  bread  and  butter  and  put  the  slices  of  meat 
in  by  themselves.     But  chopped  meat  makes  bet- 


ter sandwiches  than  slices  of  meat  between 
bread." 

"But  what  do  you  make  sandwiches  out  of  if 
you  don't  use  meat?  I  think  plain  bread  and 
butter  is  horrid  for  lunches." 

"Oh,  there  are  plenty  of  other  things  to  use; 
see,  here  are  your  next  rules : 

EGG  SANDWICHES 

i  hard-boiled  egg,  chopped  fine, 
i  teaspoonful  of  oil. 
3  drops  of  vinegar. 
i  pinch  of  salt, 
i   shake  of  pepper. 

Mix  well  and  spread  on  buttered  bread. 
"And  then  sometimes  you  can  have 

CHEESE  SANDWICHES 

Spread  thin  buttered  brown  bread  with 
cream-cheese  ;  sprinkle  with  a  very  little  salt 
and  pepper.  Sometimes  add  chopped  nuts  for 
a  change. 

"Or,  here  are  these : 


LETTUCE  SANDWICHES 

Spread  some  very  thin  white  bread  ;  lay  on 
a  leaf  of  lettuce ;  sprinkle  with  a  very  little 
oil,  vinegar,  salt,  and  pepper,  as  in  the  egg 
sandwiches. 


SARDINE  SANDWICHES     . 

Drain  off  all  the  oil  from  a  little  tin  of  sar- 
dines ;  skin  each  fish,  take  out  the  bones,  and 
mash  smoothly,  adding  a  teaspoonful  of  lemon 
juice  ;   spread  on  white  buttered  bread. 

"And  then,  when  you  have  no  cake  or  cookies 
for  lunch,  you  can  have  two  or  three  sandwiches 
with  meat  and  two  more  like  these: 


SWEET  SANDWICHES 

Spread  buttered  bread  with  a  very  little 
jam  or  jelly;  or  with  chopped  dates  or  figs; 
or  with  scraped  maple-sugar  ;  or  with  chopped 
raisins  and  nuts ;  or  with  a  thick  layer  of 
brown  sugar. 

"Those  are  just  as  good  as  cake,  and  better,  I 
think,"  said  Mother  Blair,  as  Mildred  finished 
copying  them  all  down.  "And  now,  what  comes 
next  in  a  lunch,  after  sandwiches?" 

"Cake,"  said  Mildred,  promptly. 

"Yes,  sometimes,  but  not  always.  What  else 
can  you  think  of  that  would  be  nice?" 


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THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


451 


BROWNIE    AND    MILDRED    MAKING    "CHOCOLATE    CRACKERS. 


Mildred  said  she  thought  gingerbread  might 
be  good,  or  perhaps  doughnuts ;  but  she  could  not 
think  of  anything  else. 

"Oh,  I  can  think  of  ever  so  many  things,"  said 
her  mother.  "But  we  will  put  down  the  ginger- 
bread first ;  and,  by  the  way,  what  do  you  think 
Betty  calls  it  ?    This  : 

'PERFECTLY  LOVELY'  GINGER- 
BREAD 

I  cup  of  molasses,     i  cup  of  sugar, 
i  cup  of  shortening  (butter  and  lard 

mixed).  2  eggs. 

3  cups  of  flour.  i  cup  of  milk, 

i  teaspoonful  each  of  cloves,  cinnamon, 

nutmeg,  ginger,  and  soda. 

Cream  the  butter  and  sugar,  add  the  eggs, 
well  beaten  without  separating,  then  the 
molasses  mixed  with  the  spices  and  soda,  then 
the  flour,  then  the  milk.  Stir  and  beat  well. 
Put  in  a  shallow  tin  and  bake  slowly." 


"Things  don't  sound  as  good  as  they  taste,  do 
they  ?"  said  Mildred,  as  she  read  the  recipe  over. 
"I  just  love  gingerbread,  but  butter  and  lard  and 
soda  don't  sound  appetizing." 

"Well,  then,  try  this,"  laughed  Mother  Blair; 
"every  bit  of  this  sounds  good: 

PEANUT  WAFERS 

i  cup  of  sugar.  ^  cup  of  butter. 
Yz  cup  of  milk.  2  cups  of  flour. 
y2  teaspoonful  of  soda. 

i   cup  of  chopped  peanuts. 

Cream  the  butter  and  sugar ;  put  the  soda 
in  the  milk,  stir  thoroughly,  and  put  in  next ; 
then  the  flour.  Beat  well.  Grease  a  shallow 
pan  and  spread  the  mixture  evenly  over  the 
bottom,  and  scatter  the  nuts  on  top.  Bake 
till  light  brown,  and  cut  in  squares  while 
warm." 

"Oh,  those  do  sound  good  !"  Mildred  exclaimed, 
as  she  wrote  the  last  words  down. 


452 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


[Mar., 


"What  sounds  good?"  asked  Miss  Betty's  voice, 
as  her  pretty  head  popped  in  the  door.  So  they 
told  her  all  about  the  luncheons,  and  she  said  she 
knew  some  good  things,  too,  and  the  first  one  was 

CHOCOLATE  CRACKERS 

2  squares  of  chocolate. 
I  teaspoon ful  of  sugar. 

Butter,  the  size  of  the  tip  of  your  thumb. 

3  drops  of  vanilla. 

Cut  the  chocolate  up  into  bits  and  put  it  in 
a  saucer  over  the  tea-kettle  ;  when  it  melts, 
'  add  the  sugar  and  butter  and  vanilla ;  stir, 
and  drop  in  some  small  crackers,  only  one  at 
a  time,  and  lay  them  on  a  greased  paper  to 
dry. 

"Oh,  Mother,  I  've  just  got  to  stop  writing  and 
make  some  of  those  this  very  minute  !"  Mildred 
exclaimed.  Miss  Betty  said  she  had  lots  of 
things  she  wanted  to  talk  over  with  Mother  Blair 
while  Mildred  was  busy.  Brownie  came  running 
in  just  then,  and  the  two  girls  worked  so  fast 
they  had  a  whole  plateful  of  crackers  done  in  no 
time ;  and  after  everybody  had  had  one  apiece  to 
eat,  Mildred  said :  "Now  I  will  learn  to  make 
some  more  things." 

"Let  me  see,"  said  her  mother,  slowly.  "Sand- 
wiches and  cake — what  else  can  you  think  of  for 
luncheons,  Betty?" 

"Deviled  eggs,"  said  Miss  Betty,  as  quick  as  a 
flash.    "Please  let  me  tell  how  ! 

DEVILED  EGGS 

Boil  three  eggs  for  ten  minutes  ;  peel  them, 
cut  them  in  halves,  and  put  the  yolks  in  a 
bowl ;  add 

54  teaspoonful  of  salt. 

%  teaspoonful  of  dry  mustard. 

i  pinch  of  pepper. 

i  teaspoonful  of  oil. 

l/2  teaspoonful  of  vinegar. 

Mix  well,  fill  the  whites,  press  smooth  with 
a  knife,  and  put  two  halves  together." 

"But  three  eggs  are  too  many  for  Jack,"  com- 
plained Brownie.  "He  won't  need  three ;  can't 
I  have  one  for  my  lunch  here?" 

Miss  Betty  laughed,  and  said  it  would  be  easy 
for  Mildred  to  make  enough  for  everybody  in- 
stead of  making  three,  as  the  rule  said. 

"If  I  just  made  one,  I  suppose  I  'd  take  pinches 
instead  of  teaspoonfuls,"  said  Mildred,  thought- 
fully. "I  mean,  I  'd  take  just  a  little  of  every- 
thing, enough  to  make  the  egg  taste  good?" 

"Exactly !"  said  Miss  Betty ;  "that  is  just  the 
way  a  real  grown-up  cook  does.     And,  Mildred, 


when  I  had  to  take  my  lunch  to  school,  I  used 
to  have  the  best  thing — salad.  I  had  it  when 
there  were  no  real  sandwiches,  only  bread  and 
butter;  it  was  put  in  a  little  round  china  jar  with 
a  tin  top  that  screwed  on,  so  it  never  spilled.  But 
perhaps  Jack  does  n't  like  salad." 


'I    VE   GOT   TO   MAKE   SOME   THIS  VERY   MINUTE 


"He  just  loves  it,"  said  Brownie;  "he  loves 
every  single  thing  to  eat  that  there  is  !" 

"Then  he  will  surely  'just  love'  these  things  ! 
Write  them  down,  Mildred." 

LUNCHEON  CHICKEN  SALAD 
WITH  FRENCH  DRESSING 

2  teaspoonfuls  of  oil. 
*4  teaspoonful  of  vinegar. 

1  pinch  of  salt. 

2  shakes  of  pepper  (paprika  is  best). 

First  mix  the  salt  and  pepper  with  the  oil, 
then  slowly  stir  in  the  vinegar.  Now  pick 
cold  chicken  into  bits ;  add  an  equal  amount 
of  chopped,  hard-boiled  egg  or  celery,  or 
both ;  mix  with  the  dressing.  Or  use  the 
hard-boiled  egg,  or  the  celery,  without  the 
chicken. 

LUNCHEON  FRUIT  SALAD 

Cut  a  seedless  orange  in  halves ;  take  out 
the  pulp  with  a  spoon  ;  use  alone,  or  mix  with 
bits  of  banana  or  other  fruit ;  or  use  chopped 
celery  and  apple  together.     Add  the  dressing. 

"There !"  said  Miss  Betty,  triumphantly,  as 
Mildred   read   the   recipes   aloud   when   she   had 


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THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


453 


copied  them.  "If  Jack  does  n't  like  those,  he 
is  n't  the  boy  I  take  him  for.  And  you  see,  Mil- 
dred, when  you  have  no  salad  for  him,  you  can 
sometimes  put  in  a  nice  stalk  of  celery ;  and  when 
you  have  had  the  same  fruit  over  and  over,  you 
can  just  give  him  a  fruit  salad.  I  do  believe  I  '11 
start  on  a  long  journey  and  take  a  whole  week's 
supply  of  lunches  along.  All  these  recipes  make 
me  feel  just  like  it !" 

"Oh,  do  let  me  go  too,"  begged  Mildred. 

"So  you  shall,"  laughed  Miss  Betty.  "But  be- 
fore we  start,  I  must  tell  you  one  thing  more:  if 
you  want  an  ab-so-lute-ly  perfect  lunch,  you  must 
always  have  a  surprise  for  the  very  last  thing  of 
all." 

"How  do  you  make  one?"  asked  Brownie,  curi- 
ously. 

"Oh,  you  don't  make  them  at  all,  or  at  least  not 
usually ;  a  surprise  is  something  which  has  to  be 
eaten  last  of  all,  after  all  the  sandwiches  and 
other  things  are  gone,  for  a  sort  of  dessert ; 
sometimes  I  had  a  piece  of  maple-sugar,  or  a  bit 
of  sweet  chocolate,  or  a  couple  of  marshmallows; 
sometimes  it  was  a  fig  or  two,  or  a  few  dates. 
But  it  was  always  hidden  down  in  the  very  bot- 
tom of  the  box,  and  everything  had  to  be  finished 
up  before  I  opened  the  little  paper  it  was  in. 
Honestly,  I  don't  think  boys  need  surprises  at  all, 
because  they  will  eat  everything  up  anyway,  but 
often  girls  will  skip  a  sandwich  or  two,  unless 
they  know  about  the  surprise." 

"When  I  take  my  lunch,  I  shall  have  one  every 
time,"  said  Brownie. 

"So  shall  I,"  laughed  Mother  Blair. 

"I  shall  certainly  give  Jack  one  every  day,  be- 
cause of  Caesar,"  said  Mildred. 

The  next  morning  bright  and  early,  Mildred 
hurried  to  get  Jack's  luncheon  all  ready  before 
breakfast,  and  her  mother  said  she  would  help 
her,  just  for  once.  First  they  made  three  beau- 
tiful   thin    sandwiches   out   of   bread   and   butter 


spread  with  the  nice  beefsteak  filling,  and 
wrapped  these  up  by  themselves  and  put  them 
in  one  corner  of  the  box ;  then  in  the  opposite 
corner  went  the  surprise,  this  time  four  little 
chocolate  crackers,  all  wrapped  up  carefully;  on 
top  of  them,  to  hide  them,  went  three  more  sand- 
wiches, made  of  brown  bread  and  butter  and 
cheese ;  then  the  deviled  egg  filled  the  corner  on 
top  of  the  other  pile,  and  one  of  Norah's  cakes 
was  put  opposite. 

"Now  for  the  fruit,"  said  Mother  Blair.  "What 
is  there  ?" 

Mildred  said  there  was  an  orange,  but  it  would 
not  go  in  the  box. 

"Oh,  you  don't  give  anybody  an  orange  whole 
for  luncheon  !  Peel  it  first,  then  break  it  care- 
fully in  halves,  wrap  each  half  up  in  paper  by 
itself,  and  you  will  see  how  nicely  it  fits  in  and 
how  easy  it  will  be  to  eat  when  you  have  no  fruit- 
knife  or  orange-spoon  to  use  with  it.  Now  that 
is  all,  and  it  's  what  I  call  a  perfectly  delicious 
luncheon,  don't  you  ?" 

"Perfectly  I"  said  Mildred,  rapturously,  as  she 
tied  up  the  box.  "I  guess  the  other  boys  will 
wish  they  had  lunches  just  exactly  like  it;  and  I 
think  it  's  very  interesting  to  do  them  up,  too." 

That  afternoon,  when  Jack  came  home  from 
school,  he  shouted  up  the  stairs : 

"Say,  Mildred,  what  will  you  take  to  do  up 
lunches  for  the  crowd?  They  told  me  to  ask 
you.  They  said  they  had  never  seen  anything 
so  good.  Where  is  that  Caesar?  I  '11  do  about 
ten  pages  for  you  if  you  want  me  to." 

When  the  lesson  was  over,  Mildred  hugged 
Jack  gratefully.  "I  can  do  it  alone  in  no  time 
now,  because  you  're  such  a  good  teacher,"  she 
said,  as  Jack  squirmed  away.  "And,  when  sum- 
mer comes,  just  think  of  all  the  picnic  lunches  I 
can  do  up  for  everybody !" 

"We  won't  wait  till  summer  for  a  picnic,"  said 
Mother  Blair.     "I  've  got  such  a  bright  idea  !" 


BOOKS   AND    READING 

BY  HILDEGARDE  HAWTHORNE 


ONE  GEORGE  AFTER  ANOTHER 

London,  during  the  reigns  of  the  first  and  sec- 
ond and  even  the  third  Georges,  was  more  like 
a  huge  family  than  a  city.  Everybody  knew 
everybody  else,  every  one  went  to  the  same  par- 
ties, and  the  stories  told  over  night  at  club  or 
rout  were  all  over  town  next  morning. 

Letters  and  diaries  of  the  day  are  the  delight- 
fulest  reading,  because  they  are  filled  with  so 
much  amusing  and  personal  gossip,  tell  such 
romantic  love-stories,  chat  about  plays  and  din- 
ner-parties, praise  the  same  beauties,  repeat  the 
jokes  and  bons  mots  of  the  same  brilliant  speak- 
ers and  wits :  all  in  the  coziest  way  imaginable, 
just  as  though  we  were  all  seated  at  the  same 
tea-table,  watching  Dr.  Johnson  drinking  his 
fourteenth  cup  with  immense  satisfaction,  and 
listening  while  Fanny  Burney  told  tales  of  the 
court,  or  Walpole  found  fault  with  things  in 
general,  or  some  one,  just  returned  from  Bath, 
had  a  toast  to  propose  to  the  "lovely  Gunnings." 

'It  was  all  great  fun.  To  be  sure,  those  who 
were  n't  on  top,  where  all  these  jolly  doings 
were  in  full  swing,  did  not  find  life  so  easy  as 
one  could  wish ;  and  some  rebelled,  as  you  will 
have  seen  in  the  stories  about  highwaymen  and 
such  wild  disturbers  of  the  peace,  recommended 
last  month.  But  there  was,  after  all,-  far  more 
freedom  in  England  than  there  had  been  for 
centuries.  And  then  there  was  America,  to  which 
the  disaffected  could  go — and  where  many  of 
them  went ! 

A  book  that  tells  a  good  deal  about  the  end  of 
George  II's  times,  away  from  social  London,  is 
J.  Bloundell  Burton's  "Fortune  's  My  Foe"  (Ap- 
pleton,  50  cents).  It  is  a  bustling  tale  of  love, 
adventure,  and  revenge,  much  of  it  taking  place 
on  shipboard,  and  Hawke's  famous  victory  at 
Quiberon  is  spiritedly  related.  A  book  set  in 
about  the  same  years,  but  a  tale  of  the  north 
shore,  is  G.  Manville  Fenn's  "The  Devon  Boys." 

But  it  is  time  to  turn  to  George  III,  that  long- 
lived  monarch  under  whom  England  underwent 
so  many  changes.  Thackeray,  in  his  book  on 
"The  Four  Georges,"  sums  up  this  lengthy  reign 
in  these  words,  too  good  not  to  quote : 

England  has  to  undergo  the  revolt  of  the  American 
colonies  ;  to  submit  to  defeat  and  separation  ;  to  shake 
under  the  volcano  of  the  French  Revolution  ;  to  grapple 
and   fight   for  the   life   with   her  gigantic   enemy   Napo- 


leon ;  to  gasp  and  rally  after  that  tremendous  struggle. 
The  old  society,  with  its  courtly  splendors,  has  to  pass 
away.  Generations  of  statesmen  to  rise  and  disappear ; 
Pitt  to  follow  Chatham  to  the  tomb ;  the  memory  of 
Rodney  and  Wolfe  to  be  superseded  by  Nelson's  and 
Wellington's  glory ;  the  old  poets  who  unite  us  with 
Queen  Anne's  time  to  sink  into  their  graves  ;  Johnson 
to  die,  and  Scott  and  Byron  to  arise.  Garrick  to  delight 
the  world  with  his  dazzling  dramatic  genius,  and  Kean 
to  leap  on  the  stage  and  take  possession  of  the  aston- 
ished theater.  Steam  has  to  be  invented  ;  kings  to  be 
beheaded,  banished,  deposed,  restored.  Napoleon  is  to 
be  but  an  episode,  and  George  III  is  to  be  alive  through 
all  these  varied  changes,  to  accompany  his  people 
through  all  these  revolutions  of  thought,  government, 
society  ;  to  survive  out  of  the  old  world  into  ours. 

Why,  it  's  breathless,  is  n't  it?  One  man  to 
have  seen  so  much.  Though  George  perhaps, 
who  was  a  trifle  dull,  did  not  see  all  he  might. 

This  king,  while  still  a  prince,  had  a  love-af- 
fair with  a  Quaker  maiden,  and  Walter  Besant 
has  written  a  very  charming  story  of  this  time, 
called  "A  Fountain  Sealed."  He  has  also  a  later 
book,  "The  Orange  Girl,"  which  is  a  London 
story,  full  of  the  life  of  the  streets,  and  coffee- 
houses, and  mansions,  and  theaters,  even  of  New- 
gate, the  great  prison.  It  is  a  romantic  story, 
with  a  heroine  who  resembles  Nell  Gwyn,  the 
famous  actress. 

One  of  Stanley  Weyman's  tales  is  set  in  the 
early  days  of  George  III,  toward  the  end  of 
Chatham's  life.  It  is  called  "The  Castle  Inn," 
and  it  is  full  of  the  incidents  of  travel  in  those 
days,  with  its  perils  and  adventures.  You  will 
find  it  entertaining  reading,  and  you  will  proba- 
bly be  glad  we  manage  our  journeyings  differ- 
ently nowadays. 

G.  J.  Whyte-Melville  has  written  a  most  ani- 
mated romance,  placed  in  Exmoor,  that  you  should 
not  miss  right  here.  It  is  named  "Katerfelto," 
and  is  full  of  Gipsies,  sport,  and  stirring  inci- 
dent, with  a  simple  and  pleasing  love-story  run- 
ning through  it. 

And  don't  overlook  Goldsmith's  enchanting 
"Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  full  of  pictures  of  the 
country  life  of  that  day,  and  exquisite  in  its  char- 
acters and  its  humor  and  tenderness.  Goldsmith 
wrote  of  the  life  around  him,  so  that  his  story  is 
more  faithful  than  others  which  have  been  writ- 
ten since. 

Goldsmith  himself  appears  in  F.  Frankfort 
Moore's  excellent  book,  "The  Jessamy  Bride." 
This  story  is  founded  on  an  actual  occurrence, 


454 


BOOKS  AND  READING 


455 


TRAVELING    IN    THE    TIME    OF   THE    GEORGES 


and  besides  Goldsmith,  Dr.  Johnson,  Garrick, 
and  other  famous  personages  of  the  day  come 
into  the  novel.  Another  charming  book  by  the 
same  author  is  "A  Nest  of  Linnets"  (Appleton, 
$1.50),  which  relates  an  adventure  of  the  play- 
wright Sheridan  and  the  Linleys  of  Bath,  besides 
giving  very  picturesque  glimpses  of  the  life 
there. 

If  you  can  find  a  juvenile  called  "Captain  Nat's 
Treasure,"  by  Robert  Leighton,  you  will  find  it 
worth  your  while  to  read  it.  It  is  set  chiefly  in 
Liverpool  in  the  year  1776,  when  matters  were 
growing  decidedly  strained  over  in  the  colonies. 

Thackeray's  last  book,  "Denis  Duval,"  which 
was  never  finished,  since  he  died  while  at  work 


upon  it,  is  a  magnificent  fragment,  and  has  an 
account  of  the  famous  fight  in  which  John  Paul 
Jones  of  the  Bonhomme  Richard  captured  the 
Serapis.  This  story  was  coming  out  in  the 
"Cornhill  Magazine"  as  a  serial,  and  ends  with 
this  sentence : 

Then  came  a  broadside  from  us  —  the  first  I  had  ever 
heard  in  battle. 

Those  were  the  last  words  written  by  the  great 
author,  and  England,  and  America,  too,  mourned 
the  untimely  ending  of  a  novel  that  promised  to 
be  one  of  Thackeray's  finest,  as  well  as  the  be- 
loved author's  death,  when  he  was  still  hardly 
more  than  middle-aged— but  fifty-two.     So  sud- 


456 


BOOKS  AND  READING 


den  a  death !  For  only  a  day  or  two  before,  he 
had  been  among  his  friends,  the  kind,  gentle, 
wise  man-of-the-world  and  man  of  genius. 

Another  of  his  books  belongs  here,  "The  Vir- 
ginians," with  its  sympathetic  portrait  of  Wash- 
ington and  its  pictures  of  the  War  of  the  Revo- 
lution. You  are  in  fine  manly  company  when 
you  read  Thackeray,  for,  as  there  was  nothing 
small  nor  mean  in  the  man,  so  in  his  books  you 
breathe  a  clean,  bright  air,  and  feel  the  glow  of 
a  love  of  honor  and  simple  devotion  to  a  high 
standard  warming  the  pages,  even  where  wrong- 
doers are  pictured  or  wicked  acts  recorded.  For 
in  any  book  that  tells  truly  about  life,  such  things 
must  enter. 

One  of  the  picturesque  occurrences  in  George 
Ill's  time  was  the  holding  of  Gibraltar  for  the 
English,  and  in  Molly  Elliot  Seawell's  splendid 
tale,  "The  Rock  of  the  Lion,"  the  story  of  the 
amazing  siege  is  told  in  a  way  that  makes  it  very 
vivid  and  real  (Harper's,  $1.50).  Miss  Seawell 
is  a  great  favorite  with  young  people,  and  very 
likely  this  thrilling  book  of  hers  is  known  to  you 
already.  Henty,  too,  has  written  of  this  episode 
in  his  "Held  Fast  for  England"  (Scribner's, 
$1.50). 

Anne  Thackeray  wrote  a  delicate,  thoughtful, 
pretty  story  with  Angelica  Kauffmann  and  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds  as  its  chief  characters,  called 
"Miss  Angel."  It  is  a  juvenile,  and  one  you  are 
all  sure  to  like.  Most  libraries  have  it  on  their 
shelves.  It  tells  a  great  deal  of  the  art  side  of 
London  life.  Thackeray  himself  said  of  Sir 
Joshua:  "I  declare  I  think,  of  all  the  polite  men 
of  that  age,  Joshua  Reynolds  was  the  finest  gen- 
tleman," and  after  reading  this  little  story,  you 
will  be  tempted  to  add  "of  any  age." 

An  enormous  amount  of  smuggling  went  on  in 
England  under  the  Georges,  and  a  book  that 
takes  you  right  in  among  the  smugglers  is  R.  D. 
Blackmore's  "Mary  Anerley."  It  relates  the  his- 
tory of  an  old  Yorkshire  family  between  the 
years  1777  and  1805,  and  is  full  of  the  real  flavor 
of  the  place  and  time. 

One  of  the  famous  feats  of  the  end  of  the 
eighteenth  century  was  that  of  the  English  cap- 
tain who  deliberately  stranded  his  frigate  on  a 
lee  shore  in  order  to  wreck  the  pursuing  French 
line-of-battle  ship.  This  incident,  with  much 
else  that  is  exciting  and  adventurous,  will  make 
you  hang  over  Captain  Marryatt's  "The  King's 
Own"  until  you  have  reached  the  last  page. 
You  can  get  this  book  in  Everyman's  Library. 

One  of  George  Eliot's  most  beautiful  stories 
is  laid  during  this  period  of  England's  career— 
"Silas  Marner,"  a  village  tale,  very  moving,  very 
characteristic,  unforgetably  living,  so  that,  once 


read,  you  seem  yourself  to  be  a  part  of  it.  This 
book  can  also  be  found  in  the  Everyman  Library. 

Cyrus  Townsend  Brady  has  a  bright  and  windy 
story  on  Napoleon  and  Nelson  and  the  great  bat- 
tle of  the  Nile,  "The  Two  Captains,"  and  an- 
other book  on  the  same  subject,  written  for 
young  readers,  is  Edgar  Pickering's  "In  Press- 
Gang  Days"  (Scribner's,  $1.25).  Henty  is  not 
without  his  word  on  the  matter,  and  "At  Aboukir 
and  Acre"  will  tell  you  a  lot  of  history  in  a 
good  rollicking  story  (Scribner's,  $1.25). 

One  of  Conan  Doyle's  entertaining  books 
comes  in  here  — "Rodney  Stone."  The  subject  is 
full  of  drama,  and  nothing  is  lost  in  the  telling, 
as  you  will  imagine. 

Blackmore's  great  story  "Springhaven" 
(Everyman's  Library,  35  cents)  belongs  here. 
It  is  crowded  with  both  homely  and  simple,  and 
wild  and  historical,  adventures.  Nelson  is  splen- 
didly drawn  for  us,  Admiral  Darling,  Napoleon, 
and  many  more  world-renowned  men,  and  some 
equally  famous  women,  are  introduced.  And 
with  these,  quiet  village  people,  wise  and  good 
to  know,  and  sea-faring  folk  and  others. 

George  III  was  a  rather  poor  figure  of  a  man 
on  the  whole,  yet  he  was  well-meaning  and  affec- 
tionate. He  was  devoted  to  Queen  Charlotte, 
his  wife,  with  whom  he  fell  in  love  through 
reading  a  letter  which  she  had  written  about  the 
horrors  of  war.  It  does  n't  seem  much  of  a  let- 
ter to  us,  perhaps,  but  it  struck  the  young  mon- 
arch with  so  much  force  that  he  wrote  and  asked 
the  little  princess  to  marry  him.  The  story  runs 
that  the  princess  and  some  of  her  ladies  were  en- 
joying themselves  in  a  girlish  way  in  the  gardens 
of  Strelitz,  the  princess's  home,  and  that  they 
were  talking  of  sweethearts.  And  Princess 
Charlotte  sighed,  saying  that  no  one  would  want 
to  take  such  a  poor  little  princess  as  she.  At 
that  moment  a  courier  arrived,  and  Ida  von 
Biilow,  the  best  friend  of  young  Charlotte, 
laughed  and  said,  "What  if  that  were  news  of  a 
sweetheart !"  And  so  it  proved,  for  it  was  the 
letter  of  the  young  English  king.  And  Charlotte 
came  forthwith  to  England,  her  heart  full  of  joy. 
It  is  good  to  be  able  to  say  that,  at  least  until  he 
fell  ill,  the  two  lived  happily  ever  after,  like  peo- 
ple in  a  fairy  story,  even  if  it  were  a  somewhat 
dull,  plump  sort  of  a  fairy  story. 

The  last  years  of  the  king's  life  were  sad 
enough,  for  he  lost  his  sight  and  his  reason,  and 
his  beloved  little  daughter  died  in  his'  arms, 
while  his  sons  became  estranged  from  him.  His 
queen,  loving  and  faithful  to  the  end,  took  care 
of  him  after  he  became  helpless  and  his  son  be- 
came regent.  These  last  years  and  the  new 
reign  we  will  take  up  in  the  next  article. 


THE    BABY    BEARS'    FIFTH   ADVENTURE 


BY  GRACE  G.  DRAYTON 


"  What  is  that  noise?"  says  Susie  Bear; 
"  It  sounds  like  some  one  knocking  there." 


The  candle  dropped  down  with  a  smash; 
The  door  flew  open  with  a  crash. 


458 


FOR   VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


[Mar., 


Oh,  goodness !  who  was  standing  there  ? 
The  scaring,  tearing,  mad  March  Hare. 


He  grabbed  them  by  their  paws,  then  skipped, 
And  wildly  o  'er  the  moor  he  tripped. 


ism.]  FOR  VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


459 


"  I  wish  he  'd  left  us  home,"  they  cry, 
When  they  were  way  up  in  the  sky. 


They  rubbed  their  rings — and  bumped  down  hard 
But  safe — in  Mama  Bear's  back  yard! 


Edited    By   Edward  E   Bicjelo 


SEEKING  A  TREASURE  SHIP'S  GOLD 
WITH  MAGNETS 

Somebody  has  calculated  that  the  value  of  the 
entire  ocean-carried  commerce  of  the  world  at 
any  one  time  is  swept  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea 
every  twenty-five  years.  Let  us  not  try  to  esti- 
mate how  vast  is  the  wealth  which  lies  upon  the 
ocean's  floor,   but   let   us  be   glad  that   ingenious 


AN    ELECTRO-MAGNET    LIFTING   SCRAP-IKON    FROM    THI 
BOTTOM    OF   THE    RIVER    THAMES. 


man  is  finding  new  ways,  year  by  year,  to  with- 
draw some  of  these  riches  from  Davy  Jones's 
locker.  One  of  the  latest  of  these  has  taken  the 
form  of  a  magnet.  Here  is  where  electricity 
promises  to  do  a  new  and  valuable  service. 

You  know  what  a  horseshoe  magnet  is,  and  you 
also  know  that  it  always  attracts  to  it  a  bit  of 
iron  or  steel.  Because  it  remains  constant  in  its 
power  to  draw  either  of  these  metals  to  it,  we 
call  it  a  permanent  magnet.  Now  the  electrician 
has  shown  us  how  we  can  make  a  magnet  of 
immeasurably  greater  strength  by  surrounding  a 
bar  of  soft  iron  with  a  winding  of  copper  wire 
through   which   a   current   can   be   sent   at   will. 


When  the  electricity  flows  through  this  insulated 
wire,  the  iron  bar  becomes  intensely  magnetic; 
when  the  current  is  shut  off,  the  bar  loses  its 
power  to  attract.  In  short,  this  is  what  is  known 
as  an  electro-magnet. 

Electro-magnets  are  now  doing  daily  service  in 
gripping  bodies  or  masses  of  iron  and  steel  so 
that  these  may  be  raised  from  one  place  and 
shifted  to  another  without  further  attachments. 
They  simply  fall  away  from  the  magnets  when 
the  current  ceases  to  flow.  In  this  way,  the  prac- 
tical man  of  business  does  away  with  the  services 
of  many  laborers,  and  these  magnets  do  faster 
and  better  the  work  of  scores  of  hands.  In  steel 
plants  where  food  for  the  furnaces  consists 
largely  of  iron  and  steel  in  the  form  of  scrap 
material  of  endless  shapes,  the  electric  magnet 
has  proved  to  be  of  great  value,  and  has  probably 
saved  the  lives  of  many  men  who  might  have 
been  cut  by  these  jagged  pieces  of  metal  coated 
with  poisonous  rust.  These  uses  have  been  lim- 
ited in  the  past  to  work  on  land,  but  now  comes 
still  another  way  of  putting  these  magnets  to 
profitable  work. 

Some  months  ago,  a  great  deal  of  scrap-iron 
fell  into  the  Regents  Canal  Basin  in  London,  and 
the  owners  of  that  metal  were  very  much  puzzled 
as  to  how  they  could  get  the  stuff  from  the  bot- 
tom of  the  River  Thames.  There  were  no 
dredges  available  that  could  reclaim  the  iron, 
and  part  of  the  difficulty  lay  in  exactly  locating 
the  scrap  under  water.  In  Birmingham,  there  is  a 
firm  that  makes  lifting  magnets,  and  they  were 
asked  to  see  what  they  could  do.  Of  course,  a 
magnet  to  work  at  the  bottom  of  a  river  had  to 
be  water-tight,  and  great  care  was  necessary  to 
prevent  the  electricity  leaking  away  from  the 
connecting  wires.  The  manufacturers,  however, 
were  not  discouraged,  and,  after  making  some 
tests,  fashioned  a  submarine  lifting  magnet  that 
was  about  three  feet  across,  and  looked  not 
unlike  a  very  large,  fluted  biscuit.  When  that 
magnet  was  excited  by  an  electric  current,  it  had 
a  lifting  power  of  quite  three  thousand  pounds. 
Lowered  into  the  water,  it  was  able  to  send  out 
from  it  magnetic  rays  which  found  the  pieces 
of  scrap-iron  and  drew  them  to  it,  so  that,   in 


460 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


461 


about  five  working  days,  it  was  possible  to  re- 
cover sixty  tons  of  the  odds  and  ends  of  iron 
lying  at  the  bottom  of  the  river.  Two  of  the 
accompanying  illustrations  are  photographs  of 
the  electro-magnet  at  work,  and  you  can  see  how 
the  iron  scraps  clung  to  the  surface  of  the  mag- 
net, lying  along  the  lines  of  the  electric  current. 
Perhaps  you  think  that  this  does  n't  seem  to 
be  getting  anything  really  worth  while  from 
Davy  Jones's  locker ;  but  even  scrap-iron  can  be 
sold  for  a  goodly  number  of  dollars  a  ton.  How- 
ever, it  is  now  proposed  to  reclaim  gold  and  silver 
from  the  ocean  bed  by  using  an  apparatus  of  this 
sort.  One  hundred  and  fourteen  years  ago,  an 
English  frigate,  the  Lutine,  left  England  for 
Hamburg,  carrying,  so  it  is  said,  quite  $6,000,000 
worth  of  coin  and  bars  of  gold  and  silver.  She 
went  ashore  the  night  of  that  stormy  day,  and 


wreck,  which  lay  buried  beneath  forty  feet  of 
sand  and  twelve  feet  of  water  at  low  tide.  They 
did  not  find  any  bars  of  gold  or  silver,  but  they 


.,  \VO 


Wx- 


ELECTRO-MAGNET    LOADED    WITH    SWEEPINGS 
FROM    A    MACHINE-SHOP. 


was  wrecked  near  one  of  the  entrances  to  the 
Zuyder  Zee,  Holland. 

Last  year,  an  English  expedition  uncovered  the 


THE    SALVAGE    STEAMER    "LYONS"    WORKING    OVER    THE 

WRECK    OF   THE    "LUTINE." 

The  metal  box  for  raising  "  finds  "  has  just  risen  from  the  water. 

did  bring  up  through  the  suction  dredge  a  good- 
sized  piece  of  iron-rust  in  which  were  found 
some  tiny  specks  of  gold.  These  bits  of  precious 
metal  were  on  the  surface  of  an  impression  made 
in  the  iron-rust.  In  other  words,  the  iron-rust 
had  formed  about  an  object  with  straight  sides 
and  sharp  corners.  Later,  one  of  the  agents  of 
the  famous  Lloyd's  Association  of  London  — an 
insurance  body  having  to  do  principally  with 
ships  — discovered  that  the  imprint  in  the  rust 
agreed,  as  far  as  it  went,  with  the  shape  and  the 
size  of  a  bar  of  gold  in  the  museum  at  Amster- 
dam which  had  certainly  been  recovered  from  the 
wreck  of  the  Lutine,  many  years  before.  The 
piece  of  rust  came  from  the  edge  of  a  big  pile  of 
cannon-balls  lying  beside  the  wreck  which  had 
become  bound  together  by  the  rusting  action  of 
the    waters    of    the    North    Sea.      The    treasure 


462 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Mar., 


hunters  thought  they  were  within  easy  reach  of 
the  much-desired  gold,  but  the  covering  of 
rusted  shot  resisted  all  of  their  efforts,  much 
to  their  disappointment. 

It  may  be,  and  then  again  it  may  not  be,  that 
some  of  the  treasure  lies  beneath  that  solid  mass; 
but  if  you  were  one  of  those  wreckers,  you  would 
probably  be  just  as  keen  to  try  to  break  into  that 
rude  safe  which  has  thus  been  molded  about  the 
supposed  riches. 

They  were  still  at  work  when  operations  were 
brought  to  a  sudden  halt  by  the  early  arrival  of 
the  fall  gales,  but  the  workers  determined  to 
renew  their  efforts  with  better  tools.  They  will 
break  up  the  mound  of  iron  by  using  dynamite, 
just  so  that  the  body  of  united  shot  can  be  jarred 
into  good-sized  pieces  without  throwing  them 
broadcast  into  the  near-by  sands.  Perhaps  the 
precious  bars  may  be  mixed  up  with  the  cannon- 
balls  and  the  rust.  Anyway,  the  wreckers  will 
have  to  work  quickly  when  the  weather  permits, 
and  magnets  are  the  latest  and  best  instruments 


they  can  use  to  lift  the  shattered  covering  to  the 
deck  of  the  salvage  steamer  Lyons,  and  disclose 
whether  or  not  the  bullion  lies  upon  the  hard 
clay  beneath.  Of  course,  you  know  that  gold 
and  silver  are  not  attracted  by  a  magnet.  The 
object  in  this  case  is  to  deal  with  the  broken 
lumps  of  iron  and  rust,  which  must  first  be  re- 
moved. 

The  Englishmen  interested  in  this  enterprise 
have  stuck  at  their  task  with  dogged  persistence 
and  perseverance,  and  all  of  us  are  in  sympathy 
with  their  show  of  pluck,  and  wish  them  good 
luck.  The  Lutine  has  attracted  many  kindred 
undertakings  in  the  past,  but  none  of  them  have 
been  as  well  equipped  as  the  present  organiza- 
tion. Most  of  these  earlier  efforts  have  resulted 
in  losses,  but  during  the  summer  of  1858,  bars  of 
gold  and  silver  were  pulled  out  through  the 
broken  side  of  the  ship  to  a  total  value  of  more 
than  $150,000.  So  you  see  that  there  has  been 
plenty  of  excuse  for  the  treasure  hunter. 

M.  Wreschner. 


THE  COMMANDING  OFFICER  OF  THE  "LYONS,      AND   THE   OLD    DUTCH    DIVER   WHO,  IN    IS 
RECOVERED   GOLD    BARS   WORTH    $125,000. 


IN    ONE    DAY 


I9I4-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


463 


CHIMNEY  STRUCK  BY  LIGHTNING 

The  huge  brick  chimney-stack,  measuring  one 
hundred  and  thirty-five  feet  in  height,  used  by  the 
heating  plant  of  two  factories  at  Cleveland,  Ohio, 

was  struck  by  light- 
ning one  night  last 
summer,  during  a 
very  heavy  thunder- 
storm that  was  pass- 
ing over  the  city. 
The  bolt  struck  the 
chimney  just  below 
the  top,  and  cut  an 
irregular  gash  down 
the  side  sixty  feet 
long,  and  varying  in 
width  from  a  few 
inches  to  three  feet. 
In  the  photograph  of 
this  structure,  which 
we  reproduce,  a  loose 
piece  of  brickwork 
is  seen  hanging  in 
the  fissure  just  above 
the  small  opening. 

The  largest  portion 
of  the  wreckage  fell 
through  the  roof  and 
sky-light  of  the  fac- 
tory, but  some  pieces 
were  thrown  by  the 
shock  over  seventy 
feet,  and  then  fell  in 
front  of  the  building. 
It  was  fortunate  that 
the  accident  occurred 
at  night  when  the 
building  was  practi- 
cally unoccupied.  No 
one  was  injured,  but 
the  damage  to  prop- 
erty was  estimated  at 
about  five  thousand 
dollars.  The  injury 
was  so  serious  that  it  was  necessary  to  tear  down 
the  upper  part  of  the  stack,  a  scaffold  being 
erected  for  the  purpose.  The  chimney  was  not 
protected  by  a  lightning-rod. 

A.  B.  Williams. 

A  PORTRAIT  TAKEN  THROUGH  THE 
EYE  OF  A  BEE 

Most  young  people  are  aware  that  insects  have 
compound  eyes — that  is,  each  complete  eye  is 
formed  of  numerous  facets  (in  some  cases  over 
twenty  thousand),  each  of  which  is  a  single  eye, 


all  being  placed  close  together  to  form  the  one 
great  compound  organ.  Each  facet,  or  single 
eye,  is  usually  six-sided,  giving  the  whole  com- 
pound eye,  when  viewed  through  the  microscope, 
the  appearance  of  network,  like  honeycomb,  the 
meshes  of  which  are  six-sided.  Each  of  these 
single  eyes  receives  the  image  of  the  object  in 
view,  but  it  is  probable  that  these  various  images 
are  united  into  one,  as  is  the  case  with  things 
seen  by  our  two  eyes.  If  we  look  at  a  tree  with 
both  our  eyes,  we  do  not  see  two  trees,  though 
the  image  of  that  tree  goes  to  our  brain  through 
two  different  eyes,  because  these  two  images  are 
combined  into  one  before  reaching  the  brain. 
It  seems  probable  that  in  the  insect,  also,  all  the 
images  are  united  in  the  same  way,  though  there 
must  be,  according  to  the  number  of  facets  in  the 
eye,  several  thousand  such  images. 

Mr.  Watson,  a  skilled  photographer  in  Eng- 
land, has  succeeded  in  taking  a  photograph 
through  the  facets  of  part  of  a  honey-bee's  eye. 
His  friend  Mr.  James  Bancroft,  an  amateur 
beekeeper  and  lecturer  on  "Beekeeping  as  a 
Hobby,"  made  the  remark  that  he  would  like  to 


A  PHOTOGRAPH  REPEATED  IN  EACH  FACET 
OF  A  BEE'S  EYE. 


see  himself  as  a  honey-bee  sees  him.  This  re- 
mark suggested  to  Mr.  Watson  that  he  try  to 
take  a  photograph  of  Mr.  Bancroft's  portrait 
through  the  facets  of  the  bee's  eye.  Accordingly 
he  arranged  the  picture  so  that  the  light  from  it 
would  pass  through  the  many  facets  of  the  bee's 
eye,  and  then  through  a  magnifying-lens  to  the 
camera  plate.  The  result,  known  as  a  photo- 
micrograph, is  shown  herewith. 


464 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Mar., 


A  WINTER   BOARDER 

On  the  gulf  coast  of  Texas,  where  the  weather 
is  mild,  there  are  two  months  every  winter  when 
northern  winds,  sleet,  and  ice  make  the  season 
seem  almost  arctic.  Most  of  the  birds  have  gone 
to  Mexico  and  to  Central  America,  but  a  few 
remain  through  the  bitterest  weather.  Among 
the  latter,  the  mocking-birds  are  perhaps  the 
most  conspicuous,  although  these  hardy  little  fel- 
lows are  never  very  plentiful. 

One  day  when  the  world  seemed  to  be  covered 
with  ice,  several  sparrows  flew  into  a  chinaberry- 
tree,  just  outside  my  window.  The  poor  little 
things  looked  so  cold  that  I  opened  the  window 
and  scattered  crumbs  on  the  sill.  The  birds  im- 
mediately came  over  and  began  to  eat.  Two 
days  later,  a  splendid  mocking-bird  flew  into  the 
tree  and  eyed  the  crumbs. 

As  he  was  not  molested,  his  appetite  soon 
overcame  his  fear,  and  he  flew  hurriedly  to  the 
ledge,  picked  up  a  crumb,  went  back  to  the  tree, 
and  there  devoured  his  meal.  Before  the  week 
had  passed,  he  was  squabbling  with  the  sparrows 
in  a  rather  bad-tempered  way. 

One  morning,  he  sat  on  a  small  limb  about  two 
feet  from  the  window,  while  around  him  perched 
a  flock  of  indignant  sparrows.     He  cared  not  a 


THE    MOCKING-BIRD    ENJOYING   A    FEAST    OF    CRUMBS. 

feather  for  their  wrath,  but  hopped  to  the  ledge 
and  ate  a  leisurely  breakfast.  A  young  and  silly 
sparrow  flew  down  to  share  the  meal.  With  a 
shrill  and  angry  squawk  that  one  could  hardly 
believe  came  from  a  mocking-bird's  throat,  the 
larger  bird  seized  the  sparrow  by  the  back  of 
the  head  and  flew  away  with  him.  Feathers 
were  scattered  in  all  directions,  and  that  par- 
ticular sparrow  carried  a  bald  head  for  several 
weeks. 

The  mocking-bird  actually  kept  watch  over 
those  crumbs.  For  hours,  he  would  sit  patiently 
guarding    his    treasure,    and    when    a    sparrow 


passed  a  certain  dead-line,  quicker  than  a  flash 
a  gray  whirlwind  was  upon  him.  Such  treat- 
ment soon  taught  them  to  sit  on  the  safer  wood- 
pile and  chirp  their  disapproval. 

Feeling  sorry  for  the  little  things,  I  placed  more 
crumbs  in  a  window  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
house.  The  sparrows  were  driven  from  that 
window  in  precisely  the  same  manner,  and  the 
mocking-bird  divided  his  periods  of  watching 
between  the  two  windows.  He  soon  became  very 
gentle,  and  was  not  alarmed  when  I  sat  at  the 
window,  but  ate  his  crumbs  and  smoothed  his 
feathers  with  gentlemanly  fastidiousness. 

We  one  day  took  his  picture  while  he  was 
eating,  and,  although  the  click  of  the  camera  sur- 
prised him,  he  was  not  frightened,  for  he  fin- 
ished his  meal,  and  returned  to  his  favorite 
perch. 

But  how  well  he  paid  me  for  his  crumbs  when 
the  spring  came  round !  With  songs  that  brought 
tears  to  my  eyes  and  made  the  breath  catch  in 
my  throat.  On  the  moonlight  nights  he  sat  on 
the  corner  of  a  chimney  and  sang  for  hours,  fly- 
ing up  into  the  air  and  dropping  back  as  he 
reached  the  climax  of  his  song. 

HORTENSE  WlNTON. 

KEEPING  WATER  COOL  AT  110°  IN 
THE  SHADE 

The  accompanying  illustration  represents  the 
simple  device  employed  for  keeping  drinking- 
water  cool  in  the  high  temperatures  of  our 
southwestern  deserts  where  ice  is  unprocurable. 
The  receptacle  used  is  an  unglazed  earthenware 
jar,  universally  known  in  the  southwest  by  its 
Spanish  name  olla.  Around  this  is  wrapped  a 
layer  or  two  of  burlap.  The  jar,  filled  with  wa- 
ter, is  then  set  in  the  shade  where  a  current  of 
air  will  strike  it  (in  this  case  in  a  tent  with  the 
end  flaps  partly  raised).  The  water  "sweats" 
through  the  porous  walls  of  the  jar,  dampening 
the  enveloping  burlap,  which  retards  the  evapo- 
ration. The  result  is  the  cooling  of  the  jar's  sur- 
face and  the  water  contents,  just  as  perspiration 
cools  off  the  human  body  on  a  hot  day. 

There  is  some  question  as  to  the  use  of  the 
word  "sweats"  in  this  article.  I  should  say  that 
the  water  from  the  interior  of  the  vessel  finds 
its  way  slowly  through  the  porous  walls  of  the 
jar. 

Many  experiments  illustrating  this  principle 
can  be  made.  If  the  bulb  of  a  thermometer  is 
covered  with  cloth,  and  the  cloth  be  dampened 
with  water  and  fanned,  the  mercury  will  fall. 
The  process  of  fanning  hastens  evaporation  by 
driving  away  the  air  which  has  been  in  contact 
with  the  wet  cloth,  thus  bringing  dry  air  against 


I9I4-] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


465 


THE   JAR   OF   WATER   WRAPPED   WITH    BURLAP. 

the    wet    surface.      If    liquids    which    evaporate 
more  rapidly  are  used  instead  of  water,  the  cool- 


ing of  the  thermometer  is  more  marked.  Alco- 
hol and  gasolene  work  well,  but  ether  is  much 
better ;  indeed,  ether  can  be  made  to  evaporate 
so  rapidly  as  to  cause  the  mercury  to  indicate 
several  degrees  below  the  freezing-point. 

Dealers  in  sporting  goods,  and  mail-order 
houses  offer  canteen-like  vessels  for  carrying 
water  which  are  made  of  porous  fabric  of  some 
kind  through  which  the  water  can  slowly  work 
its  way.  The  evaporation  at  the  surface  suffices 
to  cool  the  water  which  remains  in  the  vessel. 

The  old  method  of  pouring  hot  beverages  into 
a  saucer  to  cool  them  illustrates  the  same  prin- 
ciple. The  enlarged  surface  exposed  to  the  air 
hastens  evaporation  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
liquid  falls  in  temperature  very  rapidly. 

Charles  Francis  Saunders. 

SALMON  LEAPING  UP  THE  FALLS 

Through  the  courtesy  of  "Outdoor  World  and 
Recreation,"  we  are  permitted  to  show  our  read- 
ers a  most  remarkable  photograph  of  salmon 
leaping  up  the  falls  at  Ketchikan,  Alaska. 

This  photograph  was  submitted  to  the  Bureau 
of  Fisheries  at  Washington,  and  Dr.  H.  M. 
Smith,  the  Commissioner  of  Fisheries,  wrote  to 
St.  Nicholas  :  "The  falls  at  Ketchikan  is  a  fa- 
vorite place  for  the  photographing  of  jumping 
salmon,  but  I  have  never  seen  so  many  fish  repre- 
sented in  a  single  photograph." 

Salmon  swim  many  hundreds  of  miles  up- 
stream, and  show  remarkable  strength  and  skill 
in  leaping  up  the  falls. 


A   MOST    REMARKABLE    PHOTOGRAPH    OF    SALMON    LEAPING    UP    THE    FALLS. 


466 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Mar., 


•^=1 


^"BECAUSE-  WE 
[WANT  TO  KNOW" 


BIRDS  THAT  KEEP  THEIR  HEADS  IN  THE  WATER 
■WHEN  DRINKING 

SUFFERN,   N.   Y. 

Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Will  you  please  tell  me  the  reason 
why,  when  a  chicken  drinks,  it  lifts  its  head  at  every  gulp, 
while  a  pigeon  never  lifts  its  head  until  it  is  through  ?  I 
have  often  noticed  it,  and  would  like  to  know  the  reason 
why.  From  your  interested  reader, 

Ruth  Hooper. 

All  of  the  family  of  Colnmbidce  (pigeons  and 
doves)  drink  by  immersing  the  entire  beak,  thus 
drawing  in  the  water  instead  of  allowing  it  to  run 
down  the  throat.    No  reason  is  known.  —  C.  W.  B. 

how  far  can  one  see  out  over  the  ocean? 

Tono,  Wash. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Could  you  please  answer  these  two 
questions?  When  fifty  feet  above  the  ocean,  how  many 
miles  straight  out  can  I  see  ?  When  down  on  the  beach, 
how  many  miles  out  can  I  see  then  ?  I  would  like  very 
much  to  know  the  answers,  to  settle  an  argument. 
Your  devoted  reader, 

Maebelle  Brooks. 

When  fifty  feet  above  the  ocean,  a  child  can 
see  an  object  on  the  surface  of  the  water  about 
fifteen  miles  away.  When  down  on  the  beach,  if 
the  eye  were  at  the  level  of  the  water,  the  child 
could  see  practically  no  distance  at  all ;  but,  as- 
suming the  eye  to  be  elevated  five  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  water,  an  object  on  the  surface  could 
be  seen  about  two  and  a  half  miles  away. — Gil- 
bert H.  Grosvenor. 

horses  pulling  against  an  automobile 

Buckingham,  Quebec,  Canada. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  If  twenty-five  horses  are  hitched  to 
one  end  of  a  rope  and  an  automobile  having  a  twenty-five 
horse-power  engine  is  fastened  to  the  other  end,  when  the 
horses  pull  in  one  direction  and  the  automobile  in  the  op- 
posite direction,  which  will  win  the  tug  of  war  ?  And  why  ? 
Every  person  I  have  asked  says  the  horses  will,  but  none 
can  give  a  clear  reason 

Yours  respectfully, 

Florence  R.  Maclaren. 

If  it  be  admitted  that  the  pulling  power  of  the 
twenty-five  horses  is  exactly  the  same  as  the 
pulling  power  of  the  twenty-five  horse-power  en- 
gine, then  the  horses  would  pull  the  automobile 
backward,  on  account  of  the  firmer  application 
of  the  horses'  power,  because  the  horses'  one  hun- 
dred hoofs  would  get  a  firmer  hold  on  the  ground 
than  the  four  rubber  tires  of  the  one  automobile. 
It  is  evident  that  where  two  opposing  powers 
are  equal,  and  the  applications  of  those  powers 


are  likewise  equal,  there  can  be  no  motion  in 
either  direction,  and  the  effect  will  be  a  state  of 
rest.  I  suppose  that  you  ask  the  question  from 
the  theoretical  rather  than  the  practical  point  of 
view,  and  realize  that  the  power  of  any  horse  is 
not  necessarily  the  same  as  the  standard,  invari- 
able measure  of  power  known  as  one  horse- 
power. You  assume,  I  suppose,  that  the  pulling 
strength  of  the  twenty-five  horses  is  exactly  the 
same  as  the  pulling  strength  of  the  twenty-five 
horse-power  automobile. 

THE  BEST  WOOD  FOR  BOW  AND  ARROW 

Florida,   N.  Y. 
Dear  St.   Nicholas  :  Which  is  the  best  wood  growing  in 
the  State  of  New  York  to  make  a  bow  for  a  crossbow  ? 
Your  true  friend, 

Kenneth  C.  Waddell. 

For  the  bow  the  best  wood  is  red  cedar,  sassa- 
fras, elm,  or  hickory,  in  the  order  named;  for  the 
arrow,  pine  or  ash.— Ernest  Thompson  Seton. 

FACING  OF  HEADS  ON  COINS 

Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :     I    have  noticed  that  the  head  of 
Liberty  on  the  half-dollar,  quarter-dollar,  and  ten-cent-piece 
faces  toward  the  right,  while  on  the  five-cent-pieces  and 
pennies  it  faces  toward  the  left. 

I  am  curious  to  know  whether  there  is  any  special  reason 
for  this,  and  if  there  is,  would  be  very  much  obliged  to  you 
for  explaining  it. 

Very  truly  yours, 

Priscilla  Fuller. 

There  is  no  special  reason  why  the  Liberty 
head  faces  differently  in  the  coins  described. — 
Acting  Superintendent,  Mint  of  the  United 
States  at  Philadelphia. 

WAVES  FORWARD  AND  BACKWARD  WITH  THE  WIND 

Wanakena,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   If  the  wind  blows  directly  across 
the  lake,  why  are  the  waves  on  both  sides? 

Your  interested  reader, 

Mave  Comstock,  Jr. 

The  waves  on  the  leeward  side  of  the  lake 
run  higher  up  on  the  beach  than  do  those  on  the 
windward  side,  but  waves  are  all  over  the  lake, 
because  of  the  fact  that  the  lake  acts  as  an  elas- 
tic body;  each  wave  continues  for  a  considerable 
distance  regardless  of  whether  the  wind  is  blow- 
ing or  not.  The  mass  of  the  water  in  a  wave 
does  not  travel  forward  as  the  wave-form  itself 
does,  but  merely  up  and  down,  in  approximate 
circles,  actually.  This  surging  up  and  down  of 
the  water  in  the  body  of  the  lake  leads  to  dis- 
turbances all  over  the  surface.  The  essential 
point  is  to  remember  that  the  water  of  the  wave 
does  not  move  forward,  as  it  seems  to  do,  a  bit 
more  than  growing  grain  in  a  field  moves  for- 


1914.] 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


467 


ward  when  the  wind  is  blowing  on  it.  The  grain 
gets  into  waves  and  appears  to  move  forward, 
but  of  course  only  bobs  up  and  down.  The  same 
is  true  of  water.— W.  J.  Humphreys,  Professor 
of  Meteorological  Physics,  Central  Office  of  the 
Weather  Bureau,  Washington,  D.  C. 

■why  does  iron  rust  ? 

Oakpark,  III. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   Why  does  iron  rust? 
Your  interested  reader, 

Irene  A.  Knight. 

Iron  rusts  from  the  action  of  the  oxygen  of  the 
air  in  the  presence  of  moisture.  It  appears,  too, 
that  the  carbonic  acid  of  the  air  also  acts,  at  least 
in  starting  the  rusting.  Rusting  is  similar  to 
burning,  except  that  it  goes  on  very  slowly,  and 
hence  does  not  produce  any  appreciable  heat. 
Some  heat  is  really  produced  by  rusting,  but  usu- 
ally it  passes  away  before  it  can  be  felt.  Iron- 
rust  is  an  oxid  of  iron  containing  water,  and  is 
like  certain  ores  from  which  iron  is  made.  — H. 
L.  W. 

catching  the  ball  at  the  edge  of  the  piazza 

West  Newbury,  Mass. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  Will  you  please  tell  me  why  it  is 
that  when  I  roll  my  base-ball  down  the  slope  of  the  piazza 
floor,  it  will  fall  into  my  hand  when  I  hold  my  hand  just 
at  the  edge  of  the  piazza,  while  if  I  hold  my  hand  two  inches 
from  the  edge,  the  ball  will  come  into  my  hand  just  the 
same  ? 

Donald  B.  Grover. 

If  the  ball  is  rolling  slowly,  it  will  fall  almost 
straight  downward  from  the  edge.  If  it  is  roll- 
ing rapidly,  it  will  go  almost  straight  onward, 
and  fall  at  a  distance  from  the  edge.  After  the 
ball  leaves  the  edge,  it  is  subject  to  its  onward 
motion  (momentum)  and  to  the  force  of  gravita- 
tion that  pulls  it  toward  the  ground.  The  more 
rapid  the  onward  motion  the  longer  it  takes  for 
the  force  of  gravitation  to  get  complete  control 
of  the  ball,  and  to  arrest  its  motion  by  bringing 
it  in  contact  with  the  ground. 

EFFECT  ON  COLOR  BY  WETTING 

Eddyville,  Ia. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Will  you  please  tell  me  what  causes 
objects   to   turn   darker   than   their   original   color   when 
they  get  wet ;  and  then,  when  they  are  dry,  they  become 
their  original  color  again  ? 

Yours  respectfully, 

Esther  Vance. 

All  objects  do  not  so  change  when  wet.  It  is  only 
those  that  are  rather  spongy  or  porous,  like  cloth, 
or  paper,  or  even  some  kinds  of  stone.  They 
drink  the  water  into  their  pores,  or  the  spaces 
between  their  particles,  and  the  surface  becomes 
dull   because   the   wet   parts   lose   some   of   their 


power  to  reflect  the  light  that  falls  on  them.  We 
see  nearly  all  objects  by  light  thrown  back  from 
the  surface,  and  their  brightness  depends  upon 
the  amount  that  they  can  return  to  our  eyes.  A 
surface  that  is  very  smooth  and  highly  polished 
is  not  affected  by  being  made  wet,  although  the 
way  in  which  the  object  is  held  may  have  some 
effect  by  changing  the  direction  of  the  light  that 
comes  from  it  to  our  eyes.  In  some  positions  it 
will  seem  brighter  than  in  others.  — The  Bausch 
&  Lomb  Optical  Company. 

a  carrot  of  peculiar  shape 

Little  Compton,  R.  I. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   I  am  sending  you  a  carrot  which 
I  think  is  very  curious.     It  was  grown  in  the  garden  of 
our    next-door    neighbor.      The    boy    who    grew    it    had 


\ 


A   CARROT  OF  PECULIAR  SHAPE. 

many   other   carrots   similar   to   this   one.      He   also  had 
two  pumpkins  which  each  weighed  eleven  pounds,  and  a 
Hubbard     squash     which     weighed    seven     and     a    half 
pounds  when  just  beginning  to  turn  yellow. 
Your  loving  reader, 

Grace  E.  Lustig. 


BASKET-BALL  OR  TENNIS? 

HARTSDALE,  N.  Y. 

Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   May  I  ask  you  the  question,  which 
is  the  most  helpful  exercise,  basket-ball  or  tennis  ? 

Yours  truly,  Harold  Wallian. 

For  purposes  of  occasional  exercise,  both 
games  are  of  about  equal  value.  They  bring  into 
play  all  of  the  muscles  of  the  body,  and  at  the 
same  time  cultivate  mental  alertness. 

For  purposes  of  systematic  training,  basket- 
ball would  seem  to  have  an  advantage,  because 
it  avoids  over-development  of  any  particular 
group  of  muscles.  Tennis  develops  the  muscles 
of  the  right  shoulder  girdle  disproportionately. 
Dr.  Robert  T.  Morris. 


The  prose-writers  forged  to  the  front  this  month  with  a 
fine  array  of  contributions,  every  one  of  which  was  a  credit 
to  its  young  author  and  to  the  League.  Evidently  "The 
Story  of  an  Old  Attic  "  was  a  subject  with  a  strong  ap- 
peal. In  almost  every  home  the  great  room  or  space  just 
beneath  the  rafters  has  a  special  fascination  for  the  young 
folk  of  the  household,  and  its  attractions  were  set  forth,  in 
all  their  fullness  and  variety,  by  our  young  Leaguers'  man- 
uscripts in  the  present  competition. 

There  were  dozens  of  charming  little  essays,  describing 
the  attic's  appearance  and  furnishing  (or  lack  of  furnish- 
ing), and  the  joy  of  many  an  eager  rummage  through  its 
time-worn  chests  or  trunks.  But  of  stories  there  were 
scores  and  hundreds  —  some  imaginative,  others  wholly 
realistic;  some  historical,  others  of  the  "family-tradition" 
order;  some  dealing  with  the  haunted,  eery,  ghostlike  fea- 
tures of  the  attic,  and  others  frankly  humorous  or  funny. 
Not  a  few  combined  two  or  more  of  these  elements  in  a 
single  brief  narrative;  but,  however  varied  in  point  of  view, 
all  were  interesting  and  all  well-written.  If  only  there 
were  space  enough  in  the  League  pages  to  publish  all  that 
we  should  like  to  print !  But,  at  least,  the  Roll  of  Honor 
will  accord  to  the  senders  of  the  clever  stories  that  were 
crowded  out  some  measure  of  appreciation. 

The  young  photographers  also  maintained  the  high 
standard  which  they  set  last  month,  and  sent  in  a  great 
number  of  picturesque  and  beautiful  views  which,  as  a 
whole,  formed  one  of  the  best  collections  the  League  has  ever  received.  In  many  of  these,  as  well  as  with  the  draw- 
ings, much  ingenuity  was  shown  in  fitting  the  picture  to  the  subject,  which  added  a  touch  of  fancy  or  humor  that  all 
St.  Nicholas  readers  will  be  sure  to  enjoy. 

The  average  of  the  drawings,  too,  is  unusually  high  ;  and  if  the  young  poets  are  resting  on  their  laurels  this  month, 
it  is  only,  no  doubt,  that  they  may  return  to  the  contest  with  renewed  zest  and  inspiration.  There  is  no  lack  of  either 
in  some  of  the  verse  here  printed,  but  the  number  of  rhymed  contributions  received  was  not  as  great  as  with  the  open- 
ing issues  of  the  year.  We  shall  await  the  next  competition  with  interest,  for  soring  is  supposed  to  be  the  time  when 
poets  are  at  their  best! 


'A    HEADING    FOR    MARCH.  BY    DOROTHY    HUGHES,    AGE    15. 

(HONOR    MEMBER.) 


PRIZE-WINNERS,  COMPETITION  No.  169 

In  making  the  awards,  contributors'  ages  are  considered. 

PROSE.     Gold  badge,  Kathryn  Hulbert  (age  15),  Massachusetts. 

Silver  badges,  Dorothy  Levy  (age  15),  New  York;   Carolyn  Rogers  (age  10),  New  York;  Ruth  E.  Prager  (age  14), 

Switzerland;  Elmaza  Fletcher  (age  12),  Illinois. 

VERSE.     Silver  badges,  Sarah  M.  Bradley  (age  15),  Massachusetts;  Lucile  H.  Quarry  (age  16),  Michigan. 

DRAWINGS.     Silver  badges,  Gretchen  Hercz  (age  14),  Illinois;  Mavis  Carter  (age  17),  England. 

PHOTOGRAPHS.     Gold  badge,  Daniel  B.  Benscoter  (age  14),  Tennessee. 

Silver  badges,  Elizabeth  Loe  Corsa  (age   12),   Illinois;   Charlotte  Baylies  (age  17),    Massachusetts;  Hiram  Brown 

(age  15),  Minnesota  ;   Madelaine  R.  Brown  (age  15),  Rhode  Island ;  Corina  Ely  (age  16),  Massachusetts. 

PUZZLE-MAKING.     Gold  badges,  Wyllys  P.  Ames  (age  15),  New  Jersey;  Margaret  Spaulding  (age  12),  Massa- 
chusetts. 
Silver  badges,  Alvin  E.  Blomquist  (age  16),  New  York;   Vernita  C.  Haynes  (age  13),  Connecticut. 

PUZZLE  ANSWERS.      Gold  badges,  Katharine  K.  Spencer  (age  13),  New  York;  Isabel  Shaw  (age  16),  New  York. 


468 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


469 


AUTUMN  WOODS 

BY   SARAH    M.    BRADLEY    (AGE    I  5) 

{Silver  Badge) 
The  autumn  woods  are  calling,  I  must  wander  far 

away  ; 
They  are  calling,  I  must  follow  ;  O  dear  heart,  I  cannot 

stay, 
For  the  hills  are  red  with  maple,  and  the  sky  above  is 

blue — 
It  is  autumn,  and,  O  Autumn  !  when  you  call,  I  follow 

you. 

Oh,  I  thrill  to  see  the  sumac  that  's  like  banners  in  the 

breeze, 
There  's  a  challenge  in  the  forest  'twixt  the  red  and 

yellow  trees  ; 
There  's  a  myst'ry  in  the  asters  that  grow  beside  the 

way — 
Hark  !  the  autumn  woods  are  calling ;  when  they  call, 

I  cannot  stay. 

THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  ATTIC 

BY    KATHRYN    HULBERT    (AGE    1 5) 

(Gold  Badge.  Silver  Badge  won  July,  191s) 
A  blustering  November  wind  swept  around  the  old 
attic,  and  moaned  down  the  massive  chimney.  The 
stout  beams,  which  stretched  from  one  dingy  window 
to  the  other,  were  wreathed  in  pendants  of  dusty  cob- 
webs.     The   battered    shutters    shrieked    on   their    rusty 


DOWNHILL.  BY    ELIZABETH    L.    CORSA,   AGE    12. 

(SILVER   BADGE.) 


hinges,  and  banged  against  the  old  place  until  the  attic 
trembled. 

The  chimney  seemed  to  be  the  mysterious  monitor  of 
the  lonely  scene.  It  eyed  the  ancient  trunks  that  stood 
beneath  the  eaves  with  disgust,  for — it  knew  the  secret 
that  nothing  else  in  that  small  domain  knew.  It  was 
on  just  such  a  night  as  this  that  little  Cynthia  had  cau- 
tiously ascended  the  garret  stairs,  with  a  mysterious 
bundle  under  her  arm.  How  well  the  chimney  remem- 
bered it !  She  had  crept  up  to  it  on  tiptoe,  had  picked 
out  the  two  bricks  that  concealed  the  family  hiding- 
place  for  valuables,  had  slipped  in  her  small  hand,  and, 
having  found  the  shelf,  had  hidden  her  treasure.  She 
had  tremblingly  replaced  the  bricks,  and  then  (the 
chimney  recalled  it  tenderly)  she  had  thrown  her 
young  arms  around  its  brick  roughness. 

"Ah,  dear  chimney !  Please  keep  my  secret  well ! 
Don't — don't  let  the  soldiers  get  Grandmother's  silver. 
Dear,  dear  chimney  !"  And  with  a  sob,  she  had  kissed 
it,  and  then  had  crept  down  the  stairs  again. 


Ah,  the  chimney  had  kept  Cynthia's  secret  well,  all 
these  eighty  years  !  The  fierce  soldiers  had  come  with 
vows,  had  searched  the  garret,  and  had  gone  with  mut- 
terings  and  dark  looks. 

Ugh  !  the  chimney  moaned  at  the  thought  of  it  all. 

The  furious  wind  howled  fiercely ;  the  shutters 
banged  and  shrieked  ;  the  night  grew  darker.  The  attic 
held  its  secret  still. 


"  UPHILL.  BY    DOROTHY    V.    TYSON, 

AGE    17.       (HONOR    MEMBER.) 


THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  ATTIC 

BY    DOROTHY    LEVY     (AGE    15) 

(Silver  Badge) 
My  days  are  numbered,  they  say.  The  house  is  old,, 
neglected,  falling  to  pieces.  And  yet,  years  ago,  I 
looked  proudly  through  my  shining  windows  upon  the 
neighboring  houses.  Then  mine  was  a  respected  house, 
as  proud  as  any  on  Beacon  Street.  Years  ago,  it  was 
alive  with  people.  Pa- 
triots assembled  here 
as  a  natural  gathering- 
place,  and  the  echoes 
of  soul-stirring,  fiery 
speeches  reached  me 
from  below. 

Then,  late  one  night, 
footsteps  resounded  on 
the  wooden  stairs.  Man 
after  man  entered 
stealthily,  holding  a 
candle  above  his  head. 
What  were  those  shin- 
ing things  they  held  in 
their  hands,  that  glit- 
tered when  they  caught 
the  light  of  the  can- 
dles? Tomahawks, 
knives,  and  guns  were 
everywhere  in  evi- 
dence. Silently  each 
man  opened  his  bun- 
dles and  arrayed  him- 
self in  the  blanket  and  warlike  feathers  they  had 
contained.  Suddenly  the  stern,  peaceful  Bostonians  had 
become  hostile  redskins.  Not  a  word  did  the  silent 
Indians  utter.  A  suspicious  sound,  and  they  were 
betrayed. 

Like   the   ghosts   of   fierce    warriors   they   crept   down 


"DOWNHILL."         BY    DANIEL    B.    BENSCO- 

rER,    AGE    14.  (GOLD    BADGE.       SILVER 

BADGE    WON    MAY,    19I3.) 


470 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


TMar.. 


the  stairs.  What  they  did  that  night  is  known  every- 
where. Songs  were  written  of  the  valor  of  those  war- 
riors. The  splash  made  by  the  chests  of  tea  that  were 
thrown  overboard  by  these  determined  Bostonians 
roused  the  world. 

Yet  now  I  am  alone.     No  stirring  speeches  awake  the 
echoes  now.     I  am  viewed  with  disdain  by  the  towering 


"DOWNHILL."       BY    CHARLOTTE    BAYLIES,  AGE    17.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 


THE  AUTUMN  WOODS 

BY    HAZEL    K.    SAWYER    (AGE    15) 

Under  the  autumn  moon, 

While  the  clear  streamlets  croon, 

Blending  their  mystic  tune, 

Fairy  folk  dance. 
Round  them  the  oak-trees  grim, 
Deep-sighing  willows  dim, 
Old  elms,  and  birches  trim, 

Sway  in  a  trance. 

Down  from  the  northern  hills, 
Weirdly  foreboding  ills, 
Comes,  with  a  breath  that  chills, 

Autumn's  own  blast. 
Through  all  the  wood  it  moans  ; 
O'er  the  charmed  circle  groans  ; 
Droning,  in  dismal  tones, 

Tales  of  the  past. 

Then,  from  the  moon,  a  ray, 
Lighting  the  woodland  way, 
Tinging  the  leaflets  gay, 

Gleams,  and  is  lost. 
Quickly  the  fairies  light, 
Leaving  their  circle  white, 
Vanish  into  the  night, 

Elves  of  the  frost. 


apartment-houses  that  now  rear  their  heads  far  above 
me  on  either  side.  People  pass  me  with  hurried  steps, 
with  never  a  thought  of  the  great  deeds  that  were 
planned  in  this  house  ;  they  do  not  know  what  an  im- 
portant part  I  have  played  in  the  history  of  this  coun- 
try. 

Well,   my   work  is  over.      I   live   in   memories   of  my 
golden  days,  and  shall  cherish  them  forever. 


THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  ATTIC 

BY    CAROLYN    ROGERS    (AGE    10) 

{Silver  Badge) 
Oh,   that   old   attic,   the   children's   favorite   play-house ! 
The  attic  on  the  rainy  day,  when  toys  are  no  more  fun. 
There  is  the  children's  haven.     There  are  all  the  relics 
stored  in  that  large  hair  trunk  in  the  corner. 

Let  us  look  in  the  trunk  while  we  are  up  here.  See 
this  queer  hat.  Why,  it  is  perfectly  flat.  Why,  cer- 
tainly, that  is  the  pan-cake  hat.  I  would  not  like  to 
have  had  to  wear  it. 

What  is  this?  Why.  it  is  a  doll !  What  a  queer-look- 
ing doll.  Its  head  is  china,  with  black  hair  painted  on. 
It  looks  awfully  grown  up.  Why  not  ?  It  is  fifty  years 
old.  See  its  kid  hands,  all  worn  to  pieces.  Here  is  one 
little  green  shoe  on.  Great  Grandmother  made  that. 
And  see  this  old  dress. 

It  is  a  flowered  challie,  with  braid  on  it.  Why,  there 
is  hardly  a  whole  place  in  it !  Everything  this  queer 
doll  has  on  is  yellow  with  age.  I  can  imagine  the  child 
playing  with  it.  A  little  curly-headed  thing,  ignorant  of 
the  beautiful  dollies  to  come,  with  eyes  that  open  and 
shut,  and  with  real  hair. 

And  here  is  a  box.  What  is  in  it  ?  Let  's  open  it  and 
see.  They  are  all  old  coins.  There  are  so  many  that 
we  can  hardly  count  them,  big  and  little.  And  look  at 
this !  It  is  an  old  red  cape  that  Great  Grandmother 
used  to  wear.  We  put  it  on,  and  it  falls  way  down 
around  us.     We  wish  that  we  had  one  like  it. 

But  come,  now,  we  must  go  to  dinner,  for  there  is  the 
gong.  Some  day  we  will  come  back  and  examine  that 
old  sea-chest  in  this  ever-amusing  attic. 


THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  ATTIC 

BY    FRANCES    SQUIRE    (AGE    14) 

Almost  seventy  years  ago,  my  grandmother,  who  was 
then  a  bride  of  twenty,  went  to  live  in  a  large  ram- 
bling house  near  Lynn,  Massachusetts.  It  had  a  nice 
attic,  where  there  was  an  old  leathern  trunk  to  which 
no  key  could  be  found.  Of  course,  Grandmother  wished 
to  know  why  it  was  there  and  what  was  in  it,  and 
Grandfather  twisted  and  tugged  at  the  lock ;  but  in  vain. 

One  day,  my 
father,  when  he 
was  about  nine 
years  old,  was 
playing  in  the 
attic,  and  he 
found,  in  a  dusty 
corner,  an  old 
rusty  key.  He 
was  about  to 
throw  it  away, 
when  Grandmoth- 
er came  up  the 
stairs.  He  showed 
it  to  her,  and  she 
exclaimed  : 

"It  must  be  the 
key  to  the  mys- 
terious trunk !" 

Sure   enough   it 
was ;     and     when 
the  lid  was  lifted, 
disclosing    a    pile 
of    dresses    of    an 
old  -  time        style, 
Grandmother  lift- 
ed them  out,  and,  at  the  bottom,  found  a  little  red  book, 
on   the   first   page   of  which   was   seen :    "The   Diary   of 
Faith  Turner."     Its  date  was  I77S- 

That  night,  when  Grandmother  read  it  all  through,  it 
told  how  Faith,  a  little  English  girl,  had  come  to  live 


HEADING    FOR    MARCH.  BY    WEI.THEA 

THODAY,    AGE    17.         (HONOR    MEMBER.) 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


'UPHILL.        by  estelle  hagedorn, 

AGE    13. 


'UPHILL.  BY   HIRAM    BROWN,    AGE    15. 

(SILVER  BADGE.) 


'UPHILL.  BY  BENJAMIN    THORNDIKE, 

AGE    8. 


'DOWNHILL.  BY    MARY    PENNIMAN 

AGE    14. 


"DOWNHILL.  BY    VIRGINIA    STERRY, 

AGE    12. 


DOWNHILL.  BY    ISABELLA    REA, 

AGE    16. 


<*'• 


w 


.a&  ;#^r£ 


"DOWNHILL."       BY    EMILY    KICE   BARTON, 
AGE    14. 


'DOWNHILL.   '    BY   MADELAINE    R.    BROWN,    AGE    15. 
(SILVER  BADGE.) 


472 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Mar., 


in  this  house  her  father  had 
built,  and  how,  after  a  fire  dur- 
ing the  war,  they  had  built  on 
more  rooms,  and  how  she,  in 
her  nineteenth  year,  had  mar- 
ried John  Fulton,  and  her  little 
son  David  and  daughter  Sylvia  had  been  brought  up 
in  it. 

Now  Grandmother  had  bought  the  house  of  an  old, 
white-haired  man  named  David  Fulton,  and  the  next 
day  she  wrote  to  him  telling  him  about  this  book,  and 
he  came  out  to  the  house  and,  after  he  had  told  her  of 
his  searching  for  it,  she  gave  it  to  him,  which  he  was 
overjoyed  at  recovering. 


THE  STORY  OF  THE  ATTIC 

BY   CONSTANCE  GUY0T   CAMERON    (AGE   13) 

{Honor  Member) 
My  brother  John,  spending  the  summer  in  an  old  Vir- 
ginia town,  heard  from  the  landlord  of  his  inn  that  the 
attic  of  a  handsome  old  house  in  the  neighborhood 
was  haunted.  Every  one  who  had  encountered  the 
ghosts  came  out  more  dead  than  alive. 

John  did  not  believe  in  ghosts.  He  made  a  wager 
with  the  landlord  that  he  could  safely  spend  one  night 
in  the  attic,  and  he  determined  to  do  so  at  once. 

With  books,  a 
light,  and  a  sub- 
stantial lunch,  he 
went  to  the  house 
that  night.  After 
examining  the  low, 
long  attic,  he 
seated  himself  in 
a  high-backed  arm- 
chair beside  a 
handsomely  carved 
mahogany  table, 
preparing  to  enjoy 
his  books. 

The  night  wore 
on.  John  heard 
nothing  except  oc- 
casional swishes, 
which  encouraged 
him  in  his  hopes 
of  seeing  the 
ghosts.  At  dawn, 
he  began  to  eat  his 
lunch.  Suddenly, 
he  heard  the  swishing  sound.  It  was  very  startling,  for 
it  seemed  to  be  just  behind  him.  He  turned.  There  on 
the  back  of  his  chair  was — a  big  gray  owl.  It  was 
rather  uncanny  to  see  yellow  eyes  staring  out  of  dark- 
ness, but  John  was  not  frightened.  He  had  always  been 
attracted  by  owls. 


'  UPHILL."       liY    CORINA    ELY,    AGE    16. 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


He  fed  the  owl,  and  soon  another  one  came  with  six 
baby  owls.  Before  the  impromptu  feast  had  ended,  the 
landlord  and  his  friends  appeared,  and,  to  their  aston- 
ishment, John  was  seated  in  the  midst  of  the  "ghosts," 
who  were  calmly  blinking  their  eyes  as  if  to  say,  "What 
is  the  matter?" 


AUTUMN  WOODS 

BY   LUCILE   H.    QUARRY    (AGE    16) 

{Silver  Badge) 
I  well  remember  how,  last  spring,  when  all  the  world 

was  fresh  and  green, 
When  first  the  meadow-larks  did  sing,  and  early  violets 

were  seen, 
How   sweet   we   found   the   sunshine   clear,   and   reveled 

in  its  warmth  and  light, 
Rejoiced   that   winter   stayed   not   here;    spring   seemed 

like  morning  after  night. 

We  watched  with  bated  breath  the  hedge  when  leaves 

to  bud  had  first  begun  ; 
Then  willows  by  the  river's  edge  sprang  into  life 

beneath  the  sun  ; 


DOWNHILL.  BY    WARY   L.    INGLES,    AGE    12. 

And  then  the  forest's  naked  trees  softened  their  outline 

'gainst  the  sky, 
Their  leafy  boughs  soon  caught  the  breeze  that  used  to 

whistle  shrilly  by. 

All   through  the  heat  of  summer  days,  we   watched  the 

woods  beside  the  lane  ; 
Their  leaves  drank  in  the  welcome  rays,  that  they  might 

give  them  forth  again. 

And   now   that    autumn   skies   are   chill,   that   birds   are 
flown,  and  flowers  are  dead, 

And  dreary  winds  shriek  o'er  the  hill,  we  long  for  sum- 
mer that  has  fled." 

'T  is,  then,  the  forest  that  recalls  the  radiant  light  that 
once  it  knew, 

The  sunlight  of  its  leafy  halls,  the  sunshine  of  the 
summer's  blue. 

Since  in  its  leaves  are  stored  the  light  that  once  they 
drank  while  in  their  prime, 

When  threatened  by  the  frosty  night,  they  yield  the 
gifts  of  summer-time. 

So,  though  the  north  wind  shrieks  and  sighs,  and  winter 

in  the  valley  broods, 
We  find  the  glow  of  sunset  skies  reflected  in  the  autumn 

woods. 


1914. ] 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


473 


IN  THE  WOODS  IN  LATE  AUTUMN 

BY   GRACE   NOEER   SHERBURNE    (AGE    I  7) 

(Honor  Member) 
Where  are  the  maple  leaves,  red  and  gold, 
That  flamed  but  yesterday  high  on  the  hill  ? 

They  are  gone,  swift  fleeting  as  summer's  hours  ; 

Gone,  like  the  fragrance  of  faded  flowers  ; 
Gone  !     The  world  is  weary  and  old, 
And  the  wind  blows  frosty  and  chill. 

Where  shall  I  find  my  girlhood  days, 

Left  behind  in  the  shadowy  past? 

How  sweet  was  youth,  and  how  soon  it  fled, 
E'en  as  the  maple  leaves,  gold  and  red  ! 

And  the  future  seems,  as  I  tread  its  ways, 

So  infinite,  so  vast. 

But  the  maple-trees  will  be  gay  once  more, 
With  glowing  foliage  in  other  years  ; 

Childhood  and  girlhood  are  left  behind  ; 

What  sorrow  or  joy  will  the  future  find? 
And  I  hesitate,  as  I  gaze  before, 
Through  a  mist  of  rising  tears. 


THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  ATTIC 

BY    RUTH    E.    PRAGER    (AGE    14) 

(Silver  Badge) 
In  the  year  1789,  all  France  was  in  an  uproar  for  lib- 
erty. Royalists  were  being  executed  by  the  hundreds, 
suspected  spies  thrown  into  prison  without  being 
judged,  and,  in  Paris,  people  never  ventured  out  without 
some  anxiety. 

It  was  nearing  midnight.  Paris  was  now  silent  but 
for  a  few  personages  sitting  around  a  dimly  lighted 
lamp,  in  a  little  back-streeted  house.  A  tall,  handsome 
lad  sat  among  them.  He  was  a  Royalist.  His  father 
had  been  guillotined  the  day  before,  and  he  was  seek- 
ing refuge.  He  had  come  to  an  old  friend  of  his  father 
for  help,  knowing  him  honest. 

"We  have  an  old  attic,  if  that  can  help,"  said  a 
pretty  girl,  leaning  forward ;  "can  we  not  put  him 
there?" 


JACK-0  -LANTERN    TIME.  BY   GRETCHEN    HERCZ,    AGE    14. 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


Her  father,  an  old  man,  hastily  broke  in,  "Ah  !  that 
is  so,  Jannat,  and  a  secret  wall,  if  I  mistake  not,  is 
behind  the  old  chest  of  drawers.  Come  quickly,  my 
children,    while   we   yet   have   time,"    for   the    tramp   of 


soldiers  was  coming  nearer  ; 
the  young  Royalist. 

The   old   man   was   right ; 
was  dusty  and  worn,  a  pane 
young  boy  to  pass  into  a  tiny 
quickly  as  he  heard  knockin, 
de  la  Republique,  ouvrez  I"  c 

The   house   was   searched, 
down,  but  no  sign  of  the  boy 

The  soldiers  went  away,  w 
would  yet  find  him. 

He   escaped   the   next   day, 
secret,  which  rendered  good 
fugitives. 


they  had   found  traces  of 

up   in   the   attic,   where   all 

1  slid  back,  permitting  the 
cupboard.  His  heart  beat 
down-stairs  and  "Au  nom 

ailed  out. 

every  room   turned   upside 

was  to  be  found. 

rathfully  vowing  that  they 

thanks   to   the   old   attic's 
service  also  to  many  more 


HEADING    FOR    MARCH.  BY    MAVIS    CARTER,    AGE    17. 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  ATTIC 

BY    ELMAZA    FLETCHER    (AGE    12) 

(Silver  Badge) 
In   the   old   attic,    a   little   mouse   sat   in    a   hole   in   the 
wall,  watching  and  listening  to  what  was  happening  out- 
side, by  the  chimney. 

It  was  Christmas  eve.  The  children  were  all  in  bed, 
and  Santa  Claus  was  now  on  his  rounds. 

There  was  a  trap-door  in  the  chimney,  which  now 
opened,  and  into  the  attic  stepped  Santa.  He  was  in 
his  usual  red  fur  coat,  trimmed  with  white  fur,  and  the 
cap  was  the  same. 

He  carried  a  heavy  pack  on  his  shoulders,  and  he 
looked  very  worn  and  tired.  He  sat  down  on  an  old 
trunk  and  gave  a  great  sigh  of  relief. 

"Bless  me !"  he  exclaimed.  "I  'm  tired  and  worn 
out !  I  wish  this  Christmas  business  was  over  for  an- 
other year.  When  it  is,  I  think  I  '11  stop  it  altogether. 
The  children  don't  care  for  my  presents  anyway  I" 

Just  then  there  was  a  noise  outside  the  door,  and 
Santa  crept  back  into  his  chimney,  closing  the  trap- 
door after  him. 

Then  in  came  two  little  girls  in  their  nightgowns, 
with  bare  feet.  "Mercy,  it  's  cold  !"  exclaimed  one  of 
them.  "Santa  is  n't  here  after  all,  Flossie.  I  was  sure 
that  I  heard  him  though.  I  hope  he  '11  bring  us  some 
presents.  I  'm  sure  we  've  tried  hard  to  be  good  chil- 
dren." 

Then  the  children  ran  away,  the  old  attic  went  to 
sleep  again,  and  the  mouse  crept  back  into  its  hole. 

The  attic  told  me  this  story  the  other  day,  when  I 
visited  it.  It  also  told  me  that,  after  the  children  had 
gone,  a  voice  said  from  the  chimney,  "Well,  I  never !  I 
know  these  little  girls  have  been  good.  I  believe  I  '!1 
keep  up  my  old  habits  for  a  few  more  years." 

So,  you  see,  this  is  why  you  still  have  Santa  Claus  to 
bring  you  presents  at  Christmas  time. 


474 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Mar., 


A  GREETING 

BY   ELIZABETH    MORKISON    DUFFIELD    (AGE    15) 

{Honor  Member) 
O  Spring  !  I  give  you  greeting, 

With  your  most  bewitching  ways, 
Your  nights  so  full  of  sweetness, 

Your  ever-lengthening  days. 

Your  violet-scented  skirts  I  hear 

A-rustling  in  the  breeze  ; 
Your  joyful,  happy  voice  I  know 

Is  whispering  to  the  trees. 


A    HEADING    FOR    MARCH.  BY    SHIRLEY    EDWARDS,  AGE   15. 


You  make  the  tiny  crocuses 

To  sparkle  on  the  grass  ; 
The  primroses  and  tulips 

Spring  upward  as  you  pass. 

The  birds  come  fluttering  in  your  wake, 

To  sing  their  gayest  song  ; 
The  butterflies  and  bees  all  try 

The  music  to  prolong. 

We  cannot  stay  within  closed  doors, 
The  whole  world  seems  to  call ; 

From  robin  in  the  thicket, 
To  ivy  on  the  wall. 

There  's  something  new  and  lovely 

In  all  we  see  and  hear, 
To  show  that  nature  's  greeting 

The  springtime  of  the  year. 

THE  STORY  OF  AN  OLD  ATTIC 

BY    MARGARET    LAUGHLIN     (AGE    1 5) 

Late  one  rainy  November  afternoon,  Fred  Dillon  lay 
heels  in  the  air,  in  the  musty  attic  of  the  old  farm- 
house, munching  apples  and  absorbed  in  the  story  of  a 
haunted  house,  found  in  one  of  the  faded  yellow  maga- 
zines stacked  there.  Finishing  the  story,  he  closed  his 
eyes  to  rest  a  minute. 

When  he  awoke,  it  was  pitch-dark,  and  the  rain  was 
still  falling  with  a  steady  patter  patter  on  the  roof. 
The  attic  was  a  pleasant  place  in  daytime,  but  after 
dark,  and  after  one  has  been  reading  a  ghost  story,  it 
was  decidedly  otherwise. 


He  thought  he  heard  a  stealthy  movement  behind 
him,  and,  forcing  himself  to  look  over  his  shoulder, 
beheld  a  pair  of  fiery  eyes  staring  out  of  the  blackness. 
His  blood  ran  cold,  and  he  felt  his  red  hair  rising  on 
end.  Ghosts  had  eyes  just  like  that.  He  was  alone  in 
a  haunted  attic  !  The  eyes  slowly  approached  him,  and 
Fred  was  fascinated,  frozen  with  fear.  He  tried  to  cry 
out,  but  no  sound  came  from  his  throat. 

"Meow,"  said  Dusty,  the  family  cat,  whose  throat 
was  in  perfectly  good  order,  and  whose  eyes  were  as 
bright  as  cat's  eyes  should  be ;  and,  snatching  her  in  his 
arms,  Fred  hurried  down-stairs. 


IN  THE  AUTUMN  WOODS 

BY    DORIS    ROSALIND    WILDER    (AGE    13) 

{Honor  Member) 
Winds  that  whisper  all  day  long, 
Birds  that  sing  their  farewell  song. 
Leaves  of  yellow,  red,  and  green, 
Add  to  autumn  sound  and  scene. 

Squirrels  frisking  to  and  fro 
Gather  nuts  before  the  snow. 
Fairy-feathered  goldenrod 
In  the  autumn  breezes  nod. 

Fallen  leaves  among  the  grass 
Rustle,  whisper,  as  I  pass, 
While  the  brooklet,  gurgling,  gay, 
Ripples  swiftly  on  its  way. 

Cottontails  go  loping  by, 
Watchful,  wary,  silent,  shy ; 
By  the  voice  of  nature  told, 
They  are  ready  for  the  cold. 

Stately  oak-trees,  somber,  sere, 
'Gainst  the  autumn  sky  appear  ; 
Blue,  with  banners  white  unfurled, 
It  arches  o'er  a  lovely  world. 

THE  OLD  ATTIC 

BY   DOROTHY    H.   DE  WITT    (AGE    14) 

It  was  the  afternoon  of  Election  Day,  a  holiday  at  our 
school,  and  Barbara  and  I  exclaimed:  "Let  's  explore 
the  old  trunks  up  in  the  attic." 

No  sooner  said  than  done.  We  found  an  old  green 
trunk  well  hidden  under  the  eaves,  and  pulled  it  out 
near  a  window.  After  much  jerking,  we  succeeded  in 
lifting  the  lid,  and  found  that  the  trunk  contained  some 
old  pictures  and  boxes  marked  "Novelties."  In  the  first 
box,  we  found  a  small  bottle  filled  with  shot  from  the 
battle  of  Gettysburg.  Next  to  these  relics  of  the  Civil 
War  lay  a  basket  carved  from  a  peach  pit  from  Wash- 
ington's garden  at  Mount  Vernon.  We  examined  with 
great  curiosity  a  piece  of  Jewish  unleavened  bread 
which  looked  like  a  piece  of  very  stale  cracker  and  not 
very  appetizing.  Some  cowries,  or  beautiful  shells  used 
as  coins  in  Africa,  lay  near  a  box  of  pressed  flowers 
from  Shakspere's  garden.  The  other  boxes  were  filled 
with  Indian  arrow-heads,  rosewood  and  satinwood 
from  Jamaica,  ebony  from  Florence,  beautiful  collec- 
tions of  shells,  lace  from  the  Jamaica  lace-tree,  bread- 
fruit, and  a  bone  nose-ring  which  reminded  us  of  the 
stories  of  savages  that  we  had  read. 

Even  when  the  attic  began  to  grow  cold,  we  left  the 
attic  only  because  of  the  fast-coming  darkness.  For  we 
certainly  had  enjoyed  ourselves. 


'9'4-J 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


475 


THE  ROLL  OF  HONOR 

No.  i.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  would  have  been  used  had  space 
permitted. 

No.  2.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  entitles  them  to  encouragement. 


PROSE,  i 

Dorothy  H.  De  Witt 
Walter  D.  Soule 
Alice  E.  Barnes 
Mildred  George 
Betty  McLean 
Claire  H.  Roesch 
Eliza  D.  Davis 
Dorothy  Davie 
Ruth  Schmidt 
Pocahontas  F. 

Lipscomb 
Helen  G.  Davie 
Martha  D.  Bullitt 
Alice  L.  Chinn 
Alverd  Corbly 
Berenice  G.  Hill 
Jean  Palmer 
Matilda  Reinke 
Alice  M.  Towsley 
Margaret  Ward 
Elizabeth  Ziegenfelder 
Henrietta  L.  Perrine 
Ruth  H.  Brown 
Ruth  M.  Bennit 
Ruth  Wing 
Cicely  A.  M.  Carter 
Anna  S.  Gifford 
Marjorie  Dunn 
Caroline  Adams 
Alfred  Valentine 
Irene  Charnock 
Carolyn  W.  White 
Martha  C.  Tucker 
Hermas  Stephenson 
Dora  F.  Graves 
Pauline  Coburn 
Mary  A.  Porter 
Kathryn  French 
Bessie  E.  Radlofsky 
Frances  Eliot 
Margaret  Jordan 
Theron  C.  Hoyt 
Laura  Morris 
Dorothy  Reynolds 
Josephine  Hoyt 
Miriam  C.  Cassidy 
Roslyn  Brauer 
Evelyn  French 
Marie  Stewart 
Martha  Ackerman 
H.  Knapp 
John  T.  Opie 
Eugene  J.  Vacco 
Suzette  Herter 
Dimple  Moore 
Marion  Shedd 
Tillie  Rosen 
Henry  W.  Hardy 
Claire  Harney 
Frances  M.  Sweet 
Vesta  Tompkins 
Madeline  Buzzell 
E.  Barrett  Brady 
Gladys  Wooheer 
Louise  S.  May 
Lile  E.  Chew 
Janet  I.  Johnston 
Barbara  Kerley 
Elizabeth  Cope 
Lavinia  Janes 
Marion  L.  Rogers 
Elizabeth  Talley 
Margaret  Burkett 
Alma  Rosenzi 
Dorothy  Toney 
Elsie  Daubert 
Ruth  M.  Cole 
Eunice  Cole 
Nell  Hiscox 
Edith  L.  Gilbert 
Frances  Kestenbaum 
Elizabeth  G.  Merriken 


PROSE,  2 

Eliza  A.  Peterson 
Bessie  Rosenman 
Pouglas  Young 


Mary  Fraim 
Helen  A.  Morgan 
Jacqueline  H.  Cohn 
Nell  Upshaw 
Katharine  Le  B.  Drury 
Oscar  Pitschman 
Carolyn  Nethercot 
Helen  Bennett 
Dorothy  Hallett 
Horace  B.  Davis 
Mendel  Jacobi 
Anna  McAnear 
Charles  Stiles 
Ruth  Rosenthal 
Nelma  Maclay 
Mary  Wagner 
Virginia  Gould 

VERSE,  i 

Lucy  Mackay 
George  A.  Chromey 
Ruth  E.  Hoag 
Marian  Shaler 
Helen  Huntington 
Katharine  B.  Scott 
Edith  Daseking 
Marjorie  Dodge 
Laura  Hadley 
Marian  Thanhouser 
Margaret  L.  Shields 
Vernie  Peacock 
Jessie  N.  Bigelow 
Leonore  C.  Rothschild 
Margie  F.  Jennison 
Sarah  Humphreys 
Priscilla  Fraker 
Jessie  E.  Alison 
Eleanor  Johnson 
Jessie  M.  Thompson 
Mignon  H.  Eliot 
Grace  C.  Freese 
Helen  W.  Battle 
Elsie  L.  Lustig 
Margaret  A.  Blair 
Marjorie  Ward 
Eleanor  Linton 
Helen  B.  Weiser 
Constance  Mering 
Helen  D.  Hill 
Lucile  C.  Fitch 
Gladys  M.  Smith 

VERSE,  2 

Ruth  E.  Cairns 
Hannah  Ratisher 
Beatrice  M.  Fischer 
Evangelene  Lueth 
Helen  Goodell 
Ruth  E.  Smalley 
Sarah  T.  Borock 
Helen  Johnson 
Pauline  Lambert 
Mildred  G.  Wheeler 
Mary  C.  Hopkins 
Nathan  Wolpert 
Evalyn  Cook 
Martha  E.  Hodgson 
Leah  Eichenberg 
Marguerite  A.  Wing 
Mary  S.  Benson 
A.  B.  Blinn 
Katharine  Van  Bibber 
Marie  Baumer 

DRAWINGS,  i 

Kenneth  Davis 
Margaret  A.  Hamilton 
Josephine   Whitehouse 
Edwin  Gill 
Esther  Hill 
Mildred  Newton 
Carroll  Alexander 
Stephanie   Danianakes 
Lucie  C.  Holt 
Mildred  Fisher 
Roy  King 
Jennie  E.  Eyenden 


Louise  J.  Spanagle 
Elizabeth  Thompson 
Emily  R.  Thompson 
Margaret  R. 
Goldthwait 
Janet  S.  Taylor 
Annie  Lee  Haynes 
Marie  C.  Bouniol 
Mary  Hunter 
Alma  Kehoe 
Dorothy  Walter 
S.  Dorothy  Bell 
Marguerite  Clark 

DRAWINGS,  2 

Lois  C.  Myers 
Elinor  F.  Hopkins 
Frances  Morgan 
Elizabeth   Hutchinson 
Lois  Williams 
Paul  Sullivan 
Robert  Mare 
Lilian  A.  Anderson 
Katharine  Bryant 
Eleanor  Kelly 
Marian  E.  Deats 
Eleanore  Roberts 
Eleanor  Garwood 
Alice  D.  Rukelman 
Frances  S.  Badger 
Henrietta  H.  Henning 
Anita  Fenton 
Lucile  Kapp 
Clarence  Byron 
Paulyne  F.  May 

PHOTOGRAPHS,i 

Elisabeth  Cooper 
Mary  Drury 
Sarnia  Marquand 
Hughes  Beeler 
Katherine  G.  Batts 
Helen  Van  Valer 
Willie  K.  Jones 
Dorothy  Deming 
Paul  Houghton 
Helen  Aten 
Virginia  Gohn 
Carolyn  Allison 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  2 

Muriel  Peterson 
Marjorie  Austin 
Dorothy  Dickinson 
Violet  Holt 
Helen  H.  Wilson 
Maxine  Kaufmann 
Robert  Bacheler 
Gail  Morrison 
Graham  T.  Mehaffy 
J.  P.  McCreery 
Marie  Louise  Johnson 
Edith  Besly 
Elise  Stein 
Ruth  Bratton 

PUZZLES,  1 

Frances  B.  Gardiner 
Isidore  Helfand 
Hope  Satterthwaite 
Ida  Cramer 
Duncan  Scarborough 
Henry  S.  Johnson 
Sophie  C.  Hills 
Elizabeth  Bray 
Martha  Lambert 
Irene  Emery 
Margaret  Anderson 
Dorothy  A.  Smith 
Annie  Bainbridge 
Constance  Hartt 
Helen  L.  Beach 
P.  Ernest  Isbell 
Frances  K.  Marlatt 
Carl  Fichandler 
Joe  Earnest 


PUZZLES,  2 

Estelle  Smith 
Ruth  P.  McAneny 
Edith  Hodgman 
Engle  M.  Howden 
Ruth  Whipple 
Marguerite  T.  Arnold 
Walter  G.  King,  Jr. 


Edith  P.  Stickney 
Phyllis  Young 
John  Focht 
Clara  Halpern 
P.  R.  Nichols 
Ethel  T.  Boas 
Katherine  Clark 
Ruth  Wineland 
Armand  Donaldson 


Virginia    M. 
Thompson 
Julia  D.  Addison 
Elizabeth  Carpenter 
Lucy  Lewis  Thorn 
Fred  Floyd,  Jr. 
Emma  Faeliemann 
Mildred  Rightmire 
Dora  Nelsen 


PRIZE  COMPETITION  No.  173 

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.  173  will  close  March  24  (for  for- 
eign members  March  30).  Prize  announcements  will 
be  made  and  the  selected  contributions  published  in  St. 
Nicholas  for  July. 

Verse.  To  contain  not  more  than  twenty-four  lines. 
Subject,  "  The  Pinnacle." 

Prose.  Essay  or  story  of  not  more  than  three  hundred 
words.      Subject,  "The  Surprise  Party." 

Photograph.  Any  size,  mounted  or  unmounted  ;  no  blue 
prints  or  negatives.     Subject,  "Near  Home." 

Drawing.  India  ink,  very  black  writing-ink,  or  wash. 
Subject,    "  Ready!"  or  a  Heading  for  July. 

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  a  few  words  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, 


RULES 

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 — and  must  state  in  writing — thai 
the  contribution  is  not  copied,  but  wholly  the  work  and  idea 
of  the  sender.  If  prose,  the  number  oi  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,  however,  does  not  include  the  "  advertising 
competition"  (see  advertising  pages)  or  "Answers  to 
Puzzles." 
Address;  The  St.  Nicholas  League, 

Union  Square,  New  York. 


EDITORIAL    NOTES 


We  wish  to  call  the  special  attention  of  all  St.  Nich- 
olas readers  to  the  delightful  and  clever  play  of  "Meli- 
lotte,"  published  in  this  number  of  St.  Nicholas.  It  is 
the  work  of  Mr.  David  Stevens,  already  well  known  to 
St.  Nicholas  young  folk  by  his  "Ballads  of  the  Be-Ba- 
Boes,"  printed  last  year.  Mr.  Stevens  is  also  the  author 
of  the  popular  operetta  "The  Madcap  Duchess,"  which 
enjoyed  a  successful  run  at  the  Globe  Theater,  New 
York,  and  in  other  cities,  during  the  past  season. 

We  commend  "Melilotte,"  also,  to  all  schools  and 
Sunday-schools  that  are  seeking  a  clever  little  play  for 
performance  on  some  special  occasion. 

There  is  a  wide  and  growing  demand  for  playlets  and 
operettas  of  this  sort,  as  is  evident  from  the  following 
letter,  to  which,  by  request,  we  give  a  place  on  this  page  : 

Dear  Boys  and  Girls  :  Do  you  know  that  the  Drama 
League  of  America  has  a  department  for  boys  and 
girls?  This  department  is  called  the  Junior  Depart- 
ment. It  has  charge  of  publishing  a  list  of  plays  and 
entertainments  suitable  for  the  use  of  children  in 
school,  in  clubs,  or  at  home. 


Now  the  committee  wants  this  list  to  be  as  complete 
as  possible,  and  so  it  asks  those  readers  of  St.  Nich- 
olas  who   are   sufficiently   interested   in  this   announce- 
ment  to   kindly   send  us   an   account  of   any   successful 
entertainment — play,     operetta,     drill,     pageant — which 
they  take  part  in.     We  would  like  to  have  a  copy  of  the 
program  and,  if  possible,  pictures  of  the  characters  just 
as  they  looked  when  the  performance  was  given. 
Cordially  yours, 
Committee  of  Junior  Department 
Drama  League  of  America. 
Please  address  all  letters  to 
L.  F.  Snow, 

No.  6521  Dalzell  Place, 
Pittsburgh,  Pa. 


By  an  oversight,  which  is  much  regretted,  St.  Nicholas 
failed  to  give  proper  credit  to  the  photographer,  when 
printing  some  of  the  illustrations  in  the  biographical 
sketch  entitled  "The  Magic  Touch,"  in  our  January  num- 
ber. The  small  portrait  of  Augustus  Saint-Gaudens, 
the  bas-relief  portrait  of  a  child,  the  Farragut  monu- 
ment, and  the  "Children  of  Jacob  H.  Schiff,"  were  from 
copyrighted  photographs  taken  by  DeWitt  C.  Ward. 


THE  LETTER-BOX 


Machias,  Me. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  not  taken  you  quite  a  year 
yet,  but  I  like  you  very  much. 

I  have  cne  brother,  eleven  years  old.  We  have  a 
Shetland  pony.  His  name  is  Dandy.  He  is  dark  bay, 
with  black  mane  and  tail.  He  is  very  cute.  If  you  say, 
"Dandy,  do  you  want  some  clover?"  he  will  paw  with 
his  front  foot.  We  have  a  basket  cart,  and  we  also 
have  a  saddle.  We  can  both  ride  ponyback.  One  of 
my  playmates  has  a  pony  during  the  winter,  and  we 
have  great  fun  riding  and  driving. 

Last  summer,  my  playmate  and  I  had  playhouses  up 
in  the  woods,  and  we  had  lots  of  fun. 
Your  faithful  reader, 

Katharine  Switzer  (age  13). 


Melbourne,  Australia. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  taken  you  for  nearly  five 
years,  and  enjoy  you  immensely.  As  I  live  on  a  sheep 
station  in  Australia,  I  never  can  go  in  for  the  competi- 
tions, because  I  don't  get  the  January  number  until 
about  the  middle  of  February,  and  so  on. 

I  thought  perhaps  you  would  like  to  hear  a  little 
about  shearing  over  here. 

First  the  sheep  from  all  parts  of  the  station  are  col- 
lected into  paddocks  near  the  shearing-shed.  Then  they 
are  put' into  drafting  yards — not  all  of  them,  of  course, 
but  enough  to  keep  the  shearers  going  for  a  day.  Then 
they  are  put  into  a  big  shed  at  the  end  of  the  shearing- 
shed.  From  here,  they  go  into  smaller  pens  which  run 
down  the  center  of  the  shed  in  a  double  line.  Each 
shearer  takes  a  sheep  from  the  pen  and  presses  a  lever 
which  turns  on  the  machinery,  and  then  commences  to 


shear.  As  soon  as  he  has  finished,  he  puts  the  shorn 
sheep  out  through  another  door,  opposite  to  the  pen 
door,  into  a  small  yard  outside  the  shed.  When  this 
pen  is  full,  the  sheep  are  counted  and  let  into  the  big 
yard.  Each  shearer  is  paid  by  the  number  of  sheep  he 
shears.  The  fleece  comes  off  in  one  piece,  and  then  one 
of  the  "roustabouts"  picks  it  up  and  carries  it  to  the 
table,  where  it  is  rolled,  picked  over,  and  sent  to  be 
classed  and  pressed  and  put  into  different  divisions  of 
the  shed,  and  then  put  into  bales  and  taken  by  teams  to 
the  nearest  railway  to  be  sent  to  the  town  to  the 
market.  Shearing  generally  begins  in  the  end  of  July 
or  beginning  of  August.  Sometimes  it  lasts  longer  than 
at  others  because  of  the  rain,  as,  of  course,  you  can't 
shear  wet  sheep. 

Your  interested  reader, 

Nina  Smith  (age  15). 


Rock  Island,  III. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Rock  Island  is  one  of  three  cities 
called    the    Tri-cities.      Davenport,    the    old    capital    of 
Iowa,  across  the  Mississippi,  is  the  largest,  and  Moline, 
east  of  Rock  Island,  is  the  smallest  of  the  three. 

The  large  island  between  Davenport  and  Rock  Island 
belongs  to  the  Government.  It  is  the  largest  United 
States  arsenal  that  makes  light-arms,  and  is  the  second 
largest  arsenal  in  our  country.  On  the  island  is  Fort 
Armstrong,  which  was  used  as  a  prison  at  the  time  of 
the  Civil  War.  There  is  also  a  cave  where  the  Indians 
thought  the  "Great  White  Spirit"  lived.  Extending 
along  the  north  side  is  a  splendid  golf  course  which  is 
said  to  be  the  best  in  the  world.  The  island  contains 
nine  hundred  and  ninety-nine  acres,  and  is  over  three 


476 


THE   LETTER-BOX 


477 


miles  long.  The  barracks  and  homes  of  the  com- 
manders are  made  principally  of  stone,  also  the  great 
shops.  A  large  bridge  connects  the  arsenal  to  Daven- 
port and  a  smaller  one  to  Rock  Island. 

The  land  around  here  was  the  scene  of  the  Black 
Hawk  War.  The  great  chieftain  Black  Hawk  had  his 
watch-tower  in  a  large  tree  on  a  high  hill,  where  he  saw 
plainly  the  movements  of  his  enemies.  An  inn  now 
stands  where  the  tree  used  to,  and  a  large  part  of  the 
land  around  there  is  now  a  pleasure  park  called  "Black 
Hawk's  Watch-Tower." 

Your  new  League  member, 

Marion  McCabe. 


Oklahoma,  Okla. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  taken  you  for  nine  years, 
but  have  never  written  to  you  before.     Mother  took  you 
when  she  was  my  age,  and  she  once  had  six  bound  vol- 
umes of  you.     They  were  all  lost  in  the  Galveston  flood. 

We  were  living  in  Galveston  when  the  flood  came. 
My  father  had  to  tie  me  to  his  back  with  the  window- 
curtains  and  swim. 

I  have  just  recovered  from  a  severe  illness,  and  I 
have  not  been  able  to  walk  for  nearly  three  months,  so 
you  are  my  only  entertainment.  You  can  imagine  with 
what  eagerness  I  await  your  coming. 

Thanking  you  for  the  great  pleasure  you  give  me 
every  month,  I  remain 

Your  loving  reader  and  well-wisher, 

Elizabeth  D.  Gardner. 


Portuguese  Southeast  Africa. 
Dear   St.    Nicholas  :    I   am    always   pleased   to    receive 
you,   and   I    only   regret   that   living   out    in    these   parts 
prevents  me  from  sending  you  sketches   for  your  com- 


I  am  the  eldest  of  five  brothers  and  sisters.  We  live 
in  a  very  pretty  part  of  "la  belle  Normandie,"  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river  Seine.  Our  house  is  quite  close  to 
the  river,  and  from  the  windows  we  can  see  the  big 
ships  going  up  and  down,  to  and  from  Rouen. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoy  all  your  lovely 
stories.  Among  my  favorites  are  :  "Beatrice  of  Dene- 
wood,"  "The  Lass  of  the  Silver  Sword,"  and  its  sequel. 
At  the  end  of  each  year,  I  have  you  bound,  and  I  simply 
love  reading  the  old  stories  over  and  over  again. 

Every  month  I  await  your  arrival  with  great  impa- 
tience, and  I  think  you  are  the  best  magazine  any  boy 
or  girl  could  wish  to  have. 

Your  faithful  and  loving  reader, 

Edmee  Ullern  (age  16). 


Benzonia,  Mich. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  am  sending  you  a  picture  of  the 
"clever  flamingos."     My  father  made  them  out  of  milk- 


'•  washing  otfi: 


petitions,  as  I  am  unable  to  post  such  in  time.  But  as 
I  am  living  away  in  Portuguese  Southeast  Africa,  and 
being,  I  believe,  the  only  one  of  your  readers  in  these 
parts,  I  am  sure  you  will  be  pleased  to  hear  from  me, 
and  accept  the  small  drawing  I  am  sending  you. 
I  remain 

Your  devoted  reader, 
Ernestine  E.  L.  Bonn   (age  n). 


Normandy 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  had  you  for  fiv 
I  have  never  written  before.     I  owe  you  to 
aunt   who   lives  in   England  and   who   gives 
every  year  as  a  Christmas  present. 

I  am  a  little  French  girl,  but  my  mother 
and  I  understand  and  talk  that  language 
Though  I  never  miss  reading  any  letters  in 
box,  I  have  not  yet  seen  one  written  by  a 
French  reader. 


France. 
years,  but 
a  very  kind 
you   to  me 

is  English, 
quite  well, 
the  Letter- 
really  truly 


weed  pods,  one  day  at  a  picnic.     I  think  they  look  real 
natural,  don't  you? 

I  like  to  read  the  St.  Nicholas  very  much,  especially 
"The  Land  of  Mystery"  and  "Beatrice  of  Denewood." 
Yours  truly, 

Louis  Case. 


Grand  Forks,  N.  D. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  This  is  the  second  year  I  have 
taken  you,  and  I  certainly  enjoy  you.  I  never  rest  until 
I  have  read  you  through.  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much 
I  liked  the  serial  story  "Beatrice  of  Denewood."  I  love 
Beatrice,  the  heroine  in  it.  I  also  like  the  short  stories. 
I  live  a  good  many  miles  from  where  you  do,  and  so 
it  takes  a  long  time  for  a  letter  to  reach  you. 

North  Dakota  is  the .  State  I  was  born  in  and  have 
lived  in  all  my  eleven  years.  I  always  wish  to  live 
here,  too. 

Your  devoted  friend  and  reader, 

Jessie  L.  Fuller. 


Pomona,  Cal. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Although  not  a  subscriber,  I  am 
a  constant  reader.  The  public  library  has  back  numbers 
of  the  St.  Nicholas  bound  in  volumes,  and  I  like  to 
look  at  them,  but  I  think  St.  Nicholas  is  getting  better 
all  the  time. 

Pomona  is  a  beautiful  little  town  of  15,000  people.  It 
is  thirty  miles  east  of  Los  Angeles,  and  fifty  miles  from 
the  ocean.  Pomona  is  called  "The  Inland  City  Beauti- 
ful." 

There  are  many  orange-  and  lemon-groves  here,  and 
for  the   last   few  years  much   land   is  being  devoted  to 


478 


THE  LETTER-BOX 


the  raising  of  sugar-beets.  There  are  nearly  a  dozen 
sugar-beet  factories  in  southern  California  ;  one  is  five 
or  six  miles  from  Pomona,  and  many  tons  of  beet-sugar 
are  turned  out  each  year  from  this  one  factory. 

My  home  is  near  Portland,  Oregon,  but  this  is  my 
third  trip  to  California.  I  have  also  been  in  Washing- 
ton many  times,  and  once  to  Victoria,  British  Columbia. 

Wishing  you  continued  success,  I  am, 
Your  devoted  reader, 

Ruth  M.  Smith  (age  14). 


Skaneateles,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.   Nicholas  :   We  were  all  very  glad  that  you 
published  the  play  "The  Sleeping  Beauty."     We  gave  it 
on  our  lawn   for  the  benefit  of  the  library,   which   had 


just  given  a  bazaar.     We  charged  five  cents  admission, 
and  made  thirteen  dollars. 

We  fastened  a  rope  along  the  house,  which,  covered 
with  flowers,  made  a  pretty  arch  for  the  fairies  to  enter 
from,  besides  a  background  for  the  other  scenes. 

We  closed  with  two  folk-dances,  after  which  Summer 
announced  how  much  money  we  had  made. 

Had  we  known  what  a  success  the  play  was  to  be,  we 
would  have  charged  more,  and  believe  we  would  have 
sold  just  as  many  tickets. 

Very  sincerely  yours, 

Louisa  R.  Shotwell. 


Mobile,  Ala. 
Dear   St.   Nicholas:    My  sister  and   I   have  taken  you 
since  1908,  and  we  like  your  stories  very  much. 

We  have  many  ducks,  and  one  day  we  had  a  gopher, 
and  we  let  it  run  around  the  yard.  The  ducks  could 
not  imagine  what  it  was,  and  they  cornered  it  up  ;  but 
every  now  and  then  they  got  scared,  and  would  run  a 
little.  In  a  little  while,  some  of  them  laid  down  to 
watch  it.  They  were  a  funny  sight  to  see. 
Lovingly  your  reader, 

Frances  Sheppard  (age  12). 


Elkhorn,  Pa. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  taken  you  for  nearly  five 
years,  and  like  you  better  than  any  other  magazine  I 
ever  read.  My  mother  took  you  when  she  was  little, 
and  we  have  some  numbers  bound  that  were  published 
in  1885. 

We  live  on  a  farm,  and  I  have  a  dog,  eight  cats,  and 
a  calf.  There  is  a  river  near  here  that  is  called 
Youghiogheny.  It  is  said  that,  a  long  time  ago,  a  white 
man  was  standing  on  its  bank,  when  an  Indian  appeared 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  bank.     When  the  Indian  saw 


the  man,  he  shot  at  him,  but  failed  to  kill  him.  The 
white  man,  seeing  this,  laughed  and  laughed ;  the  red 
man  then  became  very  angry,  and  fired  again,  this  time 
killing  the  white  man.  He  then  turned  away,  and  said, 
"Youghiogheny,"  which  means  "Laugh  again."  That  is 
how  the  river  got  its  name. 

I   am   a  Camp-Fire  girl.     There   are   about  thirty-five 
girls  in  our  organization.     We  go  on  picnics  and  have 
lots  of  good  times.     But  that  is  only  in  the  winter-time, 
as  I  spend  the  summer  in  Pennsylvania. 
Your  interested  reader, 

Jean  Wagner  (age  12). 


Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  I  am  a  little  girl  twelve  years  old, 
and  have  taken  you  for  a  long  time.     I  am  crazy  about 
you.     Each  month,  I  read  every  word  of  you. 

I  go  to  boarding-school,  and  every  girl  in  my  class 
is  always  anxious  for  the  fifteenth  of  the  month  to  come 
and  bring  with  it  St.  Nicholas. 

Your  loving  reader, 

Josephine  Snyder. 


Taylors  Bridge,  Del. 
Dear   St.   Nicholas  :    I   have  taken   you   for  two   years 
and  almost  three.     I  have  every  copy  that  has  been  sent 
to  me,  and  I  enjoy  reading  them  very  much. 

I  live  near  where  the  Delaware  River  and  bay  meet. 
There  is  a  marble  shaft  to  mark  the  place. 

I  sometimes  get  lonesome,  because  T  have  no  brothers 
or  sisters.  But  then  I  get  out  my  old  St.  Nicholases 
and  read  them  again.  They  are  just  as  good  as  when  I 
received  them. 

Your  loving  reader, 

Edna  H.  Woodkeeper  (age  12). 


Lirhanda,  B.  E.  Africa. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  enjoy  your  stories  very  much.     I 
like    "The    Lucky    Sixpence"    and    "Beatrice    of    Dene- 
wood"  the  best  of  all. 

I  am  the  daughter  of  missionaries  in  Africa.  We  live 
near  Victoria  Nyanza,  the  largest  lake  in  Africa.  We 
are  thirty  miles  from  the  terminus  of  the  Uganda  Rail- 
way, and  near  the  equator. 

One  day,  we  had  a  picnic  on  what  we  call  "Equator 
Hill."     There  is  a  little  notch  where  the  equator  passes 
over  it.     Father  says  that  perhaps   (  ?)   the  equator  has 
made  the  notch  when  the  wind  shakes  it. 
Your  sincere  reader, 

Leona  May  Hole  (age  11). 


Lapeer,  Mich. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :   I  have  taken  you  about  one  year. 
I   think  you  are  the  most  interesting  magazine   I   ever 
read.     The  League  is  especially  interesting.     I  am  work- 
ing hard  to  get  a  badge. 

I  have  never  seen  a  letter  from  Lapeer  in  your  Let- 
ter-box. 

My  mother  took  you  when  she  was  a  little  girl.     I  can 
amuse  myself  looking  at  her  old  ones. 

I  thought  the  letter  in  the  May  number  from  Aoyama, 
Tokio,  Japan,   was   very   interesting.     I   am  sick,   but   I 
can  sit  up  in  bed  and  write.     You  amuse  me  such  a  lot 
that  I  don't  have  to  have  my  mother  at  all. 
Your  interested  reader, 

Chester  Vail  (age  9). 


ANSWERS   TO   PUZZLES    IN    THE   FEBRUARY   NUMBER 


Concealed  Double  Transpositions.  Charles  Lamb.  i.  Race, 
acre,  care.  2.  Hare,  hear,  Hera.  3.  Elba,  bale,  able.  4.  Pear,  pare, 
reap.  5.  Liar,  rail,  lair.  6.  Dens,  send,  ends.  7.  Rose,  Eros,  sore. 
8.  Veil,  evil,  Levi.  9.  Said,  dais,  aids.  10.  Mane,  name,  mean.  n. 
Stab,  tabs,  bats. 

Primal  and  Central  Acrostic.  Initials,  Cleopatra;  centra'!', 
Elizabeth.  Cross-words:  1.  Clean.  2.  Lilac.  3.  Exile.  4.  Ooze;:. 
5.   Plank.     6.  Album.     7.   Theme.     8.   Ratio.     9.  Abhor. 

Double  Zigzag.  "A  lie  never  lives  to  be  old."  "The  truth  is  al- 
ways right."  Cross-words:  1.  Absent.  2.  Blight.  3.  Shield.  4. 
Attend.  5.  Brawny.  6.  Unable.  7.  Strive.  8.  Adhere.  9.  Strict. 
10.  Clause.  11.  Ithaca.  12.  Avails.  13.  Brewer.  14.  Flashy.  15. 
Gyrate.  16.  Sappho.  17.  Crumbs.  18.  Client.  19.  Brogan.  20. 
Alight.     21.   Decoct. 

must  be  received  not  later  than  the  24th  of  each  month,  and  should  be 
East  Seventeenth  Street,  New  York  City. 

received  before  December  24  from  Katharine  Kingsland  Spencer — Kath- 
Evelyn  Hillman — Claire  A.  Hepner — R.  Kenneth  Everson — Allil  and 


Central  Acrostic.  Louisa  Alcott.  Cross-words :  1.  PiLot.  2. 
Gloom.  3.  Abuse.  4.  Naiad.  5.  Inset.  6.  PrAnk.  7.  LeAse. 
8.   MoLly.     9.   Incog.     10.  Crowd,     n.   BuTte.     12.  InTer. 

Diagonal.  Washington.  Cross-words:  1.  Wilderness.  2.  Mar- 
supials. 3.  Despondent.  4.  Nightshade.  5.  Fictitious.  6.  Brigan- 
tine.     7.  Congregate.     8.  Incidental.     9.  Recreation.     10.  Habitation. 

Conundrum.     Hatch-et. Cross-word  Enigma.     Herring. 

Novel  Double  Zigzag.  Primal  zigzag,  primrose;  final  zigzag, 
amethyst;  1  to  8,  February;  9  to  17,  valentine.  Cross-words:  1. 
Petal.  2.  Priam.  3.  Infer.  4.  Ambit.  5.  Ruche.  6.  Coyly.  7. 
Sense.     8.   Verst. 

Illustrated  Numerical  Enigma.  "Hail  to  thy  returning  festi- 
val, old  Bishop  Valentine  !  " 

Arithmetical  Puzzle.     Jack  was  twelve  and  his  father  sixty. 

To  our  Puzzlers:  Answers  to  be  acknowledged  in  the  magazine 
addressed  to  St.  Nicholas  Riddle-box,  care  of  The  Century  Co.,  33 

Answers  to  all  the  Puzzles  in  the  December  Number  were 
arine  Chapman — Lothrop  Bartlett — Theodore  H.  Ames — Isabel  Shaw 
Adi— "  Midwood." 

Answers  to  Puzzles  in  the  December  Number  were  received  before  December  24  from  Horace  B.  Davis,  7 — Ruth  V.  A.  Spicer,  7 — 
Helen  Saxton,  7 — Victor  E.  W.  Bird,  7 — Malcolm  D.  Warner,  7 — Helen  T.  Scudder,  7 — Mary  L.  Ingles,  7 — "Chums,"  7 — A.  H.  Nethercot,  7 — 
Isabelle  M.  Craig,  7 — Sophie  Rosenheim,  6 — Janet.  Fine,  6 — Frances  Eaton,  6 — Richard  Sears,  6 — Dorothy  Gardham,  4 — Frances  K.  Marlatt,  4 
—Lucy  O.  Lewton,  4— G.  B.  Murray,  2— H.  L.  F.  Bucknall,  2— G.  P.  Howell,  Jr.,  2— I.  Redmond,  2— E.  Dickson,  2— "The  Webbs,"  2— R.  E. 
Shevitz,  2 — C.  F.  Chandler,  2 — H.  Case,  2 — F.  Floyd,  Jr.,  2 — J.  W.  Vandercook,  2 — M.  Arrowsmith,  2 — C.  G.  Hawkins,  2 — R.  Champion,  2 — 
C.  M.  Rich,  2— J.  H.  Kramer,  2— E.  Osius,  2— C.  A.  Hobbs,  2— R.  L.  Wiel,  2— T.  Faucett,  1— B.  R.  Simcox,  1— E.  M.  Sutcliffe,  1— W.  Mar- 
ting,  i-N.  Knight,  1— A.  Bell,  1— W.  Wilson,  1— T.  M.  Bancroft,  1— D.  M.  Pickett,  1— C.  Smith,  1— C.  Rapp,  1— E.  C.  D.  Mackay,  1— M. 
Bliss,  t— R.  Hall,  1— H.  Schniewind,  1— E.  Crowell,  1— V.  Eddy,  1— J.  H.  Bresler,  1— F.  E.  Hall,  1— R.  Read,  1— M.  A.  Crews,  1— H.  A. 
Salinger,  1 — S.  Burrage,  1 — F.  Mitchell,  1 — J.  Gruener,  1 — R.  V.  Hyde,  1 — E.  Ropes,  1 — G.  Cook,  1 — B.  L.  Schoenbaechler,  1. 


CONNECTING  PYRAMIDS 


o 

o     o 


o 

o     o 


o     o  11  o     o     o      01110     o 
.      00000000 


IV  . 


VI 


0-..O---O---0 

00  00  00  00 

000  000  000  000 

O        0V110       O       O       O       O       O       O       0  1X0       O       O       0X0       o 

00000000000000000 

In  this  puzzle  the  words  read  both  ways,  as  in  a  word- 
square,  but  form  triangles.     Example  : 

E 

N     N 

TOT 

E     A     A     E 

R     H     R     H     R 

in  which  the  words  Enter,  Noah,  Tar,  Eh,  and  R  read 
in  two  ways. 

I.  1.  Pipes.  2.  Employed.  3.  An  insect.  4.  A  boy's 
nickname.     5.  In  restoring. 

II.  1.  Something  lean  and  rough.  2.  A  tribe.  3.  A 
fragment  of  cloth.     4.  An  article.     5.  In  restoring. 

III.  1.  A  drawing  up  of  the  shoulders.  2.  Garden 
implements.  3.  A  color.  4.  A  personal  pronoun.  5.  In 
restoring. 


IV.  1.  Raised.  2.  Went  on  horseback.  3.  An  ex- 
alted lyric  poem.  4.  A  personal  pronoun.  5.  In  re- 
storing. 

V.  1.  A  kernel.     2.  To  shower.     3.  The  atmosphere. 

4.  Surrounded  by.     5.  In  restoring. 

VI.  1.  To  moan.  2.  A  quantity  of  paper.  3.  The 
kernel  of  a  cereal  grass.     4.  A  part  of  the  verb  to  be. 

5.  In  restoring. 

VII.  1.  A  relative.  2.  A  thought.  3.  A  kind  of  fish. 
4.  An  abbreviation  for  "chartered  accountant."  5.  In 
restoring. 

VIII.  1.  A  recess.  2.  Within.  3.  The  abbreviation 
for  certain  small  coins.  4.  An  exclamation.  5.  In  re- 
storing. 

IX.  1.  Loud  sound.  2.  An  obsolete  word  for  anoint. 
3.  A  colored  fluid.  4.  The  abbreviation  of  the  title  of  a 
canonized  person.     5.  In  restoring. 

X.  1.  Grand.  2.  A  medley.  3.  Huge.  4.  An  exclama- 
tion.    5.  In  restoring. 

philip  franklin   (age  14),  Honor  Member. 

GEOGRAPHICAL  CENTRAL  ACROSTIC 

All  of  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number  of 
letters.  When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another,  the  central  letters  will  spell  one  of  the  United 
States. 

Cross-words:  i.  A  city  of  South  Carolina.  2.  A 
country  of  Europe.  3.  A  river  of  Africa.  4.  A  county 
of  England.  5.  A  river  of  Hungary.  6.  One  of  the 
principal  rivers  of  Germany,  navigable  as  far  as 
Miinden. 

juliet  Thompson   (age   12),  League  Member. 


480 


THE   RIDDLE-BOX 


( Go/rf  Badge. 

5 

24 

3 

34 

50 

63 

14 

28 

52 

62 

8 

37 

73 

7i 

18 

54 

21 

13 

48 

59 

60 

33 

31 

17 

61 

38 

58 

2 

25 

45 

44 

1 1 

46 

6 

36 

53 

30 

26 

23 

69 

1 

20 

39 

9 

55 

72 

67 

16 

66 

32 

22 

12 

4 

68 

15 

40 

5i 

56 

27 

35 

57 

74 

49 

70 

4i 

43 

64 

42 

47 

29 

7 

19 

65 

10 

SOME  SHIPS  OF  1812 

Each  of  the  eleven  little  pictures  shown  represents  a 
ship  that  took  part  in  the  War  of  1812.  What  are  the 
names  of  the  eleven  ships  ? 

NOVEL  NUMERICAL,  ACROSTIC 

Silver  Badge  won  June,  iQii) 
Following  the  numbers  from    i 
through    74,   twelve   things   asso- 
ciated  with   war  may  be   spelled 
out. 

Cross-words  :  1.  To  wander. 
2.  Rigid.  3.  Physical  exertion. 
4.  Curiously.  5.  A  theater  for 
musical  performances.  6.  Show- 
ery. 7.  A  familiar  bird.  8.  To 
flinch.  9.  Rhythm.  10.  Com- 
plete. 11.  To  let  down.  12. 
The  edible  production  of  certain 
vegetable  growths.  13.  To  dis- 
trust. 14.  A  large  spoon.  15. 
Nap.  16.  Supports. 

WYLLYS    P.    AMES    (age    1 5). 

CONNECTING  WORDS 

(Silver  Badge,  St.  Nicholas  League  Competition) 
Each    of    the    words    described    contains    four    letters. 
Use  the  last  two  letters  of  the  first  word  for  the  first 
two  of  the  second   word,  and  so   on. 

1.  To  burn  to  a  cinder.  2.  Parched.  3.  Averse  to 
labor.  4.  A  famous  king.  5.  To  curve.  6.  To  crack. 
7.  Quadrumanous  animals.  8.  To  discern.  9.  A  pile  to 
be  burned.     10.  To  depend  on. 

ALVIN   E.    BLOMQUIST    (age    l6). 

CROSS-WORD  ENIGMA 

My  first  is  in  moon,  but  not  in  earth  ; 
My  second  in  death,  but  not  in  birth; 
My  third  is  in  tack,  but  not  in  nail ; 
My  fourth  is  in  robin,  but  not  in'  quail ; 
My  fifth  is  in  cent,  but  not  in  dollar ; 
My  sixth  is  in  shirt,  but  not  in  collar ; 
My  seventh  's  in  night,  but  not  in  day; 
My  whole  is  the  name  of  a  famous  play. 

marian  haynes   (age  12),  League  Member. 

DOUBLE  ACROSTIC 

(Silver  Badge,  St.  Nicholas  League  Competition) 
When  the  following  nineteen  words  have  been  rightly 
guessed  and  written  one  below  another,  the  initials  will 
spell  a  quotation.  Whose  words  they  are,  is  told  by  the 
final  letters  of  the  last  nine  words  ;  and  the  final  letters 
of  the  first  ten  words  will  spell  the  name  given  to  a  sen- 


tence which  reads  the  same  backward  or  forward.  The 
quotation  spelled  by  the  initials  is  a  fine  example  of 
such  a  sentence. 

Cross-words  (of  equal  length)  :  i.  A  famous  writer 
of  very  short  stories.  2.  A  preparation  from  cocoa- 
seeds.  3.  To  mark  with  a  name.  4.  Listlessness.  5.  To 
arouse.  6.  To  improve.  7.  Flavor.  8.  One  of  the 
United  States.  9.  A  name  associated  with  an  annual 
race  in  England.  10.  A  river  of  Europe.  11.  A  femi- 
nine name.  12.  A  great  country  of  Asia.  13.  A  long, 
narrow  piece  of  leather.  14-.  A  name  borne  by  two  of 
the  Bahama  Islands.  15.  Part  of  a  wagon.  16.  Our 
national  bird.  17.  A  place  of  restraint.  18.  The  area 
drained  by  a  river.     19.  A  collection  of  maps. 

vernita  c.  haynes  (age  13). 

NUMERICAL  ENIGMA 

I  am  composed  of  fifty-five  letters,  and  form  a  quota- 
tion from  Plato. 

My  50-17  is  not  out.  My  35-28-8  is  a  pronoun.  My 
38-30-20-11  is  to  exhibit.  My  4-26-23-48  is  a  small 
bird.  My  21-9-41-49  is  an  order  of  knighthood.  My 
24-32-53-15  is  to  survey.  My  55-47-33-43  is  celebrity. 
My  27-2-12-19^7  is  destitute  of  color.  My  45-31-36- 
42-46  is  an  Egyptian  divinity.  My  1 3-5-29-1-54-40  is 
diminutive.  My  34-37-10-18-3-44  is  a  season.  My 
16-52-6-22-51-39-14-25  is  to  gather  together. 

matilda  van  siclen  (age  15),  League  Member. 

QUINTUPLE  BEHEADINGS  AND  QUADRUPLE 
CURTAILINGS 

( Gold  Badge.  Silver  Badge  won  November,  iqii) 
Example:  Quintuply  behead  and  quadruply  curtail  mod- 
est, and  leave  a  number.     Answer,  unpre-ten-ding. 
In  the  same  way  behead  and  curtail : 

1.  Essentials,  and  leave  "children  of  a  larger  growth." 

2.  Bountifully,  and  leave  a  cold  substance. 

3.  Disputes,  and  leave  a  domestic  animal. 

4.  Explainable,  and  leave  a  pronoun. 

5.  Excessively,  and  leave  epoch. 

6.  Relating  to  mythology,  and  leave  an  unhewed  piece 
of  wood. 

7.  Uncontrollable,  and  leave  to  grow  old. 

8.  The  office  of  governor,  and  leave  a  conjunction. 

9.  Incomprehensible,  and  leave  a  machine  invented 
by  Eli  Whitney. 

10.  Freedom  from  control,  and  leave  finish. 

11.  Inundations,  and  leave  abject. 

12.  The  act  of  foreboding,  and  leave  a  dignified  poem. 
When   all   the   words   have  been   rightly  guessed,   the 

initials  of  the  twelve  three-letter  words  will  spell  the 
name  of  a  very  famous  artist  who  was  born  in  March. 

MARGARET    SPAULDING    (age    1 2). 


THE   DE  V1NNE   PRESS,  NEW  YORK. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"Give  sugary  joys 
To  sissy  boys. 

But  'Campbell's  Soup!'  say  I. 
Better  the  bliss 
Of  a  bowl  like  this 
Than  a  bake-shop  full  of  pie." 


And  you  will  say  so  too 

Yes,  every  one  of  you  sensible  boys  and 
girls    who  read   St.   Nicholas   will  appreciate  the  satisfying  quality  of 

Campbell's  Tomato  Soup 

Deliciously  inviting  to  the  taste — with  its  fragrant  freshness  and  spicy 
flavor — it  is  also  thoroughly  wholesome  and  easy  to  digest.  And  it  helps 
you  to  digest  other  nourishing  food. 

Why  not  ask  Mother  to  have  it  for  dinner,  and  join  the  stalwart 
Campbell  army  to-day? 


21   kinds 


lOc  a  can 


Asparagus 
Beef 
Bouillon 
Celery 


Chicken 

Chicken-Gumbo  (Okra) 
Clam  Bouillon 
Clam  Chowder 


Consomme 
Julienne 
Mock  Turtle 
Mulligatawny 


Mutton  Broth 
Ox  Tail 
Pea 
Pepper  Pot 


Printanier 
Tomato 
Tomato-Okra 
Vegre  table 
Vermicelli-Tomato 


Xmf^BL  Sows 

Look  -tor  Ins  r^d-and-y/hJte  Jabd 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


TEACH 

your  chil- 
dren the 
pleasant 
advantages 
6  f    Fairy 
Soap    and 
when     they 
have   a   "Little 
Fa  iry    in    the 
Home"  they  will  be 
glad  of  your  influence 


Have  You  a  Little  Fairy' 

in  Your 
Home? 


the  oval,  floating  cake, 
is  ideal  for  all  toilet 
and  bath  purposes 
of  old  and  young. 
<LFairy  Soap — 
the  white,  clean, 
sweet,  pure 
luxury — wears 
down  to  the 
thinnest 
wafer  and 
never 
loses  its  fine 
quality. 


TO 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


That's  it,  of  Course. 


"There  it  is — the  one  with  the  big  red 
word  Jell-O  on  it." 

That  is  the  way  to  be  sure  it  is  Jell-O. 
Every  Jell-O  package  has  the  word  Jell-O  on 
it  in  big  red  letters. 

It  is  besl  to  be  sure,   because  you  cannot  make   the  famous  Jell-O   desserts  of 
anything  but  Jell-O,  and  the  family  that  doesn't  have 


desserts,  with  their  piquant  flavors  of  pure  fruit  and  their  gem-like 
color  and  sparkle,  is  missing  something  that  should  never  be  missed 
by  lovers  of  good  things  to  eat. 

There  are  seven  flavors  of  Jell-O  (all  pure  fruit  flavors) : 
Strawberry,  Raspberry,  Lemon,  Orange,  Cherry,  Peach,  Chocolate. 
All  are  delicious,  and  with  any  one  of  them  a  Jell-O  dessert  can 
be  made  in  a  minute. 

10c.  a  package  at  any  grocer's 

Rose  Cecil  O'Neill,  author  and  illustrator  oi  the  " Kewpies,  " 
made  the  pictures  lor  a  heautiiul  Recipe  Book,  which  we  will 
send  free  to  all  who  will  write  to  us  and  ask  for  it. 

THE   GENESEE  PURE    FOOD   CO.,    Le    Roy,  N.  Y.,  and    Bridgeburg,  Can. 


II 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


NABISCO 

Sugar  Wafers 

make  an  irresistible  appeal  to 
the  palate.  These  bewitching 
dessert  confections  are  made 
for  the  joyful  occasion,  the 
social  gathering,  the  feast. 


AD  OR  A — Another  dessert 
confection  invariably  popular 
with  the  hostess.  These  little 
wafers  are  pleasing  to  look 
upon,  entrancing  to  the  taste, 
whether  served  with  desserts 
or  eaten  as  a  confection. 


FI,STINO  —  Their  resem- 
blance to  an  actual  almond  is 
most  attractive.  I E,  S  T I N  O 
conceals  beneath  the  most  deli- 
cate of  shells  an  enticing  sweet- 
ened, almond-flavored  filling. 


CHOCOLATE,  TOKHNS— A 

dessert  confection.  An  unusu- 
ally pleasing  chocolate-covered 
sweet  with  a  filling  of  creamy 
goodness. 


NATIONAL  BISCUIT 
COMPANY 


12 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Children,  Too,  Should  Wear 
Holeproof  Hosiery 

Good  Style— Six  Months'  Wear— No  More  Darning 

Holeproof  Hose  for  children  are  smart 
looking  stockings  which  are  reinforced 
at  heel,  toe  and  knee.  Children  who 
wear  them  always  look  neat.  And  it  is 
estimated  that  Holeproof  Hosiery  today 
saves  darning  for  more  than  a  million 
! 


men, 


women  i 

Whole    families    can    have    it 
women  and  children. 

The  guarantee  of  six  months'  wear  with 
every  six  pairs  of  Holeproof  is  only  one  of  the 
reasons  for  its  great  popularity. 

Another  reason  lies  in  the  result  of  our  pol- 
icy of  constantly  watching  the  World  for  every 
hosiery  improvement.  And  our  ability  to  pay 
the  costs  of  adopting  the  best — an  ability  that 
is  made  possible  by  our  great  volume  of  bus- 
iness. 

We  send  for  the  World's  finest  cotton  yarns 
— Egyptian  and  Sea  Island.  We  pay  for  these 
yarns  an  average  of  74c  a  pound.  Common 
yarn  in  this  country  costs  32c. 

And  we  have  lately  imported,  at  a  large  expense,  a 
great  Swiss  machine  to  do  our  own  mercerizing  for  the 
men's  and  women's  Holeproof  because  this  machine 
adds  a  beautiful  lustre  and  22  per  cent  more  strength 
to  the  yarn. 

Don't  you  want  such  hose  ?  With  all  their  advan- 
tages, they  cost  no  more  than  common  kinds. 

The  genuine  Holeproof  is  sold  in  your  town. 
Ask  us  for  the  dealers'  names.  We  ship  direct 
where  there  's  no  dealer  near  you,  charges  prepaid, 
on  receipt  of  remittance.  Write  for  free  book  that 
tells  all  about  Holeproof.  See  if  you,  too,  don't 
want  this  style,  comfort  and  wear. 

Holeproof  Hosiery  Company,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

Holeproof  Hosiery  Company  of  Canada,  Ltd.,  London,  Can. 
Holeproof  Hosiery  Company,  10  Church  Alley,  Liverpool,  England 


MEN.  WOMEN 


AND  CHILDREN. 


$1.50  per  box  and  up  for  six  pairs  of  men's  ; 
$2.00  per  box  and  up  for  six  pnirs  of  women's 
and  children's  ;  $1.00  per  box  for  four  pairs  of 
infants'  Above  boxes  guaranteed  six  months. 
$2.00  per  box  for  three  pairs  of  men's  silk 
Holeproof  socks  •  $3.00  per  box  for  three  pairs 
of  women's  silk  Holeproof  stockings.  Boxes 
of  silk  guaranteed  three  months. 


"SojS^m 


FOR  WOMEN 


Write  for  the  free  book  about 
Holeproof  Silk  Gloves,  and 
ask  for  the  name  of  the  dealer 
who  sells  them.  These  are 
the  durable,  stylish  gloves 
that  every  woman  has  want- 
ed. Made  in  all  sizes,  lengths 
and  colors.  (537) 


13 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Extension   Heel 


Helpful  Support 
for  Weak  Ankles 

Children  whose  ankles  "turn  in" 
should  be  fitted  with  shoes  that  give 
a  comfortable  and  corrective  support 
to  the  ankles.  The  broad  toe  and 
snug  heel-seat  of  the 

COWARD  suaprpcohrt  SHOE 

With  COWARD  EXTENSION  Heel 

control  the  ankle  muscles,  hold  the 
arch  of  the  foot  in  place,  and  correct 
any  tendency  toward  "flat  foot." 
Recommended  by  leading  physicians 
and  surgeons. 

Coward  Arch  Support  Shoe  and  Coward  Exten- 
sion Heel  have  been  made  by  James  S.  Coward, 
in  his  Custom  Department,  for  over  33  years. 

Mail  Orders  Filled — Send  for  Catalogue 


SOLD  NOWHERE  ELSE 

JAMES  S.  COWARD 

264-274    Greenwich    St.,  New  York   City 

(near  warren  street) 


The  Book  Man  himself  has  a  set  of  St.  Nich- 
olas which  extends  all  the  way  back  to  within 
a  year  or  so  of  the  very  first  volume.  Indeed, 
it  reaches  from  his  children's  nursery  back 
into  his  own,  which  is  a  long  distance ! 

I  would  like  very  much  to  know  how  many 
of  you  have  a  row  of  the  fine  red-and-gold 
bound  volumes  of  St.  Nicholas,  and  whether 
your  volumes  fit  right  on  to  the  volumes  that 
your  mother  and  father  had.  The  next  time 
you  write  me,  tell  me  this !  Or  don't  wait  un- 
til you  have  some  question  to  ask  me  about 
new  or  old  books,  but  just  get  a  postal  card 
and  tell  me  right  away  about  your  bound  vol- 
umes of  St.  Nicholas.  I  don't  suppose  many 
of  you  have  a  set  quite  as  long  as  mine  is,  but 
I  am  sure  that  a  great  many  of  you  have  from 
four  to  ten  volumes.     Have  you  ? 


The  Book  Man  has  spoken  before  of  Harry 
A.  Franck's  "Zone  Policeman  88,"  and  how  it 
gives  a  picture  of  the  Zone  and  its  life  that  is 
almost  as  good  as  a  trip  down  there.  All  you 
older  boys  and  girls  should  read  it.  It  will 
make  the  work  on  the  canal  there,  the  people 
—  Colonel  Goethals  especially — and  the  life  al- 
most as  real  as  the  neighbors  next  door. 

Probably  some  of  you  will  be  going  to  Pan- 
ama in  the  next  few  months.  Be  sure  if  you 
do  to  have  for  a  companion  Farnham  Bishop's 
"Panama  Past  and  Present."  Farnham  Bishop 
is  the  son  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Isthmian 
Canal  Commission,  and  so  he  knows. 

Mr.  Franck  tells  you  what  is  happening  in 
the  Canal  Zone  from  the  outside ;  and  as  he 
is  a  shrewd  observer  and  sees  the  fun  in  every 
happening,  the  book  is  delightfully  entertain- 
ing. 

Farnham  Bishop  tells  you  just  the  history 
of  the  Canal  Zone  that  every  one  wants  to 
know,  and  many  interesting  facts  of  geog- 
raphy and  of  the  canal's  building: 

How  we  are  building  the  Panama  Canal. 

Why  we  are  building  a  canal  with  locks  in- 
stead of  one  dug  down  to  sea-level. 

(Continued  on  page  15.) 


14 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


THE  BOOK  MAN  —  Continued 

What  the  opening  of  the  canal  means  to 
America. 

When  you  have  read  the  two  books,  you  will 
be  well  informed  about  "the  biggest,  cleanest 
job  the  world  has  ever  seen" ;  and  whether  you 
make  the  trip  to  Panama  or  stay  at  home,  you 
want  this  information. 


Often  a  book,  written  specially  for  a  text- 
book, is  just  the  book  you  want  to  read  up  on, 
on  some  special  subject.  If  you  want  to  know 
about  American  history,  for  instance,  you  will 
find  Forman's  "A  History  of  the  United 
States"  both  fascinating  and  profitable.  Per- 
haps you  are  already  using  it  in  your  school- 
it  is  used  as  the  text-book  in  many  schools 
throughout  the  country ;  and  the  Secretary  of 
the  Navy  has  recently  decided  upon  it  as  the 
book  to  be  used  in  Uncle  Sam's  training 
schools  for  enlisted  men. 

And  when  you  get  ready  for  an  American 
History  for  older  boys  and  girls,  you  will  want 
to  use  the  same  author's  "Advanced  American 
History,"  which  pays  special  attention  to  the 
thrilling  story  of  the  progress  of  the  white 
man  toward  the  West. 


One  of  the  young  readers  of  St.  Nicholas 
writes  the  Book  Man  that  "Feathered  Pets," 
by  Charles  N.  Page,  is  "a  perfectly  splendid 
book  about  the  care  of  every  kind  of  cage 
birds,"  and  asks  that  it  be  recommended  to 
other  readers  of  St.  Nicholas  who  have  bird 
pets.  The  book  is  published  by  the  Iowa  Bird 
Co.,  Des  Moines,  Iowa,  and  may  be  had  for 
75  cents,  or,  paper  bound,  for  25  cents. 


Here  is  some  delightful  news  !  The  French 
Government  has  just  purchased  for  the  Lux- 
embourg Gallery  Arthur  Rackham's  "Jack 
Sprat  and  His  Wife." 

"Is  that  nice  ?"  says  some  stupid  person  who 
does  n't  know.  Nice !  Why,  it  's  the  very 
nicest  thing  that  can  happen  to  an  artist.  It  is 
the  very  highest  honor  the  French  Govern- 
ment can  confer  upon  a  living  artist— for  not 
until  an  artist  is  dead,  can  any  of  his  pictures, 
no  matter  how  fine,  be  hung  in  the  Louvre. 

"Jack  Sprat  and  His  Wife,"  you  remember, 
appeared  in  the  January  St.  Nicholas.  Get 
your  January  St.  Nicholas  and  look  at  it 
again.  And  then  you  will  read,  with  redoubled 
interest,  Eleanor  Farjeon's  charming  article  in 
this  number  of  St.  Nicholas  on  "Arthur 
Rackham :  the  Wizard  at  Home." 

Watch  out  too  for  the  wonderful  new  book 
by  Arthur  Rackham,  coming  some  time  in 
March.  It  is  to  have  forty-four  of  the  loveli- 
est Rackham  pictures  you  ever  saw  — pictures 

{Continued  on  page  /6. ) 


The  "Boy  Problem" 
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The  "Baby  Grand"  Billiard  Table  is  solv- 
ing "  the  boy  problem  "  in  many  hundreds  of 
homes.      One  mother  writes  : 

"When  we  attempt  to  make  plain  to  you 
what  pleasure  your  table  has  brought  to  our 
home,  words  fail  us  and  we  can  only  say — 
OUR    BOY    NOW  LIVES    AT    HOME;" 

The  BABY  GRAND  Home 
Billiard  Table 

Made  of  Mahogany,  inlaid.  Fitted  with  Slate  Bed, 
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Play,"  etc.,  etc. 

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Address 


15 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


■'• 


Children's  tastes  develop  early.  They 
soon  learn  to  prefer  ■etigd*. 

Mother  is  glad  to  encourage  them.  She 
has  preferred  ■?&%&&  all  her  life,  and  knows 
it  is  always  pure  and  fresh.  <&$&&  can't 
hurt  children. 


Bonbons 


Chocolates 


Besides  <&%£#  bonbons  and  chocolates 
—  the  masterpieces  of  flavor  —  there  are 
nearly  fifty  other  kinds  of  *&#&>!/  to  suit 
every  candy  taste. 

Among  them  are  the  delicious  old- 
fashioned  molasses  candy,  just  like  that 
we  made  forty  years  ago,  fluffy  marsh- 
mallows,  creamy  peppermints,  pecan  cara- 
mels, ■e^fejXi'  Fresh  Every  Hour  mixture, 
and  the  delicately  flavored  sticks  and  drops 
in  air-tight  glass  jars.  Which  kind  do 
you  like  best  ? 

e^*^*  candies  are  sold  by  «d|ss&>'  sales 
agents  (leading  druggists  everywhere)  in 
United  States  and  Canada.  If  there  should 
be  no  sales  agent  near  you,  write  to  us. 


THE  BOOK  MAN— Continued 

of  children,  and  of  other  "little  people''  and 
other  perfectly  fascinating  folk. 


16 


William  and  Bill  dressing  /or  their  Jirst  call.  Which  is  Will- 
iam, and  which  is  Bill  ? 

Try  "William  and  Bill"  — all  you  girls  and 
boys  who  are  getting  a  bit  too  grown-up  for 
the  regular  children's  books.  It  is  the  story 
of  two  real  boys — cousins — and  of  the  good 
times  and  mishaps  they  had  as  they  grew  up 
—  and  it  is  just  running  over  with  wholesome 
fun. 

William  and  Bill  really  did  grow  up  in  a 
small,  happy  American  town ;  and  Grace  Mac- 
Gowan  Cooke  and  Caroline  Wood  Morrison 
knew  them,  and  enjoyed  their  pranks,  and 
sympathized  with  their  love-affairs.  That  is 
why  the  book  is  so  real  and  worth  while. 

The  Book  Man  has  been  asked  which  is,  in 
his  opinion,  the  most  famous  fairy  story.  This 
is  a  very  difficult  question  to  answer,  as  it  is 
entirely  a  matter  of  opinion.  A  noted  author 
states  that  he  believes  "Cinderella"  to  be  the 
greatest  short  story  ever  written.  There  are 
doubtless  others  who  would  vote  for  "Blue- 
beard," "Jack  and  the  Bean-stalk,"  "Little  Red 
Riding  Hood,"  or  a  host  of  others. 

Did  any  boy  or  girl  know  that  Cinderella's 
slipper  was  made  of  fur  instead  of  glass?  This 
is  what  the  Century  Dictionary  tells  us  about 
the  story : 

In  a  noted  fairy  tale,  a  beautiful  girl  who  acts  as 
household  drudge  to  her  stepmother  and  sisters.  The 
prince  of  the  country  falls  in  love  with  her  at  a  ball 
which  she  attends  dressed  by  her  fairy  godmother  in 
magic  finery  which  will  vanish  at  midnight.  Fleeing 
from  the  palace  as  the  clock  strikes,  she  loses  one  tiny 
glass  slipper,  by  means  of  which,  as  it  would  fit  no  one 

{Continued  on  page  17.) 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 
THE  BOOK  MAN— Continued 

else,  the  prince  finds  and  marries  her.  In  the  German 
version,  instead  of  the  fairy  godmother  two  white  doves 
befriend  her,  and  her  golden  slipper  is  caught,  as  she 
runs  from  the  palace,  by  pitch  spread,  by  order  of  the 
prince,  on  the  staircase.  The  story  is  of  very  ancient, 
probably  Eastern,  origin.  It  is  mentioned  in  German 
literature  in  the  16th  century,  and  a  similar  legend  is 
told  in  Egypt  of  Rhodopis  and  Psammetichus.  In  France, 
Perrault  and  Madame  d'Aunoy  include  it  in  their  "Fairy 
Tales"  as  "Cendrillon"  and  "Finette  Cendroi,"  and 
Grimm  also  gives  it  in  his ' '  Household  Tales. "  There  are 
many  English  versions,  and  it  is  found  in  various  forms 
in  almost  every  language  in  Europe.  The  glass  slipper 
of  the  English  version  should  be  a  fur  slipper,  the  mis- 
take arising  in  the  translation  of  vair  ("fur")  as  if  verre 
("glass"). 

Did  you  know  that  "Bluebeard"  might  have 
been  Gilles  de  Laval,  Baron  de  Retz ;  and  that 
the  story  of  "Jack  and  the  Bean-stalk"  is  told 
by  the  Zulus  of  South  Africa,  and  the  North 
American  Indians? 

If  any  one  of  you  wishes  to  know  about 
these  or  other  stories,  he  or  she  may  find  it  in 
this  wonderful  Dictionary,  or— write  The 
Book  Man. 


Did  you  know  that  there  are  thousands  of 
aborigines  in  the  United  States  just  as  expert 
with  the  boomerang  as  are  the  Australian 
Bushmen? 

Did  you  know  that  there  are  just  as  clever 
Indian  jugglers  in  America  as  in  India? 

Did  you  know  that  the  United  States  has 
every  year  a  Passion  Reality — a  flesh-and- 
blood  crucifixion  wherein  an  ignorant  fanatic 
represents  in  fact  the  death  of  the  Saviour? 

Did  you  know  that  in  a  desolate  corner  of 
the  United  States  is  the  greatest  natural  won- 
der of  the  world— a  canon  in  which  all  the 
world's  famous  gorges  could  be  lost  forever? 

If  you  do  not,  read  Charles  F.  Lummis's 
"Some  Strange  Corners  of  Our  Country."  It 
will  introduce  you  to  a  new  and  broad  world 
of  wonders  and  give  you  an  altogether  new 
conception  of  the  marvels  of  your  own  land. 
Fascinating?  It  is  the  kind  of  true  story  which 
is  more  fascinating  than  any  tale  of  the  im- 
agination could  possibly  be ;  and  these  simple 
records  of  actual  phenomena  within  America's 
borders  will  stimulate  the  imagination  of  the 
dullest. 

What  book  has  given  you  most  pleasure 
during  1913  ?  Was  it  one  of  the  new  books 
of  the  year?  Or  was  it,  perhaps,  one  of  the 
old,  old  classics,  eternal  in  its  youth  and  beauty 
and  freshness  of  delight? 

Won't  you  write  The  Book  Man  about  it  for 
the  benefit  of  other  readers  of  these  columns? 
What  the  book  is.  Why  you  like  it  so  well. 
What  other  books  you  own  and  love.     Address 

1&*  IWcW^ 


YELLOW- 
STONE 
PARK 

is  the  most  unique  and  wonder- 
ful outing  spot  on  earth — it  is 
also  educational.  The  Park  Sea- 
son is  from  June  15  to  Septem- 
ber 15. 

Plan  to  go  at  the  first  opportunity,  and 
see  the  GEYSERS,  CANYONS,  HOT 
SPRINGS,  CATARACTS,  ANIMALS, 
ETC.  Splendid  hotels  at  each  impor- 
tant point  and  the  coaching  trip  from 
hotel  to  hotel  is  just  right.  Several 
kinds  of  trout  fishing.  Send  eight  cents 
for  our  Yellowstone  literature. 

Northern  Pacific 
Railway 

A.  M.  CLELAND, 
General  Passenger 

Agent 
ST.  PAUL,  MINN. 


l7 


St.  Nicholas  Advertising  Competition,  No.  14.J. 


Time  to  send  in  answers  is  tip  March  20.     Prize-winners  announced  in  the  May  number. 
Adventures  of  Hop-o'-My  Thumb  in  the  Advertising  Field. 


It  was  a  fine  field,  the  little  fellow  thought,  as 
he  looked  around  him,  for  there  were  trees  and 
a  stream,  and  here  and  there  groups  of  people 
who  seemed  to  be  enjoying  life. 

So  Hop-o'-My-Thumb  strolled  about  to  see 
what  he  might  see. 

And  first  he  heard  sweet  music  from  all  over 
the  world,  and  as.  he  stood  listening,  he  was 
offered  a  costly  little  book  for  nothing,  telling 
him  who  composed  the  music  he  heard,  and  then 
he  went  into  a  forest  and  he  bought  another 
book  that  told  when  he  was  allowed  to  hunt 
various  creatures  of  the  forest  and  stream ;  and 
next  he  came  to  a  little  town  fitted  to  his  own 
size — the  cleanest  little  place  he  ever  saw — 
and  met  nine  of  the  folks  that  live  there.  Hop 
took  them  all  home  to  play  with  when  he  left 
the  field.  But  before  that  he  saw  two  little 
friends,  brother  and  sister,  and  they  invited  him 
to  go  sliding  down  hill  with  them,  telling  him 
that  if  he  should  get  a  bump  or  bruise  they  had 
something  that  would  remedy  any  trouble. 
There  were  some  healthy  babies  who  stood  by 
and  offered  Hop  a  part  of  some  food  they  were 
very  fond  of  ;  they  had  a  bottle  of  it  with  them. 
A  good  many  of  the  folks  were  eating,  and  one 
man  had  a  bandage'  over  his  eyes,  and  was 
smiling  as  he  raised  a  spoon  to  his  mouth. 

This  made  Hop  think  of  luncheon,  and  so 
he  wandered  over  to  the  stream,  and  found 
some  youngsters  washing  their  hands,  and  play- 
ing as  well,  for  they  had  two  boats — or  things 
they  called  boats — things  that  floated,  anyway  ; 
and  one  was  oval  and  one  was  oblong,  and  both 
were  white.  Here  Hop  met  a  little  Gnome, 
who  proved  a  fine  playfellow,  full  of  fun. 
Then  Hop  washed  his  hands  with  another  cake 
that  was  oval  and  bore  the  name  of  some  fruits, 
and  went  to  see  what  he  could  find  to  eat. 
He  had  a  sweet  tooth,  and  so  he  sampled 
five  kinds  of  sugar  products,  four  kinds  of 
dessert  confections,  and  then  added  a  box  of 
bonbons,  some  chocolate,  and  took  a  good  hot 
drink  of  something  that  warmed  and  cheered 
him.  Then  Hop  attended  to  his  teeth,  put- 
ting a  ribbon  on  his  brush,  and  wandered  away 
again. 


He  took  a  ride  on  a  bicycle,  and  came 
across  a  tiny  electric  railway  that  ran  near  a 
lot  of  plants  for  sale- — geraniums,  heliotropes, 
marguerites,  chrysanthemums,  and  carnations — 
and  at  last  found  himself  amid  a  lot  of  ani- 
mal friends  —  the  home  of  sixteen  champion 
dogs  and  of  a  great  number  of  beautiful  cats. 

If  you  will  look  carefully  over  the  adver- 
tising pages  of  the  January  St.  Nicholas, 
you  may  be  able  to  give  a  name  to  the  things 
Hop  saw.  After  you  have  found  the  adver- 
tisements referred  to,  write  the  names  of  the 
makers  or  owners  when  they  appear,  as  given 
in  the  advertisement,  put  them  in  alphabetical 
order  according  to  the  way  the  name  appears 
in  the  advertisement  (for  example,  George 
Frost  Co.  would  be  included  with  the  "G's" 
and  not  with  the  "F's"),  and  number  them. 
The  puzzle  will  then  be  solved.  A  maker's 
name  need  only  be  mentioned  once  in  your 
answers,  even  though  more  than  one  reference 
is  found.  To  settle  any  question  as  to  prize 
awards  in  the  case  of  equally  correct  lists, 
write,  in  a  few  words,  at  the  bottom  of  your 
list  your  suggestion  as  to  what  you  would  like 
to  see  a  story  or  article  written  about  in  St. 
Nicholas,  together  with  your  reason.  The 
most  useful  and  best  presented  suggestion  will 
rank  first. 

As  usual  the  prizes  are:  One  First  Prize,  $5.00,  to  the 
sender  of  the  correct  list  and  most  helpful  suggestion. 

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. 
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.  Pro- 
spective contestantsneednot  be  subscribers  to  ST.  NICHOLAS 
in  order  to  compete  for  the  prizes  offered.  There  is  no  age 
limit,  and  no  endorsement  of  originality  is  required. 

2.  In  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  your  list  give  name, 
age,  address,  and  the  number  of  this  competition  (147). 

3.  Submit  answers  by  March  20,  1914.  Do  not  use  a 
pencil. 

4.  Write  on  one  side  of  your  paper  only,  and  where 
more  than  one  sheet  is  required  be  sure  your  name  and  ad- 
dress are  on  each,  also  that  they  are  fastened  together. 

5.  Be  sure  to  comply  with  these  conditions  if  you  wish  to 
win  a  prize. 

6.  Address  answer:  Advertising  Competition  No.  147, 
St.  Nicholas  Magazine,  Union  Square,  New  York. 


(See  also  page  20.) 


18 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


<T 


\  / 


M 


V 


A 


\\ 


<C 


m 


j 


k 


r\ 


P** 


Polly  and  Peter  Ponds 

have  gone  away  to  school.      Their  letters 
will  appear  in  this  magazine  each  month 

Dear  Peter: 

We  girls  had  the  most  fun  last  night 
and  I  '  ve  just  got  to  tell  you  about  it 
before  the  feeling  gets  cold.  Well, 
you  know  we  have  a  party  every 
month,  a  school  party  that  all  the 
girls  are  invited  to — I  mean,  to  which 
all  the  girls  are  invited.  So  we  all 
voted  to  have  last  night' s  party  a  grand 
costume-ball.  That  was  a  week  ago 
and  we  've  been  putting  in  every 
minute  of  spare  time  since,  fixing  up 
our  fancy  dresses  and  prinking  like 
everything. 

Molly  Williams  wanted  to  be 
Mother  Goose,  and  we  said  she  could 
n't  because  she  is  plump  and  quite 
good-looking,  but  she  said:  "Well, 
she  is  awfully  nice  and  funny,  and 
you  're  always  calling  me  a  Goose, 
anyway,"  so  she  twisted  a  sheet  of 
white  paper  around  an  old  sombrero 
of  her  brother's,  and  wrapped  a  couch 
coveraround  her  and  borrowed  awhite 

petticoat  of  Miss  Davis,  the  English  teacher,  and  she  looked  just  awfully  cute,   though  all  the  girls 

still  call  her  the  Gosling. 

Well,  I  had  an  easy  time,  because  I  used  that  "Little  Bo-Peep"  costume  that  mother  made  for  the 

Christmas  party  at  home,  you  know,  and  everybody  said  it  was  just  lovely,  except  where  were  the  sheep, 

and  I  said  of  course  there  were  n't  any,  because  she  lost  them. 

But  Jennie  Foster  ivas  a  problem.      She  could  n't  think  of  a  thing  to  be  until  the  day  before.      She 

was  just  beginning  "  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin,"  and  all  of  a  sudden  she  said:  "Oh,  I  know,  I  '11  be  'Topsyl" 

Well,  we  all  laughed  like  anything,  and  got  'very  busy  because  it  was  going  to  be  lots  of  fun.  We 
curled  her  hair  tight  all  over  her  head,  except  for  a  dozen  of  the  cutest  little  pig-tails  you  ever  saw,  and 
Molly  begged  some  stove-blacking  from  the  kitchen  and  made  her  just  like  a  darling  little  pickaninny. 

We  had  a  perfectly  lovely  party  with  beautiful  music  and  decorations  and  lots  of  goodies,  but  when 
it  came  time  to  go  to  bed,  at  twelve  o'clock,  mind  you,  we  had  a  funnier  time  still.  For  Jennie  just 
could  n't  get  that  stove-blacking  off  her  face  (it  was  an  awful  thing  to  put  on)  and  scrubbed  for  an  hour 
before  it  was  clean,  and  then  she  looked  about  as  red  as  she  had  looked  black  before. 

"Oh,  Polly,"  she  cried,  "what  shall  I  do?  My  skin  just  burns  terribly,  and  I  knovj  Miss  Minkum 
will  be  cross  when  she  sees  me.      She  's  so  fussy  !" 

"Why,"  I  said,  "don't  yoa  worry  a  bit !      You  can  have  all  the 

POND'S  EXTRACT  |  Srdiscrelmream 

you  want.      Put  plenty  of  it  on  to-night,  and  to-morrow  you'll  look  as  good  as  ever!" 

And  she  did,  and  she  does — you  'd  never  know  about  the  blacking.  Her  skin  looks  smoother  and 
whiter  than  before,  I  do  believe.  But  don't  you  ever  put  stove-polish  on  your  face,  just  the  same. 
It's  too  risky.  With  much  love> 

Your  affectionate  sister,  Polly. 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY 

131  Hudson  Street       -       -       New  York 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY'S  Vanishing  Cream 
— Talcum  Powder — Toilet  Soap  —  Pond's  Extract. 


19 


Report  on  Advertising  Competition 

No.  145 


On  the  way  to  and  from  the  office  every 
day,  one  of  the  judges  passes  perhaps  the 
largest  high  school  in  this  great  city  of 
New  York.  It  is  an  inspiring  sight  to  see 
the  great  throng  of  young  folks  passing  in 
and  out  of  its  doors  daily,  and  to  realize 
that  they  are  learning  how  to  be  better 
and  more  useful  citizens. 

It  is  also  inspiring  to  think  of  the  hun- 
dreds of  thousands  of  young  folks  who 
are  learning  these  lessons  in  a  different 
way  in  the  pages  of  dear  old  St.  NICHOLAS ; 
and  while  we  are  on  this  subject,  we  must 
not  overlook  the  benefits  derived  from  the 
advertising  section  of  St.  NICHOLAS. 

Many  interesting  and  instructive  facts 
are  told  in  the  advertising  pages.  The 
care  and  thought  you  must  give  to  solve 
the  advertising  puzzles  are  worth  while. 
Indeed,  how  careful  you  must  be  in  order 
to  pit  your  brain  power  successfully 
against  that  of  thousands  of  other  bright 
boys  and  girls  all  over  the  world,  from  dis- 
tant Honolulu  to  perhaps  your  next-door 
neighbor ! 

Every  month  our  competitions  give  you 
this  opportunity.  They  teach  you  to  read 
and  think  accurately,  and  the  working  out 
of  our  puzzles  helps  to  make  you  more 
observant  and  accurate. 

The  principal  errors  this  month  consisted 
of  including  merely  the  word  "Bonbons" 
as  part  of  your  answer;  the  writing  of  the 
advertised  articles  carelessly,  and  without 
regardtothemanner  in  which  they  appeared 
in  the  advertisement;  and  faulty  alpha- 
betical arrangement — "the,"  you  know, 
comes  before  "Thermos"  in  correct  alpha- 

(See  also 


betical  arrangement.  The  librarian  in 
your  town  will  help  you  when  in  doubt 
about  these  matters. 

It  is  very  interesting  to  find  how  many 
of  you  are  planning  to  go  to  private 
schools  and  colleges.  I  wish  all  of  our 
friends  in  the  advertising  world  could  see 
your  answers,  and  they  would  not  hesi- 
tate a  moment  about  placing  their  an- 
nouncement in  the  St.  Nicholas  School 
Directory. 

Here  are  the  successful  contestants  this 
month  (all  are  entitled  to  special  sub- 
scription rates  on  application): 

One  First  Prize,  $5.00  : 

Anna    Louise    Cutler   Wood,   age    n, 
Pennsylvania. 

Two  Second  Prizes,  $j.oo  each  : 

Esther  L.  Cramer,  age  14,  New  York. 

Grace    C.  Freese,   age    15,   Massachu- 
setts. 

Three  Third  Prizes,  $2.00  each: 
Elmore  L.  May,  age  17,  Ohio. 
Janette  Holmes,  age  13,  Pennsylvania. 
Rosalie  L.  Smith,  age   15,  New  York. 

Ten  Fourth  Prizes,  $1.00  each: 

Harry  G.  Fortune,  age  18,  Minnesota. 

Virginia  Beggs,  age  14,  Illinois. 

Alice  Boren,  age  7,  Indiana. 

Helen  G.  Baker,  age  13,  Ontario. 

Mary  Broderick,  age  15,  New  York. 

Charlotte  Grace  Reyer,  age  13,  Indi- 
ana. 

Rachel  E.  Fox,  age  13,  Virginia. 

Davis  Fox,  age  10,  New  Jersey. 

Fred  Floyd,  Jr.,  age  I2j4,  New  York. 

John  Palen  Wood,  age  10,  Florida. 

page  18.) 


20 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Why  Some  Babies 
Suffer 

The  little  shirts  wrinkle  and  press  into  the  little  back, 
and  the  buttons  are  uncomfortable.  The  cold  air  gets  in 
through  the  open  laps.  Babies  thus  contract  bad  colds 
and  coughs. 

They  need  the  Rubens  Shirt.  It  doesn't  wrinkle.  It  is  adjust- 
able so  it  always  fits.  It  has  no  open  laps,  no  buttons.  It  is  double- 
thick  over  chest,  lungs  and  abdomen.   It  wards  off  coughs  and  colds. 

In  15  years,  15,000,000  babies  have  known  this  protection.  Let 
your  baby  enjoy  it. 

Ask  for  Rubens  Shirts  and  be  sure  that  this  label  ap- 
pears on  the  front.  This  shirt  is  our  invention,  and  this 
whole  factory  is  devoted  to  its  right  production.  Don't 
be    misled    by    imitations    on    a   garment    so   important. 


No  Buttons  No  Trouble 

Beg.  U.  S.  Put.  Office  (92) 


Rubens  Shirts 

For  Infants 

Sizes  for  any  age  from  birth.  Made  in  cotton,  wool  and  silk.  Also 
in  merino  (half  wool).  Also  in  silk  and  wool.  Prices  run  from 
25  cents  up. 

Sold  by  dry  goods  stores,  or  sold  direct  where  dealers  can't  supply. 
Ask  us  for  pictures,  sizes  and  prices. 

RUBENS    &   MARBLE,  Inc.,  354  W.   Madison   St.,  Chicago 


Paper  Shell  Pecan  and 
English  Walnut 

for  Zero  Climates 

It  stands  to  reason  that  trees  grown  at  the  43d  Parallel 

of  latitude,  close  to  the  Canadian  border,  with  winter 
temperatures  far  below  zero  must  possess  rugged  vitality, 

and  that  safety  in  planting  is  more  likely  to  be 
secured  with  trees  procured  from  the  most  northern 
locality  possible. 


/>•******!*# 


English  Walnut 


SOBER  PARAGON 


MAMMOTH 
SWEET  CHESTNUT 

One  crop  brought  $30, 000.  Plant  for  profit,  for  pleasure  or  for  decoration — plant  a  thou- 
sand trees  or  a  single  one.  A  sale  tree  to  plant  in  zero  climates,  or  in  hot  climates.  Succeeds  in 
drought,  in  frost,  in  poor  soil  and  upon  steep  hillsides — the  roughest  of  lands. 

Every  tree  we  ship  this  spring  bore  chestnuts  last  season.     We  have  had  exclusive  con- 
trol of  this  variety  since  1907,  when  we  introduced  it  and  sold  the  first  trees.     Every  year  our 
stock  has  improved,  and  we  now  have  100,000  bearing  trees  to  offer.    CAUTION— Be  sure  your 
trees  bear  our  metal,  copyrighted  seal  with  the  trademark  name  "Sober  Paragon." 

RANERE  Everbearing  Raspberry  -j£35%. 

Luscious,  sugary,  bright  crimson  berries  every  day  from  June 

till  November— a  bounteous  supply  summer  and  autumn,  the  Covers  a  25c  piece 

first  season  planted.  The  strong  plants  offered  you  for  plant- 
ing this  Spring  will  supply  your  table  this  season.  So  profit- 
able^for  market  growing  it  is  called  the  "Mortgage  Lifter." 
Strong  grower— succeeds  in  any  soil — endures  severest  heat, 
drought  and  cold. 

Our  1914  Catalogue    and   Planting    Guide    includes 

Nut  Culture  in   the  North,  tells  you  how,  when  and 

where  to  plant.    MA  1LED  FREE  on  request. 

CA   FN     RROS       Inr     2215  Main  Street, 

VJJ^fJM     DAUJ.,   inc.  ROCHESTER,  N.  Y. 

Glenwood  Nursery  Established  1866 


Covers  a  50c.  piece 


™nmiuuiimmiJiHin£ 


SSSSSSS3SS3SSSSS3S33SS33S3SSS2SSS^2gg^ 


I 


S 


s 


! 


ST.  NICHOLAS   STAMP    PAGE 


NEW  STAMPS 

HOLLAND,  or  Netherlands,  as  it  appears  in  our 
stamp-albums  and  catalogues,  has  just  issued  a 
series  of  commemorative  stamps.  The  history  of 
this  small,  but  patriotic  and  plucky,  nation  is  always 
fascinating  reading.  Now  we  stamp-collectors  have 
a  good  excuse  for  getting  out  our  histories  and  en- 
cyclopedias, and  re-reading  the  later  history  of  the 
struggles  of  the  Netherlands  for  independence  from 
France.  In  November,  1813,  the  independence  of 
Holland  was  proclaimed,  and  the  Prince  of  Orange 
(King  William  I)  arrived  within  the  confines  of  his 
kingdom  on  the  thirtieth  day  of  the  month.  The  one 
hundredth  anniversary  of  this  event  is  now  cele- 
brated by  a  new  issue  of  stamps,  one  of  which  we 
illustrate.  During  this  period  of  a  hundred  years 
there  have  been  four  rulers  upon  the  throne  of 
Holland:  William  I,  William  II,  William  III,  and 
the  present  Queen  Wilhelmina. 

There  are  twelve  stamps  in  the  new  series:  2^, 
3,  s,  10,  12J/2,  20,  25,  50  cents,  and  1,  2^4,  5,  and  10 
gulden  ;  each  of  the  four  rulers  appears  upon  three 
values.  The  stamps  are  larger  than  ordinary,  almost 
twice  as  large  as  our  own 
current  stamps — a  bit  larger 
than  the  parcel  post  stamps, 
but  an  upright  instead  of  a 
horizontal  design.  At  the  top 
of  the  stamp  is  the  word 
"Nederland."  Inserted  in 
the  frame  is  the  name  of  the 
individual  represented  (in  the 
illustration  note  the  words 
"Koning"  at  the  left,  "Wil- 
lem"  at  the  top,  and  "de 
Derde"  at  the  right),  while 
below  are  the  dates  1813— 
1913.  At  the  bottom  of  the 
stamp  is  the  value.  The  pa- 
per of  six  values  is  colored,  in  the  others  it  is  white. 
The  upper  corners  of  the  portrait-bearing  frame 
contain  oranges,  while  in  the  lower  corners  are  two 
lion-like  monsters.  The  oranges  may  refer  to  the 
little  Principality  of  Orange,  which  belongs  to  the 
royal  family  of  Holland ;  from  this  comes  the  title 
"Prince  of  Orange,"  given  to  the  heir  to  the  throne. 
Again,  orange  is  one  of  the  conspicuous  colors  in 
the  National  flag,  and  the  Dutch  colony  of  Curacao 
makes  a  famous  orange  liqueur.  The  oranges  are 
significant  enough,  but  what  is  the  meaning  of  the 
two  lions?  Can  any  of  our  readers  tell  us  what  they 
symbolize  ?  Rumor  says  that  the  issue,  although 
printed  in  quantities  varying  from  three  million  of 
the  254  cent  to  one  hundred  thousand  of  the  2^2,  5, 
and  10  gulden,  was  all  speedily  sold  out — so  popular 
was  the  set. 

The  island  of  Crete  offers  other  nations  a  good 
example,  for  most  of  its  issues  are  beautiful  speci- 
mens of  the  engraver's  art.  Certainly  many  of  its 
stamps  are  gems  in  this  respect,  and  the  last  one 
issued  is  a  worthy  companion  to  any  of  its  prede- 
cessors. If  a  number  of  other  small  countries  would 
buy  their  stamps  from  the  same  London  firm,  it 
would  be  a  delight  to  the  hearts  of  collectors.  The 
particular  stamp  which  calls  forth  all  this  praise  is 
issued  in  commemoration  of  the  union  of  Crete  and 


Greece.  It  is  oblong  in  shape,  and  about  twice  the 
size  of  our  own  stamps.  The  design  consists  of  an 
outer  frame  of  blue,  bearing  at  the  top  "Ellas" 
(Greece)  ;   at 


is    a 

fully 


the  bottom  25 
Lepta,  and  at 
each  side  a 
date.  Within 
beauti- 
execu- 
ted  engrav- 
ing of  a  scene 
depicting  the 
raising  of  the 
Greek  flag  at 

Suda  Bay.  While  the  stamp  was  issued  in  Crete,  we 
do  not  see  the  name  Crete  anywhere  on  it,  and  it 
will  probably  be  listed  as  a  Greek  issue.  It  is  said 
that  only  300,000  stamps  were  issued,  and  that  the 
authorities  limited  the  sale  to  not  more  than  one 
hundred  copies  to  any  one  person,  soon  reducing 
this  to  twenty  copies.  Despite  all  precautions,  how- 
ever, the  issue  was  entirely  taken  up  within  three 
days.  Certainly  the  beauty  of  the  stamps  warrants 
the  demand  for  them. 

We  have  recently  seen  new  issues  from  several  of 
the  Portuguese  Colonies,  but  as  they  are  of  the  same 
design  as  the  current  issue  of  Portugal,  which  we 
illustrated  some  months  ago,  we  will  not  repeat  the 
illustrations  this  month. 

Our  third  illustration  is  the  new  so-called  Char- 
ity stamp  of  Switzerland.  The  central  portion  of 
the  stamp  shows  the  conventionalized  figure  of  Hel- 
vetia, turned  to  the  left.  In  the  background  is  one 
of  the  Alpine  peaks  and  a  large 
figure  "5."  Above  the  design 
are  the  words  "Pro  Juvenute," 
while  below  appears  in  two  lines 
"Pr.  10  cent."  and  "1  XII  13- 
28  II  14."  This  lower  line  re- 
fers to  the  dates  during  which 
the  stamp  is  to  be  on  sale — until 
February  28,  1914.  These  stamps 
are  good  for  postage,  and  are 
sold  at  the  post-office  for  double 
face,  or,  rather,  they  are  sold 
for  ten  centimes  and  have  a 
postal-carrying  value  of  only 
five  centimes.  The  difference 
between  the  two  values  is  to  be 
devoted  to  charitable  purposes. 
From  Hungary  also  comes  a 
complete  set  of  Charity  stamps. 
These  are  issued  at  regular  face- 
value,  plus  two  fillers  for  chari- 
table purposes.  As  a  krona  is 
about  twenty  cents,  and  there 
are  100  fillers  to  a  krona,  the 
contribution  is  not  very  large. 
The  stamps  are  similar  to  the 
regular  issue,  except  that  at  the  bottom  is  added  a 
small  label  explanatory  of  their  purpose. 

As  the  recent  agitation  over  the  Presidential  ac- 
tion condemning  the  army  and  navy  officers  who 
joined  in  the  famous  "Insurrecto"  song  has  brought 
several  inquiries  about  the  "Insurrecto"  stamps,  we 
add  to  our  illustrations  of  new  issues  two  of  the  most 


PRO  JUVENTUTE 


PR.  10  CENT. 
1XH13-ZB  H14 


IcttlSi 

2  flllfir 


222S222S2SEE2222Z2S^^S22S228S2S22^222222222SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS^SSSSSSSS^S2! 
«  2  (  Continued  on  page  27. ) 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP  DIRECTORY 


CONTINENTAL  10c.  8x5  inches,  'heavy 
cardboard  covers,  16u  pictures.  Spaces  for  546  stamps  from 
135  countries. 

SPECIAL  BARGAINS 

108  all  different  stamps  from  Paraguay, Turkey,  Venezuela, 
etc.,  10c.  35  different  stamps  from  Africa,  a  dandy  packet. 
25c.  Finest  approval  sheets,  30%  commission.  Send 
for  biff  84-page  price-list  and  monthly  stamp  reaper  free. 
We  publish  Scott's  Catalogue,  1000  pages.  Prices,  paper 
covers,  85c,  post  free;  cloth  covers,  #1.00,  post  free. 

Scott  Stamp  &  Coin  Co. 
127  Madison  Ave.  New  York  City. 

a  cif  f°r  a  8ift  when  ordering  any  of  these  6  cent 
>\OIV  packets,  all  different.  15  Argentine,  15  Cuba,  8  New 
Foundland,  18  Portugal,  12  Peru,  10  Tunis,  15  Mexico,  16  Porto 
Rico,  8  Bosnia,  12  Venezuela,  1000  Peelable  Hinges.  Ail  postpaid. 
The  Robt.  Millard  Co.,  325  W.  Ferry  Ave.,  Detroit,  Mich. 

FOREIGN  STAMPS  FREE  &J$S££ 

ing  China  and  Venezuela,  to  all  who  apply  for  our  high  grade 
approval  selections.     Send  tivo  cent  stamp  for  retitrn  postage. 
The  Edgewood  Stamp  Co.,  Dept.  S,  Milford,  Conn. 

DANDY  PACKET  STAMPS  free  for  name,  address  2  collec- 
tors, 2c.  postage.  Send  to-day.  U.T.K.  Stamp  Co.,  Utica,  N.  Y. 


50 


0/  approvals,  premium  worth  $.30  FREE. 

/0  Miller,  2100  S.   James,   Minneapolis,  Minnesota. 


STAMPS  108  ALL  DIFFERENT. 

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  Brillante  Av„  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

Uo     Postage  and  Revenue  1  The  Hobby  Co.,  P.O.  Box" 403. 
•  >J"       Foreign  Postage       ' 


Springfield,  Ohio. 


STAMPS  AT  ONE  CENT  EACH 

Over  370,000  sold  to  date.  Just  the  thing  for  beginners  or  general 

collectors  with  3000  or  less  varieties.  My  sample  book,  TheYellow 

Fellow,  sent  on  approval  if  you  will  agree  to  return  in  5  days. 

Chas.  A.  Townsend,  846  W.  Market  St.,  Akron,  Ohio. 

FRFF    SET  (9)  PARCEL  POST  STAMPS.    Boys  and 
*  IVEiEi    Girls  trying  our  60%  Approvals. 

Frisco  Stamp  Co.,  Box  878,  St.  Louis,  Missouri. 


Special  bargain  sets,  5c.  each 


With  our  ( 10  Brazil 

net  approvals  (  10  Cuba 

Palm  Stamp  Co. 
P.  O.  Box  174,  Arcade  Station 


10  China 

10  Dutch  Indies 


Los  Angeles,  Cal. 


1\/|Y  QPFfI  A  I  TV  Stampsof  the  European  Continent. 
"II  OrLLlftLl  I  Write  for  a  "Country"  or  two  on 
approval.    H.  W.  Protzmann,  103128th  St.,  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

FREE— a  set  of  15  different  varieties  Austria  Jubilee,  1908,  by 
applying  for  my  net  priced  approval  sheets.  First  class  reference 
required.     No  postals  answered. 

Bert  DeGrush,  49  Withington  St.,  Dorchester,  Mass. 

Adrianople  Set  (see  Feb.  issue),  with  my  new  illustrated 
16-page  list,  20c.    M.  Ohlmans,  75-77  Nassau  St.,  N.  Y.  City. 

NEW  FOUNDLAND 

The  scarce  6c.  "Guy"  issue  for  50c.  net.  Finest  large  approval 
selections  you  ever  saw  at  50%  discount.  Try  one  and  be 
convinced.   B.  L.  Voorhees,  339  S.  8th  Ave., La  Grange,  III. 

FINF  stamps  sold  cheap.  50%  and  more  allowed  from  Scott's 
rill  El  prices.     International  Stamp  Co.,  Covington,  O. 

STAMPS  105  China,  Egypt.etc, stamp  dictionary  and  list  3000  fflB 
bargains  2c.    Agts.,  50%.     Bullard  &  Co.,  Sta.  A,  Boston,  !SSJ 


RARE  Stamps  Free.  15  all  different,  Canadians,  and  10  India 
xf^^jv  with  Catalogue  Free.  Postage  2 cents.  If  possible  send 
(uF**&Ss.  names  and  addresses  of  two  stamp  collectors.  Special 
/■£  jX\  offers,  all  different,  contain  no  two  alike.  50  Spain, 
WbjjM/  '<'"  :i  lapan  ;>  ;  100  U.  S. ,20c;  10  Paraguay,  7c;  17 
xSSr^J/  Mexic  o,  10c; 20 Turkey,  7c;  1"  Persia,  7c; 3  Sudan,  5c; 
^•SSS^  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;  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. 

STAMPS  FREE,  100  ALL  DIFFERENT 

For  the  names  of  two  collectors  and  2c.  postage.     20  different 
foreign  coins,  25c    Toledo  Stamp  Co.,  Toledo,  Ohio,  U.S.A. 


l£j 


Which  is  your  favorite  country  ?  Approvals  are 
O  I  mounted  by  countries,  with  sheets  containing  just  lc. 
w»  |  stamps,  or  higher,  as  you  wish.     A  reference  will  bring 

you  a  selection  and  a  premium  of  4  mint  Paraguays. 
Mrs.  L.  W.  Kellogg,  West  Hartford,  Conn.,  Dept.  St. 


25  VARIETIES,  catalog  value  $1.13.     Price  12  cents. 

H.  W.  Aldrich,  1249  West  IUth  St.,  Des  Moines,  Iowa. 


STAMPS  100  VARIETIES  FOREIGN,  FREE.   Postage  2c. 
Mention  St.  Nicholas.     Quaker  Stamp  Co.,   Toledo,  Ohio. 


7Q  DIFFERENT  FOREIGN  STAMPS  FROM  70  DIF= 

•  v  ferent  Foreign  Countries,  including  Bolivia,  Crete,  Guat- 
emala, Gold  Coast,  Hong-Kong,  Mauritius,  Monaco,  Persia, 
Reunion,  Tunis,  Uruguay,  etc.,  for  only  15  cents — a  gemti?ie 
bargain.  With  each  order  we  send  our  phamplet  which  tells  all 
about  "  Howio  Make  a  Collection  of  Stamps  Properly." 

Queen  City  Stamp  &  Coin  Co.,  604  Race  St.,  Cincinnati,  O. 


Try   my  approvals.     Eleven   Canadians  free.    References. 
Mrs.  Oughtred,  28  Lincoln  Avenue,  Montreal,  Quebec. 


STAMP  ALBUM  with  538  Genuine  Stamps,  incl. 
Rhodesia,  Congo  (tiger),  China  (dragon),  Tasmania 
(landscape),  Jamaica  (waterfalls),  etc.,  10c  loo  diff. 
Tap..  N.  Xld.,  etc.,  5c  Big  list;  coupons,  etc., 
FREE!    WE  BUY  STAMPS. 

Hussman  Stamp  Co.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


VARIETIES  PERU  FREE. 

With  trial  approval  sheets.    F.  E.  Thorp,  Norwich,  N.Y. 


FRFF  lf)f1  f°re'£n  varieties  to  applicants  for  our  50%  ap- 
r  I*  ''  '**  proval  sheets.  Big  bargains.  One  thousand  mixed 
stamps,  25c.    Holley  Stamp  Co.,  East  Pembroke,  Mass. 

APPROVALS  at  50%  discount.    80  var.  free  if  requested. 
Harry  C.  Bradley,  Dorchester  Center,  Mass. 

1/FQT  PnrWFT  WATERMARK  DETECTOR 
V  ILO  1  rWV^rwEl  and  50  different  Stamps,  only  10c 
Burt  McCann,  515  New  York  Life  Bldg.,  Minneapolis,  Minn. 


^famr»c  f    333  Foreign  Missionary  stamps,  on 
LjlainpS  .    eign.  no  2  alike,  incl.  Mexico,  Ja 


only  7c  100  for- 
Japan,  etc,  5c. 

100  diff.  U.  S.  fine.  30c.  1000  fine  mixed,  20c.  Agents  wanted. 

50%.  List  free !    I  Buy  Stamps.    L.  B.  Dover,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

FRFF  ~3  PARAGUAY  Stamps,  to  all  who  write  for  my 
*  IxHtlL  approvals,  Enclose  stamp.  25  different  postals  from 
Buffalo  and  Niagara  Falls  for  25  cents. 

Owen  Dicks,  Box  75,  Kenmore,  New  York. 

II  ]£  C~.~.l  Ql-^mn<>  I  send  out  thousands  of  fine 
nail-a-\^eni  OiampS  stamps  each  day  at  half  a  cent 
each.     Equal  to  80%  discount.    Try  a  lot  on  approval. 

A.  O.  Duri.and,  Evansville,  Indiana. 


RARHATNS   each  set  5  cents. 

Urtl\U/\lll^     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. 


(  Continued  on  page  2J. ) 


23 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The  Dictionary  Man  has  been 
telling  you  about  The  Century 
Dictionary,  Cyclopedia  &  Atlas 

— how  it  would  help  or  amuse  or  teach  you,  or  save  you 
time — how  many  things  it  covered — how  many  pictures 
it  contained — who  wrote  the  thousands  of  articles — about 
the  maps — and,  most  important  of  all,  how  simple  it  is  to 
find  in  it  anything  you  want. 

If  you  don't  remember  about  all  these  things,  look  back 
through  St.  Nicholas  for  the  past  six  or  eight  months. 

The  next  thing  is  HOW  TO  GET  IT! 

If  I  wanted  it  myself  I  would  show  all  of  these  talks 
about  the  Century  to  my  mother  and  father,  and  if  they 
wanted  to  know  still  more  about  it,  I  would  write  to  the 
Dictionary  Man  and  ask  him  to  send  them  whatever  in- 
formation they  wanted. 

The  Century  Dictionary  has  never  been  expensive 
when  you  consider  what  a  lot  of  really  expensive  books 
it  takes  the  place  of,  and  now  it  is  less  than  ever,  for  the 
Dictionary  Man  has  decided  to  let  your  mothers  and 
fathers  turn  in  their  old  dictionaries  or  encyclopedias  as 
part  payment  for  the  new  Century  for  you.  The 
Dictionary  Man  allows  quite  a  lot  for  them,  too. 

If  you  have  an  old  one  in  your  house,  fill  in  the  coupon  and  find  out  for  yourself. 


The  Century  Co., 

Union  Square,  New  York  City. 

Gentlemen  : — Please  quote  us  prices  on  each       -Name — 

of  the  five  bindings  of  The  Century  Dictionary, 
Cyclopedia,  and  Atlas,  according  to  the  above 

offer.      We  own 

Town. State 

(Insert  name  of  your  old  reference  work)  S.N. 3-14 


24 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


St.  Patrick's  Day 
Favors 


High  Hat 


Green  Hose  Case    Irish  Figure 


Irish  Boy  and  Girl  Figures  (boxes)  assorted,  10c,  15c,  20c 
each.  Jaunting  Car  with  Donkey,  15c  Irish  Girl  with  Hat- 
box,  15c  Irish  Potato,  5c  Green  Silk  Heart  (box),  10c 
Irish  Book,  15c  Irish  High  Hat  (box)  with  Shamrock,  5c 
Irish  Hat  (box)  with  Pipe,  10c  Green  Suit  Case,  10c, 
Silk  Shamrocks,  15c  doz.  Shamrock  with  Pipe,  25c.  doz. 
Shamrock  with  Miniature  Hat,  25c  doz.  Green  Metal 
Snakes,  10c.  each.  St.  Patrick's  Button  on  Pin,  30c.  doz. 
Irish  Paper  Flags  on  Pin,  15c  doz.  Silk  Irish  Flags  on 
Staff,  5c,  10c,  25c  each.  Silk  Flags  on  Pin,  5c  Flat 
Crepe  Paper  Hat  with  Favor,  5c  Green  Folding  Hats,  5c, 
10c  each.  Green  Irish  Rose  for  Ice  Cream,  $1.80  doz. 
Salted  Nut  size,  75c.  doz.  Shamrock  Ice  Cream  Cases,  75c. 
doz.  Crepe  Paper  Basket  with  Shamrocks,  $1.20  doz. 
Green  Snapping  Mottoes,  50c  per  box.  St.  Patrick  Jack 
Horner  Pie,  12  Ribbons,  $4.00.  St.  Patrick  Napkins,  35c. 
package.  Decorated  Crepe  Paper  (10  feet  folds),  10c.  per 
fold.  Dinner  Cards,  40c.  doz.  Tally  Cards,  25c  doz. 
Green  Silk  Ribbon,  10  yard  pieces,  20c  piece.  Shamrock 
in  Pot,  5c.  Catalog  free  on  request- 
Special  Assortments  of  St.  Patrick's  Day  Favors, 
$2.00,  $3.00  and  $5.00 

We  positively  do  not  pay  mail  charges. 

B.  SHACK  MAN  &  CO.  906-908  Broadway,  Dept.  14,  New  York 

Boy  Scouts -ALL  Boys 
-Try  3  in  One  FREE 


"Attention!"  We  want  every  Boy  Scout  and  every 
other  boy  in  America  to  give  3-in-One  a  good  hard 
test,  absolutely  free. 

Write  today  for  a  generous  free  sample  and  the 
valuable  free  3-in-One  Dictionary.  3-in-One  has  been 
for  over  17  years  the  leading  bicycle  oil.  It  makes  all 
bearings  run  much  easier  and  prevents  wear — cuts  out 
all  dirt  and  never  gums  or  clogs.  It  cleans  and 
polishes,  prevents  rust  on  all  metal  parts. 

3-in-One  is  also  the  best  gun  oil.  It  oils  exactly 
right  trigger,  hammer,  break  joint — cleans  and  polishes 
barrels,  inside  and  out ;  polishes  the  stock  like  new,  too. 

Always  use  3-in-One  on  your  ice  and  roller  skates, 
fishing  reels,  scroll  saws,  golf  clubs,  cameras  and  every 
tool  you  own.  A  few  drops  do  the 
work.  3-in-One  will  keep  your  catch- 
er's gloves  soft  and  lasting,  also 
prevents  rust  on  your  catcher's  mask. 

Three   size   bottles   at   all    good 
1  stores:   10c,  25c  and  50c.    (The  50c 
size  is  the  economical   size.)     Also 
in  handy  Oil  Cans,  3>£oz.,  25c. 

Write  for  the  free  sample  today. 


Three-in-One  Oil  Co. 

42QB.  Broadway,  New  York 


I.NE 


L  1ST  E  R 

Use  it  every  day 


GROWING  girls  and 
boys   who    make    a 
habit   of    using    Listerine 
freely    as    a    mouth  wash, 
will  find  themselves  repaid 
in    later    years    by    more 
robust   health,    better 
teeth  and  sound  gums. 
It  is  not  only  agree- 
able   and    refreshing, 
but  safe. 

Listerine  is  a  good  anti- 
septic for  cuts,  bruises, 
burns,  skin  eruptions, 
dandruff  and  sunburn.  It 
may  be  used  liberally,  be- 
cause it  is  non-poisonous. 


wmm 


!A»MACAL  COHPAHY, 


All  Druggists  Sell  Listerine 

LAMBERT 

PHARMACAL  COMPANY 

St.  Louis.  Mo. 


-0 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Bind  Your  ST.  NICHOLAS 
in  a  "BIG  BEN"  Binder 

Makes  a  Handsome  Volume.  Bound  in 
Maroon  Library  Buckram.  Name  and 
Year  in  Gold;  also  Your  Own  Name 
on   Front    Cover.     Holds    12   Copies. 

NO  PUNCHING 
OF  HOLES 

OPENS  FLAT 

This  Binder  is  mechanically- 
perfect,  and  is  endorsed  by  the 
Publishers  of  St.  Nicholas, 
who  have  adopted  the  Big  Ben  Binder. 

Only  $1.00  Postpaid 

Those   who  are  using  the    Big    Ben   SINGLE 
MAGAZINE  Binder  can  transfer  copies  to   it 
instantly  without  changing  the  Tie  Clips. 
Write  either  to  St.  Nicholas  or  to 

The  Bigelow  Binder  Co. 

200  Canal  St.  New  York 


'X  ITich  Rito  Mfce  hungry  wolves 
r  *  lall  JDlie  any  time  of  the  year 
if  you  use  Magic-Fish-Lure.  Best 
fish  bait  ever  discovered.  Keeps  you  busy 
pulling  them  out.  Write  to-day  and  get  a 
box  to  help  introduce  it.  Agents  wanted. 
J.  F.  Gregory,  Dspt,  74    St.  Louis,  Mo 


CLASS  PINS 


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. 

Delivered  - ".;  FREE 

on  Approval  and  30  Days  Trial 


SEND  NO  MONEY 


but  write  today  for  our  big  1914  catalog 
of  "Ranger"  Bicycles,  Tires  and  Sun- 
dries at  prices  so  low  they  will  astonish  you.  Also  particulars  of  our 
great  new  offer  to  deliver  you  a  Ranger  Bicycle  on  one  month's 
free  trial  without  a  cent  expense  to  you.  It's  absolutely  genuine. 
DAVC  you  can  make  money  taking  orders  for  bicycles,  tires,  lamps, 
DU  I  O  sundries,  etc.  from  our  big  handsome  catalog.  It's  free.  It 
contains  "combination  offers"  for  re-fitting  your  old  bicycle  like  new 
at  very  low  cost.  Also  much  useful  bicycle  Information.  Send  for  it. 
LOW  FACTORY  PRICES  direct  to  you.    No  one  else  can  offer  such 

luw  raumni  rmuco  va|ues  and such  terms>  you cannot  afford 

to  buy  a  bicycle,  tires  or  sundries  without  first  learning  what  we  can 
offer  you.    Write  now* 

Mead  Cycle  Go.,  Dept.  W-272,  Chicago,  III* 


You  don't  have  to  be  a  crank  on  fishing  or  golf  to 
enjoy  ALL  OUTDOORS.  And  yet  the  golf  sugges- 
tions represent  the  best  thought  of  experts. 

The  fishing  pictures,  stories  and  information  are  second 
only  to  that  ideal  day  with  trout  or  bass.  Further,  you 
learn  to  know  the  difference  between  a  brown  and  a 
speckled  trout.  You  find  the  legal  open  season;  the 
proper  tackle  to  use  and  the  way  to  use  it. 

On  camping,  woodcraft,  outdoor  games,  birds,  shoot- 
ing, adventure  stories,  you  will  find  equally  satisfactory 
reading.  Over  200  separate  articles  in  the  spring 
number. 

On  sale  at  all  newsstands,  1 5  cents.  Or  better,  use 
the  coupon  and  be  certain  of  a  full  year  of  enjoyment. 

Coupon 

All  Outdoors,  Inc.,  141  W.  36th  St.,  New  York 

I  enclose  fifty  cents  for  one  years  cubscription  to  All 
Outdoors  including  Spring,  Summer,  Autumn,  and 
Winter  numbers. 

Name    — 


Add 


ress- 


26 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Boys-Make  Moneys 

It's  great  to  make  money  by  your  own  efforts, 
and  you've  n  ever  had  a  better  ch  ance  than  this , 
—easy,  pleasant  and  highly  profitable  work.    Get  a 

Mandel-ette 

The  one  minute  camera 

that  makes  photos  on  post 

cards  without  films,  plates,  printing 

or  dark  room.  The  most  wonderful 

"photographic  invention  of  the  age. 

No  experience  needed  to  operate 

*MANDEL-ETTE."   In  your 

spare  time,  after  school  and 

during  vacation  you  can  earn 

$10  to  $25 
a  Week 

Just  a  small  investment 
is  all  you  need.      Send  a 
postal.    Ask  us  about  it. 
The  Chicago  Ferrotype  Co. 
A109  Ferrotype  Bldg.  .Chicago 

or 

A136  Pub.  Bk.  Bldg.  .NewYork 


FRENCH,     GERMAN,     SPANISH,     ITALIAN 

Can  be  learned  quickly,  easily,  and  pleasantly  at  spare  mo- 
ments, in  your  own  home.     You  hear  the  living  voice  of  a 
native  professor  pronounce  each  word  and  phrase.  In  a  sur- 
prisingly short  time  you  can  speak  a  new  language  by  the 

LANGUAGE-PHONE  METHOD 

comluned  with 
ROSENTHAL'S  PRACTICAL  LINGUISTRY 

Disc  or  Cylinder  Records.     Can  be  used  on  your  own 

talking  machine.     Send  for  Particulars  and  Booklet. 

The  I„aii(ruaee-Phone  Method 

979  Putnam  Building,  2  West  45th  Street,  N.  Y. 


ELECTRICITY 


BOYS— This  book— our  brand-newcatalogr 
—is  a  mine  of  electrical  knowledge.  128  pages 
full  of  cuts,  complete  description  and  prices  of  the 
■w—  latest  ELECTRICAL  APPARATUS  for  experi- 
mental and  practical  work— Motors,  Dynamos,  Rheostats,  Trans- 
formers, Induction  Coils,  Batteries,  Bells,  Telephone  Sets,  1  elegraph 
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.) 
VOLTAMP  ELECTRIC  MFG.  CO.,  Nichol  Bldg.,  Baltimore,  Md. 


MOTHER 


does  not  worry  when  baby  wears 
Kleinert's  Waterproof  Baby  Pants. 

Go  on  over  the  cloth  diaper — 
a  perfect  protection. 


Waterproof 
BABY  PANTS 


Single  Texture,  25c. 


Double  Texture,  50c. 


STAMP  PAGE— Continued 


XJNAMflXSIMA 


common  of 
these  stamps. 
There  arc 
several  types 
of  these  ;  all 
are  far  more 
rare  used 

than  unused. 
Indeed,  the 
unused  ones 
are  quite 

our  advertis- 


plentiful,  and  can  be  had  from  any  of 
ers  for  a  few  pennies  each. 

ANSWERS  TO  QUERIES 
tfjl/^ET  the  best  hinges  you  can — peelable,  of 
olv_J  course.  A  few  cents  on  a  thousand  hinges  is 
a  poor  way  to  save  money,  when  one  injured  stamp 
may  be  worth  the  price  of  a  whole  packet  of  hinges. 
Hinges  are  usually  made  peelable  by  using  more 
than  one  coat  of  gum — often  three  coats.  If  you  put 
a  stamp  in  the  wrong  place,  do  not  try  to  remove  it 
at  once  ;  wait  until  the  hinge  is  dry.  The  stamps  do 
not  come  off  well  when  they  are  moist.  (J  The 
United  States  stamps  come  with  two  types  of  perfor- 
ation at  present.  The  perforation  gaging  12  is  the 
regular  one  for  all  stamps  issued  in  sheets.  The 
coarser  perforation  (8^)  is  found  only  in  stamps 
issued  in  coils.  It  is  said  that  the  stamps  sold  in 
"booklets"  are  to  be  perforated  10,  but  so  far  we 
have  not  seen  any  of  these. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP 
DIRECTORY 

Continued  from  page  23 


FINE  JAPAN  SET,  42  DIFFERENT  STAMPS  rnrr 
A  STAMP  COLLECTION    ALL   BY   ITSELF  r  Ktt 

If  you  send  10c.  for  10  weeks'  subscription  to  Mykeel's  Stamp 
Weekly,  Boston,  Mass.,  the  best  stamp  paper  in  the  whole  world. 
All  the  news,  stamp  stories  and  bargains  galore.    8  large  pages. 

Send  25c.  for  6  mos.  and  Choice  of  These  Premiums: 
No.  1 — 2()5  different  foreign  stamps,  the  world  over. 
No.  2 — A  collection  of  102  different  U.  S.  stamps. 
No.  3 — Illustrated  book  describing  U.  S.  stamps. 
No.  4 — Nice  stamp  album,  holds  600  stamps. 
No.  5 — Book  giving  full  facts  "  How  to  Deal  in  Stamps." 
Mykeel's  Weekly  Stamp  News  Boston,  Mass. 

Ob.  f*     l    1     OC-    free  if  reference  accompanies 

Otamp  Catalog,  DOC.  request  for  British  Colonial 
Approvals.    Sholley,  3842  Thomas,  So.  Minneapolis,  Minn. 

CT  A  IVyiDC  HO  China,  Japan,  etc.,  for  only  2c.  postage. 
3  1  AlVlrO    H.  N.  Haas,  440  E.  3d  St.,  Bloomsburg,  Pa. 

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  j.  _  J  Cf._foe  approvals.  Do  they  interest  you?  Try 
UnitcQ  OiaicS  mine  at  net  prices,  any  issue  desired. 
Write   for  a  selection  to-day.    O.  C.  Lashar,  Neenah,  Wis. 

Over  100  diff.  U.  S.  stamps,  including  50c.  and  $1  issues,  for  50c. 
Approvals  at  70%.     Lexington  Stamp  Co.,  Baltimore,  Md. 


27 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


sttons 


ON  this  page  are  suggestions  where  most  ideal  pets  may  be  found.  Dolls  can't  play  with  you,  games  some- 
times 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  build- 
ing 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.   ST.  NICHOLAS  PET  DEPARTMENT 


DO  YOU  LOVE  THE  BIRDS? 

"I  ET  me  help  you  win  some  of  them  to  live  in  your  garden. 
J—*  My  free  book  tells  you  how  to  attract,  how  to  feed,  how  to 
make  friends  with  our  beautiful,  native  birds.  Be  a  friend  of 
the  birds !      Write  for  my  book  —  now ! 


Here  within  one  small  garden— I've  drawn  a  ring  about  each— are: 

The  Dodson  Automatic  Feeding  Table  for  birds.  Price,  with  8-foot 
pole,  $6.00 ;  all  copper  roof.  Price  $7.50.     Size  24  x  22  x  12  inches. 

The  Dodson  G?'eat-Crested  Flycatcher  House.  Price  $3-00;  with  all 
copper  roof,  $4.00    Size  15x11x8  inches. 

The  Dodson  Bluebird  House.  Solid  oak,  cypress  shingle  roof,  copper 
coping.     Price  $5.00.     Size,  21  inches  high,  16  inches  in  diameter. 

The  Dodson  Cement  Bird  Bath.  32  inches  high,  basin  34  inches  in 
diameter.     Price  $12.00. 

The  Dodsoti  Wren  House-  Solid  oak,  cypress  shingle  roof,  copper 
coping.       Price  $5.00. 

The  Dodson  Purple  Martin  House.  Three  stories,  26  rooms  and  attic. 

Over  all,  44  x  37x31  inches.  Price  $12.00;  with  all  copper  roof,  $15.00. 

All  Prices  are  f.o.b. Chicago 

I  have  20  different  Houses,  Feeding  Tables,  Shelters  and 
Baths,  all  for  Native  Birds.  Prices  $1.50  to  $70.  Have  been 
building  Bird  Houses  for  18  years. 

The  Dodson  Sparrow  Traps  are  catching  thousands  of 
Sparrows  all  oz>er  A  merica.  Get  one;  banish  the  Pest  that  drives 
away  song  birds.  Strong  wire,  electrically  welded,  needle  points 
at  mouths  of  two  funnels.     Price  $5.00,  f.o.b.  Chicago. 

Let  me  send  you  my  illustrated  book  about  birds. 

Joseph  H.  Dodson,  1217  Association  Bldg.,  Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  Dodson  is  a  Director  of  the  Illinois  Audubon  Society. 


Great    Danes    of 
Royal       Breeding 

If  you  want  a  high  class 
puppy  or  grown  dog  write  us. 
Choice  stock  always  on  hand. 
Ideal  companions  or  guar- 
dians. 

Royal  Farms,  Little  Silver,  N.  J. 

''0'Linda'sRoy"atstud.  Dept.  F. 


Lovable  Children 

The  healthier  and  happier  your  children  are  the 

^better  men  and  women  they  will  become.  A  Shetland^. 

rpony  for  a  playfellow  brings  themhealth,  teaches  them' 

'  self  reliance  and  self  control  and  makes  them  manly.  Se- 

r  cure  a  pony  from  the  Belle  Meade  Farm  and  you  can  be\ 

quite  sure  it  will  be  a  sturdy, reliable  little  fellow,  playful  aal 

a  kitten  but  full  of  good  sense  and  quite  unaf  raidof  autos, 

trains  or  anything  to  be  met  with  on  the  road.  We  have  a 

HERD  OF  300 

for  you  to  choose  from— every  J 
one  well  mannered   and  abso- 
lutelysafe.manyof  them  prize  j 
winners.    We  always  guaran-. 
^tee  satisfaction.    Write  for^ 
illustrated  catalogue.^ 
Belle  Meade  Farm^ 
Mark  ham,  Va 
Box  9 


KITTENS  PUPPIES 

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 

BLACK  SHORT  HAIRED  CATTERY 
ORADELL,  N.  J. 

CATS  New  York  Office— 154  West  57th  Street  DOGS 


Feed  SPRATT'S  DOG  CAKES 
AND  PUPPY  BISCUITS 

They  are  the  best  in  the  world 

Send  2  c.  stamp  for  "  Dog  Culture** 

SPRATT'S  PATENT  LIMITED 
Factory  and  chief  offices  at  NEWARK,  N.J. 


Scottish  Terriers 

Offered    as    companions.      Not 

given    to    fighting    or    roaming. 

Best  for  children's  pets. 

NEWCASTLE  KENNELS 

Brookline,  Mass. 


Do  You  Know  the  Judging  | 

Points  of  the  Dog?  | 

Booklet  giving  all  the  information  and 

points  of  the  dog,  ten  cents,  postpaid  i 

THE  C.  S.  R.  CO.,  P.  0.  Box  1028,  New  York  City  | 


Shady  Nook  Shetland 
Pony  Farm 

Beautiful  and  useful  little  pets,  for  chil- 
dren and  breeding,  for  sale.  Am  offer- 
ing some  extra  good  broken  pony  mares, 
some  of  them  in  foal,  at  most  reasonable 
prices.    "Write  your  wants."    Dept.  M. 

SHADY  NOOK  FARM 

No.  Ferrisburg  Vermont 


If  you  are  in  any  way  interested  in  dogs,  you  cannot  afford 
to  miss  reading 

The  Independent  Kennel  Reporter 

America's  most  interesting:  Doff  Journal 

Cartoons— Dog  Stories— News— Photos— Humor 
$1 .00  per  year  anywhere  in  the  world 

Julian  R.  Brandon,  Jr.,  Publisher,  1632  California  Street,  San  Francisco,  California 
"Do  it  now"  " Lest  you  forget" 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Best  grade  cedar  canoe  for  *  20 

Detroit  canoes  can't  sink 


AH  canoes  cedar  and  copper  fastened.    We  make  all 
Bizes  and  6tyles.  also  power  canoes.  Write  (or  free  catalog, 
giving  prices  with  retailer's  profit  cut  out.     We  are 
the  largest  manufacturers  of  canoes  in  the  world. 
DETROIT  BOAT  CO..    286Bellevue  Ave.,  Detroit,  Mich. 


I 


Some  of  the  Good  things  in  the 
April  Issues  of 

THE  CENTURY 

Rudyard  Kipling's  latest  short 
story. 

Five  articles  on  Modern  Art 
with  32  illustrations. 

A  timely  article  by  Prof.  Ross 
on  Immigration. 

An  article  on  England  by  a 
man  whom  the  President  of 
the  Steel  Trust  pronounces  an 
authority. 

From  the  Passenger  Traffic 
Manager  of  a  Great  Railroad  : 

"I  was  late  in  arriving  at  the 
office  this  morning  because  I 
sat  up  until  2  a.m.  reading  the 
January  CENTURY." 

An  increase  of  65%  in  news- 
stand sales  for  December  (1913 
compared  with  1912)  shows 
that  the  public  approves  the 
new  spirit  of  the  CENTURY. 


A  Book  for  Every  Boy 

The  Battle  of 
Base -Ball 

By  C.  H.  CLAUDY 

A  book  which  gets  at  the  heart 
of  the  great  American  game, 
and  tells  of  it  from  a  boy's  stand- 
point— every  page  snappy  and 
alive. 

A  book  which  shows  a  boy 
not  only  the  wonders  done  by 
skilled  players  on  fine  teams, 
but  how  he,  too,  can  become 
skilful,  and,  in  part  at  least, 
can  do  for  himself  and  for  his 
team  what  his  favorite  base- 
ball idol  does  frequently  in  a 
game  of  the  Major  and  Minor 
Leagues. 

Christy  Mathewson  tells  "How 
I  became  a  'Big-League'  Pitcher," 
and  there  are  pages  of  pictures 
from  photographs  of  famous  players, 
managers,  and  base-ball  fields. 


The   Author    Himself    is 
"Crazy  About  Base-ball" 


Price  $1.50  net,  postage  11  cents 

THE  CENTURY  GO. 


29 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


"Two  souls  with  but  a  single 
WRIGLEYSb. 


SPEARMINT 


> 

thought!"    % 


They'll  soon  enjoy  the 
clean,  pure,  healthful 

gum  —  real  mint  leaf 
juice  —  real  "springy" 
chicle  gum — because  it 
will   be   WRIGLEY'S. 

The  delicious  benefits 
to  teeth,  appetite  and 
digestion    have    made 
Wrigley's  E^EEZ^ 
the  most  popular  gum 
in  the  world.     Imita- 
tions  are    being 
sold       on       the 
streets    and     in 
second     rate     stores. 
Beware  of  them!    In- 
ferior    materials      in 
them    are     both     un- 
pleasant and  harmful. 

If  you  want  Wrigley's, 
insist  on  seeing  the 
word  "WRIGLEY'S" 
above  the  pointed 
spear.  Be  sure  it's 
WRIGLEY'S.  Get 

what  you  pay 
for. 


Chew 

it  alter 

every 

meal 


I 

) 
x 


30 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Be  Prepared — 

for  any  kind  of  going — rough  roads  and  paths, 
wet  roads  and  pavements,  oily  roads  and 
streets,  with  never  a  thought  of  tire  trouble 
or  slipping — have  your  wheel  equipped  with 

PENNSYLVANIA 

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VACUUM1  CUPTIRES 

SINGLE  TUBE  AND  CLINCHER  TYPE 

The  suction  cups  prevent  side  slipping  and  skidding  on  slippery 
pavements.  They  strengthen  the  tough,  durable  tread,  making 
it  as  nearly  puncture-proof  as  is  possible  with  an  air-filled  tire. 
And  the  rubber  is  protected  from  the  rotting  effects  of  oil  by  a 
special  oilproof  compound. 

Sold  under  our  exceptional  guarantee  covering  a  season's  service 
under  the  liberal  terms  printed  on  tag  attached    to   each  tire. 

Pennsylvania  Rubber   Co.,  Jeannette,  Pa. 


Chicago 
Minneapolis 
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PENNSYLVANIA  RUBBER  COMPANY  OF  NEW  YORK 

New  York  City  Boston,  Mass.  Dallas,  Tex.  Atlanta,  Ga 

PENNSYLVANIA  RUBBER  COMPANY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

San  Francisco  Los  Angeles 

An  Independent  Company  with  an  independent  selling  policy 


31 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


II  Vyll    ill  [\\  ftj)  PI    (1  \\  through.      But  Gnif  the  Gnome  knew  what 

si  cJ»  ^sVeLi»^^iS»        \l>*!/J  UUuL  t0  do   ^0  gjve   Djs  crew  a  drying — he  tied 


*a  wonder  Tale. 


ES,  cleaning  cranky  Thrasher 
Fish  and  washing  Whales, 
you  see,  is  not  quite  such  a 
spotless  task  as  it's  supposed 
to  be.  In  fact,  our  Betty, 
also  Bob,  as  well  as  Gnifthe 
Gnome,  and  Yow  the  Cat  and  Snip  the  Dog 
were  splashed  with  fishy  foam.  A  fishy 
foam  leaves  spots  and  blots  all  over  us  when 
we  attempt  to  clean  some  angry  fish  that 
quarrel  in  the  sea.  Gnif  Gnome  was 
spotted  like  a  clown,  and  Snippy  splashed 
with  speckles ;  while  Bob  and  Betty  and 
old  Puss  were  full  of  fightful  freckles. 


Upon  a  ship  like  IVORY  ship  the  crew 
could  not  endure  it,  and  so  they  cast  about 
to  find  a  pleasant  way  to  cure  it.  At  last 
Gnif  shouted  gnomishly :  I'll  cure  our 
mussy  troubles  by  sliding  up  and  down  this 
deck  and  blowing  IVORY  bubbles." 

As  Gnif  was  wise,  the  rest  obeyed.  O, 
how  they  slid  and  blew,  till  Bubbles  of 
pure  IVORY  SOAP  'most  hid  that  jolly 
crew.  Of  course,  in  all  their  frolicking 
they  shipped  a  wave  or  two;  so  naturally 
our    voyagers 


to  do  to  give  his  crew  a  drying — he  tied 
some  bubbles  to  a  line  and  sent  them  all 
a-flying.  They  hung  their  clothes  upon 
this  line,  to  get  them  good  and  dry,  and  it 
was  fun  to  see  their  clothes  flip-flapping  in 
the  Sky. 


Then  Yow,  a  level-headed  puss,  and 
most  adventurous  cat,  climbed  up  the  mast 
to  get  a  view  of  some  far  distant  rat.  When 
Yow  had  swarmed  far  up  on  high  with 
neither  fear  nor  doubt,  he  suddenly  gave 
forth   a    howl,    which    is    a    catiish    shout. 

Land  ho,  land  ho!  Meow,  me-oh !  " 
The  crew  all  waved  their  hats,  for  they 
were  glad  to  hear  of  land,  and  Yow  had 
hope  of  RATS. 


And  great  was  the  excitement  on  that 
good  ship  IVORY,  and  what  the  jolly  crew 
did  next — we  hope  you'll  wait  to  see. 


SK 

THIS    PAGE    IS    -,M 

'  'REPRODUCE!)    BV  ^ 

SPECIAL   PERMISSION  | 

OP 

JOHN    MARTIN'S       1 

600K 

A    MAGAZINE     FOR       ( 

um.e  children,  - 

A"2 

hBt 


w 


K 


got     a      thorough     wetting 
IN  A  MONTH  YOU  WILL  KNOW  AS  MUCH  AS   PUSSY  DID 


IVORY  SOAP] 


99£oYoPURE 


32 


[The  entire  contents  of  this  Magazine  are  covered  by  the  general  copyright,  and  articles  must  not  be  reprinted  without  special  permission.] 

CONTENTS  OF  ST.  NICHOLAS  FOR  APRIL,  1914. 

Frontispiece.     The  Gossips.      Painted  by  Arthur  Rackham.                                                                            Page 
In  Shakspere's  Eoom.     Poem, Benjamin  F.  Leggett 481 

Illustrated  by  Reginald  Birch,  Alfred  Parsons,  and  from  photograph. 

The  Game  I  Love.     Serial Francis  Ouimet 484 

.     Illustrations  from  photographs,  and  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

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

Peggy's  Chicken  Deal.     Story Elizabeth  Price 490 

Illustrated  by  Laetitia  Herr.  • 

When  the  Indians  Came.    Story h.  s.  Hall 494 

Illustrated  by  Frank  Murch. 
The  Boy's  Fishing  Kit.      ("Under  the  Blue  Sky"  Series.) E.  T.  Keyser 498 

Illustrated  by  Harriet  R.  Boyd,  and  from  photographs  and  diagram. 

The  Lucky  Stone.      Serial  Story Abbie  FarweU  Brown 502 

Illustrated  by  R.   B.  Birch. 

Rights  and  Lefts.     Verse Mary  Dobbins  Prior 508 

Tommy's  Adventure.    Verse Caroline  Hofman 509 

Illustrated  by  Rachael  Robinson  Elmer. 

Base-ball:  The  Game  and  Its  Players.     Serial Billy  Evans 510 

Illustrations  from  photographs. 

Bad  Fairies.    Verse c.  H 515 

The  Runaway.     Serial  Story Allen  French 516 

Illustrated  by  Charles  M.  Relyea. 

Pop !  Pop !  Pop  !     Verse Malcolm  Douglas 523 

The  Jinglejays  Write  on  Spring.     Verse Charlotte  Canty 524 

Illustrated  by  Allie Dillon. 

With  Men  Who  Do  Things.     Serial A.  Russell  Bond 526 

Illustrated  by  Edwin  F.  Bayha,  and  from  photographs. 

From  the  Rose  Alba  to  St.  John's.     Story Eveline  w.  Brainerd 532 

Illustrated  by  C.  M.  Relyea. 

Garden-making  and  Some  of  the  Garden's  Stories:     The  Story  of 

Who  is  Who Grace  Tabor 539 

Mother's  Almanac.     Verse c.  Leo 542 

Illustrated  by  Beatrice  Stevens. 

The  Real  Story  of  the  Face.     Essay Lewis  Edwin  Theiss 543 

The  Robin.      Verse Margaret  Johnson 544 

Illustrated  by  the  Author. 

The  Housekeeping  Adventures  of  the  Junior  Blairs.    The  Birth- 
day Picnic Caroline  French  Benton 545 

Illustrated  by  Sarah  K..  Smith. 
The  Sisters.     Picture.      From  a  painting  by  Edmund  C.  Tarbell 550 

Books  and  Reading Hildegarde  Hawthorne 550 

For  Very  Little  Folk : 

The  Baby  Bears'  Sixth  Adventure.    Verse Grace  G.  Drayton 553 

Illustrated  by  the  Author. 

Nature  and  Science  for  Young  Folks,     illustrated 556 

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

Drawings,  Photographs,  and  Puzzles.       Illustrated 564 

Editorial  Note 572 

The  Letter-Box.     illustrated 572 

The  Riddle-Box 575 

St.  Nicholas  Stamp  Page Advertising  page 26 

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The  half-yearly  parts  of  ST.  NICHOLAS  end  with  the  October  and  April  numbers  respectively,  and  the  red  cloth  covers  are  ready 
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GEORGE  INNESS,  JR.  __      .  _  ,_  ,_        ,        ._     ,,         DOUGLAS  Z.  DOTY,  iffrrtarT 

Trustees  UniOn    Square,   NCW  York,   N.   Y.        RODMAN  GILDER,  Treasurer 

GEORGE  L.  WHEELOCK,^«7  Treasurer 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


UNCLE  GLEN  ON  ST.  NICHOLAS  NEXT  MONTH 


DEAR  St.  Nicholas  Reader:  Last  month  I  used 
the  phrase  "avuncular  dignity"  in  talking  about 
my  niece  Louise.  I  used  the  word  "avuncular"  in 
order  to  make  Louise  go  and  look  up  the  word  in  the 
Century  Dictionary.  But  of  course  I  could  not  hang 
around  the  library  and  watch  for  her  to  do  this.  I 
don't  know  yet  whether  she  had  to  look  in  the  dic- 
tionary at  all.  Probably  I  shall  never  know — cer- 
tainly not  from  Louise  !  I  must  confess  the  whole 
fun  of  the  thing  is  pretty  nearly  spoiled  for  me. 

louise's  friend  helen 

Louise  said  to  me  the  other  day : 

"Are  there  any  foundations  in  St.  Nicholas?" 

Not  having  the  slightest  idea  what  she  meant,  I 
looked  as  wise  as  I  could,  and  said  : 

"Foundations,  Louise?" 

"Yes.  Helen  says  that  to  think  things  out  really, 
you  have  to  be  sure  of  the  foundations  you  start  on. 
She  says  she  does  not  want  to  become  a  St.  Nich- 
olas reader,  or  bother  with  it  at  all,  unless  she  can 
get  the  foundations  in  St.  Nicholas. 

"Helen  is  awfully  bright,  you  know ;  and  she  is 
almost  the  only  girl  in  school  who  does  n't  read  St. 
Nicholas  every  month.  I  was  telling  her  about  one 
of  the  stories  in  it — then,  all  of  a  sudden,  she  asked 
me  about  'foundations,'  and  I  did  not  know  what  to 
say;  but  by  that  time  I  had  to  get  off  the  trolley-car, 
because  we  had  reached  our  street." 

"I  think  I  know  what  Helen  means,"  I  answered. 
"She  is  thinking  of  articles  that  get  down  to  the 
bottom  and  tell  how  things  are  done.  Well,  for  in 
stance,  in  the  May  St.  Nicholas,  in  the  series  "With 
Men  Who  Do  Things,"  there  is  an  article  telling  of 
the  visit  of  the  boys  to  the  great  steel-works  at 
Gary,  and  the  Bessemer  Steel-Works  in  South  Chi- 
cago. The  boys  follow  the  progress  of  the  material 
from  the  time  it  arrives  as  ore  at  the  steel  plant, 
through  to  the  time  when  it  has  become  steel  rails 
ready  to  be  used  by  the  railroads. 

"Some  day  your  father  and  I  may  be  able  to  take 
you  and  Billy  through  the  steel-works  and  see  this 
marvelous  process,  as  I  have  several  times ;  but 
even  if  you  never  take  that  trip,  this  article  will  be 
mighty  interesting  to  you. 

"Just  show  the  May  number  of  St.  Nicholas  to 
Helen  and  ask  her  if  such  an  article  as  that  does  n't 
give  her  food  for  thought  and  help  her  to  think 
things  out." 

Speaking  of  steel,  I  wonder  if  you  remember  the 
great  sixteen-page  article  called  "The  Blacksmith 
Nation,  or  The  Story  of  a  Bar  of  Iron,"  that  ap- 
peared in  the  March,  1904,  issue  of  St.  Nicholas. 
It  was  a  small  but  complete  history.  It  was  thought 
by  many  experts  to  be  the  best  short  history  of  the 
subject  ever  printed. 

billy,  the  horseman 

I  am  sure  that  Billy  is  going  to  read  with  a  great 
deal  of  interest  "The  Sea-Horse  of  Grand  Terre,"  a 
stirring  story  of  the  rescue  of  two  boys  caught  in  a 
storm  on  the  gulf  coast.  By  clinging  to  a  great 
white  horse,  they  manage  to  escape  drowning.  The 
illustrations  of  this  story  are  by  that  celebrated 
painter  of  wild  animals,  Charles  Livingston  Bull. 

The  reason  I  think  Billy  will  be  especially  inter- 
ested in  this  story  is  that  he  is  something  of  a  horse- 
man himself.  I  was  sitting  in  his  father's  house  in 
the  country  one  day,  when  I  heard  a  horse  galloping 
outside.  I  rushed  to  the  front  door  just  in  time  to 
see  Billy  on  his  father's  horse  at  a  full  run  down  the 
driveway  toward  the  stable.  There  is  a  "hair-pin" 
curve  about  one  hundred  yards  from  the  house,  and  I 
was  sure  that  Billy  would  go  off  at  that  corner,  which 
was  not  only  sharp  but  on  a  down  grade.  I  ran  back  of 
the  house  and  down  toward  the  stable,  for  which  I 
knew  the  runaway  horse  was  headed.  To  my  im- 
mense relief,  I  saw,  on  arriving  near  the  stable,  the 
horse  running  toward  me  with  Billy  still  in  the  sad- 
dle, although  both  stirrups  were  empty.  The  horse 
pulled  up  suddenly  in  front  of  the  stable  door,  and 


Billy,  a  little  bit  shaken  up,  slid  gently  to  the 
ground. 

Any  boy  that  could  have  stayed  on  a  running 
horse  at  that  corner  ought  to  be  a  good  judge  as  to 
whether  this  sea-horse  story  is  a  good  story  or  not, 
and  T  am  looking  forward  to  hearing  his  comments 
on  it. 

Have  YOU  ever  had  a  runaway?  If  so  drop  me 
a  line  and  tell  me  about  it. 

"to  be  continued" 

Nobody  who  has  read  this  instalment  of  "The 
Runaway"  can  fail  to  be  impatient  to  read  what  ap- 
pears in  the  May  number.  I  must  not  tell  just  what 
happens,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  the  May  instal- 
ment is  an  excellent  one,  and  has  a  fine  full-page 
illustration  by  the  artist  Relyea,  whom  you  know 
so  well. 

GROWN-UP    READERS    OF    ST.    NICHOLAS 

Speaking  of  "The  Runaway,"  this  story  appears  to 
interest  grown-ups  as  well  as  children,  as  is  indi- 
cated by  the  following  extracts  from  a  letter  just 
received  by  the  Editor  of  St.  Nicholas  from  a  lady 
in  Virginia  : 

"Please  send  the  November  number  of  St.  Nich- 
olas. I  am  buying  the  numbers  here,  but  began  with 
December.  My  husband  and  myself  are  deeply  in- 
terested in  "The  Runaway,"  by  Allen  French.  It  is 
the  most  thrillingly  interesting  story  I  have  read  for 
vears. 

"I  faced  a  whirlwind,  almost,  yesterday  afternoon, 
to  go  down-town  shopping  with  my  little  colored 
maid,  Frances  Henderson.  I  faced  the  angry  wind, 
though  it  was  dangerous  in  its  sweep  and  forced  me 
to  stand  at  times  in  the  shelter  of  the  stone  build- 
ings. I  feared  being  dashed  to  the  ground.  But  I 
went  to  buy  the  March  St.  Nicholas,  and  I  kept  on 
until  I  bought  it  at  the  bookstore,  and  I  did  not 
grudge  the  struggle  when  I  succeeded  in  my  quest — 
namely,  was  home  again  with  "The  Runaway"  and 
the  other  fine  stories  and  articles  and  superb  illus- 
trations.    Good  luck  and  much  of  it." 

out  of  doors 

The  "Under  the  Blue  Sky"  article,  by  E.  T.  Keyser, 
in  May,  is  called  "Canoeing  and  Camping."  In  it  we 
learn  how  to  repair  a  damaged  canoe  and  make  it 
lakeworthy  (I  wonder  if  Louise  will  object  to  my 
making  up  a  word  like  that?).  The  boys  select  the 
site  for  a  camp,  which  is  a  very  delicate  and  im- 
portant matter.  In  the  army  it  is  always  a  very 
skilled  officer  who  does  this,  because  no  matter  how 
good  the  other  arrangements  may  be  for  the  comfort 
of  people  in  camp,  if  the  site  is  a  bad  one,  every- 
thing goes  wrong. 

BILLY   EVANS    AND    OUIMET 

The  second  article  by  the  'peerless  umpire,  Billy 
Evans,  is  called  "Famous  Pitchers  and  Their  Styles." 
In  it  the  author  tells  interesting  stories  about  the 
greatest  twirlers  and  how  they  achieve  success. 

Francis  Ouimet,.  the  youthful  golf  champion,  con- 
tinues his  series.  He  advises  learners  to  watch  ex- 
perienced golfers  whenever  possible,  and  to  study 
how  they  play  their  strokes.  He  urges  the  young 
player  to  study  his  own  game  also,  and  makes  the 
point  that  what  is  good  for  the  other  fellow  is  not 
always  good  for  you. 

ON   THE   WHOLE 

Altogether,  the  May  St.  Nicholas  is  a  splendid  all- 
around  number,  and  is  going  to  make  many  new 
friends  for  the  "best-loved  of  all  Magazines,"  and 
will  endear  it  still  further  to  its  old  readers. 


lAy^Jla. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


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zines, "means  to  a  boy  or  girl 
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without  it ! 

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out  the  coupon  below  and 
send  it  to  the  publishers  of 
St.  Nicholas. 


Uncle  Glen's  page  tells  about  St.  Nicholas  for 
May.     It  is  only  one  of  the  twelve  good  rea- 
sons for  reading  St.  Nicholas  during  the 
next  year. 


S.  N.  4-14 


The  Century  Co., 
Union  Sq. ,  NewYork. 

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new  St.  Nicholas  plan. 

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ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


SPRING  NOVELS  AND  GARDEN  BOOKS 


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An  Immediate  Success 

THE  BLUE  BUCKLE 

By  William  Hamilton  Osborne 

Author  of z'  The  Red  Mouse  "  etc. 


Lord  Northcliffe 

The  original  of  Lord  London's 

portrait 

By  Keble  Howard 


An  absorbing  story  of  love,  mystery  and  adventure  centering  about  the  secret  of  a  battered 
steel  buckle  which  sends  the  master  criminal  Helderman  across  two  continents  in  pursuit  of 
the  beautiful  Billy  Kallantyne.  The  reader  fairly  holds  his  breath  as  he  follows  one  swift 
chapter  after  another  to  the  astounding  denouement.  Mr.  Osborne,  well  known  as  a  past-mas- 
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12i?io.     450  Pages.     $1.25  net,  postage  12  cents 

Getting  on  in  the  World 

LORD  LONDON  ASS&mnr 

"  Avery  stimulating  story  and  none  the  less  stimulating  because  it  is  true/' — Boston  Transcript. 
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No.  6 


IN    SHAKSPERE'S   ROOM 

BY  BENJAMIN  F.   LEGGETT 


'T  was  in  the  April  of  the  year, 

A  Stratford  child  was  born, 
And  earth  has  held  an  added  cheer 

Since  that  far  April  morn. 

Now  while  the  voice  of  April  calls, 

'Mid  song  and  whir  of  wing, 
We  muse  within  these  royal  walls— 

The  birth-room  of  a  king ! 

A  humble  room,  in  sooth,  it  seems, 

Low  ceiling— dingy  wall; 
Yet  here  began  the  wondrous  dreams 

That  hold  the  world  in  thrall. 

The  hearth  fire  flickered  faint  and  low, 

Without  a  hint  of  flame; 
The  embers  kept  a  hidden  glow 

The  April  day  he  came. 

His  youth  was  such  as  others  knew; 

His  childhood  not  o'erwrought ; 
He  mused  and  dreamed  the  young  years  thro', 

And  learned  as  Nature  taught. 

His  mind  was  quick  to  understand 

The  voices  of  the  air, 
And  Nature  led  him  by  the  hand, 

And  showed  him  treasures  rare. 


Copyright,  1914,  by  The  Century  Co. 
48. 


He  roamed  along  the  Avon-stream, 

Or  leaned  above  its  brim ; 
And  evermore  its  quiet  dream 

Was  sweetest  charm  to  him. 

He  came  to  earth  so  long  ago!  — 
Three  hundred  years,  they  say ; 

Long  since  he  went,  as  all  must  go, 
But  still  he  lives  to-day; 

The  years  can  never  make  him  old ; 

The  echoes  of  his  strains, 
The  songs  he  sang,  the  tales  he  told, 

They  live  while  love  remains. 

Had  he  not  come  to  Stratford-town 

Beside  the  Avon-stream,— 
Had  he  not  worn  the  poet's  crown 

And  dreamed  the  poet's  dream, 

How  poor  the  world  of  song  had  been  ! 

How  void  the  realm  of  art ! 
What  voice  had  made  the  whole  world  kin? 

Or  read  the  human  heart? 

He  found  in  everything  some  good, 

In  homely  ill  some  grace; 
He  oped  the  gates  of  Arden-wood 

To  all  the  weary  race ; 

All  rights  reserved. 


482 


IN  SHAKSPERE'S  ROOM 


[Apr., 


"A    HUMBLE    ROOM,    IX    SOOTH,    IT    SEEMS. 

The  tongues  that  whisper  in  the  trees, 

In  leafy  shadows  dim, 
The  murmurs  of  the  laden  bees, 

Were  full  of  song  to  him. 

Sermons  in  stones  his  spirit  heard 
Whose  wisdom  he  could  tell, 

And  Nature's  every  sound  and  word 
His  being  pondered  well. 

Books  in  the  running  brooks  he  found 
And  read  their  limpid  lore ; 

To  music  of  the  runnel's  sound 
He  conned  their  lessons  o'er. 

Such  grace  was  in  his  word  and  deed. 

Such  wisdom  in  his  plan, 
That  all  the  world  in  him  may  read 

The  love  of  fellow-man. 

What  matchless  beings  wise  and  good, 

Stepped  forth  at  his  command  ! 
What  royal  types  of  womanhood 

He  led  through  all  the  land  ! 

Here  by  his  humble  ingleside, 
We  muse  and  dream  anew, 

While  maid  and  matron  hither  glide 
And  pass  in  dim  review : 


'     ^V 


I9'4-] 


IN  SHAKSPERE'S  ROOM 


483 


Blithe  Beatrice,  the  unbeguiled, 
Grave  Portia,  fair  and  wise ; 

Miranda,  Nature's  charming  child, 
And  Celia  in  disguise ; 

Sweet  Pcrdita,  the  shepherdess, 

Hermionc.  the  tried; 
Cordelia,  scorned  for  loving  less, 

And  young  Lorenzo's  Bride. 

And  one  goes  by  with  sad  regrets  — 
Her  father's  joy  and  pride; 

With  rosemary,  rue,  and  violets. 
That  withered  when  he  died  ! 


Helena,  robed  in  patience  meet, 
That  baseness  could  not  fret ; 

And  Desdcmona,  chaste  and  sweet, 
And  Romeo's  Juliet. 

T'iola,  Hero,  Imogen. 
With  Isabella  good ; 

And  Rosalind  of  Arden  green- 
Sweet  rose  of  womanhood  ! 

—  They  pass: — the  wains  go  up  and  down 

And  call  us  from  our  dream, 
At  twilight  in  old  Stratford-town, 

Beside  the  Avon-stream. 


GAME 
I  LOVE 

Francis  Ouimet 

cSfational  Golf  Champion 
of \^meriea 


LEADING  GOLFERS    WHO  BEGAN    AS  SCHOOL-BOYS 

A  surprising  number  of  golfers  who  have  won 
high  honors  on  the  links  the  last  few  years,  first 
came  into  prominence  during  their  school-boy 
days,  and  had  their  early  experiences,  in  golfing 
competition  while  participating  in  interscholastic 
tournaments  or  championships.  I  think  I  am  cor- 
rect in  classing  among  such  the  national  amateur 
champion  of  the  present,  Mr.  Jerome  D.  Travers; 
the  runner-up  for  the  1913  championship,  Mr. 
John  G.  Anderson ;  a  former  national  titlehokler, 
Mr.  Eben  M.  Byers ;  Mr.  Frederick  Herreshoff , 
runner-up  to  Mr.  H.  H.  Hilton  for  the  national 
title  in  191 1;  Mr.  Charles  E.  Evans,  Jr.,  that  re- 
markable young  golfer  of  the  Chicago  district, 
not  to  mention  many  others.  For  myself,  I  can 
look  back  upon  my  golfing  days  while  a  pupil  in 
the  high  school  at  Brookline,  Massachusetts,  not 
only  with  a  feeling  of  the  pleasure  then  derived 
from  the  game,  but  also  with  the  conviction  that 
a  great  many  points  which  I  learned  then  have 
since  stood  me  in  good  stead. 

It  was  as  a  school-boy  golfer  that  I  first  had 
that  feeling  of  satisfaction  which  comes  in  win- 
ning a  tournament,  and  it  was  as  a  school-boy 
golfer  that  I  learned  a  few  things  which  perhaps 
may  be  useful  to  some  boys  who  are  pupils  in 
school  now  and  who  are  interested  in  golf.  It 
was  only  six  years  ago,  in  1908,  that  I  took  part 
for  the  first  time  in  an  interscholastic  tourna- 
ment, at  the  Wollaston  Golf  Club,  and  I  may  as 
well  say,  right  here,  that  I  did  not  win  the  title ; 
the  fact  is  that  I  barely  qualified,  my  85  being 
only  one  stroke  better  than  the  worst  score  in 
the  championship  qualifying  division.     The  best 


Copy 


score  was  74,  which  I  must  say  was  extraordi- 
narily good  for  such  a  course  as  that  on  which 
the  event  was  played.  It  is  a  fine  score  there  to- 
day for  any  golfer,  even  in  the  ranks  of  the  men. 
In  my  first  round  of  match  play,  fortune  favored 
me,  only  to  make  me  the  victim  of  its  caprices 
in  the  second  round,  when  I  was  defeated  2  up 
and  1  to  play  by  the  eventual  winner  of  the 
championship  title,  Carl  Anderson.  It  was  in- 
ability to  run  down  putts  of  about  three  feet  in 
length  which  cost  me  that  match,  and,  to  my  sor- 
row, I  have  passed  through  that  same  experience 
more  than  once  since  leaving  school.  But  what 
I  recollect'distinctly  about  that  match,  aside  from 
my  troubles  of  the  putting-greens,  was  that  I  felt 
nervous  from  the  start,  for  it  was  my  first  "big" 
match.  I  mention  this  because  it  has  its  own  lit- 
tle lesson,  which  is  that  the  chances  of  winning 
are  less  when  the  thought  of  winning  is  so  much 
on  the  mind  as  10  affect  the  nerves. 


PLAY  YOUR  OWN   GAME 

In  the  following  year,  1909,  I  won  the  cham- 
pionship of  the  Greater  Boston  Interscholastic 
Golf  Association,  the  tournament  being  played 
at  the  Commonwealth  Country  Club,  Newton, 
Massachusetts.  Only  one  match  was  at  all  close, 
that  one  going  to  the  sixteenth  green.  The  final, 
at  thirty-six  holes,  I  won  by  10  up  and  9  to  play. 
In  that  tournament  I  learned  a  lesson  invaluable, 
which  was  to  avoid  trying  to  play  every  shot 
equally  well  with  my  opponent.  In  other  words, 
there  were  boys  in  that  tournament  who  were 
vastly  my  superiors  in  long  hitting.  Frequently 
they  were  reaching  the  green  in  two  shots  where  I 


THE   GAME   I   LOVE 


485 


required  three,  or  else  they  were  getting  there 
with  a  drive  and  a  mashy  shot  where  I  required 
two  long  shots.  But,  fortunately,  I  was  of  a  tem- 
perament at  that  time  which  enabled  me  to  go 
along  my  own  way,  never  trying  to  hit  the  ball 
beyond  my  natural  strength  in  order  to  go  as  far 
as  my  opponent,  and  making  up  for  lack  of  dis- 
tance by  accuracy  of  direction  and  better  putting. 
My  advice  to  any  boy  is  to  play  his  own  game, 
irrespective  of  what  his  opponent  does.  This 
does  not  mean,  of  course,  that  a  boy  should  lose 
his  ambition  to  improve  his  game,  or  that  he 
should  be  content  with  moderate  distance  when 
he  might  be  able  to  do  better.  But  the  time  for 
striving  to  do  better  than  in  the  past  is  not  when 


ship  title  which  I  ever  held  in  golf,  there  were 
a  number  of  players  who  subsequently  have 
achieved  successes  in  athletic  lines,  several  of 
them  having  become  prominent  for  their  skill  in 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood. 
MR.  JEROME    D.  TRAVERS,   NATIONAL  AMATEUR   CHAMPION. 

ambition  is  aroused  merely  through  the  desire  to 
win  some  one  match  or  to  outhit  some  opponent. 
The  average  boy  or  man  who  strives  in  some  one 
match  to  hit  the  ball  harder  than  he  does  nor- 
mally, generally  finds  that,  instead  of  getting 
greater  distance,  he  is  only  spoiling  his  natural 
game.  Then,  the  harder  he  tries,  the  worse  he 
gets.  Greater  distance  on  the  drive,  as  well  as 
accuracy  in  all  departments  of  the  game,  comes 
through  practice  and  natural  development,  rather 
than  through  the  extra  efforts  of  some  one  round. 
In  that  tournament  at  the  Commonwealth 
Country  Club,  which  gave  me  the  first  Champion- 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood. 
MR.  CHARLES    E.   EVANS,    JR. 

golf.  Among  these  was  Mr.  Heinrich  Schmidt, 
of  Worcester,  Massachusetts,  the  young  player 
who,  in  the  spring  of  1913,  made  such  a  great 
showing  in  the  British  amateur  championship. 
Even  at  that  time,  "Heinie,"  as  we  called  him, 
was  a  more  than  ordinarily  good  golfer;,  and  he 
was  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  possible  winners 
of  the  championship.  It  was  one  of  his  Worces- 
ter team-mates,  Arthur  Knight,  who  put  him  out 
of  the  running,  in  a  match  that  went  two  extra 
holes.  "Heinie's"  twin  brother,  Karl,  who  looked 
so  much  like  him  that  it  was  difficult  to  tell  the 
two  apart,  also  was  in  the  tournament,  and 
among  others  were  Dana  Wingate,  present  cap- 
tain of  the  Harvard  varsity  base-ball  nine;  For- 
rester Ainsworth,  the  sterling  half-back  on  the 
Yale  foot-ball  eleven  last  fall,  and  Fletcher  Gill, 
who  since  has  played  on  the  Williams  College 
o-olf  team. 


THE    PLEASURE    OF    BEING    DEFEATED    BECAUSE    YOUR 
OPPONENT   HAS  PLAYED  BETTER  GOLF 

The  following  year,   1910,  I  was  honored  with 
election  to  the  presidency  of  the  Greater  Boston 


486 


THE   GAME  I   LOVE 


[Apr., 


Interscholastic  Golf  Association,  which  did  not, 
however,  help  me  to  retain  the  championship  ti- 
tle, for  that  year  the  winner  was  Arthur  Knight, 
of  Worcester. 

The    interesting    tournament    was    played    on 
the  links  of  the  Woodland  Golf  Club  at  Auburn- 


"*A~rl 


Copyright  by  Underwood  &  Underwood. 
MR.  JOHN    G.  ANDERSON. 

dale,  Massachusetts,  and  in  the  qualifying  round 
I  was  medalist,  with  a  score  of  JJ.  Singularly 
enough,  I  had  that  same  score  in  winning  my 
match  of  the  first  round,  and  also  had  a  J"j  in  the 
second  round ;  but  on  that  occasion  it  was  not 
good  enough  to  win ;  for  Francis  Mahan,  one  of 
my  team-mates  from  Brookline  High  School, 
was  around  with  a  brilliant  73,  whereby  he  won 
by  3  up  and  2  to  play.  It  was  beautiful  golf  for 
a  boy  (for  a  man  either,  as  far  as  that  goes), 
and  the  loss  of  the  title,  under  such  circum- 
stances, left  nothing  for  me  to  regret.  It  always 
has  struck  me  that  for  any  one  who  truly  loves 
the  game  of  golf,  there  is  even  a  pleasure  in  be- 
ing defeated  when  you  have  played  first-class 
golf  yourself,  and  have  been  beaten  only  because 
your  opponent  has  played  even  better.  It  cer- 
tainly was  so  in  that  case,  and  I  was  sorry  that 
Mahan  could  not  keep  up  the  gait  in  his  other 
matches.  He  was  beaten  by  the  eventual  winner 
of  the  tournament,  Arthur  Knight,  in  the  semi- 
final   round,    Knight   winning   the   thirty-six-hole 


final  by  2  up  and  1  to  play  from  R.  W.  Gleason, 
later  a  member  of  the  Williams  College  team. 

From  my  own  experiences  in  school-boy  golf, 
I  should  be  an  enthusiastic  supporter  of  any 
movement  tending  to  make  the  game  a  greater 
factor  in  the  athletic  life  of  school-boys,  or,  for 
that  matter,  in  the  colleges.  I  do  think,  however, 
that  it  should  come  under  more  direct  super- 
vision of  older  heads,  and  that  boys  should  be 
taught  not  only  how  to  play  the  game,  but  that 
they  should  have  impressed  upon  them  the  fact 
that  it  is  a  game  that  demands  absolute  honesty. 


A   GREAT  GAME  FOR  THE  DEVELOPMENT 
OF  CHARACTER 

I  have  known  instances  where,  in  school-boy 
tournaments,  scores  have  been  returned  which 
were  surprisingly  low,  and  there  have  been  occa- 
sions when  such  scores,  appearing  in  print,  have 
brought  a  tinge  of  suspicion  upon  the  boys  re- 
turning them.  Such  instances  would  be  rare  if 
proper  methods  were  taken  to  explain  to  the  boys 
that  golf  is  a  game  which  puts  them  strictly  on 
their  honor.  They  should  be  taught  to  realize 
that  winning  is  not  everything  in  the  game ;  that 
a  prize  won  through  trickery,  either  in  turning 
in  a  wrong  score  or  moving  the  ball  to  give  it  a 
more  desirable  position,  gives  no  lasting  pleasure. 
Any  boy  winning  a  prize  by  such  methods  would 
in  later  life  want  to  have  it  out  of  his  sight. 
Every  time  he  looked  at  it,  he  would  have  a  feel- 
ing of  contempt  for  himself  for  having  adopted 
dishonest  methods.  Under  proper  supervision, 
golf  can  be  made  a  great  agency  in  the  schools 
for  the  development  of  character;  a  game  which 
will  teach  the  boy  to  be  honest  with  himself  and 
with  others. 


SUGGESTIONS    FOR    INTERSCHOLASTIC    TOURNAMENTS 

As  president  of  the  Greater  Boston  Interscho- 
lastic Golf  Association  for  one  year,  I  naturally 
had  an  opportunity  to  get  a  thorough  insight 
into  the  manner  of  conducting  a  school-boy  tour- 
nament, and  I  have  one  or  two  ideas  which  may 
be  worth  setting  forth.  One  is  that,  in  the  quali- 
fying round  of  a  school-boy  tournament,  every 
effort  should  be  made  to  pair  boys  from  differ- 
ent schools,  instead  of  having  the  pairings  hap- 
hazard or  allowing  the  boys  to  pair  up  according 
to  their  own  desires.  One  of  the  greatest  advan- 
tages of  a  school-boy  tournament,  aside  from  its 
development  of  a  boy's  competitive  skill,  is  that 
it  brings  boys  from  different  schools  and  districts 
into  closer  relationship ;  new  individual  friend- 
ships   are    formed,    and   a   possible   spirit   of   an- 


1914] 


THE   GAME   I   LOVE 


487 


tagonism  gives  way  to  a  wholesome  rivalry.  Golf 
being  a  game  where  there  is  no  direct  physical 
contact  between  the  two  boys,  provides  a  happy 
medium  for  the  intermingling  of  many  boys  of 
all  ages  and  sizes,  to  form  new  acquaintances, 
expand  old  ones,  exchange  ideas,  and  engage  in  a 
game  which  has  much  more  vigor  to  it  than  the 
average  school-boy  realizes. 

Probably  more  than  one  first-class  golfer  has 
been  lost  to  the  world  of  golf  through  a  defeat 


THE    MENTAL    ATTITUDE    —MY    FIRST    MATCH 
WITH    MR.    ANDERSON 

In  the  second  place,  the  boy  who  is  down- 
hearted has  little  chance  to  regain  lost  ground, 
whereas  by  plodding  along  and  doing  his  best, 
there  is  no  knowing  what  may  happen  to  turn 
the  tide.  To  illustrate  this  point,  with  the  hope 
that  the  reader  will  not  think  I  am  trying  to  ex- 
ploit my  own  success,  I  shall  not  soon  forget  a 


"THE    BOY    WHO    IS    DOWNHEARTED    HAS    LITTLE    CHANCE    TO    REGAIN    LOST    GROUND. 


administered  to  some  promising  player  in  a 
school-boy  tournament.  It  is  a  singular  fact 
(perhaps  doubly  so  to  one  who  has  been  so  en- 
thusiastic over  the  game  from  childhood  as  I 
have  been)  that  many  boys  become  apathetic 
over  the  game  after  losing  a  match  which  they 
hoped,  perhaps  expected,  to  win ;  whereas  if  their 
team  lost  in  base-ball  or  foot-ball,  they  would  be 
just  as  eager  to  go  in  to  win  the  next  game  on 
the  schedule.  But  in  golf,  the  individual  alone 
bears  the  brunt  of  his  defeat;  he  cannot  deceive 
himself  into  the  idea  that  it  was  his  neighbor, 
rather  than  himself,  who  was  responsible  for 
losing.  He  should  bear  in  mind  that  in  golf  no 
one  is  immune  from  defeat,  and  that  when  an 
opponent  is  winning  a  match,  it  is  far  better  to 
study  the  methods  by  which  he  is  gaining  the 
mastery  than  to  bemoan  the  fickleness  of  fate. 


match  which  I  had  as  a  school-boy  against  Mr. 
John  G.  Anderson,  a  master  in  the  Fessenden 
School  at  West  Newton,  Massachusetts,  and  last 
year's  well-known  runner-up  for  the  national 
championship. 

This  match  was  an  occasion  when  the  Brook- 
line  High  team  played  a  team  representing  Fes- 
senden School.  The  boys  of  Brookline  were 
older  and  larger  than  those  of  Fessenden,  so  Mr. 
Anderson  was  allowed  to  play  for  the  latter  in 
order  to  help  equalize  matters.  It  fell  to  my  lot 
to  oppose  him.  Of  course  I  had  not  the  slightest 
expectation  of  winning,  but  resolved  to  do  the 
best  I  could,  at  any.  rate,  and  make  the  margin 
of  my  defeat  as  small  as  possible.  With  such  a 
state  of  mind,  my  play  was  better  than  I  could 
have  dreamed  possible.  Twice  during  the  round 
I  holed  chip  shots   from  off  the  green,  and,  al- 


488 


THE   GAME  I   LOVE 


[Apr., 


most  to  my  own  consternation  as  I  recall  it,  I 
defeated  Mr.  Anderson,  putting  in  two  rounds  of 
36  over  the  nine-hole  Albemarle  course.  I  hope 
Mr.  Anderson  will  forgive  my  telling  this,  if  he 
happens  to  see  the  account ;  my  reason  being  to 
assure  every  boy  that  in  golf  there  is  always  a 


"JUST   BEG   THE    BUNKERS   PARDON    FOR 
HAVING   DISTURBED    IT!" 


chance  to  win,  no  matter  how  stiff  the  odds  may 
seem  in  advance. 

Sometimes  I  think  that  there  is  no  better  men- 
tal attitude,  going  into  a  match,  than  the  one  I 
had  when  I  played  that  match  with  Mr.  Ander- 
son. It  has  seemed  to  me  that  the  average  school- 
boy golfer  is  a  bit  prone  to  getting  himself 
worked  into  a  state  of  high  nervous  tension 
thinking  about  his  match  to  come  and  wondering 
what  his  chances  are  of  winning.  He  begins  to 
worry  over  the  outcome  hours  before  the  match, 
and  perhaps  has  a  more  or  less  sleepless  night 
from  the  knowledge  that  in  to-morrow's  match 
he  faces  one  of  the  favorites  for  the  school-boy 
title.  Consequently,  he  neither  has  his  full  men- 
tal nor  physical  equipment  with  him  when  it 
comes  to  the  actual  playing  of  the  match,  and  the 
least  bit  of  hard  luck  is  apt  to  throw  him  off  his 
stride. 

Now  every  school-boy  golfer  should  bear  in 
mind  that  one  match  does  not  constitute  a  golfing 
career      It  is  not  possible  for  two  to    vin  in  the 


same  match,  and  the  other  boy's  hopes  of  win- 
ning are  just  as  strong  as  yours.  Even  if  he 
wins  to-day's  match,  there  are  many  to-morrows 
coming,  when  it  may  be  your  turn  to  come  out 
on  top.  Then  there  also  is  this  to  be  borne  in 
mind :  the  boy  who  defeats  you  in  one  match  may 
be  your  opponent  in  a  subsequent  tournament, 
and,  in  the  second  instance,  the  result  is  reversed. 
Therein  is  double  satisfaction,  for  if  he  is  play- 
ing as  well  as  he  did  in  the  first  instance,  you 
must  be  playing  considerably  better,  and  there  is 
pleasure,  also  encouragement,  in  that  thought.    . 


DON  T       GET    MAD,       BUT    APOLOGIZE    TO 
THE    BUNKER  ! 

A  boy  should  learn,  as  one  of  his  first  lessons 
in  golf,  that  it  does  not  pay  to  get  "mad,"  to  use 
that  common  expression.  Bunkers  are  put  on  a 
golf  course  not  to  provoke  any  player's  wrath, 
but  to  compel  him  to  play  a  scientific  game.  If 
the  player  gets  into  one  of  these  bunkers,  it  is 
not  the  bunker's  fault,  but  bis  own.  If  he  could 
only  teach  himself  to  take  that  point  of  view,  he 
might  almost  bring  himself  around  to  the  point 
where,  instead  of  uttering  some  angry  word 
over  the  situation,  he  would  beg  the  bunker's 
pardon  for  having  disturbed  it.  That,  perhaps, 
may  be  using  a  millennium  viewpoint,  but,  after 
all,  is  n't  that  the  proper  view  to  take  of  the 
matter? 

Nothing  is  gained  by  getting  angered  over  the 
outcome  of  any  particular  shot.  During  my 
school-boy  days,  I  remember  playing  a  match 
once  with  a  boy  who  might  have  become  a  good 
player  only  for  his  temper.  He  could  not,  appar- 
ently, bring  himself  to  see  that  the  more  worked 
up  he  became  over  his  bad  shots,  the  less  chance 
he  had  of  making  a  good  one.  We  were  playing 
a  match  on  a  Boston  course,  and  at  the  fourth 
hole  he  topped  a  shot  into  long  grass,  then  played 
a  poor  second,  and  immediately  walked  over  to 
a  tree,  where  he  smashed  the  club  with  which  he 
had  played  the  second  shot.  At  the  next  hole, 
he  sliced  into  some  woods,  failed  to  get  out  on 
his  second,  and  deliberately  smashed  another 
good  iron.  Before  we  had  played  the  home  hole, 
he  had  thrown  away  his  putter. 

How  much  chance  had  a  player  with  that  dis- 
position to  improve  his  game?  Furthermore,  no 
boy  should  enter  a  match  without  realizing  that 
his  feelings  are  not  the  only  ones  to  be  consid- 
ered. He  has  an  opponent,  and,  even  though  the 
other  is  an  opponent,  in  a  competitive  sense,  at 
the  same  time  each  is  supposed  to  be  playing  the 
game  for  the  enjoyment  there  is  in  it,  and  when 
one  player  gets  provoked  to  a  point  where  his 


I9I4-] 


THE  GAME  I  LOVE 


489 


temper  altogether  gets  the  better  of  him,  there 
is  not  much  chance  for  the  other  to  gain  any 
pleasure  out  of  a  round. 

THE  SCHOOL-BOY  AGE  IS  THE  BEST  TIME  FOR 
ACQUIRING   A   GOOD  STYLE  OF  PLAY 

The  school-boy  age  is  the  most  advantageous 
period  for  acquiring  a  good  style  of  play.  The 
muscles  are  pliant,  the  swing  is  free,  and  the 
average  boy  is  apt  to  have  a  good,  natural  swing 
even  without  any  instructions.  For  all  that,  he 
should,  if  possible,  seek  a  little  advice  from  those 
older  and  better  experienced  in  the  game,  in  or- 
der not  to  get  some  bad  fault  in  his  swing  which, 
as  he  grows  older,  will  prove  adverse  to  his 
game. 

Perhaps  the  idea  may  not  be  practicable,  but  I 
cannot  see  why  it  would  not  be  possible  to  have 
a  little  elementary  instruction  for  the  pupils  in 
the  city  high   schools  on  the  proper  method  of 


swinging  the  club.  Why  would  it  not  be  possi- 
ble for  a  city  to  hire  a  golf  professional  to  de- 
monstrate, in  school  gymnasiums,  the  proper 
method  of  swinging  the  club? 

Faithful  effort  and  earnest  endeavor  to  im- 
prove one's  game  as  a  school-boy  are  apt  not  only 
to  lead  to  success  in  the  school-boy  competitive 
ranks,  but  they  pave  the  way  to  later  successes 
on  the  links  in  a  more  general  way.  Moreover, 
beyond  the  high  school  there  is  the  college,  and 
intercollegiate  golf  has  quite  a  niche  of  its  own, 
beckoning  the  school-boy  to  enter  its  circle. 
Nearly  every  school-boy  who  is  at  all  athletically 
inclined  and  who  has  ambition  to  go  to  college 
would  like  to  shine  there  in  some  branch  of 
sports.  He  may  not  be  physically  endowed  for 
foot-ball;  he  may  lack  the  requisite  qualities  to 
make  the  base-ball  team,  the  track  team,  or  the 
rowing  squad.  At  the  same  time,  he  might  be  a 
leader  in  golf,  triumphing  over  men  far  his  su- 
periors in  physique. 


SAVED   BY  "APRIL   FOOL! 

BY  CLARA   J.   DENTON 


Francis,  Duke  of  Lorraine,  is  an  historical  character.      He  was  born  in  1708,  succeeded  his  father,  Leopold,  in  1729, 
and  died  in  1765. 

In  Chamber's  "Book  of  Days,"  page  462,  is  found  the  legend  embodied  in  the  following  verses.  Since  the  French 
adopted  the  custom  of  "April  fooling"  long  before  the  Lnglish  did,  it  will  be  seen  that  had  the  duke  and  his  wife  been 
confined  in  an  English  town  instead  of  the  P'rench  one,  Nantes,  they  might  not  so  easily  have  escaped.  This  legend 
is  also  told  in  various  books  of  old  customs  and  curiosities. 


Have  you  heard  the  little  story, 
Running  like  a  thread  of  gold 

Through  the  warp  and  woof  of  legend- 
Legends  often  grimly  told  ? 

Francis,  Lorraine's  duke  and  master, 
With  his  noble,  stately  wife, 

In  the  town  of  Nantes  were  captives ; 
Hard  and  sad  their  prison  life. 

But  some  friend  with  tender  feeling 

Peasant's  garb  for  each  prepared ; 
Thus  arrayed,  and  bearing  burdens, 

Forth  for  home  they  boldly  fared. 
At  the  city  gates,  the  sentry 

Heeded  not  the  peasant  pair,— 
He  with  hod  upon  his  shoulder, 

She  with  baskets  as  her  share. 

To  the  fair  and  open  country 

On  they  trudged  with  humble  mien, 

Till  they  met  a  sharp-eyed  woman 
Who  their  faces  once  had  seen. 


To  the  sentry  with  her  tidings 

On  she  sped  as  if  for  life, 
Saying,  "I  have  met  Duke  Francis, 

With  his  proud  and  haughty  wife !" 

"Stuff  and  nonsense  !"  said  the  sentry, 
"They  could  not  have  passed  us  by, 
'T  is,  I  know,  the  first  of  April," 
And  he  slyly  winked  his  eye. 
But  the  woman,  nothing  daunted, 
Told  the  story  far  and  wide. 
"That  is  good  for  'April  fooling,'  " 
Each  one  with  a  laugh  replied. 

By  and  by  the  governor  heard  it 

(Though  the  news  came  rather  late). 
"It  may  be,"  he  said,  "all  fooling, 

But  I  '11  just  investigate." 
So  he  did.     But  then  the  couple 

Were  beyond  his  reach  and  rule, 
And,  for  once,  a  noble  purpose 

Had  been  served  by  "April  Fool !" 


"Helen  came  home  with  headache  again  to-day." 
Margaret  spoke  as  if  the  fact  needed  no  com- 
ment, and  Marion  frowned  darkly,  saying,  "I  'm 
not  surprised.  I  met  Dr.  Graham  on  the  street 
this  morning,  and  he  said  she  must  have  a  change, 
that  he  would  n't  answer  for  the  consequences  if 
she  did  n't." 

"Mercy  me,  Marion  Darling,  as  if  we  did  n't 
all  need  change  and  plenty  of  it.  That  's  a  joke, 
ha-ha,  and  I  am  not  in  a  joking  humor,  either." 

"Do  you  know  what  it  means,  Peggy?  Our 
late  lamented  legacy  must  furnish  us  a  home  till 
Helen  gets  well.  I  've  been  thinking  it  over,  and 
I  have  made  up  my  mind." 

"Enough  said.  No  use  in  wasting  my  feeble 
efforts  in  unmaking  it.     When  do  we  start?" 

Marion  laughed  in  spite  of  herself.  "Seriously, 
I  mean  it." 

"So  I  judged.  Would  you  mind  imparting  a 
few  details  so  I  could  get  some  packing  done  be- 
fore the  move-wagon  arrives?" 

"Not  at  all.  I  got  off  from  work  to-day  and 
went  out  there." 

A  slice  of  toast  fell  flatly  into  the  coals  and 
was  rapidly  consumed  as  its  maker  turned  an 
astonished  face  to  her  sister.  "You  've  been 
where?     Not  to  Idle-wild!" 

"The  same,  ma'am.  Our  late  lamented  legacy, 
above  mentioned."  And  Marion  drew  her  merry 
face  into  solemn  lines,  though  her  eyes  twinkled. 

"If  you  don't  upset  a  person's  equanimity  with 
your  suddenness,  I  don't  know  who  does — there  's 
a  whole  slab  of  supper  gone  up  in  smoke  !  Tell 
me  all  about  it  this  minute,"  said  Margaret,  slic- 
ing bread  vigorously. 

"Eight  rooms  besides  a  kitchen,"  complied 
Marion.  "They  're  all  furnished  in  the  simplest 
country  fashion,  big  and  airy,  and  we  never  in 
these   United    States   can   afford   to   warm   them. 


But  then  we  would  n't  need  to.  And  there  's  a 
piece  of  ground  for  a  garden  next  summer." 

"In  the  meantime  we  can  hibernate.  Was  that 
your  idea?" 

"No,  we  are  n't  fat  enough.  We  '11  have  to  eat 
more  or  less,  so  I  got  the  promise  of  the  country 
school.  Just  in  the  nick  of  time  I  was,  too.  The 
teacher  they  had,  decided  to  get  married." 

"How  considerate  !" 

"Was  n't  it  ?  They  don't  pay  much  of  any- 
thing, but  every  little  helps,  and  Helen  will  be 
sure  to  get  some  music  scholars.  If  only  your 
accomplishments  had  a  marketable  value,  Peggy." 

"Which,  alas,  they  have  n't !  Call  Helen,  will 
you?     She  '11  feel  better  for  her  cup  of  tea." 

"You  're  a  gorgeous  cook,  anyway,  and  a  model 
housekeeper.  That  's  something,"  and  Marion 
paused  to  hug  her  sister. 

Peggy  hesitated,  then  laughed  and  said :  "I 
have  a  scheme,  too,  Miss  Darling,  which  if — I 
mean  when  it  succeeds,  will  cast  district-school 
teaching  into  the  background,  to  say  nothing  of 
music-lessons,  et  cetera.     It  's  chickens  !" 

"Peg  Darling,  you  don't  know  a  game-cock 
from  a  bantam.  The  idea!"  Marion  sniffed  scorn- 
fully, but  Margaret  continued  to  smile. 

"That  's  all  right.  I  'm  not  too  old  to  learn. 
We  '11  buy  a  small  incubator,  and  fill  it  right 
away  with  good  eggs— some  kind  that  grow  big 
very  fast.  Buff  cochins,  I  think  they  are,  and  in 
the  early  spring,  when  frying  chickens  are  worth 
their  weight  in  gold,  we  '11  have  'em  by  the  dozen. 
See  if  we  don't !" 

"Peggy,  you  've  been  cramming  on  the  sly." 

"I  know  it,  Marion.  I  've  studied  till  I  know 
every  detail  of  poultry  raising,  and  I  'm  not 
afraid  to  invest  our  last  penny  in  getting  started. 
Go  get  Helen.     Supper  will  be  ruined." 

One  month  before,  Idle-wild  had  been  bestowed 


PEGGY'S  CHICKEN   DEAL 


491 


upon  the  three  sisters  by  the  will  of  a  distant  rela- 
tive. Marion  had  already  come  to  refer  to  it  ex- 
clusively as  their  "late  lamented  legacy,"  because, 
in  the  first  flush  of  joy  over  the  possession  of  a 
homestead,  they  had  built  wonderful  air-castles 
which  had  promptly  tumbled  about  their  ears 
when  Idle-wild  proved  to  be  in  no  way  available 
as  a  money-maker.  Situated  on  a  remote  country 
road,  its  only  near  neighbors  one  Obed-Edom 
Green  and  Clarinda,  his  wife,  its  possibilities  for 
income  limited  to  a  "truck"  garden,  with  nobody 
to  buy  the  truck,  it  had  seemed  to  its  new  posses- 
sors only  an  increased  care  and  responsibility. 

But  Helen's  imperative  need  for  a  release  from 
her  duties  as  stenographer  in  a  busy  office  put  a 
new  aspect  on  affairs,  and,  once  recognizing  it 
as  the  thing  to  do,  the  sisters  made  their  move 
cheerfully.  Marion  exchanged  her  work  as  book- 
keeper with  a  big  lumber  firm  for  the  untried 
duties  of  a  country  schoolma'am,  while  Helen 
consented,  after  a  talk  with  Dr.  Graham,  to  build 
her  hopes  on  possible  music  pupils  and  a  chance 
to  rest  and  recuperate  between-whiles.  Nobody 
ever  expected  anything  of  Peggy  except  her  do- 
mestic duties,  and  her  sisters  had  been  content  to 
leave  their  home-making  in  her  capable  hands. 

Even  now,  when  Peggy  was  n't  around,  they 
laughed  good-naturedly  at  her  new  and  enthusi- 
astic venture  in  chickens.  "We  can't  afford  it, 
a  bit  in  the  world,"  they  confessed  to  each  other; 
"and  of  course  she  '11  make  a  fizzle.  And  it  's  the 
first  thing  she  's  ever  asked  for  outside  of  real 
necessities,  and  we  could  n't  say  she  should  n't 
have  it.    We  '11  skimp  a  little  harder  to  make  up." 

But  in  the  face  of  their  reduced  income,  this 
was  not  easy  to  do.  As  fall  came  on,  they  shut 
up  all  the  big  cold  rooms  of  their  new  home 
except  the  three  opening  out  of  the  kitchen,  and 
here  they  lived,  very  simply  and  economically. 
For  the  music  scholars  did  not  materialize,  and 
it  was  too  soon  to  expect  returns  from  the  chick- 
ens, as  Peggy  often  reminded  them.  Much  too 
soon,  her  sisters  thought.  The  first  setting  of 
buff  cochin  eggs  were  roasted  by  their  over-zeal- 
ous tender.  The  second  setting  bade  fair  to  reach 
the  other  extreme  and  freeze,  though  six  chicks 
of  hardier  strain  than  their  brethren  managed  to 
hatch.  Of  these,  four  faded  and  died  before 
their  owner's  anxious  eyes.  Peggy's  ardor  was 
dampened  but  not  quenched.  "Let  me  try  once 
more,"  she  begged.  "I  '11  do  without  a  new  seal- 
skin sack  this  winter,  and  won't  even  insist  on  a 
sable  muff,  if  you  '11  give  me  just  one  more 
chance.-    You  know  I  've  had  experience,  now!" 

Of  course  she  got  the  eggs,  though  her  sisters 
eyed  each  other  doubtfully  as  they  counted  what 
was  left  in  the  flat  pocketbook.     But  four  weeks 


later,  the  incubator  was  sent  up  garret,  and  its 
unhatched  eggs  were  given  mournful  burial  in 
the  potato  lot. 

"I  've  got  Jack  and  Jill,  anyway."  Peggy  was 
determined  to  be  cheerful  whatever  befell.  "I  'm 
sure  they  're  doing  lovely ;  and  maybe  Jill  will 
prove  to  be  such  a  famous  layer  that  we  won't 
lose  so  much  on  our  investment,  after  all.  You 
understand,  girls,  it  is  only  postponed  — I  shall 
make  a  success  out  of  this  chicken  deal  yet." 

The  winter  was  long  and  rather  dreary  with 
its  unaccustomed  quiet  and  its  unwonted  leisure. 
"If  it  were  not  for  Jack  and  Jill,  I  'd  be  tempted 
to  be  homesick,"  Peggy  confessed  one  day.  "But 
I  'm  so  proud  of  them,  I  can't  feel  my  life  an 
utter  failure."  They  were  beauties — no  one  would 
have  denied  it— and  they  grew  as  fast  and  as  fine 
as  chickens  ever  did.  They  passed  the  frying 
age  quite  safely,  no  one  even  suggesting  that 
the  end  and  aim  of  their  being  had  been  reached. 
Peggy  tended  them  faithfully,  lavishing  food  and 
drink  upon  them,  protecting  them  from  cold  and 
storm,  and  finding  ample  reward  in  their  growth 
and  development. 

In  March,  Helen's  headaches  threatened  to  re- 
turn. "It  's  nothing  serious,"  declared  the  suf- 
ferer to  Marion.  "I  guess  I  'm  a  little  worried, 
and  that  hurts  my  head." 

"Worried  about  what,  dear?"  asked  Marion, 
anxiously. 

"I  don't  see  how  we  can  live  even  here  without 
any  income,  and  your  school  will  close  soon.  I 
must  get  something  to  do." 

"You  can't  and  sha'n't,  dear.  Even  if  I  have 
to  go  back  to  the  city  and  earn  our  living,  you 
and  Peggy  can  stay  here." 

"And  leave  you  alone  in  the  heat  and  dust  and 
misery?     Never!" 

"But,  Helen,  I  'm  not  ill  — I  don't  need  country 
air,  and  you  do.  Somebody  must  shoulder  the 
responsibility— you  are  not  able,  and  Peggy  does 
n't  know  how.  We  might  as  well  turn  to  a  but- 
terfly for  advice  as  to  Peggy,  where  business  is 
concerned." 

"I  know— bless  her  heart.  We  '11  just  have  to 
take  care  of  her,  Marion,  and  let  her  revel  in  her 
pots  and  pans.  I  simply  must  help  !  Could  n't 
we  garden?" 

"Honey,  you  know  we  could  n't.  We  'd  only 
waste  the  money  we  invested  in  seed.  I  '11  apply 
to  Dill  and  James  this  week,  and  ask  for  my  old 
job  in  the  office  — maybe  they  11  take  me  and 
maybe  they  won't ;  but  somebody  '11  have  to." 

Peggy  entered  the  room  just  then  and  eyed  her 
pale  sister  with  critical  inspection.  "Helen  needs 
a  spring  tonic,"  she  announced.  "I  '11  write  Dr. 
Graham  and  ask  him  to  send  her  one."     And,  be- 


492 


PEGGY'S  CHICKEN  DEAL 


[Apr., 


ing  an  extremely  prompt  young  lady,  this  resolve 
was  acted  upon  without  delay. 

The  answer  came  quickly.  Peggy  herself  took 
it  from  the  post-office  and  read  it  as  she  strolled 
homeward  through  the  early  April  sunshine.  But 
Peggy  had  n't  read  two  lines  before  she  forgot 
that  weather  conditions  existed.  "My  Dear  Miss 
Margaret,"  wrote  Dr.  Graham.  "My  good  friend 
Dr.  Salisbury  is  passing  your  neighborhood  on 
the  sixth,  and,  at  my  request,  will  drop  off  the 
train  and  take  a  look  at  Miss  Helen.  This  will 
be  much  more  satisfactory  than  a  prescription 
given  at  random  from  this  distance." 

"Dr.  Salisbury !"  Peggy  stopped  still  and 
stared.  "If  it  were  the  governor  or  the  Presi- 
dent, it  would  n't  matter,  but  Dr.  Salisbury  is  the 
richest,  awfulest,  most  renowned  doctor  in  the 
university !  And  we  've  got  one  peck  of  pota- 
toes, a  box  of  evaporated  apples,  two  pounds  of 
bacon,  and  twenty-five  cents  in  cash  to  last  till 
Marion's  pay-day  on  the  fifteenth.  And,  inci- 
dentally, only  one  pay-day  after  that  before 
school  closes."  The  girl  drew  a  deep  breath  and 
squared  her  shoulders.  "No,  Peggy,  you  sha'n't 
saddle  your  woes  onto  anybody  else  !  You  got 
us  in  the  scrape  — it  's  up  to  you  to  get  us  out." 

For  fully  five  minutes,  Margaret  Darling  wore 
a  very  dejected  countenance,  which,  being  a  most 
unusual  occurrence,  is  worthy  of  note.  It  cleared 
suddenly  as  its  owner  clapped  her  hands  and 
laughed  aloud.  (One  might  behave  as  one  chose 
on  a  lonely  back  lane  in  the  country.)  "It  's 
worth  the  effort,"  she  declared.  "Faint  heart 
never  won  anything  worth  while.  Who  knows? 
Why,  I  should  n't  wonder  a  bit."  After  which 
enigmatical  sentence,  silence  reigned  again, 
though  smiles  and  nods  were  not  wanting. 

It  was  a  very  composed  young  lady  who  an- 
nounced quite  casually  to  her  sisters  at  home  the 
coming  of  their  distinguished  guest.  "But,  Peg  \" 
gasped  Marion.  "He  '11  have  to  be  here  from 
eleven  till  three,  and  we  '11  be  obliged  to  give  him 
something  to  eat." 

"Certainly,"  assented  Margaret,  with  dignity. 

"But  what  will  it  be  ?  Never  bacon  and  pota- 
toes—oh, never  that,  Peggy  !"  was  Helen's  dis- 
tressed wail. 

"Leave  that  to  me,"  with  a  lofty  wave  of  the 
hand.  "I  believe  I  am  cook,  my  dears.  Please 
don't  bother  with  needless  questions." 

"She  's  worried  as  much  as  we  are,"  the  others 
decided.  "It  's  like  her  to  hide  it  from  us.  Well 
—  she  '11  get  along  best  by  herself.  Neither  of 
us  is  any  good  at  making  a  feast  out  of  a  fam- 
ine. Peggy  can  come  as  near  doing  it  as  any 
one,  so  we  '11  just  have  to  let  her  alone.  But 
how.  will  she  ever  manage  it !" 


Peggy  showed  them.  She  greeted  the  august 
Dr.  Salisbury  over  a  table  that  gave  most  at- 
tractive promise  — and  then  fulfilled  it.  Clear 
soup  first,  delicious  and  hot ;  then  roast  fowl 
with  most  delectable  dressing  and  gravy ;  hom- 
iny, white  and  steaming;  stuffed  potatoes  creamy 
and  light;  salad,  garnished  with  blocks  of  quiver- 
ing, transparent  jelly;  and  hot  biscuit.  The  des- 
sert was  as  good  as  the  rest— cup-shaped  molds 
of  something,  served  with  sugar  and  cream,  and 
coffee  such  as  nobody  but  Peggy  could  make. 

Dr.  Salisbury?  Truly  he  enjoyed  the  savory 
repast,  if  one  could  judge  from  appearances,  and 
as  he  ate,  he  talked  as  pleasantly  and  simply  as 
if  no  glamour  of  fame  enveloped  him. 

Peggy  accompanied  him  back  to  the  train,  and 
it  was  nearly  dark  when  she  returned. 

"Come  here,  you  gipsy,  and  own  up  !  How, 
what,  and  when  ?"  demanded  Marion. 

"Of  course  we  recognized  the  chicken,  but  — 
you  did  n't  go  in  debt!     Did  you,  Peggy?" 

"Just  as  if!"  Peggy  cast  a  withering  glance  at 
the  questioner.  "It  was  principally  Jack  and  Jill, 
girls.  I  always  knew  those  fowls  lived  for  some 
good  purpose,  and  now  they  've  proved  it.  Helen, 
it  's  worth  all  the  buff  cochins  that  did  n't  hatch 
to  know  there  is  n't  a  thing  the  matter  with  you 
that  country  spring  and  summer  won't  cure. 
Doctor  says  that  out  of  doors  is  all  the  tonic  you 
need."  Peggy  talked  very  fast,  and  fanned  her- 
self as  if  it  were  July. 

"Jack  was  the  soup  and  the  salad  and  the  jelly. 
Was  n't  the  garnish  pretty?  Not  a  thing  but 
Jack's  bones,  boiled  and  strained,  flavored  with 
spearmint  leaves  and  cooled.  Did  n't  you  know 
they  'd  do  it?  How  did  you  suppose  jellied 
chicken  was  made? 

"Then  I  melted  some  of  the  beautiful  yellow 
fat  — our  butter-crock  is  nearly  empty,  you  know, 
—  and  seasoned  the  stuffed  potatoes  with  it,  and 
used  it  instead  of  oil  for  the  salad  dressing. 
Was  n't  it  good?  and  strictly  original." 

"Undeniably  both,"  Marion  solemnly  affirmed. 
"And  you  are  a  wonder!" 

"Did  n't  Jill  look  handsome,  roasted  all  brown 
and  crispy?  I  was  so  proud  of  her.  And  there  's 
enough  left  to  last  us  two  days." 

"Tell  about  the  dessert.  I  'm  consumed  with 
curiosity,"  said  Helen. 

"Not  a  thing  only  the  wheat  we  bought  for  the 
cliickens,  which  they  won't  need  now,  poor  dears  ! 
I  cleaned  it  carefully,  ground  it  in  the  coffee- 
mill,  and  cooked  it  slowly  all  day  yesterday,  with 
plenty  of  water  and  a  little  salt.  Last  night,  I 
poured  it  in  the  cups  to  set,  and  there  you  are." 

"I  've  eaten  cracked  wheat,  but  never  any  so 
delicious  as  that !" 


I9M-] 


PEGGY'S  CHICKEN   DEAL 


493 


I  bought  the  hom- 
extravagance,    but 


"It  was  rather  good.  I  read  how  to  do  it  in 
my  poultry  journal  — a  paper  that  fairly  bristles 
with  wisdom." 

"And  your  banquet  cost—" 

"Five  cents,  cash  outlay, 
iny.  The  biscuits  were  an 
we  can  make  up  for  it 
somehow.  The  cream  I  got 
from  Mrs.  Clarinda— traded 
a  dish  of  salad  for  it.  Jack 
was  a  regular  mine  of  good- 
ies, girls.  He  and  Jill  were 
n't  such  bad  investments." 

"I  should  think  not,  you 
dear !"  began  Helen,  but 
Peggy  interrupted. 

"Wait — you  don't  know  the 
rest,"  she  declared.  "Dr. 
Salisbury's  family  is  coming 
to  board  for  the  summer- 
been  looking  for  just  such  a 
place,  he  says.  He  engaged 
the  whole  up-stairs,  and  I  'm 
going  to  give  his  daughter 
lessons  in  domestic  science, 
if  you  please  (in  our  lan- 
guage it  is  cooking),  at  one 
dollar  per.  That  ought  to 
help  some." 

"Summer  boarders !"  ex- 
claimed Marion.  "Why  did 
n't  we  think  of  that  be- 
fore?" 

"We  did,  but  we  had  n't 
seen  our  way  clear  to  get- 
ting them,"  declared  Peggy. 
"It  came  over  me  in  a  flash 
that  maybe  Dr.  Salisbury 
was  our  chance,  either  for 
his  own  people  or  some  of 
his  patients.  So  I  did  my 
best  to  show  him  I  could 
cook ;  and  he  appreciated  it, 
I  judge.  I  don't  believe  he 
ever  suspected — men  are  so 
ignorant  — that  nearly  every 
morsel     on     the     table     was 

either  chicken  or  chicken- feed !  He  said  he 
wished  his  family  could  see  how  real  country 
things  tasted,  and  the  minute  I  mentioned  sum- 
mer board,  he  snapped  me  up." 

"Well,  of  all  things  !"  said  Helen,  while  Marion 
asked  meekly:  "Any  other  disclosures?" 

Peggy  laughed.  "I  stopped  on  my  way  home 
at  Mr.  Green's.  Obed-Edom  's  going  to  put  in 
our  garden  and  tend  it  for  the  use  of  our  barn. 
Mrs.    Clarinda    and    I    are    to    raise    poultry    on 


shares.  I  furnish  the  incubator,  she  the  eggs, 
and  we  divide  the  product.  Incidentally,  she  '11 
run  the  hatching  machine  and  guard  the  young 
chicks  from  the  depredations  of  well-meaning 
hut  ignorant  individuals.  It  looks  to  me  as  if 
we  'd  arranged  thing's  for  the  summer,  girls. " 


JACK   WAS   THE    SOUP  AND   THE   SALAD   AND    THE   JELLY. 

"It  's  generous  of  you  to  say  'we.'  "  Helen's 
voice  was  humble.  "Marion  and  I  thought  you 
could  n't  be  counted  on  to  help  make  practical 
plans,  and  here  you  've  gone  and  done  it  every 
bit  alone  !  We  '11  show  our  appreciation  by  our 
deeds,  Peggy,  love,  and  work  like  Trojans  for 
our  summer  boarders." 

"I  promised  you  we 'd  make  it  pay— our  chicken 
deal  — and  so  we  will !"  said  Peggy,  happily. 

And  so  thev  did. 


WHEN    THE    INDIANS   CAME 


BY   H.   S.    HALL 


If  there  was  one  place  that  Kenneth  and  Harold 
Lawrence  liked  to  visit  more  than  all  others,  it 
was  Uncle  Ned  Wilson's  home,  out  among  the 
hills  of  the  Sun  River.  Every  Saturday  and 
every  holiday  saw  them  on  their  way  thither. 
Sometimes  they  would  not  have  money  enough 
to  pay  car-fare  for  the  fifteen  miles  that  lay  be- 
tween their  homes  and  his,  but  that  would  not 
keep  them  from  going.  They  would  get  up  long 
before  daybreak,  and  set  out  afoot. 

Surely  two  boys  never  had  a  nicer  nor  a  more 
agreeable  uncle  than  the  one  Kenneth  and  Har- 
old possessed  in  Uncle  Ned.  And  nowhere  was 
there  a  more  attractive  place  for  boys  to  spend 
a  holiday  than  in  his  big  house  and  among  the 
hills  that  surrounded  it. 

Uncle  Ned  was  a  man  who  loved  nature.  He 
liked  to  roam  in  the  fields  and  woods ;  to  fish 
and  hunt ;  to  build  his  camp  far  away  from  cities 
and  men,  and  there  live  as  the  Indians  once 
lived. 

And  here  was  Uncle  Ned's  one  great  hobby— 
Indians.  He  probably  knew  more  about  Indians 
than  any  other  man  in  America.  He  had  studied 
them  for  years ;  he  had  dwelt  with  them  for 
long  periods,  in  their  towns  and  villages ;  he  had 
written  learned  books  about  them.  There  was 
not  a  tribe  of  Indians  between  the  Arctic  Circle 
and  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  that  he  had  not  visited, 
and  in  every  tribe  he  was  always  welcomed  as 
an  honored  guest. 

His  house  was  one  vast  museum,  a  collection 
of  things  pertaining  to  the  North  American  In- 
dian. It  had  taken  him  many  years  to  bring  that 
great  collection  together,  and  it  was  recognized 
by  scientists  as  being  the  most  complete  of  its 
kind  in  the  world. 

It  would  be  almost  impossible  to  name  a  single 
article  made  by  the  Indians  of  which  there  was 
not  a  specimen  to  be  found  in  his  museum. 
There  were  stone-axes,  flint  arrow-heads,  spears, 
tomahawks,  grinding  pestles,  pottery,  ornaments 
of  all  kinds,  wampum  money,  and  all  the  thou- 
sand and  one  other  things  that  go  to  complete  a 
collection  like  his. 

And  he  had  gathered  together  a  lot  of  relics 
of  some  of  the  old  leaders  of  the  red  men  whose 
names  have  gone  down  in  history.  There  was  a 
knife  that  Pontiac  had  wielded;  a  tomahawk  that 
belonged  to  Tecumseh ;  a  rifle  that  Joseph  Brant 
had  carried  in  one  of  his  expeditions  against  the 
settlers  of  Pennsylvania;  and  in  a  box  which  he 


always  kept  tightly  locked,  and  which  he  rarely 
opened,  there  lay  an  old  brown  parchment  upon 
which  was  scrawled  the  mark  of  Massasoit,  the 
great  chief  who  welcomed  the  Pilgrims  to  the 
New  World. 

He  could  tell  wonderful  stories  of  his  adven- 
tures among  the  Indians  of  the  West,  before 
they  had  quit  warring  with  the  whites  and  had 
gone  to  their  reservations.  Many  of  the  famous 
old  chiefs  he  knew  personally,  and  more  than 
once  he  had  been  called  to  Washington  to  con- 
sult with  the  President  about  some  unruly  tribe 
that  was  threatening  to  go  on  the  war-path. 

What  a  glorious  place  it  was  for  the  two 
boys !  They  never  tired  of  listening  to  their 
uncle's  stories,  and  the  long  cases  of  stone-axes 
and  arrow-heads,  the  rows  of  spears,  and  bows, 
and  arrows,  the  skin  tepees,  the  old  relics,  were 
always  a  source  of  enjoyment  to  them. 

Uncle  Ned  liked  to  have  his  nephews  come  to 
see  him.  He  took  them  into  his  confidence,  and 
told  them  everything  about  his  work.  Once  he 
had  given  them  a  trip  to  southern  Ohio,  where 
they  spent  a  week  digging  and  burrowing  among 
the  mounds  built  by  the  ancient  Mound-builders. 
That  was  an  experience  that  Kenneth  and  Har- 
old set  down  as  the  very  best  of  their  lives. 

One  day  in  early  June,  the  boys  had  gone  out 
to  make  a  half-week's  stay  with  their  uncle. 
They  found  him  at  work  in  his  study,  sorting  out 
a  lot  of  old  wampum  money  which  some  col- 
lector had  sent  him  from  Maine.  He  put  aside 
his  work  when  the  boys  arrived,  and  began  tell- 
ing them  of  a  discovery  he  had  made  right  at 
home. 

"I  was  roaming  around  in  the  hills,  a  few 
days  ago,  over  near  the  little  lake  where  we  go 
to  fish,  and  I  found  evidences  of  an  old  Indian 
camping-ground.  I  came  home  to  get  a  pick  and 
shovel,  and  went  back.  I  set  to  work  digging, 
and  soon  uncovered  several  circles  of  stones,  the 
remains  of  the  Indians'  fireplaces.  And  I  also 
found  something  else.  Look  here.  Are  these 
not  beauties?" 

He  showed  the  boys  a  dozen  or  more  perfect 
arrow-tips  made  of  pure  white  quartz.  "Bird 
points,"  they  are  called,  and  were  used  by  the 
Indians  for  shooting  small  birds. 

The  boys  were  very  much  excited. 

"Can  we  not  go  over  there  to-day  and  make 
another  search,  Uncle  Ned?"  they  asked. 

"Well,   I   'm  too  busy  to  go  with  you  to-day, 


494 


WHEN    THE    INDIANS   CAME 


495 


but  I  will  tell  you  how  to  find  the  spot,  and  you 
can  go.  I  expect  to  overhaul  it  pretty  thor- 
oughly, and  I  have  n't  any  doubt  but  that  you 
will  find  some  arrow-heads." 

Then  he  told  the  boys  how  to  find  the  old 
camp,  and  they  set  forth  in  high  spirits. 

"I  hope  we  '11  have  good  luck  and  find  a  lot 
of  arrow-heads,"  said  Kenneth,  as  they  trudged 
along  the  path  through  the  hills. 

"There  is  no  telling  what  we  may  find,"  re- 
plied Harold.  "Maybe  a  stone-ax,  or  a  grinding 
pestle,  or  maybe  an  Indian  grave.  Would  n't  I 
laugh  if  we  should  find  something  big,  some- 
thing that  would  make  Uncle  Ned  open  his 
eyes !" 

"Would  n't  I,  too,"  chuckled  Kenneth. 

They  were  not  long  in  coming  to  the  little 
lake.  The  location  of  the  old  camp  they  sought 
was  at  the  brow  of  the  hill,  Uncle  Ned  had  told 
them.  They  climbed  up  through  the  thick  vines 
and  bushes,  and  came  to  the  top,  where,  through 
the  leaves,  they  could  see  a  level  field  that 
stretched  back  to  another  line  of  hills. 

Suddenly  Kenneth  grasped  Harold's  arm  and 
whispered : 

"Harold  !  Harold  !     Look  yonder  !     Look  !" 

"What  is  it?"  asked  Harold,  who  was  a  few 
feet  behind. 

"Indians  !"  gasped  Kenneth. 

"Indians?     Nonsense!     Where?" 

"Right  yonder!"  said  Kenneth,  his  voice  trem- 
bling. 

Harold  looked  where  his  cousin  pointed,  and 
what  he  saw  made  his  face  go  as  pale  as  Ken- 
neth's. 

Over  against  the  fringe  of  trees  that  grew  at 
the  top  of  the  hill  up  which  they  had  clambered, 
stood  a  group  of  tents.  Indian  tepees  they  un- 
doubtedly were,  for  they  were  of  coarse,  dirty, 
yellow  skins,  some  of  which  were  painted  over 
with  strange  figures,  while  out  of  the  top  of 
each  tent  protruded  a  cluster  of  poles. 

Before  the  tents  were  lighted  fires,  and  around 
the  fires  Indian  women  worked,  some  of  them 
busy  with  cooking,  others  chopping  wood,  others 
carrying  water.  The  boys  even  saw  two  or  three 
papooses  strapped  on  boards  that  leaned  against 
the  trees. 

Near  by  the  tents,  in  little  groups  of  three  and 
four,  were  Indian  men,  great,  tall,  strapping  fel- 
lows in  yellow  buckskin  suits.  Their  faces  were 
painted  in  very  bright  colors,  and  their  heads 
were  adorned  with  long  feathers.  Some  of  them 
were  smoking,  some  mending  bows,  some  whet- 
ting glistening  knives. 

While  the  boys  gazed  at  them  in  speechless 
astonishment— and    fear,    if   the   truth   be   told  — 


there  was  a  sudden  commotion  in  the  camp.  Men 
lying  on  the  ground  sprang  to  their  feet.  There 
was  a  great  hurrying  to  and  fro.  Bows  were 
seized,  and  arrows  fitted  to  the  strings;  knives 
began  to  glitter  in  the  sunlight ;  the  women  be- 
gan running  in  and  out  of  the  tents,  uttering 
loud  cries. 

Looking  across  the  field,  Kenneth  and  Harold 
saw  a  little  band  of  Indians  issue  from  a  thicket 
and  advance  toward  the  encampment.  They 
were  in  full  war-dress,  and  carried  bows  and 
spears ;  but  they  came  forward  with  their  right 
hands  uplifted. 

An  equal  number  of  men  from  the  encamp- 
ment went  to  meet  them.  There  was  a  long  par- 
ley. Suddenly  one  of  the  new-comers  struck 
down  one  of  the  Indians  from  the  camp.  In- 
stantly there  was  an  uproar.  More  men  from 
the  camp  ran  out,  and  a  new  band  came  rushing 
out  of  the  woods.  There  was  a  horrible  outcry 
of  many  voices,  and  the  two  sides  clashed  in 
battle. 

The  boys  waited  to  see  no  more.  Down  the 
hill  they  plunged,  tearing"  their  clothing  on  the 
bushes,  scratching  their  faces,  tripping  and  fall- 
ing. Back  along  the  little  path  they  raced,  never 
pausing  an  instant.  Breathless  they  dashed  into 
the  house,  almost  upsetting  Grandmother  Wil- 
son, who  had  seen  them  coming,  and  had  gone  to 
the  door  to  meet  them. 

"Mercy  sakes !"  she  cried,  "what  does  this 
mean?" 

But  they  did  not  stop.  They  burst  into  Uncle 
Xed's  study. 

"Uncle  Ned!  Uncle  Ned!"  they  both  shouted. 
"Indians  !     Indians  !     Indians  !" 

Uncle  Ned  looked  at  the  two  excited  boys  in 
astonishment. 

"What  in  the  world  possesses  you  two  chaps?" 
he  demanded. 

"The  Indians  have  come  back !"  cried  Ken- 
neth. 

"Yes,  they  are  up  at  the  old  camp  you  found 
—  a  whole  band  of  them,"  said  Harold,  too  ex- 
cited to  talk  plainly. 

"Why,  you  two  boys  are  dreaming.  What 
has  happened  to  you  ?  Mother,  come  here  and 
look  after  these  young  men,"  called  Uncle  Ned. 
"I  'm  afraid  they  've  been  sun-struck." 

But  neither  Grandmother  Wilson  nor  Uncle 
Ned  could  quiet  the  boys.  They  would  listen  to 
none  of  their  uncle's  arguments  that  the  Indians 
had  left  that  part  of  the  country  more  than  a 
hundred  years  before.  They  had  seen  them. 
They  had  seen  them  in  their  encampment,  and 
they  had  seen  them  battling  among  themselves. 

Finally  Uncle  Ned,  grumbling  a  little  at  being 


496 


WHEN    THE    INDIANS    CAME 


taken  away  from  his  work,  put  on  his  hat  and 
went  with  the  boys.  As  they  hurried  along,  both 
the  boys  warned  him  of  the  danger  they  were 
about  to  confront,  for  the  Indians  were  blood- 
thirsty, as  they  knew  from  what  they  had  seen 
of  them.  When  they  came  to  the  hill  and  began 
to  climb  its  steep  side,  Uncle  Ned  good-hu- 
moredly  obeyed  their  command  to  "go  easy,"  and 
they  crept  through  the  bushes  with  hardly  a 
sound.  They  gained  the  top  and  peered  through 
the  leaves.     The  Indians  were  still  there. 

It  was  now  Uncle  Ned's  turn  to  gasp  with  sur- 
prise, and  gasp  he  did,  in  a  manner  that  would 
have  highly  delighted  the  boys,  had  they  not 
been  so  thoroughly  terrified. 

"Indians,  as  sure  as  I  am  alive  !"  they  heard 
him  mutter.  "And  right  on  the  old  camping- 
ground,  in  exactly  the  same  place  where  I  found 
the  circles  of  stones!"  He  took  off  his  hat  and 
mopped  his  brow. 

"Boys,  we  are  dreaming— every  one  of  us,"  he 
said,  while  he  plucked  nervously  at  his  beard. 
"Everything  exact  and  complete,"  he  went  on, 
speaking  more  to  himself.  "Tepees,  instruments 
of  war,  war-paint,  and  regalia  — everything. 
And,  if  I  'm  not  mistaken,  an  Iroquois  tribe ! 
Well,  well !" 

"Suppose  they  should  discover  us  here,  and 
get  after  us,"  said  Harold.  "What  do  people  do 
in  that  kind  of  a  case,  when  they  are  dreaming?" 

"Well,  in  a  dream  as  real  as  this  one  is,"  re- 
plied Uncle  Ned,  decisively,  "I  'd  run,  and  I  'd 
run  hard." 

Just  then,  they  heard  a  cracking  of  the  bushes 
behind  them,  and  turned,  to  see  a  dozen  or  more 
painted  savages  almost  upon  them.  So  intent 
had  they  been  in  watching  the  movements  about 
the  wigwams,  that  they  had  not  heard  the  ap- 
proach of  Indians  in  their  rear. 

A  fearful  war-whoop  rang  out.  An  answer- 
ing cry  came  from  the  camp. 

"Here  they  are,  boys!"  cried  Uncle  Ned. 
"Let  's  get  out  of  this  !     Come  on  !" 

There  was  but  one  direction  for  them  to  take, 
and  that  must  be  across  the  open  field,  toward 
the  opposite  woods.  To  be  sure,  this  would 
bring  them  in  full  view  of  the  camp ;  but  there 
was  no  other  route  to  choose. 

Out  of  the  thicket  where  they  had 
lain  hidden,  they  dashed,  and  sped 
across  the  field.  The  boys  led,  Uncle 
Ned  brought  up  the  rear.  He  was 
short  and  fat,  and  could  not  run  as 
fast  as  they,  but  for  a  fat  man  of  his 
years,   he   did   remarkably  well.     He 


kept  urging  them  on,  cheering  them  to  make 
greater  speed,  but  they,  not  wishing  to  leave  their 
uncle  behind,  did  not  run  as  fast  as  they  could. 
The  great  Indian  student  was  panting  painfully; 
his  hat  blew  off,  and  on  he  raced,  bareheaded  and 
red-faced. 

They  could  hear  the  thud,  thud  of  the  feet  of 
their  pursuers  behind  them,  and  every  minute 
the  air  was  rent  with  a  savage  yell.  A  white- 
tipped  arrow  flew  over  their  heads  and  plunged 
into  the  ground  before  them. 

"Go  on,  boys  !  Go  on !"  gasped  Uncle  Ned. 
"I  can't  run  much  farther,  but  you  can  reach 
the  woods  and  get  away.     Run  !" 

"Hey  there !  what  do  you  mean  by  getting  in 
my  picture  and  spoiling  it?"  they  heard  some 
one  angrily  shout.  A  man  came  running  across 
the  field  to  meet  them.  Looking  off  to  the  right, 
they  saw  another  man  busily  turning  a  crank 
on  a  little  black  box  that  sat  on  three  legs,  and 
farther  away  they  spied  still  another.  The  man 
who  had  called  to  them  came  up. 

"What  's  the  matter  with  you  people?"  he  de- 
manded. "Can't  you  see  we  're  making  moving 
pictures?  What  do  you  want  to  get  in  here  and 
mess  things  up  for  ?" 

Uncle  Ned  did  not  have  breath  enough  left  to 
enable  him  to  make  any  kind  of  a  reply.  They 
were  near  the  woods  then,  and  he  and  the  boys 
went  over  to  one  of  the  trees  and  threw  them- 
selves upon  the  ground.  After  Uncle  Ned  had 
somewhat  recovered,  he  began  to  laugh.  He 
rolled  on  the  ground;  he  laughed  until  the  tears 
came  into  his  eyes. 

"Boys,  the  joke  is  upon  us,"  he  at  last  man- 
aged to  say.  "Rather  it  is  upon  me,  the  man 
who  knows  all  about  Indians.  Moving  pictures ! 
Well,  boys,  if  you  won't  say  anything  about  this 
little  race  of  ours,  I  '11  take  you  down  to  south- 
ern Ohio  with  me  next  month." 

Both  Kenneth  and  Harold  agreed  to  say  noth- 
ing to  any  one. 

The  moving-picture  man  came  across  to  the 
place  where  they  were  lying. 

"Say,  I  believe  I  '11  be  able  to  use  that  picture, 
all  right,"  he  said.    "I  '11  put  it  on  as  'A  Race  for 
It  ought  to  make  a  hit.     Much  obliged." 
"I   'd   like   mighty  well  to   see  the 
pictures   they   are  taking  here,"   said 
Kenneth. 

"So  would  I,"  declared  Harold. 
"Well,  I  don't  know,"  mused  Uncle 
Ned.     "The  fact  is,  boys,  I  'm  think- 
ing of  going  over  to  see  if  I  can't  buy 
the  film  from  that  man." 


Life.' 


"THEY  COULD  HEAR  THE  THUD,  THUD  OF  THE  FEET  OF  THEIR  PURSUERS."     (SEE  page  496.) 

497 


THE    BOY'S    FISHING    KIT 

("UNDER    THE    BLUE    SKY"    SERIES) 
BY   E.   T.   KEYSER 


"Plop  !"  and  a  big  fish  rose 
just  below  the  rock  which 
jutted  out  in  midstream. 
Dick  proceeded  to  lengthen 
his  line  by  the  time-hon- 
ored method  of  unwinding 
the  reserve  supply,  coiled 
around  the  end  of  his  pole. 
"You  can't  make  it,"  said 
Jack;  and  he  was  right,  for 
the  line  was  now  too  long 
for  the  pole  to  manage,  and 
the  attempted  cast  resulted 
in  a  beautiful  snarl,  which 
was  in  process  of  unravel- 
ing when  Charley,  armed 
with  a  lancewood  rod,  a 
reel,  and  a  line  no  thicker 
than  one  strand  of  Dick's, 
appeared,  from  around  the 
bend,  with  the  cheery  hail 
of  "What  luck?" 

"Four     sunnies     on     the 

string,    eighty-seven    knots 

in  the  line,  and  a  whopper 

out    there    where    I     can't 

reach  him,"  was  Dick's 

inventory  of  results. 

Charley  laughed. 

"The  trouble  is  that 
you  fellows  are  trying 
to  catch  fish  who  have 
learned  to  keep  out  of  reach  with  tackle  that 
would  have  done  the  trick  when  our  grand- 
fathers were  boys  and  fish  were  so  plentiful  that 
they  lay  all  over  the  stream.  You  can't  go  after 
twentieth-century  bass  with  a  bean-pole  and 
chalk-line,  and  expect  any  but  the  babies  not  to 
know  all  about  what  you  are  trying  to  do." 

"Nonsense !"  sputtered  Jack.  "Did  n't  people 
use  bean-poles  before  fishing-rods  were  in- 
vented?" 

"They  did,"  admitted  Charley;  "and  the  In- 
dians killed  deer  with  arrows,  centuries  before 
the  white  man  knew  that  America  was  waiting 
to  be  discovered.  But  any  one  who  waits  to  get 
within  bow-shot  of  a  deer  to-day,  would  be  pretty 
hungry  before  he  dined  on  venison." 

"All  right,"  said  Dick,  "I  can't  get  that  bass. 
Suppose  you  try." 


LANDING    A 


Charley  measured  the  distance  with  his  eye, 
brought  the  end  of  his  leader  up  to  the  rod-tip, 
and  made  a  cast.  The  reel  purred  and  the  bait 
shot  out  across  the  place  where  the  fish  had 
risen.  Charley  reeled  in;  no  result.  Again;  still 
a  blank — and  the  other  boys  grinned.  Once  more: 
a  swish,  a  whirl,  and  something  was  fast. 

"You  've  got  him !  You  've  got  him !"  shouted 
the  audience.  Charley  reeled  in  stolidly,  some- 
times allowing  the  fish  to  make  a  dash,  sometimes 
checking  the  rush,  and,  in  a  minute,  a  pound-and- 
a-half  bass  was  flopping  in  his  landing-net. 

"You  won  out,"  admitted  Dick.  "Now  let  's 
see  what  you  used  to  do  it." 

Charley  handed  over  the  rod.  "It  's  lance- 
wood," he  explained;  "also,  it  is  nine  feet  long, 
because  I  do  so  much  fishing  from  the  shore.  If 
I  did  more  boat  work  and  more  bait  casting  and 
less  still  fishing,  it  would  be  from  seven  and  one 
half  to  eight  feet  in  length;  but  this  size  helps 
me  to  drop  the  line  over  bushes,  and  poke  into 
close  quarters  where  I  could  not  cast.  The  reel 
runs  smoothly  because  it  is  steel  pivoted  and  a 
four  times  multiplier.  The  line  went  out  without 
sticking  or  kinking  because  it  was  a  hard-earned 
dollar  and  a  half  that  I  put  into  the  tackle  deal- 
er's change  drawer  for  it.  An  ordinary  oiled  silk 
line  would  have  served  all  right,  for  still  fishing 
or  trolling;  but  I  wanted  one  line  to  do  for  all 
my  fresh-water  fishing.  That  's  why  I  use  this 
quadruple  reel  instead  of  an  ordinary  double  mul- 
tiplier, which  would  cost  less  and  be  just  as  good 
for  everything  except  casting." 

"But  what  is  the  idea  of  the  leader?"  asked 
Jack,  who  had  been  examining  the  outfit  with 
considerable  respect. 

"Just  to  keep  the  wiser  fish  from  realizing  that 
the  bait  and  I  had  any  business  connection  until 
they  had  taken  a  taste,"  answered  Charley.  "It 
cost  only  a  few  cents,  and  often  makes  all  the 
difference  between  an  empty  creel  and  a  fish 
dinner." 

"Speaking  of  creels,"  interrupted  Dick,  "don't 
you  think  that  a  string  is  just  as  good?" 

"I  do  not,"  was  the  emphatic  reply.  "Look  at 
that  waterdogged  assortment  on  your  own  string, 
and  then  look  at  my  catch" ;  and  he  poured  three 
bass  and  a  pair  of  good-sized  perch  out  on  the 
grass.  "I  rap  my  fish  on  the  head  as  soon  as 
landed,  and  cover  them  with  grass  or  leaves,  and 


498 


THE    BOY'S    FISHING    KIT 


499 


"■:" :'..  ■• 


"WHICH    OK    US    WILL   GET   HIM. 


they  are  firm  and  fresh  when  I  reach  home.  This 
canvas  creel  folds  up  and  goes  into  my  pocket, 
when  empty,  and  can  be  laundered  after  each 
trip." 

"I  'm  converted  to  the  fancy  tackle,  after  what 
you  did  to-day,"  said  Dick.  "How  much  does  a 
layout  like  yours  cost?" 

"Oh,  not  very  much,"  laughed  Charley. 
"Why?"  . 

"I  'm  thinking  of  getting  one  like  it,"  admitted 
the  former  champion  of  the  "simple-life  rig,"  as 
he  called  it. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  use  it  most?"  asked 
Charley. 

"Up  on  the  lake.  Father  bought  a  boat  last 
week,  and  there  are  some  big  pickerel  up  there 
and  a  few  bass." 

"If  you  intend  doing  much  boat  fishing,"  said 
Charley,  "you  had  better  get  a  rather  different  rod 
from  this  of  mine." 

"What  's  the  matter  with  it?"  asked  Jack.  "It 
looks  all  right  to  me,  and  the  way  it  brought  that 
bass  into  your  net  has  made  me  wish  that  I  had 
one  just  like  it." 

"It  is  all  right,"  was  the  answer ;  "but  it  is  best 


for  the  very  kind  of  work  which  I  use  it  for.  / 
have  n't  any  boat  up  on  the  lake,  and  do  most  of 
my  fishing  along  this  stream.  Some  people  say 
that  it  's  played  out,  but  I  have  found  a  few 
rocks,  logs,  eddies,  and  bars  where  the  fish  like 
to  lie  and  feed,  and  I  work  them  over  each  trip. 
Fish  are  like  people,  and  have  their  places  of 
business,  which,  in  the  fishes'  case,  is  eating. 
What  is  more,  they  like  some  places  better  than 
others,  and  form  a  sort  of  waiting  list  for  the 
best  spots.  That  is  why  there  will  probably  be 
another  bass  hanging  around  that  rock  out  there 
in  a  couple  of  days.  Now  I  've  already  told  you 
why  I  like  this  rod  for  stream  work ;  but  it  does 
not  follow  that  I  would  have  chosen  it  for  fish- 
ing from  a  boat.  It  's  too  long  and  unhandy  for 
that  purpose,  and  will  not  cast  as  well  as  a 
shorter  and  stiffer  rod." 

"You  've  caught  enough  fish  for  one  day,"  said 
Dick.  "Sit  down  on  that  nice  soft  log  and  tell 
me  what  kind  of  a  rod  to  get.  Any  one  who  will 
point  out  faults  in  his  own  outfit  gets  my  confi- 
dence from  the  start." 

Charley  arose,  bowed,  and  said :  "You  honor 
me.     I  will  now  proceed  with  the  subject  on  the 


500 


UNDER  THE   BLUE  SKY 


[Apr., 


table.  If  I  were  you,  I  'd  get  an  eight-foot 
three-piece  lancewood  rod,  or  a  seven-and-one- 
half-foot  steel  one.  With  either  you  can  do  bet- 
ter casting  than  with  my  rig,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  they  will  be  long  enough  to  use  for  still 
fishing  and  skittering.  A  shorter  rod,  like  that 
which  the  western  bait-casters  use,  would  cast 
farther,  but  would  not  be  nearly  so  good  for  sli 
fishing,  and  an  impossibility  if  you  wanted  to 
skitter." 

"What  's  the  matter  with  split  bamboo 
tioned  Jack.     "My  cousin  says  that  there  is  noth- 
ing that  can  touch  it  for  action,"  and  be  lookec 
as  if  he  were  extremely  wise. 

"Nothing  can  touch  it,"  ad- 
mitted Charley,  "if  you  are 
prepared  to  be  'touched*  first, 
to  the  extent  of  at  least  ten 
dollars,  and  to  spend  a  couple 
more,  cheerfully,  each  time 
that  you  smash  a  tip.  There 
is  nothing  to  equal  a  good  spli 
bamboo,  but  you  must  make 
sure  that  it  is  a  good  one,  not 
a  cheap  affair  which  will  mi- 
glue  and  fall  apart  just  when 
the  fish  begin  to  take  an  in- 
terest in  the  bill  of  fare  you 
are  offering  them." 

"Ten  dollars  !— Ouch  !"  ob- 
served Dick,  with  some  feel- 
ing. "How  much  will  the 
other  kinds  cost?" 

"From  two  and  a  half  to  six 
dollars  will  buy  a  lancewood 
or  steel  rod  that  is  really 
good,  and  will  last  as  long  as 
you  take  proper  care  of  it, 
which  includes  oiling  the  fer- 
rules of  the  wood  rod  and  the 
entire  length  of  the  metal  one 
each  time  that  you  put  it 
away  after  use  — also  refrain- 
ing from  standing  either  up  against  the  house 
while  you  are  eating  dinner." 

"How  about  reels?" 

"Well,  this  one  of  mine  is  what  is  called  a 
sixty-yard  reel  — it  actually  carries  one  hundred 
yards  of  No.  6  minnow  casting  line.  For  use  on 
the  lake,  an  eighty-yard  reel  will  give  you  a  bet- 
ter trolling  length.  But  be  sure  to  get  one  with 
steel  pivots.  This  will  allow  casting,  and  while  it 
costs  a  little  more  than  an  ordinary  affair,  will 
give  much  better  service.  I  remember  wearing 
out  a  cheap  reel  in  one  afternoon's  casting.  Either 
of  the  rods  which  I  've  suggested  may  be  used 
for  weakfish   and  snappers,  when  you   try  your 


AN    Ul'-l'O-DA  1  ]■: 


luck  iii  salt  water,  but  remember  you  must  sub- 
stitute a  nine-thread  twisted  linen  line  for  your 
braided  silk  one,  for  this  purpose,  otherwise  the 
salt  water  will  rot  your  fresh-water  line.  For 
salt-water  use,  a  short  tip,  to  go  into  the  last 
joint  of  the  steel  rod,  will  let  you  use  a  heavier 
sinker    than    could    be  handled      with      the 

regular  light  tip.  And  /  don't  forget  a  folding 
landing-net  with  a  //  jointed  handle.  You 
cannot  lift  your  //  fish  out  on  a  real  rod, 
as  you  have  /  /  been  doing  with  that 
young  tree,"  /  /  and  Charley  pointed  an 
accusing'  (in-  •  /  ger  at  the  about-to-be-dis- 
carded bean-pole.  "You  '11  find 
the  half-length  handle  just 
right  for  boat  use,  and  the 
full-length  a  real  fish  saver 
when  you  are  angling  from 
the  shore  or  a  dock." 

"Why  can't  you  fellows 
come  up  to  the  lake  Saturday 
and  try  out  the  new  boat?" 
said  Dick.  "I  'm  going  to  ask 
Dad  to  help  out  my  bank- 
account  enough  to  get  one  of 
the  outfits  you  've  been  telling 
about." 

"We  accept,"  said  Charley. 
"But  if  the  results  of  my  toil 
are  to  sizzle  in  the  pan  this 
evening,  I  must  be  moving 
homeward." 

"Wait  a  minute,  and  we  '11 
be  with  you,"  said  Dick, 
throwing  the  bait-can  over 
with  a  splash.  "Where  's 
your   worm    container?" 

"Chained      fast !"      laughed 
Charley,     turning    around    to 
show  a  tin  box  fastened  to  his 
belt.      "I   graduated   from   the 
fisherman.  'tomato-can  class'  last  season. 

They  're  too  much  trouble  to 
find  and  carry.  I  got  a  square  tin  with  a  hinged 
top  and  large  enough  to  get  my  hand  into,  bored 
four  holes  in  its  back  with  a  wire  nail,  and  fas- 
tened two  belt  straps  to  it  with  four  round- 
headed  brass  paper  fasteners.  Now  the  can  is 
always  with  me,  and  I  carry  back  the  surplus  bait 
and  turn  it  loose  in  the  garden.  Come  along, 
I  'm  hungry." 

"The  live-bait  supply  has  proved  unequal  to  the 
demand  upon  it,"  observed  Dick,  with  much  re- 
gret. "Jack,  why  did  n't  you  catch  enough  to  last  ?" 
"Don't  imagine  that,  while  you  were  waiting 
for  lunch  to  be  tied  up  and  letting  Charley  wind 


IQI4-] 


THE    BOY'S    FISHING    KIT 


501 


that  new  line  of  yours  on  the  fine  new  reel,  I 
was  idle.  I  spent  two  hours  on  the  job,  and  only 
fifty-six  of  those  minnows  were  tame  enough  for 
me  to  cultivate  their  acquaintance." 

"Oh,  well,  never  mind  about  that  now  !"  said 
Charley.  "Here  are  a  trolling-spoon,  a  floating 
bait,  and  a  phantom  minnow.  The  still-fishing 
contest  is  now  adjourned  while  we  troll  around  the 
lake  for  an  unwary  pickerel  or  so.  You  fellows 
take  your  pick  of  the  baits,  and  I  '11  take  what  's 
left.  It  's  anybody's  game, 
and  they  are  bound  to  take 
one  of  the  assortment." 

The  trio  were  spending 
Saturday  on  the  lake,  trying 
out  the  new  boat  and  new 
tackle  at  one  and  the  same 
time,  and  had  been  enjoying 
pretty  good  luck  until  the 
minnows  gave  out.  Now 
Charley's  artificial  baits  were 
to  save  the  day. 
Along  the  line  of  weeds,  a  pickerel  yielded  to 
temptation  and  grabbed  the  spoon.  Another  at- 
tached himself  to  the  phantom  a  little  later,  then 
another  for  the  spoon.  The  wooden  bait  was  un- 
accountably ineffective,  until  it  was  discovered 
that  it  was  tastefully  festooned  with  weeds.  When 
these  were  removed,  it  speedily  caught  up  with 
the  procession,  and  soon  the  creels  were  well 
filled.  The  only  drawback  was  the  tendency  of 
the  lines  of  Dick  and  Jack  to  kink,  from  the 
twisting  of  the  troll,  and  Charley  explained  how 
this  might  be  prevented  by  hanging  a  small  bass 
casting  sinker  between  the  two  swivels  which 
separated  the  leader  from  the  line. 

"If  it  were  not  for  the  truly  awful  job  of  get- 
ting minnows,  the  lake  would  be  all  right,"  said 
Jack,  on  the  way  home. 

"We  can  settle  that  easily  enough,"  was  Char- 
ley's reply.  "We  '11  knock  the  sides  from  a  soap 
box  and  bore  a  six-inch  hole  in  one  end.  Then 
we  will  tack  copper  fly  screening  over  the  sides, 
put  a  screening  funnel  into  the  six-inch  hole,  bait 
the  affair  with  bread  crumbs  or  chopped  meat, 
and  sink  it  in  the  river  or  brook  over  night.  Next 
morning,  it  will  be  full  of  live  bait.  We  can  hide 
it  in  the  bushes  near  where  the  minnows  are." 
"You  said  something  about  drying  the  line." 
said  Dick.     "How  do  you  manage  it  ?" 

"Easy  enough,"  said  Charley,  rummaging  in  his 
pocket  and  fishing  out  a  pencil  and  an  envelop. 
"Here  's  the  plan  for  a  home-made  line-drier, 
and  one  where  the  line  will  not  touch  a  particle 
of  metal,  either. 

"All  that  you  will  need  are  four  of  the  large 
red    spools    upon    which    heavy    linen    thread    is 


wound,  a  strip  of  wood  one  half  inch  thick,  thirty- 
one  and  one  half  inches  long,  and  one  and  one 
half  inches  wide,  and  ten  flat-headed  brass 
screws,  each  about  an  eighth  of  an  inch  in  diam- 
eter and  three  quarters  of  an  inch  in  length. 


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"Saw  the  wood  into  four  pieces,  as  shown. 
A i  is  twelve  inches  long.  Bi  and  Ci  are  each 
five  and  one  quarter  inches  long,  while  A2  is  nine 
inches  in  length. 

"Screw  Bi  and  Ci  on  Ai,  as  shown  in  Fig- 
ure II,  their  ends  flush  with  the  ends  of  Ai,  and 
with  a  space  of  one  and  one  half  inches  between 
them.  At  each  spot  marked  D,  bore  a  hole  and  set 
in  each  a  wooden  post  which  will  fit  the  holes  in 
the  spools  quite  snugly.  Three  of  these  are  to  come 
flush  with  the  tops  of  the  spools,  but  one  is  to  be 
one  inch  longer,  to  serve  as  a  handle  for  wind- 
ing. Cover  the  posts  with  glue  and  push  on  the 
spools,  removing  surplus  glue  as  it  squeezes  out. 
Bore  holes  at  E  to  take  a  short  stout  wire  nail. 
When  A2  is  set  across  Ai,  at  right  angles,  the 
strips  Bi  and  Ci  keep  it  in  place,  and  make  all 
the  spools  level  with  each  other.  Drive  the  wire 
nail  through  at  E,  and  nail  the  whole  arrange- 
ment to  a  fence,  a  clothes-post,  or  any  other  con- 
venient support.  By  holding  the  reel  in  the  left 
hand  and  winding  the  drier  with  the  right,  the 
line  will  soon  be  transferred. 

"After  using,  remove  the  wire  nail,  pull  A2 
out  of  socket,  and  lay  on  top  of  Bi  and  Ci, 
parallel  to  them.  The  spools  of  the  shorter  strip 
will  fit  in  between  those  on  the  longer,  and,  fas- 
tened together  with  a  rubber  band,  the  whole 
arrangement  occupies  very  little  room." 

"Come  around  to-morrow,  and  we  '11  build  one 
while  Jack  is  wrestling  with  the  minnow  trap," 
said  Dick. 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 

BY  ABBIE   HARWELL  BROWN 

Author  of  "  The  Flower  Princess,"  "  The  Loncsomest  Doll,"  etc. 


Charter  VI 

THE   QUEST 

Two  days  elapsed  before  the  children  went  again 
to  visit  the  Park. 

"I  wonder  if  we  shall  see  the  good  old  man 
to-day,"  said  Maggie  to  Bess,  as  they  stared  at 
the  gateway.  "I  hope  so;  he  was  awful  kind  to 
us."  They  had  all  been  rubbing  their  rings  and 
practising  the  charm  as  they  ran  along: 

"Open,  Gate,  I  pray, 
And  let  me  in  to-day!" 

But  when  they  reached  the  gate,  they  found  it 
already  open,  just  wide  enough  to  let  them  in. 
No  one  was  inside  to  meet  them  except  Caesar. 
The  great  dog  was  apparently  keeping  guard 
over  the  gate.  He  rose  when  they  entered  and 
came  gravely  forward,  wagging  his  tail  hospita- 
bly, and  kissing  Maggie's  hand. 

"There  is  a  note  tied  to  his  collar,"  said  she, 
taking  it  off.     And  she  read  aloud  this  message : 

' '  Shut  the  door  behind  you.     Follow  the  Arrow,  and  obey. " 

"Follow  the  arrow !"  cried  Bess.  "What  does 
that  mean,  Maggie  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  answered  Maggie.  "We  must 
find  out.  Let  's  look  around  and  see  if  we  can 
find  an  arrow.  That  's  the  way  they  do  in  the 
stories." 

"Why  don't  they  tell  you  what  they  mean  ?" 
said  Bob.  "It  would  save  a  lot  of  time.  'Time 
is  money,' "  he  quoted  from  his  copy-book. 

"Not  in  fairy-land  !"  declared  Maggie.  "They 
don't  try  to  save  time  in  fairy-land.  You  have 
all  the  time  you  want,  and  they  never  tell  you 
things  right  out.     It  's  more  fun  the  other  way." 

"Well,"  said  Bob,  practically,  "this  is  Bonny- 
burn,  and  not  fairy-land,  and  we  have  dinner  at 
noon.     So  let  's  hurry  up  !" 

They  looked  up  and  around  and  down  and  un- 
der to  find  the  arrow,  Caesar  eying  them  kindly 
all  the  while,  as  if  this  was  a  sort  of  queer  game 
and  he  was  in  the  secret.  At  last,  Bob  gave  a 
shout  — "Here  it  is!"  He  pointed  to  a  tree  just 
off  the  path.  A  red  arrow  was  tacked  to  the 
bark.  The  children  went  in  the  direction  to 
which  it  pointed,  Caesar  following  patiently  at 
their  heels. 

"Do  you  suppose  it  will  lead  us  to  another 
lunch?"  said  Bob,  smacking  his  lips. 


"Oh,  I  hope  so  !"  said  Bess,  fervently.  "Were 
n't  those  sandwiches  good?" 

"Maybe  it  will  lead  us  to  the  Princess !"  cried 
Maggie.     "That  is  what  I  would  like  best." 

"Here  's  another  arrow  !"  cried  Bess,  pointing. 
A  second  red  streak  on  a  birch-tree  bade  them 
turn  abruptly  to  the  left.  Through  berry-bushes 
and  bracken  they  waded,  until  a  third  arrow 
pointed  them  into  a  thick  grove  of  maples.  They 
had  to  keep  their  eyes  wide  open  to  follow  this 
trail,  for  there  was  no  path. 

"It  's  just  like  Indians  trailing  through  the  for- 
est," said  Bob,  who  knew  his  Cooper  better  than 
his  Hans  Andersen.  "Ain't  it  fun?  Whoop!  I 
wish  we  could  see  a  real  Indian  !" 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  Bess,  shrinking.  "He  might 
scalp  us !" 

"Pooh  !"  said  Bob.  "There  are  n't  any  Indians 
here." 

"How  do  you  know?"  retorted  Bess.  "You 
said  there  were  n't  any  fairies ;  but  there  's  some- 
thing queer,  ain't  there?" 

A  twig  snapped  in  the  underbrush  not  far 
away.  Caesar  pricked  up  his  ears  and  gave  a 
snort  of  suspicion. 

"I  think  some  one  is  following  us  !"  whispered 
Maggie,  excitedly.  "I  have  thought  so  ever  since 
we  left  the  gate.  But  I  don't  mind.  I  'm  sure 
there  is  nothing  dangerous  in  the  good  princess's 
Park." 

"Oh,  I  don't  like  it !"  whimpered  Bess,  looking 
over  her  shoulder.     "Let  's  go  home  !" 

"We  can't,"  said  Bob.     "We  've  got  to  go  on." 

"Yes,"  agreed  Maggie.  "Did  n't  we  promise 
to  do  just  what  they  said?" 

"Come  on  !"  cried  Bob,  "here  's  another  ar- 
row!" and  he  pushed  through  a  dense  thicket  of 
scrub-oaks  to  a  broad  path. 

"Ain't  it  pretty  here !"  cried  Maggie.  They 
had  crossed  several  narrow  paths  in  their  trail. 
Now  the  arrow  bade  them  follow  this  broad  one. 
They  heard  the  sound  of  water  dashing  over 
rocks.  Presently  they  came  in  sight  of  the  brook 
gleaming  through  the  trees.  An  arrow  pointed 
them  to  an  opening  in  the  bushes,  where  a  path 
led  to  the  bank  of  the  stream.  And  here  there 
was  a  pretty  waterfall,  sliding  down  over  a  cliff 
some  twenty  feet  high  into  a  basin  round  and 
smooth,  surrounded  by  ferns  and  wild  flowers. 

But  what  pleased  the  children  most  was  a  little 
tent   pitched  beside   the   fall   and  a   fire  burning 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


503 


under  an  iron  kettle  hung  on  a  tripod  of  birch 
saplings.  A  delicious  odor  rose  with  the  steam 
from    the    kettle.      Bob    made    one    dash    toward 


"It  's  soup  !"  he  cried. 


shouted   the  girls 
play  we  are 


"Just   smell 
"An    Indian 


the  camp, 
it!" 

"What  fun  !" 
dinner.  Let  's 
Indians." 

Bob  tended  the  fire.  The 
girls  investigated  the  tent. 
Inside  were  three  bowls 
made  of  gourds,  and  a  ladle 
with  a  big  handle  in  which 
they  could  serve  out  the  soup. 
And  beside  this  there  were 
corn-bread  and  nuts  and  ber- 
ries—just the  sort  of  thing 
that  Indians  ought  to  like. 
They  sat  cross-legged  around 
the  kettle,  supping  the  de- 
licious soup,  which  tasted 
better  than  anything  they 
had  ever  eaten. 

When  they  had  finished, 
they  pulled  off  their  shoes 
and  stockings  and  waded  in 
the  pool,  whose  water  was  de- 
liciously  cold  on  this  hot  day. 

Maggie  was  sitting  on  the 
moss  beside  the  pool  putting 
on  her  shoe.  "Say,  I  hoped 
we  should  find  out  something 
about  the  Princess  to-day, 
even  if  we  did  n't  see  her." 
she  said.  "But  I  guess  we 
sha'n'tdoit  now."  She  paused 
abruptly,  her  eyes  as  big  as 
saucers,  staring  through  the 
trees  beyond  the  tent. 

"What  is  it  ?"  whispered 
Bess,  grasping  Maggie's  hand 
timidly.  Bob  looked  over  his 
shoulder  uneasily. 

"  'Sh  !"  warned  Maggie,  still 
staring;  "I  saw  something!" 

"What  was  it  ?"  begged 
Bess,     trembling.       "Was     it  ,. .  SII 

Indians,  do  you  suppose  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  whispered  Maggie,  following 
with  her  eyes  something  that  moved  swiftly. 
"Now  it  's  gone  !     What  do  you  suppose  it  was?" 

"What  did  it  look  like?"  begged  both  the 
others. 

"It  looked  like  a  beautiful  boy,  dressed  in  green 
and  brown.  He  had  a  brown  cap,  with  a  red 
feather,  pulled  down  over  his  face,  so  I  could  n't 
see  it  very  plainly.     But  his  hair  was  curly,  and 


he  ran,  oh,  so  lightly  !  I  think  he  must  have  had 
wings." 

"Pooh  !"  said  Bob.  "I  don't  believe  you  saw 
anything." 

Just  then  Caesar  came  bounding  back  to  them 
through  the  bushes.     He  seemed  not  at  all  wor- 


WAENED   MAGGIE;    'I   SAW    SOMETHING! 


ried  or  excited.  But  to  his  collar  was  fastened 
a  piece  of  paper,  its  folds  held  tightly  by  a  red 
feather  thrust  through  and  through. 

"A  red  feather !  That  is  what  the  boy  had  in 
his  cap !"  cried  Maggie,  seizing  the  paper  eagerly. 
And  this  is  what  she  read : 

"Look  behind  the  left  tent-flap." 
After  it  was  scratched  the  picture  of  a  feather. 


504 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


[Apr., 


Bob  lost  no  time  in  following  the  directions. 
He  lifted  the  tent-flap,  and  found  pinned  to  the 
canvas  a  roll  of  birch-bark.  The  three  bent  their 
heads  together  and  puzzled  out  the  words  written 
thereon  in  queer  letters,  almost  like  Indian  writ- 
ing, they  thought. 

"If  you  seek  an  adventure,"  it  read,  "cross  the 
brook  on  the  stepping-stones,  and  lift  up  the 
white  stone  beside  the  last  of  these." 

"An  adventure !"  cried  Maggie,  clapping  her 
hands.  "Now  I  think  we  are  on  the  way  to  find 
the  Princess !" 

"I  'd  rather  stay  here,"  objected  Bob;  but  the 
girls  persuaded  him  to  come  with  them.  With 
many  squeals  and  giggles,  they  crossed  the  brook 
on  the  ticklish  stepping-stones,  with  the  water 
running  dizzily  about.  Once  Bess  slipped  and 
slumped  down  almost  to  her  boot-top.  She 
shrieked  mightily,  for  the  water  was  cold,  and 
she  was  a  little  coward.  But  when  she  found 
she  was  not  drowned,  she  did  not  care. 

On  the  farther  side  of  the  brook  was  a  white 
stone,  smooth  and  round.  Bob  lifted  it  carefully. 
Under  it  was  nothing  but  another  piece  of  bark. 
But  on  this  was  scratched,  above  a  red  feather, 
these  words :  "Look  in  the  hollow  tree  twenty- 
five  paces  up  the  bank." 

"It  's  like  a  game  of  'hunt  the  thimble,'  "  said 
Bess,  who  had  once  been  to  a  church  sociable. 
Maggie  had  never  had  that  experience,  but  she 
liked  this  game.  She  scrambled  up  the  bank  and 
began  counting  off  twenty-five  paces,  as  Bob 
was  already  doing.  But  there  was  no  hollow 
tree  to  be  seen.  They  looked  and  they  looked, 
but  it  seemed  of  no  use. 

"Let  's  go  back  and  begin  over  again,"  said 
Bob  at  last.     "Maybe  we  did  n't  start  right." 

"Let  's  each  go  a  different  way,"  suggested 
Bess.  And  so  they  did.  "Twenty-four,  twenty- 
five,— here  it  is  !"  shouted  Bess,  presently.  "My  ! 
It  is  a  big  hollow  tree,  big  enough  to  hold  a 
man." 

"Perhaps  the  Princess  is  shut  up  in  there,  like 
Ariel !"  whispered  Maggie.  But  there  was  no 
princess  in  the  tree ;  only  a  little  box  holding  an- 
other scrawl  of  writing,  signed  with  a  feather, 
which  read :  "Look  for  the  big  mushroom  that 
grows  beside  the  tallest  tree  you  can  see  from  this 
opening." 

"Mushrooms  !  Oh,  bother !  I  think  they  're 
fooling  us,  whoever  they  are,"  said  Bob,  sulkily. 
"Why  don't  they  tell  us  what  they  want  right  out? 
I  'm  going  back  to  the  wigwam.  I  've  had  enough 
of  this  wild-goose  chase." 

"I  think  it  's  fun  !"  laughed  Maggie.  "See,  I  '11 
stand  in  the  doorway  of  the  tree  and  look." 

There  was  an  open  field  in  front  of  them  with 


hawthorn  bushes  here  and  there,  and  as  Maggie 
peered  from  the  hollow  stump,  she  saw  one  great 
tree  stand  up  like  a  king  among  his  fellows. 
"That  's  the  one  !"  she  cried,  pointing.  "Come 
on,  you  kids  !"  and  she  dashed  down  the  slope, 
followed  by  Bess.  Something  white  gleamed  in 
the  grass  near  the  tree,  and  they  made  for  it. 
It  was  not  until  they  were  on  their  knees  poking 
at  the  great  mushroom  that  they  noticed  Bob 
was  not  with  them. 

"He  's  gone  back,"  said  Bess,  blankly,  and  the 
girls  looked  at  each  other. 

"Oh,  how  did  he  dare  ?"  Maggie  asked.  "They 
won't  like  it,  I  know  !" 

They  shrilled  and  called,  but  no  one  answered. 
"Let  's  go  and  find  him,"  suggested  Bess;  but 
Maggie  objected. 

"No,  let  's  send  Qesar,"  she  said.  "Here,  Cae- 
sar !     Go  find  Bob  !" 

Away  dashed  the  big  dog;  and  the  two  girls 
were  left  alone  in  the  meadow.  "I  don't  know 
where  we  are,  nor  how  to  get  anywhere,"  said 
Maggie.  "We  've  just  got  to  obey  them,  whoever 
they  are,  or  we  shall  be  lost.  Let  's  see  what  the 
mushroom  says." 

Under  the  mushroom  was  a  note  which  sent 
them  to  the  tallest  rose-bush  in  the  meadow ;  and 
from  there  they  were  directed  to  an  empty  bird's- 
nest  under  the  bank,  which  they  had  to  hunt  for 
very  hard,  as  it  was  hidden  in  a  garden  of 
maidenhair  ferns.  A  note  tucked  in  here  directed 
them  to  a  little  path,  which  they  were  mysteri- 
ously told  led  to  "the  cave." 

"A  cave!"  exclaimed  Bess.  "Now  I  guess  Bob 
would  like  to  be  here !  But  I  'm  afraid  he  is 
lost !"  and  she  began  to  cry. 

"He  can't  be  much  lost,"  said  Maggie,  doubt- 
fully, "but  he  ought  n't  to  have  disobeyed.  A 
cave  !  Maybe  there  's  a  dragon,  too  !  Maybe  the 
Princess  is  shut  up  there !" 

"Oh,  dear !  I  hope  there  is  n't  any  dragon  !" 
wailed  Bess,  remembering  Maggie's  terrible 
stories.  Just  then,  there  was  a  crackling  in  the 
bushes,  and  both  girls  screamed,  they  were  so 
excited.  Presently,  out  dashed  Caesar,  with  Bob 
close  behind  him.  His  face  was  scratched  and 
his  clothes  torn,  and  he  looked  scared. 

"What  has  happened.   Bob?"  cried  his  sister. 

"Nothing  much,"  he  answered  briefly.  "This 
is  a  queer  place,  sure  enough  !  I  wish  I  knew 
what  it  's  all  about."  He  whispered  this,  look- 
ing over  his  shoulder  furtively. 

"Something  did  happen,  then?  What  was  it?" 
begged  Maggie.     "Did  you  see  a  dragon?" 

"Dragon  nothing !"  snarled  Bob.  "But  I  saw 
the  little  feller  that  you  told  about.  He  's  a  boy 
about  as  tall  as  me,  but  his  face  looked  more  like 


I9I4-] 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


505 


a  girl.  He  jumped  out  at  me  from  a  bunch  of 
bushes,  and  made  faces  and  danced  up  and  down, 
and  took  out  a  little  bow  and  arrow,  and  I 
thought  he  was  going  to  shoot  me.  So  I  ran ; 
and  he  ran  too.  I  never  saw  anybody  go  so  fast 
—just  like  a  bird !  Then  I  heard  Caesar  barking, 
and  I  called,  and  when  I  turned  around,  the  boy 
was  n't  anywhere.     Was  n't  it  funny?" 

"I  know  it  was  a  fairy !"  said  Maggie,  tri- 
umphantly. 

"You  ought  n't  to  have  gone  off  and  left  us," 
said  Bess,  reprovingly.  "Something  awful  might 
have  happened,  because  you  disobeyed." 

"Pooh  !"  sneered  Bob,  very  brave  again  now 
that  the  danger  was  past.  "I  went  off  because  I 
saw  something  like  a  little  white  pony  across  the 
meadow.  I  want  to  see  those  ponies  the  old  man 
talked  about." 

"So  do  we,"  said  Bess;  "but  now  we  must  go 
to  the  cave." 

"A  cave !"  cried  Bob,  pricking  up  his  ears. 
"What  do  you  think  of  that !     Come  on  then  !" 

They  followed  the  path.  Presently  it  narrowed 
and  led  through  the  ferny  woods  to  a  gray  ledge 
of  rocks  in  which  there  was  a  little  opening. 

"See  if  there  's  a  dragon  first,"  whispered 
Bess,  pulling  Bob  by  the  sleeve.  But  they  could 
see  nothing.  Caesar  sniffed  about  the  opening, 
then  went  in.  The  three  children  cautiously  fol- 
lowed. They  found  themselves  in  a  cave  with  a 
roof  high  enough  to  let  them  stand  upright.  At 
first  it  was  so  dark  that  they  could  not  see  any- 
thing. But  as  they  grew  used  to  the  dimness, 
they  looked  around  and  saw  that  some  one  had 
been  here  before  them.  A  spade  lay  on  the 
ground  and  beside  it  was  a  basket. 

"There  might  be  buried  treasure  here,"  said 
Bob,  in  an  awed  voice. 

"I  believe  there  is !"  agreed  Maggie.  "Look 
at  Caesar !"  The  dog  was  sniffing  and  pawing  in 
one  corner  of  the  cave  where  the  ground  seemed 
newly  disturbed. 

Bob  seized  the  spade.  "Let  me  !"  begged  Bess ; 
but  Bob  paid  no  attention  and  began  to  dig.  The 
three  held  their  breaths.  Presently  the  spade 
struck  something  hard.  Bob  fell  to  with  added 
ardor.  Suddenly  he  straightened  up  and  handed 
the  spade  to  Maggie. 

"It  's  your  turn,  Maggie,"  he  said.  "I  guess 
it  's  almost  out  now.  You  ought  to  have  the  fun 
of  finding  what  it  is." 

Maggie  stretched  out  her  hand  eagerly.  Then 
she  drew  it  back  again.  "Go  on  !  Let  Bess  do  it," 
she  said.     "Bess  wants  to  awfully." 

So  it  was  Bess  who  actually  unearthed  a  box 
about  two  feet  long  and  half  as  wide.  It  was  fas- 
tened with  a  lock. 


"How  shall  we  open  it?"  asked  Bob. 

"In  the  stories  they  always  break  it  open," 
said  Maggie,  breathlessly.  "Do  you  think  you 
can,  Bob?" 

Just  then,  there  was  a  noise  behind  tbem,  and 
an  arrow  flew  over  Maggie's  shoulder  and  fell 
at  her  feet.  Tied  to  the  shaft  was  a  tiny  key. 
All  three  turned  to  see  whence  the  arrow  had 
come ;  but  nobody  was  visible. 

"It  's  the  boy  again  !"  whispered  Maggie.     She 


"  '  I  THOUGHT  HE  WAS  GOING  TO  SHOOT  ME.  SO  I  RAN.'  " 

fitted  the  key  into  the  lock,  and  as  they  all  bent 
over  the  box,  she  lifted  the  cover.  Though  it 
was  dark  in  the  cave,  they  could  see  quite  plainly 
that  it  held  a  number  of  interesting  things. 

"Let  's  take  it  out  into  the  light,"  cried  Bob. 
They  all  three  laid  hands  on  the  box  and  tugged 
it  out  where  they  could  see  better. 

One  by  one  they  lifted  out  the  treasures  which 
were  in  the  box.  There  were  toys  and  games, 
ribbons  and  handkerchiefs,  a  pocket  microscope, 
a  ball,  several  books.  Last  of  all  was  a  doll 
with  real  hair  and  teeth,  beautifully  dressed; 
and  a  jack-knife,  upon  which  Bob  pounced. 

"I  've  got  my  wish !"  he  cried,  as  he  opened  its 
wonderful  blades  and  showed  that  it  was  a  tool- 
kit as  well  as  a  knife. 


506 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


[Apr.. 


"And  so  have  I !"  cried  Bess,  who  was  hugging 
her  doll  tenderly.  Maggie  eyed  them  rather  wist- 
fully. 

"My  wish  was  different !"  she  said.  "And  it 
would  n't  be  in  the  treasure-chest  anyway." 

"You  can  have  all  the  other  things,  Maggie," 
said  Bess,  generously ;  and  Bob  added  :  "You  bet ! 
They  all  ought  to  be  yours." 

"Oh,  no !"  said  Maggie.  "I  don't  want  them 
all.     But  I  do  want  to  find  the  Princess." 

Just  then,  another  arrow  came  flying  into  the 
cave.  It  fell  at  Maggie's  feet,  and  on  it  was 
fastened  a  note,  saying,  "Time  to  go  home.  Fol- 
low the  scent." 

"Follow  the  scent!"  cried  Bob.  "Do  they 
think  we  're  like  dogs?  Here,  Cassar!"  But  Cse- 
sar  had  disappeared.  Just  then,  they  became  con- 
scious of  a  sweet  perfume  that  filled  the  cave, 
like  the  sweetest  flowers  they  had  ever  smelled, 
so  that  they  cried  "Oh  !"  in  delight. 

"That  must  be  the  scent  we  are  to  follow  !" 
cried  Maggie.  "Come,  we  must  not  disobey," 
and  each  carrying  part  of  the  treasure,  they 
started  for  home.  The  sweet  smell  hung  about 
the  cave,  but  it  became  fainter  after  they  were 
out  in  the  open  air.  However,  they  found  that 
by  sniffing  carefully  they  could  trace  it  in  a  cer- 
tain direction,  like  a  path  of  perfume;  and  thither 
they  followed.  It  was  great  fun,  this  following 
a  scent  through  the  woods.  And  as  it  guided 
them  by  broad  paths  through  the  network  of 
crossing  footways,  it  was  easy  going  for  them, 
burdened  though  they  were  with  treasure-trove. 
At  last,  they  came  to  the  familiar  gate  which  they 
found  open,  with  Caesar  beside  it,  wagging  his 
tail. 

"What  a  wise  dog  Caesar  is  !"  exclaimed  Mag- 
gie. "He  knows  too  much  for  just  a  dog."  She 
took  from  her  pocket  something  which  she  had 
wrapped  up  carefully  with  paper  and  string,  and, 
bending  over  Caesar,  tied  the  little  package  to  his 
collar. 

"What  are  you  doing,  Maggie?"  asked  Bess, 
curiously. 

"I  am  sending  something  to  the  Princess,"  said 
Maggie,  bashfully.  "She  's  been  so  kind  to  us, 
I  want  to  do  something  for  her.  It  ain't  much, 
but  it  's  all  I  've  got.  It  's  a  stone  with  a  stripe 
around  it  that  Mr.  Graham  gave  me,  shaped  like 
a  heart.  He  said  it  was  a  lucky  stone  that  would 
bring  me  good  fortune.  I  guess  it  has  done  that 
already.  Now  I  want  her  to  have  it,  and  per- 
haps it  will  help  drive  away  the  wicked  spell." 

"You  '11  lose  your  luck,  Maggie,  if  you  give  it 
away,"  warned  Bess. 

"Ho!"  said  Bob;  "whoever  it  is  that  's  been 
good  to  us,  I  guess  she  don't  need  any  lucky  stone. 


She  can  do  everything,  whether  she  "'s  your  fairy 
or  not." 

"You  don't  know  \"  declared  Maggie,  obsti- 
nately. "Sometimes  the  biggest  magicians  need 
help.  Sometimes  the  littlest  things  can  help  the 
biggest— like  the  lion  and  the  mouse;  Mr.  Gra- 
ham said  so.  At  any  rate,  I  'm  going  to  send  it 
to  her  by  Caesar.— Go  to  her,  Caesar!" 

The  dog  bounded  away  into  the  bushes  and 
disappeared  as  the  children  banged  the  gate  of 
the  Park  behind  them. 

Chapter  VII 

TRESPASSERS 

The  children  had  not  been  invited  to  visit  the 
Park  again.  But  somehow  they  took  it  for 
granted  that  what  they  had  done  they  might  con- 
tinue to  do.  So  the  next  morning  found  them 
again  outside  the  mysterious  gate,  rubbing  their 
rings  and  wishing. 

"Open,  Gate,  I  pray, 
And  let  me  in  to-day." 

They  said  the  now  familiar  words  in  chorus, 
and  waited  expectantly.  But  when  nothing  at  all 
happened,  they  were  much  more  surprised  than 
they  would  have  been  at  the  wildest  doings  of 
any  fairy  tale.  They  had  grown  so  used  to  the 
mysterious  that  only  commonplace  things  seemed 
strange.  That  is  the  way  people  are  made.  I 
suppose  it  is  only  because  we  are  so  used  to  wak- 
ing up  in  the  morning,  that  we  forget  how  won- 
derful it  is  just  to  be  alive !  But  think  how 
strange  living  would  be  if  we  had  grown  used  to 
something  less  lively. 

At  any  rate,  Bess  and  Bob  and  Maggie  were 
vastly  astonished  when  nothing  happened  at  ten 
o'clock  except  all  the  wonderful  things  that  al- 
ways happen  out  of  doors  at  ten  o'clock.  There 
was  no  sound ;  no  sign  from  the  mysterious  folk 
who  lived  beyond  the  wall. 

"I  will  knock,"  said  Maggie,  going  up  to  the 
gate  on  tiptoe.  She  had  just  reached  out  her  hand 
to  the  great  knocker  when  she  saw  that  the  gate 
was  open  the  tiniest  crack.  She  wondered  if  it 
had  been  so  all  the  time  without  their  noticing  it. 
"Do  you  suppose  we  ought  to  go  in  without  being 
invited?"  she  asked  the  others. 

"Of  course !"  said  Bob.  "Let  's  push."  So 
they  put  their  shoulders  to  the  gate  and  pushed 
it  open.  Then,  half  afraid  of  what  they  had 
done,  they  waited.  Nothing  happened.  They 
poked  their  heads  inside.  Nobody  to  be  seen ;  not 
even  Caesar.     Evidently  they  were  not  expected. 

"Come  on  !"  whispered  Bob.  "I  'm  going  in." 
The  girls  slipped  after  him  timidly. 


I9I4-] 


THE  LUCKY  STONE 


507 


"I  bet  something  dreadful  will  happen,"  said 
Maggie  to  herself.  But  there  was  a  fearful  ex- 
citement about  the  adventure  that  made  her  eyes 
shine.  Once  inside  the  gate,  they  looked  about, 
wondering  where  they  should  go  first.  In  front 
of  them  were  three  paths.  They  remembered 
that  the  left-hand  one  led  to  the  lake.  Down  the 
one  in  the  middle,  they  had  come  from  the  cave. 
The  third  path,  to  the  right,  they  had  not  yet 
tried.  But  as  they  stepped  toward  it,  they  saw 
that  something  like  a  great  silver  spider-web  was 
stretched  across  it  from  tree  to  tree.  And  from 
this  dangled  a  card  with  the  sign : 

NO  PASSING  THROUGH 

"We  must  not  go  there,"  said  Maggie.  "Which 
of  the  other  paths  shall  we  take?  Shall  we  go 
to  the  lake,  or  shall  we  try  to  find  the  cave  and 
the  wigwam?" 

Bob  was  still  staring  down  the  third  path. 
"Bother  !"  he  said.  "I  want  to  go  down  there. 
That  must  be  the  way  to  where  the  ponies  are." 

"We  must  n't,  Bob !"  said  Bess,  pulling  him  by 
the  sleeve.  "Maggie  says  something  awful  will 
happen  if  we  disobey  them.  Come,  let  's  find  the 
lake  and  the  swans.  Perhaps  we  can  go  out  in 
the  boat." 

Bob  thought  this  was  not  a  bad  idea.  So  they 
began  to  follow  the  left-hand  path.  They  soon 
found  the  flower  garden  where  the  peacocks 
promenaded.  But  the  birds  had  their  tails  neatly 
folded  up,  and  refused  to  spread  them  for  the 
children.  They  descended  to  the  lake  where  the 
swans  were  floating.  They  came  begging  for 
crumbs;  but  this  time  there  were  no  little  bags 
around  their  necks.  The  children  saw  the  boat 
across  the  lake,  moored  at  the  island.  They 
looked  at  it  wistfully,  wishing  they  knew  a  way 
of  calling  it  to  them.  It  would  have  been  quite 
like  a  fairy  tale  to  ride  over  on  the  swans.  But, 
as  Bess  pointed  out,  the  children  were  too  big 
and  the  birds  too  little  for  that.  '  And  though 
Maggie  begged,  she  could  not  induce  the  crea- 
tures to  go  over  and  draw  the  boat  back  to  them. 
They  were  not  obliging  like  Lohengrin's  swan, 
but  acted  very  much  like  ordinary  pets  of  the 
Public  Garden. 

The  children  wandered  about  the  banks  of  the 
lake,  but  it  was  too  deep  to  wade  in,  and  there 
were  no  fish-poles,  so  they  could  not  fish.  The 
lake  was  very  disappointing  on  this  second  visit. 

"This  is  no  fun,"  said  Bess.  "Let  's  go  back 
and  try  the  other  path.  Perhaps  we  can  find  the 
wigwam  and  play  Indian  there,  the  way  we  did 
before." 

They  retraced  their  way  to  the  gate,  and 
started  anew  on  the  second  path.     It  wound  and 


wound,  but  did  not  lead  to  any  place  that  seemed 
familiar.  Finally  it  turned  into  a  great,  open 
meadow  and  struggled  through  the  bracken. 

"Oh,  come  on !"  said  Bob,  discontentedly. 
"There  must  be  a  lot  of  things  to  see  in  the  Park, 
if  we  could  only  find  them." 

"Of  course  there  are!"  said  Maggie.  "Good- 
ness knows  how  many  wonderful  things.  But  I 
want  most  of  all  to  see  the  Princess,  and  find  out 
if  my  wish  and  the  lucky  stone  have  done  any 
good." 

"I  want  to  see  those  ponies,"  said  Bob.  "Come 
on.  Let  's  go  back  to  the  gate."  He  started  off 
on  a  run. 

"Oh,  Bob!  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  cried 
Bess,  her  fat  legs  trying  to  keep  up  with  him. 
But  Bob  said  nothing.  He  seemed  to  have  some 
plan  in  his  mind.  When  they  reached  the  gate, 
Bob  turned  deliberately  toward  the  forbidden 
path. 

"Oh,  Bob,  we  must  n't  go  there !"  cried  Mag- 
gie.    "We  das  n't." 

"I  dast !"  said  Bob.     "I  'm  going  to  try  it." 

He  did  not  disturb  the  web  which  was 
stretched  across  the  path,  but  squirmed  around 
through  the  bushes  to  one  side,  and  was  soon,  in 
the  path  beyond,  looking  back  at  the  girls  and 
beckoning  slyly.  "Come  on !"  whispered  Bess, 
"I  'm  going  if  Bob  does." 

"Something  bad  will  happen,"  said  Maggie, 
hesitating.  "Don't  you  know  it  always  does  in 
the  fairy  tales?" 

"Oho  !"  jeered  Bob.  "This  is  n't  a  fairy  tale. 
I  'm  tired  of  that  game.  I  want  to  see  the 
ponies." 

Bess  reached  a  hand  to  Maggie.  "Let  's  go," 
she  said.  "Maybe  the  Princess  is  down  there. 
She  must  be— she  is  n't  anywhere  else." 

That  settled  it.  "All  right!"  said  Maggie, 
scrambling  through  the  bushes ;  and  soon  they 
were  all  three  tiptoeing  down  the  path.  It  was 
very  exciting,  maybe  dangerous,  and  their  hearts 
beat  fast. 

Presently  the  path  was  inclosed  with  high 
hedges  of  pungent  box,  over  which  they  could  see 
nothing  but  blue  sky.  It  led  to  a  pretty  garden, 
in  a  hollow,  with  a  pool  of  water  in  the  middle, 
where  floated  the  biggest  pond-lilies  the  children 
had  ever  seen.  "Oh,  look !"  cried  Bob,  pointing 
up  the  avenue  which  led  from  the  garden  by  a 
flight  of  steps.  "There  's  the  house  !"  Maggie 
looked  up  eagerly,  and  there  at  the  end  of  the 
avenue,  with  flowers  in  borders  and  in  marble 
urns  up  and  down  the  whole  length,  was  a  beau- 
tiful white  palace— the  same  one  which  she  had 
seen  from  the  window  of  the  train. 

"It  must  be  where  the  Princess  lives,"  whis- 


508 


THE   LUCKY  STONE 


pered  Maggie.  "How  beautiful  it  is!"  They 
craned  their  necks  and  stared  with  all  their  eyes. 

"Let  's  go  closer,"  whispered  Bob,  and  they 
crept  nearer  and  nearer,  until  they  had  a  good 
view  of  the  whole  great  villa  and  its  broad 
veranda  set  with  palms  and  hanging  plants,  fur- 
nished prettily  with  rugs  and  seats  and  couches, 
like  an  outdoor  room.  The  figure  of  a  lady  in  a 
trailing  white  dress  came  out  of  the  doorway  and 
glided  to  one  of  the  long  chairs. 

"Oh  !"  breathed  Maggie,  "I  believe  that  is  the 
Princess  herself  in  her  own  form  !  I  wish  we 
could  speak  to  her." 

Maggie  stole  out  from  behind  the  big  vase  of 
flowers  where  she  was  crouching,  and  crept  still 
farther  up  the  avenue.  Bess  and  Bob  were  close 
behind  her.  Suddenly  a  shrill  voice  very  near 
them  cried : 

"Help !  Thieves !  Murder !  Go  away !  Go 
away !" 

The  children  jumped,  and  looked  at  one  an- 
other with  scared  faces.  "Help  !  Help  !"  cried 
the  voice  again.  It  was  a  high,  shrill  voice,  not 
quite  like  a  real  person's;  and,  of  course,  Maggie 
immediately  thought  of  fairies.  But  in  a  minute 
they  saw  what  was  speaking.  On  a  perch  in 
front  of  them  a  big  red-and-green  bird  was  flut- 
tering his  wings  wildly  and  talking.  Yes,  he  was 
talking,  as  the  children  had  never  known  a  bird 
could  do,  except  in  story-books  !  A  parrot  was  as 
great  a  stranger  to  Bonnyburn  as  to  the  tene- 
ment where  Maggie  lived.  They  all  stared  at 
this  fellow  with  wondering,  frightened  eyes. 

"Help  !  Murder  !  Fire  \"  screamed  the  parrot 
again,  louder  than  before,  while  the  children 
stood  rooted  to  the  ground  as  if  fascinated. 


"Come  back,  Maggie !"  whispered  Bess,  and 
she  and  Bob  began  to  retreat.  Maggie,  however, 
still  held  her  ground. 

"Hello!  What  's  all  this?  Who  's  trespassing 
in  my  garden?"  cried  a  gruff  voice,  suddenly. 
"The  parrot  's  given  yez  away !" 

A  huge  creature  with  a  wicked-looking  pitch- 
fork in  his  hand  appeared  close  to  them.  His 
beard  was  red  as  fire,  and  his  eyes  blazed  angrily. 
He  took  a  step  toward  them,  brandishing  his 
weapon  and  growling  like  an  animal. 

"It  's  the  ogre  !"  shrieked  Maggie.  And  at  her 
words,  they  all  turned  and  ran  as  fast  as  they 
could.  Bob  and  Bess  never  stopped  until  they 
had  reached  the  gate  by  the  way  they  had  come 
in.  When  they  were  safe  outside,  breathless  and 
trembling,  they  looked  around  for  Maggie.  She 
was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

"Oh,  do  you  suppose  the  dreadful  ogre  caught 
her?"  wailed  Bess,  who  had  heard  all  about  ogres 
the  night  before  from  one  of  Maggie's  tales. 

"Ogre  nothing !"  cried  Bob.  "It  was  the  Pen- 
fold's  old  gardener.  I  've  seen  him  before.  They 
say  he  's  as  cross  as  two  sticks.  I  hope  he  won't 
hurt  Maggie." 

"Oh,  what  shall  we  do?"  sobbed  Bess.  "It  was 
all  your  fault,  Bob  !" 

Bob  hung  his  head.  He  knew  she  was  right. 
"I  don't  know,"  he  said  sheepishly.  "I  wish  I 
had  n't  run  away  and  left  her." 

"Let  's  go  home  and  tell  Mother,"  suggested 
Bess. 

"Father  will  lick  me  when  he  knows,"  said  Bob, 
hesitating.  But  there  seemed  nothing  to  do  but 
to  tell  of  Maggie's  loss;  so  they  turned  their 
faces  toward  home. 


( To  be  continued. ) 


RIGHTS   AND   LEFTS 

BY  MARY   DOBBINS  PRIOR 


UNFAIR 

Said  the  Right-hand  to  the  Left-hand, 

"You  're  lazy,  sister  dear ; 
I  do  three  fourths  of  all  our  work, 
Though  you  are  always  near." 

Said  the  Left-hand  to  the  Right-hand, 

"  'T  is  saddest  truth  you  sing,— 
Yet,  when  our  lady  's  married, 
'T  is  I  will  get  the  ring." 


TOO  TRUE 

Said  the  Right-foot  to  the  Left-foot, 

"I  find  you  very  slow; 
'T  is  always  I  who  makes  a  start, 
Whene'er  abroad  we  go." 

Said  the  Left-foot  to  the  Right-foot, 

"Of  critics  I  'm  the  worst, 
Still,  when  we  get  in  trouble, 
Don't  you  also  get  there  first?" 


TOMNYMJDVENTURE 

BV  CAROLINE  HOFMAN  «&,' 


Tommy  the  Tumbler  one  day  set  out 
To  see  what  the  world  was  all  about, 

To  learn,  if  he  could,  with  wide-open  eyes 
Some  of  its  curious  "hows"  and  "whys." 


"Now  tell  me,"  said  Tom  to  a  man  he  met, 
"Is  dust  always  dry,  and  water  wet?" 

But  while  he  was  asking  his  questions,  sud- 
Denly  down  fell  Tom  in  a  puddle  of  mud. 


Said  Tom,  "What  happens  I  '11  never  forget, 
When  water  grows  dry,  and  the  dust  gets  wet." 


THE 


BASE -BALL 

GAME  AND  ITS  PLAYERS 


"Billy 

re  in  the  American  Lea Ai 


(Sp&ns 


% 


m 


Freak  Plays  and  Superstitions 
Some  surprising  facts  about 
the  game's  greatest  Stars 
and  their  pet  hobbies 


Base-ball-players  are,  perhaps,  the  most  super- 
stitious class  of  people  in  the  world.  That  state- 
ment applies  to  the  amateurs  and  "bush  leaguers" 
just  as  strongly  as  it  does  to  the  Big  League 
stars.  The  extent  to  which  they  allow  them- 
selves to  be  influenced  by  mere  superstition  is 
really  surprising. 

Perhaps  nothing  will  illustrate  this  statement 
any  better  than  a  little  incident  in  connection 
with  the  recent  World's  Series.  The  Athletics,  a 
team  made  up  mostly  of  college  men,  and  sup- 
posed to  possess  more  intelligence  than  the  aver- 
age ball  team,  were  the  actors  in  this  little  com- 
edy of  superstition.  For  years,  the  Philadelphia 
club  has  stayed  at  the  same  hotel  in  New  York, 
one  very  close  to  Forty-second  Street.  Naturally, 
all  the  hotels  were  crowded  during  the  series. 
This  particular  hotel  had  arranged  to  take  care 
of  the  players  in  its  customary  satisfactory  style. 
It  occurred  to  Manager  Mack  that  perhaps  it 
might  be  better  to  have  the  players  stay  at  a 
hotel  farther  up-town  during  the  series.  He 
thought  this  would  enable  the  team  to  be  free 
from  the  noise  and  excitement  in  the  down-town 
hotels.  Arrangements  for  the  change  had  been 
practically  completed  when  the  players  heard  of 
the  proposed  shift. 

In  five  minutes,  little  groups  of  players  could 
be  seen  in  various  parts  of  the  hotel  lobby  en- 
gaged in  earnest  conversation.  After  a  time,  the 
various  groups  got  together  in  one  large  confer- 
ence which  lasted  several  minutes.  Then  the 
meeting  ended,  and  one  of  the  players,  a  college 
graduate,  made  his  way  to  Manager  Mack.  He 
called  the  latter  aside,  and  addressed  him  in  sub- 
stance as  follows : 


"The  boys  understand  that  you  intend  chang- 
ing hotels?" 

"Only  during  the  World's  Series,"  answered 
Mack.  "I  thought  they  would  like  to  get  away 
from  the  noise  and  bustle." 

"They  have  delegated  me  to  request  that  no 
change  be  made  in  hotels  during  the  series." 

"Any  particular  reason  for  not  wanting  to 
change?"  asked  Mack,  who  failed  to  see  a  good 
reason  for  the  request,  because  in  many  ways  the 
hotel  to  which  he  intended  to  move  far  surpassed 
the  team's  headquarters  at  the  time. 

"Well,  ball-players  are  superstitious,  as  you 
know,"  answered  the  player.  "We  have  won  sev- 
eral pennants,  and  always  stayed  at  this  hotel. 
When  we  beat  the  'Giants'  for  the  World's 
Series  in  191 1,  we  stayed  at  this  hotel.  And  the 
boys  would  much  prefer  staying  here  during  the 
present  series.  Most  of  them  think  a  change  in 
hotels  would  surely  'jinx'  or  hoodoo  them." 

"That  settles  it,"  answered  Mack,  with  a  smile. 
"Right  here,  then,  is  where  we  will  stay." 

The  player  who  had  acted  as  a  committee  of 
one  rejoined  the  others  and  made  known  the  out- 
come of  his  conference.  And  then,  to  justify 
their  superstition,  the  Athletics  went  out  and  beat 
the  Giants  four  out  of  six  games. 

Almost  every  player  has  some  pet  superstition 
which  appeals  to  him  very  forcibly,  and  often  he 
makes  a  strong  appeal  to  the  superstition  to  aid 
him  in  a  pinch.  Eddie  Collins,  second  baseman 
extraordinary,  a  graduate  of  Columbia  Univer- 
sity, one  of  the  brightest  chaps  in  base-ball,  al- 
ways resorts  to  a  profuse  scattering  of  the  bats 
when  his  club  is  behind  and  a  few  runs  are 
needed  to  win  or  tie  the  game.     It  is  customary 


510 


FREAK  PLAYS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS 


511 


for  the  bats  to  lie  in  front  of  the  bench,  and  it  is 
one  of  the  duties  of  the  bat  boy  to  keep  them  in 
order.  In  a  pinch,  Collins  proceeds  to  "muss  up" 
the  thirty  or  forty  bats,  and  when  he  gets 
through,  they  are  scattered  in  all  directions.  This 
having  been  done,  his  team  is  expected  to  make 
the  necessary  runs. 

On  Labor  Day  afternoon,  last  season,  Phila- 
delphia won  a  very  unusual  game  from  Washing- 
ton, during  which  Collins  did  some  fancy-work 
in  scattering  the  bats  about.  It  would  surprise 
you  to  know  what  a  prominent  part  the  players 
believe  the  bat-scattering  played  in  the  victory. 

The  great  Walter  Johnson  was  pitching  for 
Washington,  and  the  game  had  gone  into  extra 
innings.  In  the  first  half  of  the  tenth,  Wash- 
ington scored  a  run.  With  Johnson  going  at 
top  speed,  this  run  looked  as  big  as  a  mountain. 
As  the  first  Athletic  player  was  retired  in  the 
last. half  of  the  tenth,  many  of  the  spectators  be- 
gan to  file  out  of  the  grounds,  in  order  to  get 
an  early  start  for  home,  as  the  park  was  taxed 
to  capacity.  By  the  time  the  second  man  was 
retired,  one  fourth  of  the  crowd  was  outside 
the  park.  The  next  batter  was  Eddie  Murphy,  the 
lead-off  man.  As  Murphy  started  toward  the 
plate,  Collins  proceeded  to  scatter  the  bats  in  all 
directions.  Murphy  swung  at  the  first  ball  and 
missed.  The  second  strike  was  called.  With 
two  strikes  and  no  balls  on  the  batter,  it  looked 
as  if  Collins's  pet  superstition  had  failed  to  work. 

On  the  next  ball  pitched  Murphy  singled 
cleanly  to  left  field.  As  the  ball  left  Johnson's 
hand,  practically  the  entire  crowd  rose  to  its  feet, 
in  order  to  be  on  its  way.  It  had  grown  a  trifle 
dark,  and  Johnson's  speed  was  so  terrific  that  it 
did  not  seem  possible  for  any  one  to  hit  the  ball 
safely.  Murphy's  single  caused  a  portion  of  the 
spectators  to  return  to  their  seats.  Then  came 
"Rube"  Oldring,  who  is  always  a  dangerous  man 
in  the  pinch,  and  a  mighty  good  hitter  at  any 
stage  of  the  game.  Oldring  had  evidently  made 
up  his  mind  to  strike  at  the  first  ball  delivered. 
Also  it  was  evident  that  he  gave  the  hit-and-run 
sign  to  Murphy,  for  the  latter  was  in  action  the 
moment- Johnson  started  his  delivery.  The  ball 
was  a  perfect  strike ;  Oldring  met  it  squarely,  and 
it  sailed  on  a  line  to  left  center,  evaded  Clyde 
Milan,  and  rolled  to  the  bleachers.  Murphy 
sprinted  from  first  to  the  plate  on  the  drive,  and 
only  the  fastest  kind  of  fielding  on  the  part  of 
Milan  held  Oldring  at  second.  It  was  then  up 
to  Collins  to  deliver  the  hit  that  meant  the  win- 
ning of  the  game.  With  some  difficulty  he  found 
his  bat  among  the  many  he  had  scattered  about 
in  front  of  the  bench.  Stepping  to  the  batter's 
box,  he  hit  the  second  ball  pitched  to  right  field 


for  a  clean  single,  and  Oldring,  by  a  magnificent 
burst  of  speed  and  a  beautiful  head-first  slide, 
managed  to  beat  the  almost  perfect  throw  of 
Moeller  to  the  plate.  It  was  one  of  the  greatest 
climaxes  of  a  ball  game  that  I  have  ever  wit- 
nessed. I  was  umpiring  at  the  plate  that  after- 
noon, and  never  saw  Johnson  have  more  "stuff." 
There  did  not  appear  to  be  a  chance  for  the  Ath- 
letics to  win,  with  two  out  and  two  strikes  on  the 


UMPIRE    EVANS   ABOUT   TO   DON    THE   MASK 
AND    START   THE    GAME. 

batter,  but  three  clean  hits  in  quick  succession 
changed  an  apparent  defeat  into  a  glorious  vic- 
tory. But,  remember :  by  the  players  themselves 
the  scattering  of  the  bats  was  given  as  much 
credit  for  the  rally  as  the  hits  of  Murphy,  Old- 
ring,  and  Collins.  And,  incidentally,  the  four  or 
five  thousand  who  departed  before  the  end  of  the 
game  are  still  "kicking  themselves"  for  not  stay- 
ing for  the  finish.  "Never  leave  until  the  last 
man  is  out,"  is  a  pretty  good  rule  to  follow  in 
base-ball. 

A  loser  will  do  almost  anything  in  base-ball  to 
break  his   run   of  bad  luck.     The   "Jonah  man" 


512 


BASE-BALL— THE  GAME  AND  ITS  PLAYERS 


[Apr. 


certainly  pursued  that  famous  manager,  Frank 
Chance,  most  relentlessly  last  year.  There  is  no 
denying  Chance's  ability  as  a  manager.  His  won- 
derful record  with  the  Chicago  "Cubs"  is  ample 
proof  of  that.  However,  no  manager  can  com- 
pete with  strong  clubs  with  a  weak  team,  and 
make  much  headway.  That  was  just  what 
Chance  was  up  against  in  New  York  last  year. 

The  "jinx,"  as  the  players  term  it,  worked 
overtime  at  the  Polo  Grounds.  Despite  the  fact 
that  the  club  played  some  exceedingly  good 
games  at  home,  it  was  not  until  June  7  that 
Chance  succeeded  in  winning1  his  first  came  of 


Copyright  by  Brown  Bros. 
MR.    EVANS   UMPIRING   ONE   OF  THE   GAMES   OF  THE   AMERICAN   LEAGUE. 

the  year  at  the  Polo  Grounds.  On  the  road  the 
club  made  a  good  showing,  but,  try  as  it  might 
for  the  first  two  months  of  the  season,  it  was 
unable  to  put  over  a  victory  at  home.  Game  after 
game  appeared  won,  only  to  be  lost  in  the  final 
innings  by  a  slump  in  the  pitching  or  some  costly 
errors.  On  June  7,  Chance  managed  to  defeat 
Chicago  by  one  run,  and  that  victory  was  not 
certain  until  a  timely  single  by  Peckinpaugh  in 
the  ninth  sent  the  winning  run  over  the  plate. 
Chance  proceeded  to  do  a  war-dance  that  would 
have  done  credit  to  some  Indian  brave.  He  rea- 
soned that  the  hoodoo  had  been  eliminated ;  that 
from  that  time  on,  victories  would  be  more  fre- 
quent.    And  they  were. 

Just  to  show  you  to  what  length  a  manager 
will  go  in  an  effort  to  get  a  break  in  luck,  I  will 
relate  an  occurrence  that  took  place  at  the  Polo 
Grounds.  The  Boston  "Red  Sox"  were  sched- 
uled to  play  a  double-header  with  the  New  York 
team  there  on  June  2.  Before  the  beginning  of 
the    game,    I    was    sitting    on    the    bench    with 


Chance,  discussing  with  him  his  "run  of  tough 
luck."  Chance  was  game,  and  was  taking  his 
medicine  like  a  man.  I  remarked  that  such  a 
break  in  luck  could  not  last  forever,  and  Chance 
replied  that  he,  too,  thought  it  could  not,  since 
he  had  all  the  "good-luck  charms"  that  could  be 
found.  Then  he  took  from  a  pocket  in  his  base- 
ball trousers  as  varied  a  collection  of  "hoodoo- 
busters"  as  I  have  ever  seen.  He  had  all  the 
luck  charms  that  could  possibly  be  gathered  to- 
gether. All  of  them  had  been  sent  to  him  by 
friends  and  well-wishers.  "I  'm  putting  five  new 
ones  into  service  to-day,  as  well  as  that  old  horse- 
shoe," which  he  had 
nailed  to  the  top  of  the 
bench.  "I  hope  to  win 
one  of  these  two  games 
to-day." 

The  first  game  looked 
like  a  cinch  for  New  York 
until  late  in  the  game, 
when  the  Red  Sox  had  a 
batting  rally,  and  batted 
out  enough  runs  to  over- 
come the  big  lead  piled 
on  by  the  home  team  dur- 
ing the  early  innings. 
Chance  was  a  sorely  dis- 
gusted man  when  I  went 
over  to  get  his  batting  or- 
der for  the  second  game. 
"I  guess  a  fellow  needs 
ball-players,  not  good- 
luck  pieces,  to  win  ball 
games,  Billy,"  said  Chance, 
with  a  smile.  "But,  say,  have  n't  you  any  sug- 
gestion to  offer?" 

"You  seem  to  have  tried  most  of  them,"  I  an- 
swered ;  "but  in  the  bush  leagues  I  've  seen  man- 
agers of  home  teams  go  to  bat  first,  in  an  effort 
to  change  their  luck."  (In  base-ball  it  is  custom- 
ary for  the  visiting  team  to  bat  first.) 

"That  is  one  stunt  I  have  n't  tried  as  yet,"  re- 
plied Chance.  "When  you  go  over  to  get  the 
batting  order  from  Manager  Stahl,  tell  him  that 
we  will  go  to  bat  first,  instead  of  Boston." 

New  York  managed  to  make  a  couple  of  runs 
in  the  opening  inning,  and  Chance  again  had 
hopes  that  luck  was  finally  coming  his  way.  But, 
about  the  fifth  inning,  Boston  made  a  half  dozen 
runs,  and  three  or  four  more  in  the  next,  and 
before  the  conclusion  of  the  contest,  the  New 
York  club  was  again  swamped. 

Freak  plays,  about  as  weird  as  some  of  the  su- 
perstitions of  star  ball-players,  often  occur  in 
base-ball.     For  a  man  to  bat  twice  in  the  same 


I9I4-] 


FREAK.  PLAYS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS 


513 


inning,  and  single  each  time,  is  rather  unusual. 
For  that  player  to  bat  out  of  order  his  second 
time  up,  and  make  a  hit  that  decided  the  game, 
is    very    extraordinary    as     far    as    the    Major 


EDDIE    COLLINS,    OF   THE    PHILADELPHIA 
ATHLETICS. 


Leagues  are  concerned.  The  climax  of  the  af- 
fair was  the  loss  of  his  job  as  a  Big  Leaguer  by 
the  player  who  forgot  his  turn  at  bat.  Naturally, 
the  luckless  New  York  Americans  had  to  figure 
in  this  play. 

That  club  and  St.  Louis  were  the  contesting 
teams,  at  St.  Louis.  The  "Browns"  led  by  a  run 
or  two  until  about  the  seventh  inning,  when 
Chance  decided  to  call  on  all  his  reserve  force, 
with  the  hope  of  pulling  out  a  victory.  He 
started  the  inning  by  going  to  bat  himself,  in 
place  of  the  pitcher.  He  singled,  and  scored  a 
moment  later  on  a  single  and  a  double.  He  had 
started  a  rally.  After  scoring  his  run,  he  went 
down  to  the  third-base  line  to  coach.  With  four 
runs  in,  men  on  second  and  third,  and  one  out, 
one  of  the  New  York  players  yelled  to  Chance 
from  the  bench  that  it  was  his  turn  to  bat  again, 
as  he  was  still  in  the  game.  Chance  responded 
with  a  single  through  short  that  scored  two  runs, 
and  a  moment  later  he  also  scored.  The  Yankees 
had  made  seven  runs  in  this  inning,  and  had 
gone  into  the  lead  with  a  comfortable  margin. 

After  the  side  had  been  retired,  and  the  second 
half  of  the  inning  was  about  to  start,  the  official 


scorer  discovered  that  Chance  had  batted  out  of 
the  proper  order.  Immediately  he  made  known 
the  error  to  the  St.  Louis  players,  but  it  was  too 
late  to  rectify  the  mistake.  The  rule  on  this 
point  says  that  unless  the  mistake  is  discovered 
before  a  ball  is  pitched  to  the  following  batter, 
there  is  no  chance  to  penalize  the  batsman  who 
has  batted  out  of  turn.  Had  not  St.  Louis  made 
three  runs  in  the  final  inning,  bringing  the  score 
to  a  total  of  8  to  6,  it  is  likely  that  little  would 
have  been  said  about  the  play.  Since  Chance's 
second  single,  when  he  batted  out  of  order,  had 
scored  two  runs,  and  he  had  tallied  later,  the 
error  was  the  turning-point  in  the  game.  With 
these  three  runs  ruled  out,  St.  Louis  would  have 
won  6  to  5.  That  club  protested  the  game,  but  of 
course  they  gained  nothing. 

The  man  who  was  playing  short-stop  for  the 
New  York  club  that  afternoon  and  batting  eighth, 
was  responsible  for  the  mix-up.  Since  Chance 
had  batted  for  the  pitcher  his  first  time  at  bat, 
it  was  necessary  that  he  again  bat  in  the  pitcher's 
place.  Instead  of  doing  this,  he  batted  in  place 
of  the  short-stop,  who  did  not  go  to  the  plate  at 


,,'<^>    . 


FRANK    CHANCE,    OF    THE    NEW    YORK 
"YANKEES." 


all  in  an  inning  in  whi<*h  seven  runs  were  scored. 
Chance  then  and  there  decided  that  any  player 
who  could  not  remember  his  position  in  the  bat- 
ting order  belonged  to  some  other  club. 

I  had  a  play  come  up  in  a  very  important  game 
last  year  which,  while  not  unusual,  was  just  con- 


514 


BASE-BALI THE   GAME  AND  ITS  PEAYERS 


[Apr., 


fusing  enough  to  the  crowd  to  draw  upon  me  its 
censure  at  the  time,  although  I  was  forced  to  rule 
the  way  I  did.  Late  in  the  game,  with  the  visit- 
ins'  team  three  runs  behind,  one  of  the  visitors 


LAJOIE,    el'    THE   CLEVELAND    "NAPS. 


the  runner  who  had  been  on  first  to  second,  al- 
though he  had  apparently  been  retired  at  that 
base.  That  left  two  men  on  the  bases,  with  no 
one  out.  The  next  batter  responded  with  a  fly- 
ball,  which  would  have  made  the  third  out  and 
retired  the  side,  had  there  been  no  interference. 
It  was  a  bad  break  in  luck,  for  the  next  four 
men  hit  safely,  five  runs  resulting  before  the 
side  was  retired.  The  visiting  team  won  the 
game  that  afternoon  by  a  one-run  margin,  and 
naturally  the  entire  blame  for  the  defeat  was 
placed  on  my  shoulders  by  a  majority  of  the  fans, 
simply  because-  they  did  not  understand  what  had 
happened  on  the  ball-field.  Only  the  fact  that 
none  of  the  players  in  any  way  disputed  the  de- 
cision saved  considerable  trouble.  A  great  many 
of  the  fans  evidently  knew  that  the  umpire  must 
have  been  correct  in  his  ruling,  since  the  verdict 
was  not  disputed  in  the  slightest. 

Losing  track  of  the  number  of  men  out,  or  the 
number  of  innings  played,  has  been  responsible 
for  some  of  the  freakiest  plays  imaginable.  It 
would  be  utterly  impossible  to  produce  such  plays 
unless  some  one  slumbered  on  the  job.  To  il- 
lustrate : 

Several  years  ago,  two  of  the  leading  teams  in 
the  National  League  were  engaged  in  a  very  im- 
portant contest.  With  the  beginning  of  the  last 
half   of   the   ninth,   the   visiting  team   enjoyed   a 


reached  first  base  on  a  clean  single.  The  next 
batter  gave  the  hit-and-run  sign  to  the  man  on 
first.  The  catcher  anticipated  the  play  and  called 
for  a  pitch-out,  and  then,  in  his  anxiety  to  get 
the  ball,  and -realizing  that  he  must  make  a  hur- 
ried throw,  accidentally  tipped  the  batter's  bat  at 
just  about  the  time  the  bat  hit  the  ball.  It  is  pos- 
sible that  the  accidental  interference  in  no  way 
affected  the  play ;  but  that  has  nothing  to  do  with 
the  case.  It  was  a  fast  grounder  to  the  short- 
stop, who  tossed  the  ball  to  the  second  baseman, 
apparently  forcing  out  the  man  from  first  on  a 
very  close  play.  The  second  baseman  wheeled 
quickly,  and  by  a  perfect  throw  managed  to  get 
the  ball  to  first  an  instant  ahead  of  the  runner. 

The  home  crowd  was  jubilant.  It  was  sure 
that  this  fast  fielding  had  killed  any  chance  the 
visitors  might  have  had  in  that  inning.  I  was 
umpiring  balls  and  strikes  that  afternoon,  and 
after  the  umpire  on  base  decisions  had  waved 
out  both  men,  it  became  necessary  for  me  to  get 
into  the  argument.  The  rule  on  interference  by 
the  catcher  is  very  plain  ;  it  simply  entitles  the 
batsman  to  first  base,  other  runners  advancing 
only  when  forced.  Instead  of  allowing  the  double 
play,  I  granted  first  base  to  the  batsman  who 
had  been  interfered  with  by  the  catcher,  and  sent 


i 


WHITE,    OF    THE    CHICAGO 
"  WHITE    SOX." 


two-run  lead.  It  is  customary  among  ball-play- 
ers always  to  keep  the  ball  that  ends  the  game, 
provided  their  side  is  victorious.  In  the  last 
half   of   the   ninth    in   this   particular   game,   the 


IQI4-] 


FREAK  PLAYS  AND  SUPERSTITIONS 


515 


home  team  managed  to  fill  the  bases,  with  one 
down.  For  some  reason,  the  right-fielder  of  the 
visiting  club  got  the  notion  that  two  were  out. 
When  the  batter  sent  a  fly  to  right  field,  and  that 
gentleman  had  made  the  catch,  he  hiked  to  the 
club-house  at  full  speed,  believing  the  game  fin- 
ished. As  he  made  the  catch  and  demonstrated 
his  fleetness  of  foot  in  a  dash  for  the  club-house, 
the  three  base-runners  made  a  dash  for  the  plate, 
while  the  crowd  yelled  like  mad.  It  was  simply 
impossible  for  his  team-mates  to  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  right-fielder  and  make  him  realize 
what  a  terrible  "bone"  he  was  pulling.  Before 
he  could  be  reached,  the  three  runners  had 
crossed  the  plate,  and  the  home  team  had  won 
the  game.  None  of  the  home  players  made  any 
attempt  to  get  that  ball,  even  though  they  had 
won  the  game  ! 

Last  year,  a  play  almost  as  unusual  happened 
in  the  Eastern  League.  At  all  ball-parks  it  is 
customary  to  have  a  score  board,  to  give  the  re- 
sults of  the  home  game  and  other  games  through- 
out the  League.  Very  often  through  carelessness 
the  man  who  operates  the  board  makes  a  mis- 
take. That  is  what  he  did  on  the  day  in  ques- 
tion, and  the  center-fielder  followed  suit.  In 
some  way,  the  score-board  man  got  an  extra  in- 
ning on  the  board,  so  that  when  the  home  team 
was  playing  the  last  half  of  the  eighth  inning, 
the  score  board  showed  they  were  playing  the 
last  half  of  the  ninth. 

When  the  outfielder  went  to  his  position,  he 
glanced  at  the  board  (as  he  afterward  ex- 
plained), and  saw,  according  to  the  board,  that 
the  final  inning  was  being  played.  The  score  at 
the  time  was  tied.  The  home  team  got  a  man 
as  far  as  third,  with  two  down,  when  the  batter 
hit  a  sharp  single  to  left  center.  Believing  it 
was  the  ninth  inning,  and  that  the  hit  meant  the 
winning  of  the  game,  the  center-fielder,  after 
starting  after  the  ball,  changed  his  mind  in  favor 
of  the  club-house.  Before  the  left-fielder  could 
retrieve  the  ball,  the  batter  had  made  a  home 
run,  where  he  would  have  been  lucky  to  have 


stretched  it  into  a  double,  had  it  been  properly 
fielded.  The  "bonehead  play''  had  presented  the 
home  team  with  a  run,  and  of  course  they  won 
the  game.  The  visiting  team  made  a  run  in  the 
first  half  of  the 
ninth,  which  would 
have  tied  up  the 
game,  but  as  it  did 
not,  the  home  team 
won  3  to  2. 

Freak  plays  and 
pet  superstitions 
are  two  interesting 
features  of  base- 
ball. It  is  surpris- 
ing the  way  the 
athletes  will  allow 
their  brains  to 
wander  in  these 
two  directions.  La- 
joie  never  steps  to 
the  plate  without 
drawing  a  line 
with  his  bat.  That 
is  part  of  the  bat- 
ting art  to  Larry, 

and  is  regarded  as  absolutely  essential.  I  do  not 
believe  that  "Doc"  White  ever  started  an  inning 
without  throwing  a  curve  as  the  last  ball  in  the 
warm-up  practice  with  his  catcher.  To  do  other- 
wise, in  "Doc's"  mind,  would  be  tempting  fate. 
I  know  of  any  number  of  players  who  absolutely 
refuse  to  step  into  the  batter's  box  in  front  of 
the  catcher.  They  insist  on  making  a  detour 
behind  the  catcher  and  umpire,  even  though  they 
are  forced  to  walk  to  the  grand  stand  to  do  it. 
I  know  one  great  hitter  who  would  not  think  of 
stepping  to  the  plate  until  the  team's  hunchback 
mascot  had  caressed  his  bat.  Sam  Crawford, 
star  slugger  of  the  "Tigers,"  turns  out  his  own 
bats.  None  but  his  make  would  do.  Ball-play- 
ers, even  the  most  intelligent,  have  pet  super- 
stitions many  of  which  would  have  been  ridiculed 
when  witchcraft  flourished. 


SAM    CRAWFORD,    OF   THE 
DETROIT    "TIGERS." 


{To  be  continued.) 


BAD   FAIRIES 

BY  C.   H. 

Of  all  the  bad  fairies  who  meddle  with  life, 

The  worst  are  a  mischievous  elf  and  his  wife; 

—  So  whatever  you  're  doing,  beware  of  these  two, 

They  are  :  "Have  n't  Much  Time" 

and 

"I  Guess  It  Will  Do." 


'HERE'S   A   SPECIMEN.      I    CALL   THAT    NEAT   AN'    READABLE,'    SAID    NATE."      (SEE    PAGE  .520.) 


THE    RUNAWAY 


BY  ALLEN   FRENCH 

Author  of  "  The  Junior  Cup,"  "  Pelham  and  His  Friend  Tim,"  etc. 


Chapter  XII 

SHERLOCK    HOLMES,    JUNIOR 

Before  long,  on  the  very  spot  from  which  Brian 
had  dropped  the  packet,  and  also  frowning  down 
into  the  water,  another  boy  stood  leaning  on  the 
bridge's  rail.  Rodman  had  had  a  bad  half-hour 
with  the  doctor.  "This  was  n't  a  nice  cut  to 
begin  with,  young  man,"  the  doctor  had  said. 
"It  was  nothing  but  a  mean,  nasty  tear,  and  you 
were  lucky  that  it  healed  as  well  as  it  did.  Now 
you  've  partly  broken  it  open  again,  and  I  warn 
you  that  you  're  likely  to  have  a  stiff  wrist  for 
life  if  you  do  it  again.  These  ligaments  will 
inflame ;  they  were  badly  scraped  to  begin  with, 
and  I  warned  you  to  take  no  liberties  with  them. 
Tell  Nate  he  's  to  keep  you  from  hard  work  of 
any  kind,  and  you  are  not  to  do  anything  that  in- 
volves steady  gripping  with  this  hand.  That 
means  no  working  at  his  jigger.     Is  that  plain?" 


'"Perfectly  plain,"  Rodman  had  answered  sadly. 
Now,  looking  down  into  the  water,  he  wondered 
what  he  was  to  do.  He  must  earn  money  some- 
how, but  in  what  way? 

He  was,  however,  not  so  much  occupied  with 
his  troubles  that  he  did  not  notice  Brian's  packet, 
which  was  delicately  balanced  at  the  edge  of  the 
water,  six  feet  below  the  flooring  of  the  bridge. 
It  was  in  the  lower  branches  of  a  clump  of 
bushes. 

The  writing  Rodman  could  not  read.  He  was 
at  first  'inclined  to  consider  the  package  a  mere 
discarded  envelop,  and  had  not  yet  made  up  his 
mind  to  secure  it,  when  all  question  as  to  what  it 
could  be  was  put  at  rest  by  its  quietly  slipping 
into  the  water.  He  saw  at  once  that  it  was  not  an 
empty  envelop,  for,  instead  of  floating  high,  it 
went  entirely  under,  and  only  slowly  came  to 
the  surface  again.  Therefore  the  envelop  was 
full— as,  suddenly  rousing  himself,  he  recognized 


516 


THE  RUNAWAY 


517 


he  should  have  known  from  its  abundance  of 
uncanceled  stamps. 

At  once  he  slipped  through  the  railing  of  the 
bridge,  and  carefully  using  his  left  hand  rather 
than  his  right,  swung  himself  down.  He  found 
footing  on  a  heavy  stone  that  projected  from 
the  abutment  of  the  bridge,  and  holding  by  the 
bush,  looked  for  the  packet.  It  was  still  floating, 
but  entirely  out  of  his  reach.  Should  he  swim  for 
it?  He  was  a  poor  swimmer,  and  the  water  was 
too  swift.  Disappointed,  he  stood  watching  the 
packet. 

Then  he  noted  that  it  was  not  yet  in  the  main 
stream,  but  was  held  by  an  eddy  which  was 
slowly  swinging  it  in  a  circle.  In  a  moment,  he 
calculated,  he  would  have  a  chance  at  it,  and 
only  one  chance,  for  the  packet,  being  on  the 
outer  edge  of  the  eddy,  would  not  escape  the 
main  stream^a  second  time.  Doubting  how  close 
the  eddy  would  sweep  it,  he  stepped  into  the 
stream,  upon  a  flat  rock  that  lay  a  foot  below 
the  surface.  Then,  holding  fast  by  his  left 
hand,  he  prepared  to  reach  as  far  as  he  could, 
all  the  time  watching  the  packet  eagerly. 

As  if  it  knew  what  it  was  doing,  it  tantalized 
him  by  keeping  away.  The  eddy  seemed  to 
weaken,  as  a  rush  of  water  from  the  main 
stream  shot  right  into  it.  The  packet  pivoted, 
turned,  and  began  to  move  toward  the  middle  of 
the  current.  Seizing  his  only  chance,  Rodman 
trusted  his  whole  weight  to  the  bush,  stretched 
as  far  as  he  could,  and  seized  the  packet.  For  a 
moment  he  remained  extended  over  the  water, 
looking  down  into  the  depth  of  it.  To  his  sur- 
prise the  packet  seemed  to  resist  him.  Then  with 
a  strong  effort  he  drew  himself  upright,  put  the 
wet  packet  between  his  teeth,  and  clambered  up 
on  the  bridge. 

There  he  stamped  his  feet  and  shook  his  prize, 
to  clear  them  both  of  water.  Then  with  his 
handkerchief  he  began  drying  the  packet.  The 
tough  paper  had  resisted  the  water  fairly  well, 
and  he  saw  that  it  was  scarcely  the  worse  for  its 
sousing.  Even  the  ink  had  hardly  begun  to  run. 
But  as  he  turned  the  packet  over,  he  noticed  that 
one  corner  of  it  was  open.  Something  beneath 
the  surface  of  the  water  had  caught  on  the  lower 
corner  of  the  envelop,  and  had  ripped  it  apart. 
From  inside  there  showed  clearly  the  edges  of  a 
number  of  yellow  bank-notes. 

Now  he  was  indeed  glad  of  what  he  had  done. 
But  to  whom  did  the  packet  belong?  Reading 
the  writing,  he  found  that  it  was  intended  for 
registered  mail,  and  that  Mr.  Dodd  was  the 
sender.  He  put  the  package  in  his  pocket,  and 
began  slowly  to  walk  away. 

He  had  not  gone  fifty  yards  when  he  saw  Pel- 


ham  and  Brian,  keen  and  excited,  hurrying  to 
meet  him.  Rodman  stood  still  until  they  reached 
him ;  he  watched  them,  saying  nothing.  Pelham 
eagerly  demanded : 

"Have  you  found  anything?" 

"For  instance,  what?"  asked  Rodman. 

"A  package  for  the  mail,"  explained  Pelh?.m. 
"In  a  brown  envelop,  tied  with  string,  and 
stamped." 

Rodman  drew  it  from  his  pocket.  Brian 
snatched  it  from  him  and  looked  it  over. 

"It  's  wet !"  he  cried. 

"I  just  saved  it  from  floating  down  the  river," 
said  Rodman,  quietly. 

Brian  looked  at  him  angrily.  "And  you  've 
begun  to  open  it !  You  could  have  seen  who 
owned  it !" 

Rodman,  turning  away  from  Brian,  spoke  to 
Pelham :  "Something  in  the  water  must  have 
caught  that  corner  and  ripped  it  open  as  I  took 
it  out."  And  nodding  coldly,  he  brushed  past 
Brian,  and  went  away. 

The  two  boys  watched  him  go.  "His  feet  are 
wet,"  said  Pelham,  presently.  "So  are  the  bot- 
toms of  his  trousers.  Brian,  you  're  a  grateful 
person  !" 

"He  need  n't  have  tried  to  open  the  thing," 
grumbled  Brian. 

"I  believe  him,"  said  Pelham,  dryly.  "And 
now,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

Brian  felt  again  of  the  packet,  then  looked  it 
over  carefully.  "The  writing  's  still  quite  clear. 
And  I  don't  believe  the  envelop  is  wet  through. 
No,  the  bills  are  n't  damp  at  all.  We  can  just 
paste  up  this  end  and  send  it."  He  looked  eagerly 
at  Pelham.  If  he  did  not  consent,  then  Brian 
knew  he  was  in  for  blame. 

For  a  moment  Pelham  studied  him  shrewdly, 
then  he  took  the  packet  and  looked  it  over.  Fi- 
nally he  gave  it  back  to  Brian.  "Well,  I  should 
take  it  back  to  Father.     But  do  as  you  please." 

"It  's  easily  patched,"  argued  Brian.  "I  can 
just  get  a  tube  of  paste  at  the  store,  and  some 
brown  paper  that  will  look  just  the  same.  You  '11 
see  that  I  can  patch  it  very  neatly." 

Pelham  raised  no  further  objection.  He  knew 
that  his  father  would  dislike  to  have  an  untidy 
package,  such  as  was  bound  to  result,  sent  with 
his  name.  Still,  since  he  felt  sure  that  the  pack- 
age would  go  safely,  Pelham  merely  said :  "Glue 
is  safer  than  paste.  Make  sure  that  the  stamps 
are  on  tight."  Together  they  went  to  the  store, 
and  when  Brian  had  finished  his  patching  and 
the  packet  was  registered,  they  hurried  to  the 
ball-field  and  joined  the  game  that  had  already 
begun. 

The  only  spectator  was  Rodman.    Pelham,  feel- 


518 


THE  RUNAWAY 


[Atr.. 


ing  that  the  boy  might  very  well  be  discontented 
at  Brian's  treatment  of  him,  tried  to  be  especially 
friendly.  "You  're  not  playing  this  afternoon  ?" 
he  asked,  seating  himself  beside  him. 

Rodman  displayed  a  freshly  bandaged  wrist. 
"Hurt  myself  again." 

"That  's  mean  !"  sympathized  Pelham.  "I  call 
that  tough  luck.     How  did  you  do  it?" 

Rodman  showed  great  interest  in  a  ball  that 
was  just  hit.  "I  could  n't  help  it,"  he  replied. 
"Still,  it  knocks  me  out  of  base-ball  for  one 
while.  And  other  things.  It  's  going  to  be  very 
troublesome  to  me." 

Pelham  sat  thinking.  "He  's  perfectly  willing 
to  talk  to  me,"  he  concluded,  "therefore  he  is  n't 
sulky.  He  just  does  n't  want  to  tell  how  he  did 
it.  Moral,  don't  ask  him  any  more."  He  spoke 
aloud:  "This  might  prevent  your  working." 

"That  's  what  I  mean,"  agreed  Rodman.  He 
looked  at  Pelham,  frankly  quite  distressed.  "I 
don't  know  what  I  'm  going  to  do !" 

In  spite  of  evident  feeling,  Rodman  spoke  in 
a  low  voice,  so  that  others  should  not  hear.  "He 
trusts  me,"  thought  Pelham.  It  had  formerly 
been  so  difficult  to  get  within  Rodman's  guard 
that  he  was  very  much  pleased.  He  was  about 
to  answer  when  the  boys  shouted  his  name,  and 
he  had  to  go  to  his  position  at  first  base. 

When  he  returned  at  the  end  of  the  inning, 
Rodman  was  whittling,  but  at  the  sight  of  Pel- 
ham he  began  to  put  his  knife  away.  "Foolish 
habit,  whittling,"  he  said.  "Having  no  wood,  I 
use  dry  grass  rather  than  nothing." 

"But  for  grass  your  knife  must  be  sharp,"  re- 
marked Pelham. 

"It  's  sharp,  and  it  's  strong,  too,"  answered 
Rodman.     "That  's  the  way  I  like  a  knife  to  be." 

"So  do  I,"  responded  Pelham.  His  attention 
was  attracted  to  the  field,  and  he  shouted  in  ap- 
plause of  a  good  catch,  even  though  one  of  his 
own  side  was  put  out. 

"Brian  's  next  at  bat,"  he  said.  "You  know, 
for  a  city  fellow  he  plays  pretty  well.  He  's  been 
coached." 

"At  boarding-school?"  inquired  Rodman. 

"He  goes  to  some  sort  of  a  private  school," 
explained  Pelham.  "Athletics  are  a  part  of  the 
course.  — Oh,  a  two-base  hit!  But  he  broke  his 
bat— my  bat!     Bill,  toss  me  that,  will  you?" 

Brian,  returning  in  triumph  after  making  his 
run,  found  Pelham  ruefully  studying  his  bat. 
"Sorry,"  he  said.  "But  it  's  only  cracked.  Can't 
we  mend  it  ?" 

"Give  me  the  tube  of  glue,"  said  Pelham. 
"Now  bend  the  bat  across  your  knee,  so  as  to  open 
the  cracks.  Not  too  much  !"  He  squeezed  the 
glue  into  the  cracks.     "Now  for  some  string!" 


But  in  all  the  pockets  on  the  field  nothing  bet- 
ter was  to  be  found  than  a  spool  of  thread, 
strong  of  its  kind,  but  too  fine  for  bat-mending. 

"Well,"  said  Pelham,  after  thinking,  "we  can 
make  this  do."  He  cut  off  a  dozen  feet  of  the 
thread  and  gave  one  end  to  Brian.  "Now,"  he 
said,  "we  can  do  with  this  what  you  did  with 
that  cord.     Twist !" 

But  after  a  half-minute's  work,  it  was  evident 
that  something  was  wrong.     "Here,"  demanded  I 
Pelham,  at  his  end  of  the  thread,  "are  you  doing 
this  right?" 

"I  'm  twisting  the  same  way  you  are,"  an- 
swered Brian. 

"That  's  wrong,"  answered  Pelham.  "Twist 
against  me." 

"But  that  surely  can't  be  right,"  objected 
Brian. 

Rodman  spoke.  "Both  of  you  should  turn  with 
the  twist  of  the  thread." 

"That  's  better!"  cried  Pelham,  presently. 
"Now  bring  me  your  end— hold  it !  Don't  let  it 
go !  Take  the  thread  as  I  do  with  the  other 
hand,  as  near  the  middle  as  you  can.  Now  hold 
both  ends.  — Brian,  I  should  suppose  you  'd  never 
done  such  a  thing  before !  But  we  've  got  it 
right  now."  And  Pelham,  provided  with  a  suit- 
able cord,  at  last  proceeded  to  wind  his  bat. 

But  this  incident  meant  nothing  to  Pelham  un- 
til, in  another  inning,  he  saw  the  farmer,  John- 
son, come  and  stand  by  Rodman's  side,  and  heard 
him  say:  "Sorry  I  could  n't  bring  you  over  from 
Winton.  Still,  I  see  ye  got  here  safely.  Got  a 
lift?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Rodman. 

"Who  brought  ye?"  asked  the  inquisitive 
farmer. 

Rodman  laughed,  not  easily.  "I  '11  tell  you 
some  day."  Rising,  he  left  the  field,  evidently 
with  the  intention  of  going  back  to  Nate's. 

Pelham  was  surprised.  The  game  was  inter- 
esting and  the  score  was  even :  why,  then,  should 
Rodman  go  away?  Why  should  n't  he  tell  who 
had  brought  him  home  from  Winton  ?  Why 
should  any  one  conceal  such  a  thing? 

Johnson,  talkative,  now  went  to  Brian.  "S'pose 
ye  found  your  cousin  all  right.  /  was  too  early; 
jes'  's  well  you  stopped  off." 

Brian  glanced  quickly  at  Pelham,  then  impa- 
tiently at  Johnson.  "Just  as  well,"  he  answered. 
Then  he  too  walked  away. 

And  Pelham,  still  surprised,  continued  to  ask 
himself  questions.  What  was  it  that  Brian  did 
not  want  him  to  know?  Why  did  he  too  run 
away  from  Johnson?  What  had  Johnson  meant? 
He  tried  to  recall  the  words,  but  they  had  no 
especial   meaning.     If  it   had  not  been   for  the 


igi4-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


519 


other  things  that   had  gone  on   under   Pelham's 
eyes,  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  understand. 
But  suddenly  he  saw  a  glimmer  of  truth.    Rod- 
man had  a  sharp  knife;  Brian  had  n't.     Rodman 


Who  had  brought  Brian  home? 

Still  another  line  of  thought:  why  had  Rod- 
man been  unwilling  to  tell  of  hurting  his  wrist? 
How  had  he  done  it? 


'HAKKIET   CRIED   AGAIN:     'BRIAN,    THAT'S   THE    DANGER   LINE! 


(SEE   PAGE  523.) 


apparently  always  carried  his  knife;  Brian  did 
n't.  And  Rodman  knew  how  to  twist  a  cord  for 
making  a  double  string  of  it,  while  Brian  had 
known  nothing  of  the  trick. 

It  was  Rodman,  then,  who  had  spliced  that 
shaft? 

Another  line  of  thought :  Rodman  had  that  day 
been  to  Winton.  Who  had  brought  him  home? 
And  Brian — what  had  he  to  do  with  Johnson,  and 
what  had  the  farmer  meant  by  "stopping  off"? 


It  was  not  all  clear  to  Pelham,  but  he  began 
to  whistle  softly  to  himself. 

"Pelham  at  bat !"  shouted  the  boys. 

Pelham  still  sat  and  whistled.  He  seemed  not 
to  have  heard  them. 

"Pelham  at  bat !"  they  shouted  louder. 

Pelham  went  to  take  his  turn,  and  struck  out. 

"You  don't  seem  to  care  much,"  grumbled  one 
of  his  side.  "What  are  you  whistling  to  yourself 
like  that  for?" 


520 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Apr., 


But  Pelham  still  whistled  softly  at  intervals, 
and  said  nothing  to  any  one. 

Chapter  XIII 

ANOTHER  FAMILY   COUNCIL 

"Wal,"  hesitated  Nate,  "if  ye  don't  mind  my 
speakin'  before  so  many." 

"It  's  about  Rodman,  is  n't  it?"  asked  Mr. 
Dodd. 

"Yes,"  answered  Nate. 

"Well,"  explained  Mr.  Dodd,  "we  're  all  so 
much  interested  in  him  that  it  seems  unkind  to 
the  rest  not  to  discuss  him  together.  The  boys 
and  Harriet  each  have  a  kind  of  share  in  him." 

"All  right,"  answered  Nate.  "There  's  no  se- 
cret to  it,  anyway.  It  's  jes'  the  fact  that  he  can't 
work  for  me  no  more,  havin'  hurt  his  wrist  agin." 

"Indeed?"  asked  Mr.  Dodd.  "How  did  he  do 
that?" 

"I  don't  know,"  replied  Nate.  "Plain  fact  is, 
he  won't  tell.  Says  he  could  n't  help  it,  but  it 
is  n't  entirely  his  own  affair,  an'  he  can't  speak 
of  it." 

Pelham  had  glanced  quickly  at  Harriet.  With 
an  effort  she  had  kept  herself  from  speaking,  and 
sat  looking  at  Nate  with  a  face  of  dismay.  Pel- 
ham next  looked  covertly  at  Brian.  He  was 
studying  the  floor,  but  his  face  was  flushed. 

"Rodman  jes'  can't  do  any  o'  my  work  at  all," 
complained  Nate.  "He  must  n't  use  that  hand 
for  any  heavy  or  steady  grippin'  —  and  that  for 
weeks,  probably.  He  feels  awful  about  it. 
There  's  jes'  one  thing  that  I  see  he  can  do." 

"What  is  that?"  asked  Mr.  Dodd. 

Nate  looked  awkwardly  at  his  listeners,  then 
made  up  his  mind  to  proceed.  "You  know,"  he 
began,  "that  that  bookkeeper  o'  yourn  is  a  sickly 
sort  o'  critter  since  his  operation,  an'  somebody 
has  to  spell  him  most  o'  the  time?  Sometimes 
you  even  let  Pelham  work  with  him.  By  that  I 
mean,"  explained  Nate,  smiling  apologetically  at 
Pelham,  "that  it  is  n't  a  man's  job.  Now  what 
I  propose  is  that  you  should  make  a  stiddy  job 
in  the  office  for  Rodman." 

Harriet  exclaimed  with  approval ;  then  she 
sought  her  mother's  hand,  and  seemed  better  sat- 
isfied. Mr.  Dodd,  with  raised  brows,  glanced  at 
his  eldest  son,  then  back  at  Nate. 

"For  one  thing,"  he  objected,  "the  writing 
would  be  a  pretty  steady  employment.  How 
could  he  use  his  hand  at  it?" 

"Rodman  's  left-handed,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

Mr.  Dodd  nodded.  "Then  again,"  he  contin- 
ued, with  a  smile,  "I  've  trained  the  family  to 
write  well.  What  kind  of  a  handwriting  has 
this  youngster  of  yours?" 


Nate  produced  a  piece  of  paper.  "Here  's  a 
specimen,  an'  not  written  for  examination, 
neither.  Rodman  jotted  down  some  directions  I 
gave  him  the  other  day,  an'  I  brought  the  piece 
of  paper  along.    I  call  that  neat  an'  readable." 

Mr.  Dodd,  after  examining  the  slip  of  paper, 
handed  it  to  Bob,  who  smiled  his  pleasure  at  the 
excellent  writing.  Pelham,  silently  watching  his 
father,  saw  that  his  strongest  objections  were 
yet  to  come. 

"Nate,"  began  Mr.  Dodd,  "I  hate  to  say  this, 
but  you  ask  a  good  deal  of  me,  and  I  '11  have  to 
speak  plainly.  I  've  got  to  have  in  my  office 
some  one  that  I  can  trust.  This  boy  is  under 
suspicion." 

Nate  returned  his  glance  doggedly.  "You 
mean  that  wallet  o'  your  nevvy's?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Mr.  Dodd. 

"It  seems  to  me,  Mr.  Dodd,"  replied  Nate, 
"that  you  're  takin'  away  the  boy's  character  for 
a  mere  suspicion.  I  ask  this  young  man's  par- 
don," Nate  bowed  coolly  at  Brian,  "but  what  I 
can't  help  sayin'  is,  first  how  do  we  know  that 
wallet  was  stole'  at  all?  Because  a  feller  thinks 
he  sees  another  with  a  wallet,  it  need  n't  be  one 
that  's  been  lost.  It  might  be  the  second  feller's 
own.  An'  again,  Rodman  ain't  got  no  wallet. 
He  had  n't  nothin'  of  the  kind  in  his  clothes. 
An'  I  'd  like  to  hear  what  your  nevvy  '11  say  to 
that."     He  looked  at  Brian. 

Brian  did  not  look  at  him.  "I  saw  him  with 
a  wallet  in  his  hand,"  he  stated. 

Nate  turned  impatiently  away  from  him. 
"Well,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Dodd,  "it  's  nateral  you  'd 
think  o'  this,  anyhow.  But  now  see  here.  You 
've  got  some  property  o'  mine.  Now  I  under- 
stand it  's  customary,  when  a  man  takes  a  posi- 
tion o'  trust,  fer  his  fri'nds  to  put  up  a  guarantee 
that  he  won't  steal.  I  '11  sign  a  pledge  to  the 
amount  o'  half  my  savin's  to  give  back  anythin' 
Rodman  makes  away  with." 

"That  is  n't  the  point,  Nate,"  began  Mr.  Dodd. 
Nate  interrupted  him. 

"I  '11  put  up  every  cent  I  own  fur  a  guarantee. 
You  must  have  all  o'  ten  thousand  dollars  o' 
mine.  I  '11  deed  the  farm  to  ye,  if  ye  say  so. 
An'  it  seems  to  me  that  the  boy  '11  never  have  a 
chance  to  steal  as  much  property  as  that  amounts 
to."  And  Nate,  usually  so  cool,  but  now  to  Pel- 
ham's  amazement  plainly  excited,  with  the  air  of 
having  made  an  unanswerable  proposition,  sat 
and  waited  triumphantly. 

With  evident  reluctance,  Mr.  Dodd  prepared 
to  answer.  "I  've  invested  your  savings  for 
more  than  twenty  years,"  he  said.  "I  don't  be- 
lieve, Nate,  you  know  how  much  money  you  've 
got  in  my  hands.     But  as  I  began  to  say,  that 


19I4-] 


THE  RUNAWAY 


521 


really  is  n't  the  point.  It  's  true  that  when  a 
man  takes  a  position  of  trust,  bonds  are  fur- 
nished for  his  good  behavior.  But  this  is  n't  that 
kind  of  a  case,  for  no  man  is  given  a  position 
of  trust  unless  he  is  clear  of  suspicion  to  begin 
with.  There  's  no  particular  chance  that,  work- 
ing in  my  office,  though  he  might  often  be  alone 
there,  Rodman  would  have  opportunity  to  steal 
much — that  is,  much  that  would  be  of  value  to 
him.  But  even  that  is  n't  the  point.  So  long  as 
he  would  have  the  chance  to  make  trouble  for 
me,  however  slight,  although  I  might  be  willing 
to  put  him  at  work  in  the  mill,  I  'm  not  willing 
to  employ  him  in  the  office  till  I  know  more  about 
his  honesty." 

"When  Father  looks  like  that,"  thought  Pel- 
ham,  "there  's  mighty  little  more  to  be  said." 

But  Nate,  though  momentarily  daunted,  did  not 
rise  to  go.  Instead,  his  glance  fixed  itself  stead- 
ily on  Brian,  who,  after  a  moment's  silence,  find- 
ing the  others  looking  at  Nate,  found  Nate's  cold 
eye  on  him.     Reddening,  Brian  looked  away. 

"If  Mr.  Brian  Dodd,"  said  Nate,  "will  with- 
draw that  charge  about  the  wallet,  as  not  bein' 
proved,  that  '11  be  a  step  in  the  right  direction." 

Brian  grew  redder  still.  Finding  not  only 
Nate  but  all  the  others  looking  at  him,  he  looked 
down.  "I  told  Uncle  I  hoped  it  would  all  be 
dropped,"  he  mumbled. 

"So  he  did,"  agreed  Mr.  Dodd,  when  Nate 
looked  inquiringly  at  him.  "But,  Nate,  the 
charge  was  made  in  good  faith.  Both  the  boys, 
when  they  came  home,  believed  this  young  fel- 
low to  have  found  and  made  off  with  Brian's  wal- 
let. Brian  is  good  enough  to  say  that  he  wants 
nothing  done  about  it;  but  that  does  n't  explain 
what  became  of  the  wallet." 

They  all  sat  in  silence.  Pelham,  glancing 
about  the  circle,  was  surprised  to  see  that  Har- 
riet was  almost  in  tears.  He  would  have  thought 
her  angry,  except  that  there  seemed  to  be  no 
cause  for  it. 

"Father,"  said  Harriet,  suddenly,  and  speaking 
with  difficulty,  "I  think  that  if  Brian  wanted  to 
say  something  in  Rodman's  favor,  he  could  tell 
you  what  happened  to-day." 

Pelham  was  learning  a  good  deal  concerning 
the  uses  of  watchfulness  and  a  little  thought. 
Turning  to  Brian,  he  saw  in  his  dismay  pretty 
good  proof  of  his  own  suspicions  as  to  what  had 
happened  on  the  way  home  from  Winton.  But 
he  saw  also  that  not  for  anything  would  Brian 
have  his  uncle  know  of  his  desertion  of  Harriet. 
Besides,  he  did  not  know  how  this  could  prove 
Rodman's  honesty.  Then  it  flashed  over  him 
that  on  this  point  he  himself  could  have  some- 
thing to  say. 


"Why — I—"  Brian  was  stammering. 

"I  told  you  at  the  time,"  said  Pelham,  quickly, 
"that  it  was  best  to  tell  Father." 

"You  told  him?"  cried  Harriet.     "When?" 

"When  we  got  the  package  back,  of  course," 
answered  Pelham.  Harriet,  amazed,  was  about 
to  speak;  but  Pelham  winked  at  her,  and  she, 
subsiding,  waited. 

Brian,  groping  for  any  relief,  snatched  at  the 
chance  that  Pelham  offered. 

"Yes,  sir,"  he  said,  still  embarrassed,  but  able 
to  speak.  "Pelham  was  right  about  it,  of  course, 
but  I  did  n't  want  to  tell  you  how  careless  I  was. 
You  know  that  package  for  the  mail?  I  suppose 
it  was  really  too  long  for  my  pocket,  and  as  I 
stood  on  the  bridge  for  a  few  minutes,  it  fell  out. 
When  I  got  to  the  post-office,  it  was  gone.  I  met 
Pelham,  and  we  hurried  back  for  it,  and  met 
Rodman.     He  had  found  it."     Brian  stopped. 

"He  waded  for  it,"  went  on  Pelham.  "I  think 
it  's  lucky  it  was  n't  swept  off  by  the  current.  It 
was  n't  very  wet,  but  he  tore  the  envelop  in  pull- 
ing it  out,  so  that  the  money  showed." 

Nate  leaned  forward.  "There  was  money  in  it, 
then?"  he  demanded.  "And  yet  he  gave  it  right 
up  to  you?" 

"I  did  .n't  think  he  was  going  to,"  hesitated 
Brian. 

"How  did  he  know  we  had  a  right  to  it?"  cried 
Pelham,  hotly.  It  angered  him  that  Brian,  just 
escaping  from  one  difficulty,  should  hedge  so. 
"Of  course  he  made  us  tell  him  what  we  had 
lost.    Then  he  gave  it  up  at  once." 

"And  Pelham,"  asked  Mr.  Dodd,  turning  to 
Brian,  "advised  you  to  bring  the  package  to  me  ?" 

"I  was  n't  sure  there  was  time,"  explained 
Brian. 

"And  you  'd  rather  I  did  n't  know  of  it,"  added 
his  uncle,  dryly. 

Harriet's  face  was  radiant.  "Father,"  she 
cried,  "does  n't  this  prove  that  Rodman  is  hon- 
est?   He  could  have  stolen  the  money,  Pelham?" 

"Plenty  of  chance,"  he  answered. 

"Well,  Nate,"  said  Mr.  Dodd,  "you  see  the 
value  of  a  family  conference.  If  it  had  n't  been 
for  these  youngsters,  you  and  I  might  have  got 
nowhere." 

Nate  turned  to  him  eagerly :  "Have  we  got 
anywhere?" 

"How  much  does  this  boy  of  yours  know  of 
bookkeeping?"  asked  Mr.  Dodd. 

Nate's  face  fell.  "So  far  's  I  know,  nothin'  at 
all." 

"All  the  better,"  cried  Pelham.  "I  '11  teach  him 
our  system." 

Nate  looked  at  him  gratefully. 

Mr.  Dodd  rose.     "Thanks,   Pelham.     Another 


522 


THE   RUNAWAY 


[Apr. 


advantage  of  a  family  conference.  Nate,  bring 
the  boy  in  on  Monday." 

Chapter  XIV 

Brian's  opinions 

"Harriet,"  invited  Brian,  "come  out  in  the 
canoe." 

"As  soon  as  I  get  my  hat,"  she  answered. 

She  wondered  a  little  at  this  attention  from 
Brian.  He  was  older  than  she  by  two  years,  and 
considered  himself  so  much  her  senior  that  he 
had  felt  free  to  complain,  in  her  hearing,  that 
there  were  "no  girls"  in  the  town.  Harriet  had 
decided  that  he  was  fond  of  girls'  society,  so 
long  as  he  was  admired  enough.  For  some  of  his 
weak  points  she  saw  very  clearly.  At  the  same 
time,  he  was  good  company  when  he  chose  to  be, 
and  besides,  for  reasons  of  her  own,  she  wanted 
to  please  him.    Therefore  she  consented  to  go. 

They  embarked  at  the  mill-pond,  whose  level 
was  notably  higher  than  the  day  before.  "It  's 
risen  a  foot,"  estimated  Brian.  "Why  should 
that  happen,  in  this  dry  weather  ?" 

Harriet  explained:  "Father  is  taking  advantage 
of  the  drought  to  repair  the  dam  of  the  upper 
basin.  The  water  was  very  low  there,  and  he 
has  simply  let  it  all  out  into  this." 

"He  must  have  lots  of  water,"  remarked  Brian. 

"We  have  plenty,"  she  answered  simply.  "But 
we  must  be  careful  not  to  go  near  this  dam,  for 
there  is  a  strong  current  over  it." 

They  paddled  out  into  the  pond,  and  then  be- 
gan a  circuit  of  its  northern  side.  There  were 
pond-lilies,  and  Harriet  gathered  plenty.  Then 
they  turned  out  into  the  middle  of  the  pond. 
While  doing  all  this  they  chatted  cheerfully,  until 
Harriet  made  a  remark  that  caused  Brian  to 
frown. 

"You  brought  only  one  paddle." 

"No  need  of  more,"  he  answered  shortly. 

"Father  says  we  ought  always  to  have  two," 
she  said. 

Brian  was  impatient.  "Some  folks  take  too 
much  care.  There  are  people  in  the  city  that  are 
scared  to  cross  the  street." 

"At  some  corners  they  may  well  be,"  she 
laughed.  "Well,  we  '11  remember  next  time,  that 's 
all."  And  she  tried  to  speak  merrily  of  other 
things. 

But  Brian  sat  frowning.  "You  're  funny  peo- 
ple, you  country  folk,"  he  remarked  at  last,  not 
entirely  amiably.  "You  're  so  sot  in  your  ways 
that  nothing  can  pry  you  out  of  them— except," 
he  added  with  still  more  feeling,  "the  coming  of 
some  such  wonderful  person  as  this  Rodman  that 
you  're  all  so  crazy  about." 


"Why  do  you  speak  so?"  she  asked.  "We  are 
interested  in  helping  him.     Why  are  n't  you?" 

"I  don't  believe  in  him,"  he  returned. 

"It  was  too  bad  about  the  wallet,"  Harriet  was 
beginning,  when  Brian  interrupted  her. 

"I  wish  I  might  never  hear  the  word  again !" 
he  said  sharply.  "I  've  said  a  dozen  times  that 
I  wish  the  thing  was  forgotten  !" 

"It  's  natural  for  you  to  suppose  he  took  it," 
answered  Harriet,  "and  very  good  of  you  not  to 
complain  of  it.  But,"  she  asked  gently,  "if  it  's 
to  be  forgotten,  can't  it  also  be  forgiven?" 

"Don't  speak  like  a  Sunday-school  teacher  !"  he 
returned.  "I  suspect  the  fellow  on  general  prin- 
ciples. I  think  he  's  shamming,  and  I  'd  like  to 
know  why.  But  of  course,  since  he  's  your  prop- 
erty—" 

It  was  Harriet's  turn  to  interrupt.  "I  don't 
mind  your  saying  that  when  we  are  alone,  Brian. 
But  it  's  an  unkind  sort  of  joke  when  others  are 
around." 

He  flushed.  Brian  did  not  like  to  be  told  that 
he  was  in  fault.  "You  're  spoiling  him  among 
you,"  he  declared. 

"He  's  been  working  at  the  mill  office  for  a 
week,"  she  said.  "The  hours  are  pretty  long, 
and  the  pay  low.  That  does  not  seem  as  if  we 
are  spoiling  him.  But,  Brian,  I  am  glad  that  we 
got  on  this  subject." 

He  was  taken  aback,  and  stared  at  her. 

"I  have  been  wanting  to  speak  to  you  about  it 
ever  since  we  were  all  talking  about  Rodman, 
with  Nate,"  she  said. 

"Yes,"  he  answered  bitterly.  "When  you  were 
about  to  give  me  away !  A  lot  of  good  it  would 
have  done !" 

"I  think  I  was  wrong,"  she  agreed.  "But  you 
made  me  very  indignant,  you  were  so  unfair." 

"So  were  you  unfair,"  he  retorted.  "You  'd 
already  told  Pelham  all  about  it  —  " 

"Oh,  no  !"  she  cried. 

"Lucky  he  spoke  up,  anyway,"  grumbled  Brian. 

"I  am  glad  you  see  it  was  lucky,"  she  said, 
"because  if  you  think  of  it  a  little  further,  you 
will  realize  that  you  owe  Rodman  a  good  deal." 

Brian  was  struck  speechless,  and  sat  looking 
down  at  his  feet.  Harriet  perceived  that  her  op- 
portunity had  come.  Could  she  but  make  the 
best  of  it ! 

"It  does  n't  seem  quite  worthy  of  you,"  she 
began  cautiously.  How  she  wished  she  was  older, 
or  not  his  cousin !  "You  seem  ready  to  persecute 
him.  The  others  notice  it  already ;  Mother  spoke 
of  it  the  other  day.  And  they  don't  know  what 
I  know.  What  would  they  think  of  you  if  they 
did?  I  have  n't  told  any  one,  I  don't  mean  to— 
but  suppose  Johnson  should  let  it  out !" 


1914.] 


THE    RUNAWAY 


523 


"That  fool  Johnson  !"  Brian  gritted  his  teeth. 
"Look  out  for  your  head,  Harriet,"  he  said 
abruptly.     "Bend  forward." 

Harriet,  knowing  that  they  were  well  out  from 
the  shore,  was  surprised;  nevertheless  she  obeyed, 
and  leaned  forward.  "All  right,"  said  Brian, 
and  she  straightened.  Between  her  and  him, 
almost  touching  the  sides  of  the  canoe,  stretched 
a  stout  wire.  Following  it  with  the  eye,  she  saw 
it  rising  and  falling,  in  a  series  of  long  dips,  as 
it  hung  from  poles  that  carried  it  to  the  shore. 

"Stop!"  she  said  quickly.  "Don't  pass  it!" 
But  Brian,  taking  the  wire  in  his  hand,  had  al- 
ready passed  it  over  his  head  as  the  canoe  moved 
on,  and  was  just  dropping  it  behind  him.  Har- 
riet cried  again : 

"Brian,  that  's  the  danger  line  !" 

Brian  might  have  stopped  the  canoe,  or  he 
might  quite  leisurely  have  turned  it  about.  On 
the  broad  pond  there  was  no  current  as  yet  visi- 
ble, although  he  knew  that  the  dam  was  about 
two  hundred  feet  away.  Instead  of  turning  the 
canoe,  however,  he  made  a  hasty  and  unconsid- 
ered swing  backward  with  his  paddle,  intending 
to  hook  it  over  the  wire,  and  so  to  draw  the  canoe 
back.  He  reached  the  wire,  indeed,  but  not  as  he 
expected.  The  stiff  wire,  jarring  his  arm  to  the 
shoulder,  broke  his  grip.  The  paddle  was  knocked 
from  his  hand. 

With  an  embarrassed  smile  he  looked  at  Har- 
riet. She  met  his  gaze  seriously.  "Try  to  get 
the  paddle  quickly,"  she  directed. 

Brian  tried  to  paddle  with  his  hands.  The 
work  was  awkward,  but  he  did  his  best,  impelled 
by  a  "Quick  !"  from  Harriet.  It  was  nearly  a 
minute   before   he    could   see   that   he   made   any 


headway  at  all ;  then  he  discovered,  to  his  sur- 
prise, that  the  paddle  was  also  moving.  It  was 
drifting  away  from  him  ! 

Harriet  perceived  it  also.  "Try  to  make  the 
wire,"  she  said.     "We  are  wasting  time  at  this." 

Brian  felt  the  urgency  in  her  voice,  and  worked 
on.  He  had  turned  and  knelt  in  the  bottom ;  be- 
hind him  he  knew  that  Harriet  was  also  vigor- 
ously using  her  hands  in  the  water.  Vainly  he 
wished  that  there  was  a  backboard  in  the  boat ; 
he  had  brought  only  a  cushion.  A  parasol  might 
save  them ;  but  Harriet  had  brought  only  a  shade 
hat. 

Brian  felt  undignified,  working  in  this  awk- 
ward manner,  and  resentful  against  something 
for  putting  him  in  this  situation.  With  his  eyes 
on  the-wire,  however,  he  paddled  on,  until  he  saw 
that  the  wire  also  seemed  moving  away  from 
him. 

"We  cannot  make  it,"  said  Harriet,  quietly. 

Brian  took  his  seat  again,  flushed  and  irritated. 
He  wished  that  he  had  not  tried  at  all.  He  felt 
stupid,  working  in  that  fashion,  on  this  calm  and 
sunny  pond. 

"You  will  have  to  shout,"  said  Harriet. 

"Why,  how  foolish  !"  he  protested.  "Do  you 
mean  there  's  really  danger?" 

"Can  you  swim?"  she  asked. 

He  measured  the  distance  to  the  nearest  shore, 
and  seeing  no  cause  for  bragging,  told  the  truth : 
"Not  that  far." 

"Neither  can  I,"  she  said.  "Then  there  's 
danger,  Brian.  Father  put  up  the  wire  five  years 
ago,  when  two  girls  were  drowned  at  the  dam. 
And  we  're  floating  toward  it.  Look  at  the  pad- 
dle, and  the  wire." 


( To  be  continued. ) 


POP!    POP!    POP 


BY  MALCOLM  DOUGLAS 


The  little  pop-corn  people  were  so  very  near  the  grate, 
That  suddenly  their  tiny  hearts  began  to  palpitate, 
And  elders  felt  (I  wonder  if  I  've  got  this  right)  dee  tropp 
When  a  little  pop-corn  bachelor  began  to  pop  !  pop  !  pop ! 


"Oh,  Kernal,"  said  a  pop-corn  maid,  as  flusteredas  could  be, 
"You  '11  have  to  ask  my  popper,  if  you  want  to  marry  me !" 
And  little  pop-corn  maids  in  great  confusion  giggled,  "Stop !" 
When  other  pop-corn  bachelors  began  to  pop !  pop  !  pop  ! 


It  seemed  a  very  simple  thing  to  write  a 
poem  on  the  spring ;  but  Ruthie  found 
the  words  came  hard,  as  many  an  elder 
struggling  bard  has  found  at  times  to  his  dismay. 
But  still  she  bravely  worked  away  until  she  had 
a  goodly  pile  of  neat  beginnings.  For  a  while 
she  pondered,  wondering  how  long  most  poets 
take  to  make  a  song.  She  dreamed  and  scrib- 
bled ;  wads  grotesque  of  scrunched-up  paper  filled 
her  desk,  but  on  the  page  before  her  one  brief 
line  meant  one  more  verse  begun. 

"How  much  I  love  thee,  gentle  Spring — " 

"Spring,  wing,  king,  bring,  ring,  sting,  fling, 
thing,"  she  murmured,  as  she  caught  the  breeze 
from  rain-wet  flowers  and  budding  trees. 
Spring's  sweetness  held  her  in  its  thrall,  but 
't  would  n't  get  in  verse  at  all. 

"Spring,  cling,  sing—" 

"Ping  !  Bing  !  Jing-a-ling  !  You  're  getting 
on  like  anything !" 

There,  swarming  on  her  single  line,  like  bees 
upon  a  honey  vine,  the  Jinglejays  were  shouting, 
"Fine !" 

"Of  course  it  is  n't  fine,— not  yet,"  said  Ruthie; 
"but  I  can't  quite  get—" 

"Let   's    help   you.      It    's   too   warm   to       — £-. 
think,"  and  with  a  sly  and  wicked  ^y 

wink,    one    Jinglejay    walked    up      _rffff^^r: 
and    down,    his    tiny    forehead    all  Arj 

a-frown. 

"Here,  how  is  this?"  And  Ruthie  bent  to  see 
what  aid  the  sprite  had  lent. 

"How  much  I  love  thee,  gentle  Spring  ; 
I  cannot  find  in  thee  a  fault ; 
But  though  you  're  such  a  nice  old  thing, 
I  much  prefer  the  somersault." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  ha!"  the  Jinglejays  laughed  out 
in  their  annoying  ways. 

Ruth  felt  her  angry  color  rise,  but  curling  lips, 
and  flashing  eyes,  and  scornful  words,  all  failed 
to  faze  the  naughty,  giggling  Jinglejays. 


"I  call  your  verses  very  poor,"  she  said  witli 
dignity. 

"Oh,  sure  !  But  here,  I  '11  write  you  one  that  's 
rich,  and  you  can't  tell  me  which  is  which."  And 
one  small,  saucy  Jinglejay  stooped  down  again 
in  studious  way. 

Across  Ruth's  line  his  tiny  hand  wrote  swiftly, 
and  at  his  command  Ruth  for  the  second  time 
that  day  read  "Verses  by  a  Jinglejay." 

"How  much  I  love  thee,  gentle  Spring  ! 
I  lie  and  snore  like  everything; 
I  feel  as  happy  as  a  king 

With  you,  my  much-loved  old  bed-spring!" 


"Please  go  away  !"  said  Ruth. 
.   "My  dear !" 

"You  never  were  invited  here  !" 

"Of  course  we  were  not,  but 
because  we  're  poets,  just 
the  same  as  you — " 

"You  poets  !    You  can't 
rhyme !" 

"Why,  we  write  verses 


came 


&£Q±=z 


that  will  chime  throughout  the  ages !   As 
for  you,  the  best  that  you  can  ever  do  is 
just  to  write  a  foolish  verse  for  your  school 
paper—" 

"Yours  are  worse  !" 

"What?    Worse  than  foolish?" 

"Very  much." 

"Well,  keep  your  line.  We  would  n't  touch  it 
now  for  worlds.  Some  day,  you  '11  know  that 
we  're  your  friends.     But  now  we  '11  go." 

Ruth's   face  was  hidden   on  her  arm   as  they 


THE    JINGLEJAYS    WRITE    ON    SPRING 


525 


departed,  for  the  charm  of  these  quaint  visitors 
was  dimmed  by  those  two  "poems"  she  had 
skimmed. 

"What  do  they  know  of  spring?"  she  thought. 
And  memory  before  her  brought  the   sweep   of 


The  drifting  clouds,  the  deep  blue  skies, 
The  humming  bees,  the  butterflies 
That  skim  the  flowers  on  airy  wing-  — 
How  much  I  love  thee,  gentle  Spring  I" 

"Now,  there  !"  said  Ruth.    "If  they  had  stayed, 


flower-decked  hills,  the  call  of  babbling  brooks, 
the  waterfall,  the  hundred  deep  and  dear  delights 
of  sunny  days,  and  sweet  spring  nights. 

She  started  suddenly,  and  there  before  her, 
written  out  with  care,  were  lines  that  surely 
rhymed  and  scanned  as  though  with  love  and 
labor  planned. 


"How  much  I  love  fhee,  gentle  Spring ! 
The  brooks  that  call,  the  birds  that  sing, 
The  dew-wet  grass,  the  flowers  so  sweet, 
The  moss  all  soft  beneath  my  feet ; 


I  'd  never  get  my  poem  made.  I  'm  glad  they  've 
gone."  And  then  a  thought  a  swift,  uncertain 
wonder  brought.  "When  did  I  write  those  lines? 
They  seem  part  of  this  lazy  spring-day  dream." 
She  left  her  desk  and  went  away,  and  as  she 
went  one  Jingle  jay  leaped  from  the  ink-well  with 
a  grin. 

"That  's  where  we  take  these 
poets    in,"  .he    said.      "Oh,    we 
don't   do   a  thing.      They  write 
'  the  poems  on  the  spring!" 

Charlotte  Canty. 


illlic  Dillon- 


THE    COMPLETED    KEOKUK    DAM,    SHOWING    THE    TRAVELING    CRANE    WITH    WHICH    THE    GATES    ARE    OPENED. 

WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 

BY  A.   RUSSELL  BOND 

Author  of  "  The  Scientific  American  Boy  "  and  "  Handyman's  Workshop  and  Laboratory" 


Chapter  VII 

SETTING   A    RIVER  TO    WORK 

"Another  adventure  !  I  never  heard  the  beat !" 
exclaimed  Uncle  Edward.  We  were  in  New  Or- 
leans, at  a  famous  hotel,  and  had  just  finished 
telling  him  of  our  experiences  at  Crooked  Island. 
"That  accounts  for  the  telegram  I  received." 

"A  telegram?"  I  cried,  apprehensively. 

"I  suppose  you  wrote  home  about  your  adven- 
ture, Jim?" 

"Yes,  I  wrote  Mother  a  letter  from  Nassau." 

"Well,  here  is  the  answer  then,"  he  said,  draw- 
ing a  telegram  out  of  his  pocket.     It  read: 

Send  Jim  home;  he  has  too  many  adventures. 

My  heart  sank.  "Can't  you  persuade  them  to 
let  me  stay  a  little  longer?"  I  asked. 

"I  'm  astonished,"  teased  Uncle  Edward,  "to 
hear  you  pleading  to' stay  away  from  your  home." 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  mean,"  I  replied,  testily. 
"I  '11  be  glad  enough  to  get  back  home  when  the 
time  comes,  but  I  hate  to  miss  anything  good, 
and  I  suspect  you  have  something  in  view  or 
you  would  never  have  asked  us  to  meet  you  in 
New  Orleans,  when  we  were  nearer  New  York, 
where  we  started  from." 

"You  are  a  regular  Sherlock  Holmes,"  laughed 
Uncle  Edward.  "As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  plan- 
ning a  bit  of  sight-seeing  on  my  own  hook,  and 
had  been  anticipating  the  pleasure  of  taking  you 
both  with  me ;  but  I  must  say  it  looks  as  though 


you  would  have  to  trot  right  home,  young  man, 
and  that  will  leave  me  only  Will  for  a  com- 
panion." 

"No,  thanks,"  my  chum  spoke  up ;  "I  don't  care 
to  stay.  Jim  stuck  by  me  when  I  broke  my  leg, 
and  I  'm  going  to  stick  by  him  now.  If  he  has 
to  go  home,  why,  I  go,  too." 

"Now,  what  do  you  think  of  that?"  wailed 
Uncle  Edward,  "and  I  have  planned  six  weeks 
of  good  times  !  I  shall  certainly  have  to  make  a 
strong  appeal  to  your  parents,  Jim,  or  my  vaca- 
tion will  be  spoiled.  Let  me  see,  the  first  thing 
to  do  is  to  wire  your  mother  that  you  are  here, 
safe  and  sound,  under  my  personal  care,  and  no 
more  liable  to  harm  or  injury  than  you  would  be 
in  your  own  little  village.  Then  I  '11  write  a  long 
letter,  and  we  shall  see  what  comes  of  it." 

I  don't  know  all  that  Uncle  Edward  said,  but 
he  wrote  and  rewrote  that  letter  until  it  was  past 
supper-time  before  he  was  satisfied  with  it. 

"It  's  a  pretty  strong  appeal,"  he  said,  "if  I  do 
say  it  myself.  I  promised  to  be  your  daddy, 
guardian,  chaperon,  nurse,  and  private  detective, 
all  in  one,  if  they  will  only  let  you  stay  with  me 
a  few  weeks.  You  '11  have  to  do  your  part  to 
keep  out  of  all  danger." 

We  both  gave  him  a  solemn  promise  to  be 
good,  and  then  came  the  tedious  wait  for  the 
verdict  from  home.  The  suspense  was  awful. 
It  took  three  days  for  that  letter  to  go  from  New 
Orleans  to  New  York.  Uncle  Edward  had  in- 
sisted upon  having  an  answer  by  telegraph,  and 


Copyright,  1913,  by  A.  Russell  Bond. 


526 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


527 


we  literally  haunted  the  telegraph  office  on  the 
third  day. 

Of  course  you  all  know  what  was  the  answer, 
because  you  can  see  that  this  story  is  not  half 
ended;  but  we  had  no  such  clue.  When  the  per- 
mission finally  came,  we  shouted  for  joy,  but 
Uncle  Edward  said :  "I  'm  almost  sorry  that  they 
are  going  to  let  you  stay.  I  've  taken  an  awful 
responsibility  upon  my  hands." 

It  was  n't  until  after  the  telegram  arrived  that 
Uncle  Edward  told  us  of  his  plans.  "First  of  all, 
I  shall  have  to  study  the  methods  that  are  being 
used  for  fighting  floods  along  the  Mississippi. 
That  is  my  chief  mission  here.  You  know,  I  've 
been  detailed  by  the  Government  to  make  the  in- 
vestigation. We  shall  make  our  way  slowly  up 
the  river,  branching  off  up  the  Missouri  and  the 
Ohio.  After  that,  I  want  to  go  up  to  Keokuk 
and  see  the  dam  that  is  being  built  across  the 
Mississippi.  Finally,  on  our  way  back  to  New 
York,  we  might  take  in  the  steel-works  at  Chi- 
cago, or  Gary,  or  Pittsburgh,  whichever  is  most 
convenient.     How  is  that  for  a  program?" 

"Great !"  we  both  cried. 

Uncle  Edward's  study  of  the  levees  along  the 
Mississippi  took  much  longer  than  he  had  antici- 
pated, and  by  the  time  he  had  worked  his  way  up 
the  river  as  far  as  Keokuk,  winter  was  beginning 
to  give  way  to  spring. 

Uncle  Edward  was  well  acquainted  with  the 
chief  engineer  of  the  work  there,  and  sought  him 
out  at  once.  He  proved  to  be  a  very  jolly,  big- 
hearted  man. 

"I  am  always  interested  in  boys,"  he  said  to  us. 
"In  fact,  I  'm  not  sure  but  that  I  am  still  pretty 
much  of  a  boy  myself.  You  know,  I  was  made 
an  honorary  member  of  the  Boy  Scout  organiza- 
tion on  the  Illinois  side  of  the  river  the  other  day." 

"You  '11  find  these  boys  intensely  interested  in 
engineering,"  put  in  Uncle  Edward,  with  almost 
paternal  pride.  "They  are  going  to  college  next 
year,  and  I  expect  them  to  prove  a  credit  to  the 
profession." 

"That  's  fine !"  declared  the  chief  engineer. 
"When  I  graduated  from  high  school,  I  walked 
into  the  office  of  a  bridge  engineer,  took  off  my 
coat,  hung  it  on  a  peg,  and  told  him  I  was  going 
to  work  there ;  I  did  n't  care  what  he  paid  me. 
That  was  my  start  in  engineering  work.  You 
are  going  to  have  a  better  start,  and  I  shall  ex- 
pect you  to  perform  work  that  will  put  this  little 
job  of  mine  all  in  the  shade.  I  hope  you  intend 
to  spend  more  than  a  day  with  us.  I  shall  be 
mortally  offended  if  you  do  not  find  more  than  a 
day's  worth  of  interest  here." 

"I  am  sure  we  could  spend  a  month  here  with 
profit,"  replied  Uncle  Edward ;  "but  we  are  be- 


hind our  schedule,  and  will  have  to  hurry.  How- 
ever, if  you  treat  us  well,  you  may  find  us  hang- 
ing around  a  whole  week." 

"A  week  it  shall  be  then,"  was  the  immediate 
response.  "That  will  give  you  a  chance  to  see 
not  only  how  the  work  looks,  but  how  it  grows; 
and  you  must  be  my  guests  while  you  are  here." 

Of  course  we  were  delighted  to  accept  the 
hospitality  of  such  a  jolly  host.  After  we  had 
moved  our  things  from  the  hotel  to  his  abode, 
he  called  one  of  his  assistant  engineers,  named 
Johnson,  and  put  Will  and  myself  in  his  charge 
to  give  us  a  general  survey  of  the  work,  while 
he  himself  took  Uncle  Edward  in  tow.  Mr.  John- 
son took  us  across  the  river  to  the  Illinois  side 
of  the  Mississippi,  so  that  we  could  see  how  the 
dam  was  being  constructed. 

"I  should  think,"  I  remarked  to  our  guide, 
"that  the  steamboat  lines  would  object  seriously 
to  having  this  obstruction  built  across  the  river." 

"Object?  Why  this  is  no  obstruction.  It  is  a 
help  to  navigation— a  real  blessing  to  the  Missis- 
sippi boats." 

"Why,  how  is  that?  You  '11  have  to  have  a 
lock  to  pass  the  boats  from  one  level  to  the  other, 
won't  you?" 

"Yes,  but  heretofore  they  have  had  to  go 
through  a  long  canal,  with  three  locks  in  it,  to 
get  by  the  rapids  that  extend  for  miles  back  of 
this  point.  When  our  work  is  done,  a  single  lock 
will  raise  them  to  the  lake  above  the  dam,  and 
then  they  can  run  full  speed  on  up  the  river 
without  any  further  interruption.  And,  by  the 
way,  that  lock  will  be  bigger  than  any  you  ever 
saw." 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  said  Will,  somewhat  dis- 
dainfully; "we  've  just  been  down  to  see  the 
Panama  Canal." 

"Well,  the  locks  down  there  are  pretty  large," 
admitted  Mr.  Johnson.  "This  lock  is  to  be  only 
six  hundred  feet  long,  but  it  will  be  just  as  wide 
as  the  Panama  locks,  and  it  will  raise  the  boats 
forty  feet,  while  the  highest  lift  in  any  one  lock 
in  Panama  is  only  thirty-two  feet." 

As  we  were  crossing  the  bridge  to  the  Illi- 
nois side,  we  had  a  chance  to  get  a  general  idea 
of  the  whole  work.  On  the  Iowa  side,  a  large 
part  of  the  river  had  been  inclosed  by  a  coffer- 
dam, and  here  work  was  proceeding  on  the  big 
power  station  that  was  going  to  extract  over 
three  hundred  thousand  horse-power  from  the 
Mississippi  River.  From  the  Illinois  shore  the 
great  dam  was  creeping  slowly  across.  Already 
it  had  stretched  half-way  across,  and  the  coffer- 
dams in  advance  of  the  concrete  work  left  a 
clear  opening  for  the  river  only  four  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  wide.     But  the  river  was  flowing  quite 


528 


WITH   MEN   WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Apr., 


freely  through  the  dam,  for,  as  yet,  it  consisted 
of  a  series  of  arches,  something  like  the  bridges 
of  the  Key  West  Railroad,  except  that  the  legs 
or  piers  of  the  bridge  were  set  much  closer. 

"That  's  a  funny  way  to  build  a  dam,"  I  re- 
marked. 

"Oh,  no,  a  wonderfully  good  way,"  was  his  re- 
sponse. "This  is  one  of  the  largest  rivers  in  the 
world,  you  know,  and  one  of  the  largest  dams 
ever  constructed.  We  have  to  move  very  cau- 
tiously. Why,  if  we  should  start  to  build  a  solid 
wall  across,  the  old  river  would  struggle  more 
and  more  fiercely  as  it  found  that  wall  hemming 
it  in,  until  it  would  become  absolutely  unmanage- 
able. So  we  have  humored  it  with  the  notion 
that  it  is  merely  a  bridge  we  are  building.  All 
the  time  the  water  can  flow  through  the  arches 
unimpeded,  except  where  our  coffer-dams  are 
built  to  keep  the  water  out  while  the  rock  bed  of 
the  river  is  being  excavated  for  the  foundation, 
and  the  concrete  of  the  arches  is  setting.  After 
the  'bridge'  has  been  completed  all  the  way  across, 
we  shall  begin  to  close  in  on  the  river  by  filling 
in  between  the  arches.  You  know,  between  the 
piers  we  are  going  to  build  spillways  to  a  height 
of  thirty-two  feet,  leaving  above  each  a  gap  that 
will  be  closed  by  a  steel  gate.  But  the  spillways 
will  not  be  built  up  to  the  full  height  at  once. 
If  we  tried  that,  by  the  time  we  got  half  of  them 
built,  the  water  would  be  running  through  the 
other  half  so  fast  that  work  there  would  be  very 
difficult.  So,  instead,  the  spillways  will  be  built 
at  first  only  five  feet  high.  We  '11  take  one  span 
at  a  time,  and  wall  it  up  on  both  the  up-stream 
and  down-stream  side.  Then  the  concrete  will 
be  cast  in  specially  prepared  forms.  After  all 
the  spillways  have  been  raised  to  the  five-foot 
level,  we  shall  go  over  the  dam  again,  and  raise 
it  five  feet  more.  In  that  way,  we  '11  raise  the 
spillway  to  its  full  height  gradually.  Then  the 
gates  will  be  fitted  into  slots  to  control  the  water 
flowing  over  the  spillways.  An  electrically  oper- 
ated derrick  will  travel  along  the  top  of  the  dam 
and  raise  the  steel  gates  when  the  water  is  high." 

When  we  got  over  to  the  dam,  we  found  that 
the  top  formed  a  broad  viaduct  about  thirty  feet 
wide,  on  which  was  a  three-track  railroad.  To 
carry  the  concrete  on  to  the  front  over  the 
freshly  built  arches,  there  was  an  enormous 
crane,  two  hundred  and  forty  feet  long,  that  ran 
on  rails  twenty-five  feet  apart.  The  crane  had 
a  reach  of  one  hundred  and  fifty  feet  beyond  its 
base.  With  it  the  steel  form  was  removed  from 
the  finished  arches  and  carried  forward  to  the 
head  of  the  line,  to  furnish  the  molds  in  which 
the  concrete  was  cast.  We  went  out  to  the  for- 
ward end  of  the  crane  and  watched  operations. 


"This  is  going  to  be  one  tremendous  big  chunk 
of  concrete,"  declared  Mr.  Johnson.  "The  dam 
with  the  abutments  is  pretty  nearly  a  mile  long, 
and  it  is  all  in  one  piece  with  the  power-house 
and  lock  and  a  big  dry-dock  that  we  are  building." 

"It  's  good  it  is  n't  steel,"  said  Will,  "or  you 
would  have  trouble  with  expansion  in  summer- 
time." 

"Why,  concrete  expands  and  contracts  just 
about  as  much  as  steel  does,"  answered  Mr.  John- 
son. "We  have  to  allow  for  expansion,  because 
it  gets  very  hot  here  in  summer  and  very  cold 
in  winter.  If  we  had  no  expansion-joints,  the 
dam  would  crack  in  places,  water  would  get  into 
the  cracks  and  freeze,  breaking  off  pieces,  so 
that,  before  we  knew  it,  the  dam  might  crumble 
away.  You  will  see  in  the  middle  of  each  arch 
a  layer  or  single  thickness  of  tar  paper  inserted 
to  act-as  a  cushion,  while  it  lasts,  and  when  it  rots 
out,  it  will  leave  a  narrow  gap  that  will  allow  for 
expansion." 

"But  what  about  the  spillways?" 

"The  mass  of  concrete  is  so  great,  and  it  is 
such  a  poor  conductor  of  heat,  that  there  will  be 
little  change  of  temperature  in  the  heart  of  the 
concrete,  so  the  paper  joints  between  the  spill- 
ways and  the  piers  will  extend  only  the  width  of 
a  single  sheet  of  tar  paper  into  the  concrete. 

"There  are  many  things,"  continued  Mr.  John- 
son, "that  we  have  yet  to  learn  about  concrete. 
We  never  can  tell  just  how  it  is  going  to  behave, 
so  we  are  taking  samples  of  the  stuff  that  goes 
into  each  arch.  Each  sample  is  cast  into  thirty- 
three  bricks  that  are  labeled  so  that  we  can  tell 
from  what  batch  they  came,  and  in  which  arch 
the  batch  was  poured.  These  bricks  are  tested  at 
the  end  of  two  days,  seven  days,  two  weeks,  four 
weeks,  three  months,  six  months,  one,  two,  three, 
four,  and  five  years.  If  any  one  of  them  shows 
symptoms  of  trouble,  we  shall  know  where  to 
look  for  the  defective  concrete,  and  remedy  the 
fault.  If  they  show  no  ailments  in  five  years, 
the  concrete  need  cause  us  no  further  worry." 

The  new  spans  were  being  built  on  dry  rock, 
inside  of  a  large  coffer-dam.  The  coffer-dam  was 
built  of  big  wooden  cribs.  Each  crib  was  made 
up  of  timbers  crisscross  like  a  log-house.  Mr. 
Johnson  explained  that  the  coffer-dam  was  built 
just  like  the  dam  itself,  by  sinking  the  cribs 
twelve  feet  apart.  Of  course  the  sinking  was 
done  by  loading  them  with  stone.  Then,  when 
all  the  cribs  were  in  place,  the  spaces  between 
were  closed  with  timbers,  and  the  whole  coffer- 
dam was  sealed  with  a  bank  of  clay.  Then  the 
water  was  pumped  out  and  the  bottom  of  the 
river  was  laid  bare.  While  the  piers  were  being 
constructed    in    one    coffer-dam,    another    coffer- 


I9I4-] 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


529 


dam  was  being  built  in  advance  of  tbe  first,  so 
that  the  limestone  bed  of  the  river  could  be  ex- 
cavated for  the  foundation  of  the  dam. 

We  stood  on  the  outermost  end  of  the  coffer- 
dam and  watched  the  water  go  swirling  by.  We 
realized  then  how  hard  it  must  be  to  position  the 
cribs  under  such  conditions, 
and  understood  why  it  was 
that  expert,  French  Cana- 
dian lumbermen  had  to  be 
employed  for  the  job.  Up 
above  us  the  river  was 
bridged  over  with  a  thick 
field  of  ice,  and,  now  and 
then,  a  piece  would  break  off 
and  shoot  past  us  on  the 
swift  current. 

"The  ice  is  about  ready  to 
go  out,"  said  Mr.  Johnson, 
"and  then  there  will  be  some 
fun.  We  are  all  ready  for  it, 
though.  We  have  armored 
the  more  exposed  cribs  with 
boiler-plate,  so  that,  if  the  ice 
tears  away  the  stone  and  clay 
banked  up  around  them,  it  can- 
not cut  through  the  timbers." 

"I  hope  we  '11  see  it  1" 
cried  Will. 

"Guess  you  will,  unless  there 
is  another  freeze  to-night." 

When  we  returned  to  the 
Keokuk  side  of  the  river, 
Mr.  Johnson  showed  us  the 
foundations  of  the  big  pow- 
er-house. 

"The  building  is  going  to 
be  a  third  of  a  mile  long,"  he 
informed  us,  "and  the  gene- 
rator-room will  be  big  enough 
to  hold  a  hundred  and  thirty- 
five  thousand  people,  or  the 
whole  population  of  the  State 
of  Wyoming." 

We  walked  through  the 
concrete  galleries  that  led  to 
the  turbine  chambers.    These 

were  scroll-shaped,  something  like  a  snail  shell, 
and  Mr.  Johnson  explained  how  the  water  would 
rush  down  into  the  scroll  chambers,  strike  the 
blades  of  the  turbines,  whirling  them  around  at 
high  speed,  and  escape  through  the  center  of  the 
turbine  wheels  to  the  tail-race. 

"More  water  will  pour  through  the  turbines  of 
this  one  plant  every  hour  than  New  York  con- 
sumes in  two  days,"  said  Mr.  Johnson.  "Fast  to 
the  turbine  shafts  will  be  the  revolving  fields  of 


the  electric  railways,  and  each  generator  will 
produce  about  ten  thousand  electrical  horse- 
power. We  are  going  to  send  the  current  as  far 
as  St.  Louis,  one  hundred  and  forty-four  miles 
away,  to  run  the  street-cars  of  that  city.  And 
furthermore,  to  give  you  an  idea  of  how  much 


UE    HAD    TO    SAVE    THAT    WALL    AT    ALL    COSTS 


this  project  will  do  for  mankind,  let  me  tell  you 
that  it  will  save  8,000,000  tons  of  coal  every 
year." 

After  we  had  made  a  hasty  survey  of  the  foun- 
dation work,  we  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  coffer- 
dam, and  got  there  just  in  time  to  see  an  enor- 
mous floe  detach  itself  from  the  ice-field  above 
and  bear  down  upon  us. 

"There  you  are,  boys,"  cried  Mr.  Johnson; 
"now  see  what  happens." 


530 


WITH   MEN  WHO   DO  THINGS 


[Apr., 


LOOKING   ACROSS    THE    MISSISSIPPI    AT    KEOKUK.       THE    POWER-HOUSE    MAY    BE    SEEN    AT    THE    LEFT. 


"She  's  a  whopper,  is  n't  she  !"  I  exclaimed. 

In  another  moment,  it  struck  with  a  tremen- 
dous crunching"  blow.  But  the  coffer-dam  held 
firm,  and  the  ice  buckled,  broke,  and  ground  itself 
into  thousands  of  pieces  ranging  all  the  way 
from  the  tiniest  fragments  to  huge  masses  weigh- 
ing tons.  Under  the  irresistible  pressure  of  its 
momentum,  the  broken  ice  piled  itself  up  into  a 
wall  that  reached  from  the  bottom  of  the  river  to 
as  much  as  thirty  feet  above,  and  enormous  slabs 
toppled  over  upon  the  coffer-dam,  burying  it  com- 


HOW    THE    COFFEE-DAMS    WERE    BUILT,    ONE    IN    ADVANCE    OF    THE    OTHER. 


pletely  in  many  places.  For  a  time,  the  four- 
hundred-and-fifty-foot  opening  between  the  pow- 
er-station and  the  dam  was  completely  choked, 
then  big  pieces  began  to  wedge  their  way 
through,  and  eventually  the  whole  ice  jam  made 
its  escape. 

That  ice  jam  was  the  beginning  of  the  trouble. 
An    ice-gorge    formed    several    miles    down    the 


river,  and  dammed  the  river  until  it  rose  above 
the  original  level  of  the  coffer-dams,  and  men 
were  kept  busy  working  with  steam-shovels  to 
build  the  walls  faster  than  the  water  could  rise. 
In  time  the  river  began  to  subside,  but  within  a 
few  days  another  ice-gorge  formed,  and  again 
the  water  commenced  to  rise.  Finally,  one  night 
thing's  became  very  threatening.  The  river  was 
six  feet  higher  than  the  original  level  of  the  cof- 
fer-dam, and  was  still  rising.  A  gang  of  fifty 
men  was  set  to  work  building  up  the  wall  with 
a  breastwork  of  sand-bags. 
The  chief  engineer  himself 
came  down  to  direct  opera- 
tions. In  such  circumstances, 
nothing  could  keep  us  boys 
at  home,  and  Uncle  Edward 
came  along,  to  keep  us  out  of 
trouble,  he  said,  although  I 
am  sure  he  was  just  as  anx- 
ious as  we  were  to  seethe  fun. 
We  stayed  there  until  long- 
past  midnight,  helping  with 
the  sand-bags.  Every  now  and 
then,  a  break  in  the  wall  would 
seem  imminent,  but  some  one 
was  always  on  hand  to  check 
the  mischief  before  it  got  un- 
der way.  It  was  very  exciting 
and  rather  weird,  working  there  in  the  dark,  and 
fighting  that  persistent  river  that  kept  rising  inch 
by  inch.  It  looked  very  ominous  as  it  swirled  by 
under  the  light  of  the  arc  lamps  that  were  strung 
at  infrequent  intervals  along  the  line  of  the  cof- 
fer-dam. We  never  knew  when  the  water  might 
take  advantage  of  the  inattention  of  some  careless 
workman,  open  a  gap  in  the  frail  wall  of  sand- 


1914.] 


WITH  MEN  WHO  DO  THINGS 


531 


bags  that  was  only  two  feet  wide,  and,  attacking 
us  from  the  rear,  overwhelm  us  and  sweep  us 
away  to  destruction. 

It  was  well  past  midnight  before  we  felt  that 
the  situation  had  been  mastered,  and  we  were 
glad  of  a  chance  to  go  home. 
Suddenly  a  puff  of  wind 
came  down  the  river.  Al- 
most immediately  another, 
stronger,  puff  followed,  and 
before  we  realized  it,  a  fierce 
squall  came  upon  us.  With 
nothing  to  retard  its  clear 
sweep  for  miles,  the  water 
was  driven  before  a  howling 
gale,  and,  heartened  by  this 
unexpected  reinforcement, 
the  river  renewed  its  on- 
slaught. In  a  moment,  the 
waves  were  dashing  over  our 
sand-bag  wall. 

Back  into  the  fight  leaped 
the  little  army  of  men.  A  hurried  call  brought 
a  hundred  more  to  reinforce  our  wearied  ranks. 
It  was  as  thrilling  as  real  war.  Five  thousand 
bags  of  sand  had  been  held  in  reserve  for  just 
such  an  emergency,  and  these  were  now  rushed 
to  the  battle  line. 

It  was  no  simple  matter  to  stagger  along  the 

( To  be  t 


parapet  struggling  under  the  load  of  a  heavy 
sand-bag,  with  the  waves  dashing  over  our  boots 
and  threatening  to  undermine  our  footing;  lint 
wc  had  to  save  that  wall  at  all  costs,  for  it 
guarded   work    that   had   meant   the   expenditure 


A  MOUNTAIN   OF  ICE   THREATENING   TO   OVERWHELM    THE    COFFER-DAM. 


of  enormous  sums  of  money.  An  hour  or  more 
we  struggled  there  in  the  night,  until  the  squall 
suddenly  subsided.  We  were  ready  to  drop  from 
exhaustion,  and  could  scarcely  stagger  home,  but 
our  victory  buoyed  us.  We  had  put  up  a  brave 
fight,  and,  although  much  water  had  found  its 
way  over  the  coffer-dam,  the  work  had  been  saved. 

OlltillUCti.) 


THE  FINAL  STRUGGLE   OF  THE   RIVER  AS  THE   LAST   GAP  WAS   BEING   CLOSED. 


i 


romTbeROSE  FfLB$ 


TIT 


E3U .  .'liRPi"!  t>  fcPsD 


Their   Christmas   singing  had   given   the    Eatons   and   the   Kings   a 

new   interest  and   a  large   ambition.     These  were   encouraged   by   a 

call    from    Herr   Grau.     He   had  brushed   his   coat   in  honor  of  the 

importance  of  his  business,  and  he  talked  so  convincingly  of  Paul's 

voice,   that   Mrs.   Eaton   consented  to  his   taking  the  boy  to   see   the 

choir-master  at  the  cathedral  that  very  afternoon.     Much  excited,  the 

children  escorted  the  violinist  and  Paul  to  the  door  of  the  old  yellow 

brick  building  in  the  midst  of  the  church  grounds  that  housed  the  forty 

boys  of  the  choir  school. 

"P'r'aps  we  can  go  into  the  cathedral  while  we   wait  and  see  where 
he  '11  sing,''  proposed  Polly. 

The  great  arch  of  the  unfinished  building  spread  formidably  above  them, 
but  Albert  pulled  daringly  at  one  of  the  ugly  gray  doors  set  in  the  wide 
dank  wall.     It  opened  stiffly,  and  the  four  crept  through  the  dark  vestibule 
and  found  themselves  in  the  great  bare  spaces  of  the  half-built  church. 
Across  lines  of  empty  chairs  they  could  see  the  verger,  white-haired 
and  severe,  the  sleeves  of  his  gown  waving  behind  him  as  he  walked 
s        swiftly  and  noiselessly  along  the  farther  aisle.     He  passed  through 
an   archway,   vanished   behind   the   chancel   screen,   and   they   were 
alone  in  the  silent  place. 
"Come,''  commanded  Mildred,  who,  an  adventure  once  started,  be- 
lieved in  carrying  it  out.     Though,  indeed,  a  little  awed  by  the  immen- 
sity of  the  place  in  which  she  found  herself,  she  admitted  no  indecision 
before  her  juniors.   They  followed  her  softly  along  the  center  aisle  and 
up  the  marble  steps  of  the  chancel  till  they  reached  the  crimson  rope 
that  shut  off  the  altar. 

"Here  's  where  the  boys  sit,"  she  whispered.    "They  come  up  these 
steps  and  go  into  these  pews." 

Albert  and  David  slipped  into  the  first  stall  and  looked  down  on 
the  array  of  seats  below  them. 

"I   'd  be   scared !"   Polly   whispered   also.     "Do   you   s'pose   Paul 

knows  what  he  '11  have  to  do?     Let  's  go  round  back  and  see  where 

they  come  in." 

They    followed    the    walk  behind   the   towering,   white-capped  pillars, 

and  discovered  the  chapels,  of  which  they  chose  St.  Columba's  for  its 

windows,  so  like  the  designs  in   David's  kaleidoscope.     But  better  they 

liked  the  mysterious  winding  staircase  set  in  the  thick  wall  and  guarded 

532 


FROM  THE  ROSE  ALBA  TO  ST.  JOHN'S 


533 


by  the  beautiful  carven  head  of  the  choir-boy's 
stone.  Beyond  lay  the  great  open  nave  again, 
and  they  hurried  through  it,  relieved  when  the 
heavy  door  closed  behind  them,  shutting  in  the  big, 
strange  silence  and  leaving  them  amid  the  lively 
noises  of  the  town.  They  wandered  slowly  over 
the  brown  grass  to  the  front  of  the  school  build- 
ing, where,  in  a  sunny  corner,  they  waited  pa- 
tiently till  the  door  beneath  the  shabby  columns 
opened  and  the  violinist  came  out,  Paul  beside 
him.  A  stranger  followed,  pausing  in  the  door- 
way. He  laid  his  hand  on  Paul's  shoulder  as  he 
talked,  and  they  stood  a  few  minutes  on  the  steps 
while  the  children  found  it  hard  to  keep  them- 
selves decorously  in  the  background.  Paul  caught 
sight  of  them,  at  length,  and  nodded  in  a  way 
that  caused  Mildred  to  whisper : 

"He  's  taken  !     Oh,  I  know  he  is  !" 

Then  Herr  Grau  and  the  tall  man  shook  hands 
very  cordially  indeed.  Paul  was  off  the  steps  in 
an  instant,  with  Albert  capering  around  him  and 
David  trying  to  attract  attention,  while  the  two 
girls  followed  with  a  dignity  befitting  the  fact 
that  the  master  had  not  closed  the  door,  but 
stood  watching  the  group  with  an  amused  smile. 

"It  is  all  right,"  cried  Herr  Grau.  "They  haf 
a  vacancy,  and  they  say  if  Paul  will  work,  he 
will  sing  well." 

"We  've  been  planning  things  while  we 
waited,"  explained  Polly,  slipping  her  hand  into 
the  old  man's  as  they  turned  down  the  avenue. 
"We  're  going  to  have  a  piano,  and  Paul  is  to 
teach  us  every  day  all  he  learns." 

"Then  by  and  by  I  can  come  here,  too,"  sug- 
gested Albert,  hopefully. 

"Is  n't  it  just  mean  they  don't  take  girls!" 
pursued  Polly.  "Even  if  we  sing  ever  so  much 
better  than  Albert,  they  won't  take  us." 

"You  can  sing  when  you  are  older,"  comforted 
Herr  Grau.  "And  you  can  play  the  piano.  We 
will  have  concerts." 

David,  as  usual  since  the  Christmas  waits,  was 
humming  to  himself  an  original  medley  of  tunes. 
Now  he  stopped  right  on  the  path  to  a  high  note. 

"I  shall  play  the  violin,"  he  announced. 

"Ah  !"  exclaimed  the  musician,  patting  the  lit- 
tle shoulder.  "You  will  haf  to  get  an  ear  first. 
But  you  can  play  something  if  not  the  hardest 
instrument  of  all." 

David  felt  anxiously  of  his  ears,  and  walked 
on  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 

"A  drum?"  he  interpolated,  suddenly. 

"Yes,  surely,"  agreed  his  friend,  seriously. 
"A  kettledrum.  You  can  play  three  of  them  at 
once,  and  they  are  very  large." 

David  nodded,  quite  content,  and  indifferent  to 
the  smiles  of  the  quartet. 


They  parted  from  Herr  Grau  at  the  doorway 
of  the  Reine  Blanche,  and,  scrambling  over  the 
low  railing  that  separated  the  two  stoops,  scam- 
pered through  the  Rose  Alba  hall  and  up  the 
stairs.     Half-way,  they  overtook  Paul's  father. 

"They  '11  take  him,  Uncle!"  was  Albert's  greet- 
ing. 

"Is  n't  it  splendid,  Father?"  cried  Polly,  dan- 
cing up  beside  him,  breathless. 

"Can  we  get  the  piano  to-morrow?"  demanded 
David. 

"Oh,  not  for  a  long  time !"  warned  Mildred, 
hastily.     "We  're  just  thinking  about  it." 

At  sight  of  his  father's  weary  face,  Paul's 
spirits  fell.  He  had  forgotten  Aunt  Margaret's 
long  illness,  and  the  very  small  Christmas  tree, 
and  the  various  little  deprivations  of  the  past 
months;  but  now  he  recollected.  The  others, 
however,  poured  forth  their  account  of  the  after- 
noon so  fast,  that,  by  the  time  they  reached  their 
doors,  Mr.  Eaton  knew  all  about  it  even  to  the 
stone  boy  by  the  winding  staircase,  a  figure  that 
had  greatly  impressed  David.  Polly  tore  ahead 
down  the  hall. 

"Mother,  Mother,  they  want  him !  I  heard  the 
teacher  thank  Herr  Grau  for  bringing  him,  and 
Herr  Grau  is  so  happy !" 

Mrs.  Eaton  glanced  quickly  at  Paul,  and  then 
at  his  father. 

"After  supper,"  she  said.  "Come  and  help  me 
a  minute,  Polly." 

When  the  meal  was  over  and  Polly  had  obeyed 
her  distressingly  early  bedtime,  Mr.  Eaton  laid 
down  the  blue  pamphlet  that  Paul  had  brought 
in. 

"I  did  not  know  this  was  more  than  a  matter 
of  singing,"  he  began  reluctantly.  "It  is  a  regu- 
lar school.  There  will  be  all  sorts  of  little  ex- 
penses, besides  a  uniform  and  books.  I  can't 
afford  it,  my  boy.  If  I  had  understood,  I  would 
not  have  let  your  old  friend  take  so  much  trou- 
ble." 

"That  's  quite  my  fault,  John,"  said  Mrs. 
Eaton.  "I  did  not  understand  either.  I  am  sorry, 
Paul  dear,  but  if  Father  says  we  can't  afford  it, 
it  will  have  to  be  given  up." 

"It  is  n't  much  money.  I  'd  be  careful  of  the 
uniform,  and  I  could  get  second-hand  books," 
pleaded  the  boy,  his  lips  quivering  despite  the 
determination  of  his  twelve  years.  Mr.  Eaton 
shook  his  head. 

"It  has  been  a  bad  season,  Paul.  I  do  not  dare 
take  on  one  thing  more.  Another  year,  perhaps." 

"They  won't  take  older  boys,  Father,"  and 
there  was  a  break  in  the  voice  that  would  sound 
mortifyingly  childish.  Poor  John  Eaton  looked 
as  if  he  were  going  to  cry  himself.    When  at  last 


534 


FROM  THE  ROSE  ALBA  TO  ST.  JOHN'S 


[Atr. 


the  lad  had  gone  sadly  off  to  bed,  his  father 
drew  a  breath  of  relief. 

"I  told  the  truth,  Ellen,"  he  said ;  "but,  except 
for  disappointing  Paul  and  that  kind  enthusiast 
next  door,  I  'm  not  sorry.  There  's  too  much 
fancy-work  in  private  schools,  and  this  making 
a  business  of  music  is  n't  in  my  line.  Paul  has 
got  to  study  something  practical,  and  keep  right 
at  it." 

John  Eaton  was  discouraged,  and  his  wife 
thought  it  wise  to  let  the  subject  drop.  She  lay 
long  awake,  however.  Polly,  while  they  set  the 
dining-room  to  rights,  had  chattered  happily  of 
the  possible  piano,  and  as  she  talked,  her  mother 
had  suddenly  seen  that  the  children  were  grow- 
ing up ;  that  the  streets  and  Riverside  were  no 
longer  enough  to  keep  their  minds  satisfied.  The 
elders  had  been  so  absorbed  in  compassing  the 
daily  necessities,  that  they  were  in  danger  of  for- 
getting that  there  was  need  of  more  than  food, 
raiment,  and  roof.  She  would  talk  it  over  with 
Sister  Margaret  to-morrow.  Between  them 
something  must  be  devised. 

"There  's  no  use  getting  that  piano,"  remarked 
Albert,  gloomily,  looking  up  from  a  dull  game 
of  pachisi.  The  children  were  gathered  in  Polly's 
little  room,  with  the  board  on  the  bed,  trying 
to  keep  quiet  and  out  from  underfoot.  "There  's 
nobody  to  teach  us  if  you  can't,  Paul." 

"It  is  n't  a  lot  of  money,"  considered  Polly. 
"Uniforms  don't  cost  much  more  than  other 
clothes,  do  they?    And  you  could  borrow  books." 

"I  'm  thinking  of  a  job,"  confided  Paul.  "Our 
grocer  always  has  a  boy  ride  round  with  the  de- 
livery clerk,  'cause  he  does  n't  like  the  horse  left 
alone.     I  could  do  that  all  right." 

Mildred's  eyes  grew  large. 

"I  read  a  book  once,"  she  commenced,  "about 
a  family  that  all  worked  to  send  the  oldest 
through  college.  Then  he  helped  the  others.  It 
was  a  lovely  story.  I  'm  going  right  round  to 
the  drug-store  to  see  if  they  don't  want  to  give 
out  bouillon  again.  I  learned  just  how  to  mix  it 
of  the  last  lady  they  had." 

Mr.  Weineke  held  aloft  a  package  he  had  just 
weighed,  and  stared  at  Paul.  He  had  no  boy, 
and  was  uneasy  about  his  lively  black  horse,  left 
with  only  an  iron  weight  for  guard.  He  won- 
dered what  had  happened  to  make  Paul's  efforts 
necessary,  but,  at  least,  the  lad  would  be  reliable 
for  the  few  days  that  were  left  of  the  vacation. 
Moreover,  Mr.  Weineke  was  not  loth  to  be  oblig- 
ing to  the  good  customers  of  the  Rose  Alba. 

"There  's  the  wagon,"  he  said,  pointing.  "You 
can  begin  right  away." 

Albert,    standing    undecided    upon    the    steps, 


caught  sight  of  his  cousin  waving  his  cap  tri- 
umphantly from  the  front  seat  of  a  grocer's  cart 
as  it  rattled  and  swayed  round  the  corner  and 
down  the  street.  He  looked  after  it  enviously. 
Polly  had  stopped  at  Madame  Griswold's  and 
engaged  to  pull  out  bastings,  whatever  those 
might  be.  Mildred  had  not  come  back  from  the 
drug-store,  so,  no  doubt,  she  was  at  this  moment 
dispensing  broth  to  the  hungry.  Now  was  too 
soon  after  luncheon,  but  later  in  the  afternoon 
he  would  drop  in  and  see  how  she  was  doing. 
He  and  David  were  the  only  ones  ignored  by  the 
economic  world,  and  his  endeavors  were  further 
complicated  in  that  David  was  evidently  on  his 
hands  for  the  afternoon. 

"Come  along,"  he  ordered,  and  his  small 
brother  followed,  laboriously  bounding  a  rubber 
ball  as  he  went. 

They  paused  at  a  stable  entrance.  Garages  had 
mostly  taken  the  place  of  stables,  but  here  was 
the  sound  of  trampling  feet  and  an  occasional 
whinny,  and  the  shine  of  bright  eyes  was  still 
to  be  discovered  in  the  semi-darkness.  A  fat, 
red-faced  man  was  leaning  in  the  doorway  and 
chewing  a  bit  of  straw. 

"Well,  sonny,  here  again.     Want  anything?" 

"I  'm  looking  for  a  job." 

"The  other  kid,  too?"  and  the  man  wagged  his 
head  toward  David,  who  had  bounded  his  ball  all 
the  way  from  the  Rose  Alba  without  a  miss,  and 
was  not  to  be  distracted. 

"He  's  too  little,"  explained  Albert,  patiently. 
The  man  grinned.  "I  can  do  most  anything," 
the  boy  assured  him.     "I  like  horses." 

"You  do,  do  ye?  Jim,  here  's  a  feller  wants  a 
job.     Likes  horses." 

A  lean  man  in  shirt-sleeves  came  out  carrying 
a  pail  and  sponge.     He  surveyed  the  two. 

"Which  wants  a  job?" 

Albert  concealed  his  irritation.  These  men 
seemed  particularly  stupid.     "I  do." 

"Our  horses  are  all  full-size,"  replied  Jim, 
tossing  the  water  into  the  street  and  dropping  the 
sponge  into  the  empty  bucket  with  a  practised 
motion  that  Albert  observed  enviously.  "We 
have  n't  got  anything  yer  size  but  kittens.  What 
do  you  say  to  hiring  him  for  the  kittens,  Pete?" 

The  red-faced  man  shifted  the  straw  to  the 
other  corner  of  his  mouth. 

"Fine !  Twelve  kittens.  Think  you  could  man- 
age them,  sonny?" 

At  the  words  David  had  put  his  ball  into  his 
pocket  and  started  inside. 

"Hold  on  !"  interfered  Jim.  "You  don't  want 
ter  git  near  them  heels  back  there.  Come  along 
with  me." 

Down  a  dark  cellar  way  he  led  them,  and  out 


I9I4-] 


FROM  THE  ROSE  ALBA  TO  ST.  JOHN'S 


535 


to  the  rear,  where  a  little  light  filtered  through  a 
dusty  grating.  There,  on  some  ragged  horse 
blankets,  were  twelve  tufts  of  fur,  black,  gray, 
and  tawny,  with  little  ears,  and  little  tails,  and 
little  paws  sticking  up  here  and  there.  The  two 
boys  sat  down  at  once  on  the  damp  floor  and 
stretched  out  eager  hands  to  the  cuddling,  wrig- 
gling creatures. 

"We  dunno  what  we  '11  do  with  'em,"  explained 
Jim.  "Their  eyes  are  open  now,  and  they  're  so 
pretty,  we  hate  to  kill  'em." 

Albert  looked  horror-stricken  at  this 
suggestion,  and  David,  after  staring  at 
Jim  an  instant,  decisively  seized  a  kit- 
ten in  each  hand. 

"Take  'em  all,"  Jim  encouraged. 

"You  '  don't  want  any?"  demanded 
Albert,  standing  up. 

"We  '11  have  to  keep  two  for  the 
mother  cats,"  explained  the  hostler. 
"But  there  's  ten  more  than  we  want." 

"Would  n't  you  like  me  to  sell  'em 
for  you  ?" 

Jim's    laugh    rumbled    in    a    startling 
manner  about  the  dark  cellar.     David, 
while    this    debate    was    in    progress, 
was     squeezing    into     his     overcoat 
pocket  a  little  black  beast  with  an 
orange  spot  on  one  ear. 

"You  take  all  but 
two,"  proposed  Jim.  "Do 
anything  you  want  with 
'em  so  long  as  you  don't 
fetch  'em  back.  Keep  %^f 
all  you  make." 

Albert  rescued  the  amazed 
and  terrified  black-and- 
orange  kitten,  and  when  Jim 
came  with  another  bit  of 
blanket  in  the  bottom  of  an 
old  market-basket,  the  boys 
had  their  ten  separated. 

"What  '11  the  mothers  say?" 
inquired  Albert,  as  he  put  the 
last  squirming  bit  of  fluff  into  the  new  nest. 

"They  won't  fret  long.  That  's  why  we  leave 
'em  one  apiece,  just  to  comfort  'em.  You  'd  bet- 
ter hurry  though.  They  '11  hear  'em  cry  and  be 
back." 

The  boys  stumbled  up  the  dark  stairway  and 
out  among  the  stalls,  where  the  horses  turned 
wondering  eyes  upon  the  strangers. 

"Take  the  job?"  inquired  the  red-faced  man, 
still  leaning  in  the  doorway. 

"I  thought  we  'd  better  set  him  up  in  the  ped- 
dling business  'stead  of  hiring  a  nurse,"  replied 
Jim,  and  he  lifted  the  basket's  covering. 


"Whew  !  How. 'pleased  his  mother  '11  be  !"  ejac- 
ulated Pete. 

"It  's  all  right,"  Jim  assured  them,  as  Albert 
stopped,  fearing  objections  from  the  head  of  the 
establishment.  "Better  sell  'em  cheap  than  bring 
'em  back." 

"We  '11  start  at  our  corner,"  said  Albert  to  his 
small  partner,  "and  go  round  the  block."  The 
vacation  was  not  over,  so  children  were  many, 
and  the  rumor  of  kittens  spread  swiftly. 

"Nobody  can  take  any  out  unless  he  's  going 


VERY    STRENGTHENING,'    MILDRED   ASSURED    HIM."      (SEE    l'AGE   537.) 

to  buy,"  ruled  the  merchant.  It  was  an  astute 
regulation.  Few  could  resist  the  desire  to  handle 
the  soft  little  creatures,  and  dimes  were  more 
plenty  than  usual,  it  being  so  soon  after  Christ- 
mas. Kittens  became  the  rage,  and  the  boys  made 
a  slow  and  triumphant  progress.  As  they  turned 
down  Broadway,  an  elderly  gentleman  stopped 
right  short  in  the  middle  of  the  crossing,  oblivi- 
ous of  the  horns  of  motors  and  the  gongs  of 
street-cars.  A  policeman  seized  his  arm  and,  de- 
livering him  safely  at  the  curb,  watched  him  an 
instant. 

"If  he  is  n't  after  them  kids  with  the  cats!" 


536 


FROM  THE  ROSE  ALBA  TO  ST.  JOHN'S 


[Apr., 


he  commented.  "He  ought  n't  to  be  let  out  alone, 
if  he  's  going  to  stop  and  stare  at  every  queer 
thing  he  sees  in  this  town." 

It  was  not  till  a  purchaser  had  chosen  a  gray 
kitten  with  a  sweet  pink  nose,  and  reluctantly 
put  back  the  black  with  the  orange  spot,  that  the 
boys  joyously  noticed  the  grown-up  spectator. 

"Oh,  Grandpa  !"  was  David's  greeting.  "There's 
just  one  left.  Won't  you  buy  him?  He  's  really 
mine,  and  I  could  play  with  him  at  your  house." 

"If  you  '11  bring  him  out,"   agreed  Grand- 
father.    His  blue  eyes,  as  he  looked  at  the 
small  boys,  were  very  shiny  indeed 
his  lips  were  pressed  tightly,  as  thouj 
holding  a  joke  fast.     "But  I  must 
do   an   errand   at  a   drug- 
store  before   I   go   to   see 
your  mother." 

"We  '11  go  to  Mil- 
dred's," exclaimed  Albert, 
and  he  started  up  the 
street  toward  the  other 
avenue. 

"What  has  Mildred  to 
do  with  where  I  buy 
cough  drops?"  demanded 
Mr.  French.  "I  like  this 
store  on  Broadway." 

"But  she  's  working  at 
this  other.  She  sells  soup. 
P'r'aps  she  '11  give  us 
some,"  urged   David. 

"Sells  soup,"  repeated 
Grandfather,  following 
Albert  quickly.  "What 
for?" 

"Hi !  Hello,  Grandpa  !" 
and  there  from  a  base- 
ment entrance,  his  arms 
full  of  bundles,  Paul 
beamed  upon  them. 

"I  've  ninety  cents,  and 
Grandpa  has  got  to  pay 
for  his  cat  yet,"  an- 
nounced Albert. 

"Hooray,"  shouted  the 
grocer's  boy,  and  disap- 
peared down  the  steep 
steps. 

"That  's  his  wagon."  David  pointed  proudly 
to  the  Weineke  outfit,  drawn  up  at  the  curb. 

"What  does  this  mean?"  demanded  Grandfa- 
ther, sharply.  "What  are  you  children  out  alone 
like  this  for?" 

By  the  time  he  reached  the  chemist's,  he  had 
heard  about  the  choir  school,  and  the  new  Ger- 
man friend,  and  Paul's  voice,  and  the  piano,  and 


uniforms,  and  books,  in  a  jumble  that  only  one 
skilled  in  David's  and  Albert's  explanations  could 
have  understood.  They  found  Mildred  perched 
on  a  stool  by  the  cashier's  cage.  She  was  prepar- 
ing bouillon  solemnly,  and  offering  the  tiny  cups 


ALBERT  FRENCH?'  DEMANDED  HERR  GRAU,   STOPPING  SHORT."     (SEE  NEXT    PAGE.) 

with  the  earnestness  of  a  hostess  urging  food 
upon  hungry  "guests.  Her  hair  had  grown  tum- 
bled during  the  afternoon's  exertions,  but  her 
eager  face 'was  so  friendly  and  her  explanations 
of  the  virtues  of  her  dish  were  so  grave,  that  al- 
most every  one  took  a  cup,  and  there  had  never 
been  such  a  sale  of  beef  extract. 

"Come  in,  Grandpa,"  she  called  in  delight,  as 


I9I4-] 


FROM  THE  ROSE  ALBA  TO  ST.  JOHN'S 


537 


she  caught  sight  of  his  figure  in  the  doorway. 
"Do  try  this,  I  know  you  '11  like  it."  But  she 
looked  doubtfully  at  the  two  small  boys.  "They 
won't  buy  any,  so  I  don't  suppose  I  ought  to  give 
them  samples,"  and  she  turned  appealingly  to  the 
cashier. 

"Sure,"  said  that  young  man,  nodding  to  Mr. 
French  as  though  well  acquainted.  "You  've  sold 
enough  so  's  we  can  afford  you  two  cups,  I  guess." 

Grandfather  dutifully  gulped  down  the  liquid 
Mildred  passed  him.  Then  to  the  satisfaction  of 
his  party,  he  purchased  lime  drops  and  two  bot- 
tles of  the  extract. 

"It  's  very  strengthening,"  Mildred  assured 
him. 

"No  doubt,  no  doubt,"  he  agreed,  a  trifle 
■grimly.  "And  now,  if  you  can  spare  this  young 
lady,"  he  said,  turning  to  the  proprietor,  "it  's 
about  time  she  and  I  went  home." 

"No  offense,  I  hope?"  inquired  the  druggist, 
laying  a  dollar  on  the  counter  before  the  new 
clerk.  "She  proposed  the  work,  and  we  've  looked 
after  her.     She  's  been  all  right  here." 

"Certainly,  certainly,"  and  the  old  gentleman 
nodded  with  impatient  politeness.  "Come,  Mil- 
dred." 

"Now  where  's  Polly?"  he  demanded,  when  he 
had  the  three  children  safely  on  the  steps  of  the 
Rose  Alba. 

Albert  broke  in  on  the  account  of  Polly's  occu- 
pation by  springing  to  the  walk  to  catch  hold  of 
the  old  musician,  who  was  hurrying  by,  head 
bent,  as  usual. 

"Herr  Grau,  this  is  my  grandfather,"  he  said, 
pulling  his  friend  toward  the  stoop.  "We  've 
told  him  about  Paul,  and  we  've  earned  lots  of 
money  for  the  uniform." 

Grandfather  smiled  as  the  other  came  obedi- 
ently up  the  steps. 

"My  name  is  French,"  he  said. 

"Albert  French?"  demanded  Herr  Grau,  stop- 
ping short. 

The  other  scanned  the  lined  face  sharply  an 
instant. 

"Rudolph  Grau,  I  do  believe,"  he  cried. 

"I  should  haf  known  you  when  you  spoke," 
cried  the  violinist.  "It  is  the  same  voice  and  the 
same  blue,  laughing  eyes." 

"Wonderful,  wonderful !"  and  Albert,  senior, 
seized  the  old  man's  hand,  while  the  children 
stood  by,  staring. 

"Come,  come  into  my  little  place !"  insisted 
the  violinist,  pulling  Mr.  French  along  eagerly. 
"Come,  we  will  talk  them  all  over,  — all  these 
long  years,"  and  utterly  forgetful  of  his  rela- 
tives, down  the  steps  of  the  Rose  Alba  went 
Grandfather,    and    up    the    steps    of    the    Reine 


Blanche,  and  disappeared  within  the  doorway. 
He  recollected  as  the  door  closed,  however,  for 
he  stepped  back  and  gave  an  order. 

"Tell  your  mother  I  'm  coming,  and  I  '11  take 
dinner  with  Aunt  Ellen.  Stay  indoors  now  and 
don't  bother  them  with  what  you  've  been  up  to. 
I  '11  see  to  that." 

Three  puzzled  youngsters  made  their  way  up 
the  iron  staircase.  They  managed  to  smuggle 
some  milk  for  the  disconsolate  kitten  into  Al- 
bert's room,  and  there  they  stayed,  for  if  they 
were  not  to  tell  the  day's  adventures,  they  were 
best  by  themselves.  They  waylaid  Polly  and 
Paul  to  warn  them  to  silence,  and  to  report  the 
amazing  meeting  of  Grandfather  and  Herr  Grau, 
and  by  the  time  their  fathers  and,  finally,  Grand- 
father came,  they  had  developed  a  set  of  most 
uneasy  consciences. 

In  Grandfather's  honor,  the  Kings  just  picked 
up  their  meal  and  took  it  in  to  the  Eatons's,  fill- 
ing that  dining-room  full  with  people  and  fun. 
The  children's-  doings  seemed  to  have  passed 
completely  from  Grandfather's  mind.  He  forgot 
his  own  dinner,  and  they  almost  forgot  theirs, 
for  it  appeared  that  there  had  been,  nearly  fifty 
years  before,  in  a  New  York  regiment,  a  fifer 
named  Rudolph  Grau,  and  he  had  one  day  saved 
the  life  of  a  certain  Lieutenant  French,  dragging 
him  to  shelter  when  he  had  fallen  wounded  within 
range  of  the  fire  from  a  fort  they  were  storming. 
Not  often  would  Grandfather  tell  of  the  terrible 
war  through  which  he  had  served.  To-night, 
however,  he  told  story  after  story.  But  with  the 
close  of  dinner,  the  subject  changed,  and  the 
three  men  fell  into  a  dull  talk,  recognized  by  all 
the  children  under  the  general  title  of  "business." 
The  kitten  had  been  left  in  loneliness  too  long, 
and  shortly  they  all  vanished.  When  the  door 
closed,  Grandfather  French  looked  round  at  his 
daughters  and  sons-in-law. 

"Rudolph  tells  me  we  have  a  remarkable  voice 
in  the  family,"  he  said. 

John  Eaton  frowned  slightly. 

"I  don't  like  the  notion  of  that  school,"  he  re- 
turned. "It  would  take  the  manliness  out  of  the 
boy." 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  the  school,"  said 
Mr.  French,  "but  I  would  n't  be  afraid  on  that 
score  of  any  place  Rudolph  Grau  advised.  You 
're  too  independent,"  and  he  smiled  at  Paul's  fa- 
ther. "A  rare  fault,  John,  but  even  for  that,  you 
must  n't  make  Paul  pay,  or  me  either.  If  you 
don't  look  out,  perhaps  their  grandfather  will  get 
a  bit  of  fun  out  of  doing  some  little  thing  for 
his  grandchildren." 

Mr.  Eaton  opened  his  lips,  but  Grandfather 
French  waved  off  his  defense. 


538 


FROM  THE  ROSE  ALBA  TO  ST.  JOHN'S 


"Don't  you  see  they  are  growing  older,  and 
have  more  needs  ?  They  're  so  set  on  this  music 
that  they  all  went  to  work  to-day  to  earn  money 
for  Paul's  outfit." 

"What !"  demanded  Paul's  father. 

"I  picked  them  up  all  over  the  neighborhood 
as  I  came  along  this  afternoon.  They  must  have 
made  three  dollars  among  them." 

"What  have  they  been  doing?"  questioned 
Ellen  Eaton,  anxiously.  "They  are  forbidden  to 
cross  the  streets  alone,  but  they  have  had  to  be 
out  without  me  lately,  you  know." 

"Oh,  they  minded.  Even  Paul  was  always 
carried  across  the  streets,"  Grandfather  assured 
them,  his  eyes  twinkling.  "They  did  n't  consult 
you  before  going  into  business,  that  's  all,"  and 
he  told  of  the  afternoon's  activities. 

"Pretty  good!"  was  Mr.  King's  comment. 
"They  '11  have  to  be  made  to  understand  that 
they  can't  go  ahead  without  leave ;  but  I  like  their 
spirit.  They  did  n't  give  up  or  whine.  They 
just  started  in  to  do  something." 

"What  they  want  is  quite  right  in  itself,"  re- 
flected Aunt  Margaret. 

"Yes,"  agreed  Mr.  French,  quickly.  "You  'd 
better  put  that  boy  of  yours  where  he  '11  work  off 
his  energy  through  his  lungs,  John.  Let  me  have 
my  way  for  once.  If  I  did  n't  want  to  do  this 
for  the  children,  and  it  will  be  good  for  every  one 
of  them,  I  'd  do  it  for  Rudolph.  But  for  him  I 
would  n't  be  here,  nor  Ellen,  nor  Margaret,  nor 
the  children  either.  He  's  set  his  heart  on  this, 
and  he  's  quite  alone,"  Grandfather  added  gently. 

It  was  Easter  morning,  a  year  later,  and  the 
seats  beneath  the  high  bare  arches  of  the  cathe- 
dral were  gradually  filling.  There  were  several 
children  in  a  party  that  had  chosen  places  well  up 
the  center  aisle,  and  these  moved  restlessly  upon 
their  chairs  and  turned  their  heads  impatiently 
toward  the  narrow  archway  on  the  right.  With 
the  first  notes  of  the  processional  they  were  on 
their  feet,  and  as  the  distant  sound  of  the  singers 
reached  them,  they  looked  at  one  another  in 
hardly  controlled  excitement. 

"There  he  is!  That  's  Paul!"  announced  Da- 
vid, quite  out  loud,  as  the  line  of  white-robed  boys 
and  men  swung  across  before  the  chancel ;  and 
he  pointed  an  eager  finger  at  a  brown-haired  lad, 
who  glanced  up  and  then  down  quickly  to  hide  a 
smile.  David,  taking  advantage  of  the  absorp- 
tion of  the  older  folk,  was  standing  tiptoe  on  his 
chair,  and  waving  his  cap  in  joyous  greeting. 
Herr  Grau  and  Grandfather  French,  recalled  to 
their  duty,  seized  him  by  either  arm  and  sat  him 
down  quite  suddenly,  where  he  remained,  quiet 
but  unabashed,  having  caught  the  amused  looks 


on  the  faces  about  him.  There  was  the  fragrance 
of  lilies  in  the  air,  and  a  sense  of  rejoicing 
throughout  the  whole  gathering.  The  older  folk 
found  the  service  very  beautiful,  but  the  juniors 
were  mainly  interested  by  the  fact  that  there 
was  much  work  for  the  choir,  and  Paul,  when 
standing,  could  be  seen  if  one  screwed  about  a 
little.  At  length  came  the  moment  for  which 
they  were  waiting,  and  they  nodded  to  one  an- 
other with  eager,  excited  eyes  as  they  caught  the 
first  strains  of  the  Mendelssohn  anthem : 

"  Oh  for  the  wings  of  a  dove, 
Far  away  would  I  rove.   ..." 

The  clear,  boyish  voice  rang  through  the  wide 
space  and  soared  above  the  standing  throng.  Not 
even  David  moved  till  the  last  note  had  died. 
There  was  a  soft  rustle  among  the  listeners,  and 
an  old  German  gentleman,  leaning  out  into  the 
aisle  upon  his  cane,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  young 
singer,  was  heard  to  mutter : 

"Ach,  the  pity,  the  pity  that  he  must  grow  up  !" 

Few  of  the  crowd  pouring  along  the  cathedral 
drive  recognized  the  seraphic-looking  choir-boy 
in  the  lad  who  came  tearing  around  the  corner 
of  the  old  Leake  and  Watts'  Orphan  Asylum,  his 
cap  in  his  teeth,  one  arm  thrust  into  his  coat, 
while  the  other  jerked  wildly  backward  in  a  fu- 
tile attempt  to  find  the  other  sleeve  as  he  ran. 
He  caught  up  with  his  people  at  the  entrance  of 
the  grounds,  and  they  all  stopped,  unmindful  of 
the  other  passers,  who  turned  out  upon  the  sod- 
den ground,  smiling  as  they  watched  the  eager 
group.  They  were  all  there,  the  Eatons,  the 
Kings,  the  Frisbies  from  the  first  floor,  Madame 
Griswold  from  the  second,  and  little  Annette 
from  the  Reine  Blanche,  with  Grandfather  and 
Herr  Grau  a  space  behind. 

"I  'm  glad  it  's  over,"  Paul  returned  carelessly, 
in  response  to  the  greetings.  "It  is  n't  half  so 
funny  as  you  think  till  you  try  it";  but  he  sent 
a  questioning  glance  toward  the  violinist,  and 
looked  content  when  the  German  said,  huskily: 

"You  haf  done  well,  Paul.  You  haf  given 
much  happiness." 

"I  hope  you  've  got  the  biggest  sort  of  a  din- 
ner, Mother.  I  never  was  so  hungry.  Here, 
you !"  The  soloist  of  the  cathedral  was  off  down 
the  avenue  in  a  wild  chase,  dashing  in  and  out 
through  the  stream  of  people,  in  pursuit  of  Al- 
bert, who  had  snatched  his  cap  and  fled,  tossing 
it  as  he  went,  an  insult  not  to  be  endured,  voice 
or  no  voice. 

John  Eaton,  looking  back,  met  Mr.  French's 
amused  eyes. 

"You  are  right,  Father,"  he  said.  "They  've 
not  taken  the  ginger  out  of  him  yet." 


•ksrf' 


.•'L.^ys"':-'.  :'"'•■■/.?.■■'::• ; .;  ;■,•>'■::  a-i:  i'^vr-"?  ■aTsrff-i  ':•■:;"  /.•-;•• 


GARDEN-MAKING  AND    SOME    OE    THE 
GARDEN'S   STORIES 

THE    STORY    OF   WHO    IS   WHO 


BY  GRACE  TABOR 


Nicknames,  while  very  nice  to  have,  because 
they  usually  tell  what  we  seem  like  to  the  people 
that  love  us,  are  really  not  enough  for  a  boy  or 
girl.  Why,  then,  should  we  ever  suppose  them  to 
be  enough  for  a  flower?  Nicknames  we  will  call 
them,  of  course, — quaint,  familiar  names  that  tell 
of  their  likeness  to  something  else ;  as,  for  in- 
stance, the  Aquilegia  is  called  the  columbine  be- 
cause of  her  fancied  resemblance  to  a  dove  (Co- 
lumba)—  but  that  does  not  mean  that  we  can  let 
the  name,  the  true  flower  name,  go  unlearned 
and  unthought  of. 

Every  flower  has  its  name,  you  see,  that  means 
just  itself  and  no  other — a  wonderful  and  beau- 
tiful name,  that  tells  a  great  deal  about  the  plant 
and  the  flower  too,  just  as  the  delightful  poetic 
Indian  names  tell  about  the  Indian  boys  and  girls, 
or  the  Japanese  about  those  of  Japan.  Here,  for 
example,  is  Aquilegia,  that  some  people  have 
said  came  from  Aquila,  an  eagle,  because  the 
spurs  of  the  petals  bear  a  resemblance  to  an 
eagle's  foot;  but  later  we  have  come  to  believe  it 
is  from  aquilegns,  the  "Water-drawer"  or  "Wa- 
ter-bearer," from  the  four  little  "water-bottles" 
which  she  carries,  plainest  in  her  buds,  but  plain 
in  the  flowers  and  even  in  the  seed  vessels  too. 


Always  she  is  Aquilegia ;  but  sometimes  she  is 
blue,  sometimes  she  is  white,  sometimes  she  is 
scarlet  and  gold ;  and  sometimes  she  comes  from 
one  part  of  the  earth,  and  sometimes  from  an- 
other; or  perhaps  she  grows  just  over  yonder  in 
the  woods,  and  has  always  grown  there.  So  you 
see  there  is  a  lot  to  tell  about  her ;  and  every  bit 
of  this  is  told  in  her  name— her  very  own,  true 
name.  Aquilegia  Ca?rulea— she  is  the  azure  or 
heaven-blue  Water-bearer ;  can't  you  see  her  at 
once?  Aquilegia  Chrysantha — she  is  the  golden 
Water-bearer;  Aquilegia  Canadensis — she  is  the 
native  Water-bearer.  When  the  word  "Canada" 
is  used  in  the  names  of  flowers  and  plants,  it 
means  that  the  particular  specimen  has  always 
lived  on  this  continent.  Aquilegia  Flabellata  nana 
alba  is  an  elaborate  example  that  introduces  us 
to  a  "fan-like  dwarf  white  Water-bearer"— 
which  we  understand  at  once,  from  the  "fan- 
like," has  unusual  leaves.  And  then  there  is 
Aquilegia  Californica  hybrida,  which  by  this  time 
I  am  sure  you  will  guess  for  yourselves  to  be 
California  hybrid  Water-bearer. 

Columbines  they  all  are,  or  "dove-like"  in  the 
suggestion  of  a  bird's  beak  which  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible to  see  in  the  necks  of  the  flagons  or  "bot- 


539 


540 


GARDEN-MAKING  AND  SOME  OF  THE  GARDEN'S  STORIES 


[Apr., 


ties" — but  such  a  general  name  can  never  mean 
anything  very  definite,  you  see,  any  more  than 
"carrots"  does;  or  "saucers,"  applied  to  a  round- 
eyed  little  girl.  And  how  very  unsatisfactory  it 
must  be  to  the  flower !  Which  is  an  additional 
reason  for  knowing  the  true  name,  and  so  not 
being  obliged  to  use  just  the  nickname  all  the 
time— for  even  flowers  like  to  be  humored. 

The  sage  was  just  thinking  of  all  this,  and 
dreaming  over  the  queerness  of  names  generally, 
and  how  they  fit  the  thing  that  they  stand  for, 
and  wondering  where  they  came  from  in  the  be- 
ginning, and  how  Pinus  knew  he  was  Pinus,  the 
pine-tree,  and  smiling  at  the  joyfulness  of  some, 
especially  of  "Trillium,"  that  bubbled  into  his 
mind  like  laughter,  when  Uncle  Ned  came  up  the 
walk  to  the  window,  waving  a  beckoning  arm. 

"Out  with  you,  lad !"  he  called.  "To  arms ! 
See  that?  And  it  will  freeze  to-night.  Hurry 
up !" 

Of  course  he  went,  flying.  "I  did  see  them," 
he  called,  "before  !  The  first  thing  this  morn- 
ing—  two  hyacinths!  And  so  tall,  too!  Will  a 
freeze  hurt  them?" 

"Not  if  we  get  the  defenses  restored  before  it 
reaches  them.  But  they  are  as  tender  as  babies, 
these  fellows  are — they  have  no  business  to  be 
this  high  yet." 

"They  made  a  mistake,  did  they,  Uncle  Ned?" 

Uncle  Ned  was  hurrying  armfuls  of  mulch 
back  from  the  compost  heap  where  it  had  been 
carried  just  that  afternoon,  to  pile  it  once  more 
over  the  bulb  bed  where  the  green  spears  showed 
like  lances  set  in  the  brown  earth.  So  he  spoke 
with  emphasis.  "No,"  said  he,  "you  made  a  mis- 
take, you  should  say." 

The  sage  was  very  much  surprised.  "Why, 
Uncle  Ned,"  he  defended,  "I  did  everything— 
I  'm  sure  I  did."  Uncle  Ned  laughed,  but  shook 
his  head. 

"Last  fall,  maybe,"  he  answered,  "but  what 
have  you  done  this  spring?" 

"Nothing  this  spring— except,"  he  suddenly  be- 
thought him,  "I  took  off  the  blanket  too  soon, 
did  n't  I  ?" 

"No,"  came  the  unexpected  answer,  "you  did 
not  take  it  off  soon  enough!" 

"Soon  enough?  How  can  that  be— when  we 
are  having  to  put  it  back?" 

"It  fooled  them,  for  it  made  them  so  warm, 
when  the  sun's  rays  began  to  get  more  and  more 
direct,  and  shine  straight  down  into  and  through 
it,  that  they  thought  it  was  time  to  wake  up  and 
come  out,  when  really  it  is  n't — not  yet.  You 
should  have  taken  some  of  it  off  before  Mr.  Sol 
got  so  far  on  his  way  back  to  spend  the  summer 
—  the   first   of   March   is   a   good  time   to  begin. 


Take  off  a  little  then,  and  after  a  few  days  a  lit- 
tle more,  and  then  a  little  more,  and  so  on  until 
none  is  left  when  April  comes." 

Of  course  that  was  plain.  "But  it  's  all  just 
the  other  way  about  from  folks,  is  n't  it?" 
laughed  the  sage  as  they  went  in  to  tea,  when 
everything  was  comfortably  covered  once  more, 
"blanket  to  keep  the  cold  in,  in  the  fall,— and  un- 
blanket  to  help  it  to  stay  in,  in  the  spring !" 

Outdoors,  just  now,  that  is  the  one  thing  we 
must  not  forget— to  watch  the  blankets  and  to 
lighten  them,  discreetly.  And  then  indoors,  while 
we  are  waiting  for  the  first  green  blades  to  cut 
the  earth  up  from  below,  is  the  time  we  must  take 
to  get  ready  all  the  things  which  we  shall  need 
to  do  our  part  on  the  garden,  later,  from  above. 
These  things  are  not  very  many,  to  be  sure ;  but 
they  are  very  important,  and,  when  the  days  that 
we  want  to  use  them  are  really  here,  we  shall 
miss  them  as  much  as  if  they  were  five  times  the 
number,  if  we  lack  them.  So  here  is  the  list — and 
I  should  check  it  off,  if  I  were  you,  as  fast  as  I 
had  supplied  an  item  on  it : 

Tools 

Shovel,  spading-fork,  hoe,  rake,  trowel,  dibble, 
float. 

Incidentals 

Stakes;  18-inch  and  3-foot  sizes. 

Labels ;  small  for  tying  and  large  for  driving 
into  ground. 

Raffia ;  or  old  cloth  torn  into  strips  and  wound 
into  a  ball. 

Garden  line,  25-foot,  with  stake  to  wind  it  on. 

Two  5-foot  poles  for  measuring. 

Seed  basket,  two  compartments. 

Crayon  pencil. 

Sprayer  for  liquids. 

Powder-gun  for  applying  powders. 

The  point  of  the  shovel  should  be  nicely 
rounded,  something  like  a  spoon ;  and  you  must 
take  good  care  of  it  and  keep  it  sharp.  It  is  nice 
to  have  a  spade  too,  but  this  is  not  really  neces- 
sary, for  a  shovel  will  do  all  the  "spading"  that 
there  is  to  do,  and  heavier  work  beside,  while  the 
spading-fork  does  the  light  work  of  breaking  up 
and  pulverizing  the  garden  soil.  These  two,  and 
the  hoe  and  rake,  make,  therefore,  a  very  com- 
plete and  useful  outfit  in  themselves ;  but  a  trowel 
is  useful  for  working  close,  and  to  help  in  shift- 
ing plants  and  in  applying  fertilizer. 

The  dibble  is  the  real  tool  for  transplanting, 
however;  and  this  you  can  make  from  an  old 
broom  handle,  or,  better,  from  an  old  shovel  han- 
dle, if  one  is  about.    The  latter  is  better  because 


I9M-] 


GARDEN-MAKING  AND  SOME  OF  THE   GARDEN'S  STORIES 


541 


it  has  the  cross-piece  at  the  top,  and  so  is  more 
easily  thrust  into  the  ground  without  hurting  the 
hand.  Saw  it  off  to  a  length  of  ten  or  twelve 
inches,  then  sharpen  the  lower  end  into  a  long, 
slim  point,  just  like  a  long,  slim,  huge  lead-pencil 
point— and  there  you  are.  Just  how  to  use  it  you 
will  find  out  later,  when  some  of  the  seeds  that 
you  will  sow  shall  have  made  plants  and  be  ready 
for  moving. 

Last  summer,  you  learned  what  a  float  is,  and 
how  to  make  and  use  one.  Be  sure  and  include 
it,  for  it  is  greatly  needed  at  sowing  time.  These 
sixteen  things  are  a  really  businesslike  and  com- 
plete gardener's  equipment— seven  tools  and  nine 
incidentals— and  every  one  of  them  will  be  used 
in  the  course  of  a  season  many,  many  times.  So 
you  must  arrange  to  give  them  proper  care,  and 
housing  that  is  suitable  and  convenient. 

All  the  tools  should  hang  upon  a  wall-space  in 
the  cellar  or  an  outer  storage  room,  or  wherever 
you  may  be  able  to  have  them,  in  a  dry  place ; 
the  long  stakes  must  be  kept  in  a  bundle,  tied  at 
top  and  bottom;  and  all  the  other  things  should 
have  a  shelf,  or  table,  for  the  baskets  or  other 
receptacles  which  they  occupy  to  stand  upon. 
Arrange  the  tools  in  the  best  order  and  relation 
to  each  other,  in  hanging,  and  then  always  put 
each  one  on  its  proper  nail,  every  time  when  you 
are  through  with  it.  Have  one  basket  for  short 
stakes,  garden  line,  pencil,  small  labels,  raffia  (or 
the  ball  of  torn  cloth  which  may  take  the  place 
of  this  for  tying  plants  up  to  their  stakes)— a 
common  market-basket  answers  nicely— and  have 
another  basket  just  like  it,  or  a  little  smaller,  for 
seeds.  Divide  this  into  two  sections  by  lacing 
tape  across  the  middle  of  it— or  else  use  a  small 
basket  to  stand  in  it,  to  provide  the  section  for 
seed  packets  that  have  not  been  opened.  Always 
make  sure  that  you  put  the  packets  from  which 
you  have  planted  into  the  space  reserved  for 
them;  and  always  mark  the  date  of  planting  on 
each  packet,  when  you  sow  seed  from  it.  The 
sprayer  and  the  powder-gun  will  go  on  the  shelf 
or  table,  of  course ;  and  here  also  the  materials 
for  sprays  are  to  stand,  except  those  that  are 
poisonous  and  so  must  be  taken  care  of  for  you, 
very  carefully,  by  some  one  grown  up  and  care- 
ful enough  to  handle  such  dangerous  things  as 
they  should  be  handled.  We  shall  not  use  many 
such,  but  once  in  a  while  there  is  need  for  one  or 
two  which  grown-ups  only  must  apply. 


You  can  sow  now  indoors,  if  you  like,  many 
kinds  of  seed,  to  have  the  little  plants  ready  to 
put  out  when  garden-making  days  come.  I  put 
them  into  flat  cigar-boxes,  which  make  very  good 
little  seed-beds,  I  assure  you,  and  are  delightfully 
light  and  easy  to  handle.  Sift  the  earth  through 
a  wire  basket  such  as  the  cook  uses  sometimes, 
to  lower  things  into  boiling  water  or  fat,  and  then 
use  some  of  the  screenings  to  make  a  layer  over 
the  bottom  of  the  box,  before  putting  the  earth 
in.  This  is  for  drainage,  and  to  keep  the  soil 
light.  Sometimes  it  is  well  to  mix  the  screenings 
with  some  coal  ashes,  to  be  quite  sure  that  no 
water  can  linger  in  the  earth  above  and  make  it 
soggy. 

When  you  get  the  earth  ready,  water  the 
little  box  very  thoroughly,  and  then  sprinkle  a 
sifting  of  earth  over  this  moistened  soil,  and  sow 
the  seeds  on  that,  covering  them  to  twice  their 
depth  only,  instead  of  three  times,  as  you  do  out 
of  doors.  This  is  because  you  are  going  to  be 
able  to  watch  them  more  closely,  and  keep  just 
the  right  degree  of  moisture  in  the  soil  all  the 
time— which  you  cannot  be  sure  of  doing  out  of 
doors.  So  we  put  them  deeper  there,  to  be  sure 
they  do  not  dry  out  from  above,  between  water- 
ings. The  wind  and  the  air  dry  them,  you  see, 
much  faster  than  we  imagine. 

After  the  seeds  are  sown,  cover  the  surface  of 
the  earth  with  a  layer  of  cotton  batting,  and  keep 
this  moist  until  the  seeds  come  up.  This  is  much 
better  than  a  pane  of  glass,  I  think,  for  it  does 
not  shut  the  air  away  from  them,  as  the  glass 
does. 

If  you  want  to  raise  a  very  interesting  and  de- 
lightful plant  that  will  last  from  year  to  year, 
once  it  gets  started  in  your  garden— the  kind  that 
plant  people  and  gardeners  call  a  perennial— I 
should  get  this  same  Aquilegia  that  we  have  been 
learning  about,  if  I  were  you.  It  is  easy  to  raise 
from  seed— oh,  such  a  tiny  seed!  — and  it  will 
grow  almost  anywhere  you  put  it,  especially  in 
shady  spots  where  other  things  will  not.  The 
blue  ones  are  lovely,  but  somehow  to  me  the 
gorgeous  scarlet  and  gold  are  more  pleasing,  es- 
pecially in  shade.  That,  of  course,  is  only  be- 
cause I  happen  to  like  them  better ;  perhaps  you 
would  not.  Why  not  get  several  kinds,  and  raise 
some  of  each,  and  see  for  yourself  which  you 
think  is  the  prettiest— and  be  sure  to  learn  who 
is  who  among  them,  please  ! 


( To  be  continued. ) 


MOTHER'S  ALMANAC 


543 


'  'T  was  nineteen-four,  and  winter,  too, 
When  Japs  and  Russians  fought. 

You  almost  had  pneumonia  then, 
From  that  bad  cold  you  caught." 


There  's  six  of  us,  and  we  're  mixed  up 

With  hist'ry  just  that  way. 
Sometimes  it  's  measles,  croup,  or  mumps, 
But  there  's  no  date  that  ever  stumps 

My  mother,  night  or  day  ! 


THE  REAL  STORY  OF  THE  FACE 


BY  LEWIS  EDWIN  THEISS 


When  some  one  tells  you  a  funny  story,  your 
face  wrinkles  with  laughter.  At  a  sad  story, 
your  face  wrinkles  in  weeping.  Smiles  and  tears 
are  such  commonplaces  that  we  never  give  a 
thought  as  to  how  or  why  we  laugh  or  cry.  Yet 
the  ability  thus  to  express  emotions  is  one  of  the 
most  wonderful  faculties  in  our  physical  make-up. 
Upon  the  manner  in  which  we  make  use  of  this 
gift  may  depend  in  large  measure  our  success 
or  failure  in  life. 

How  do  you  smile?  You  had  to  learn  to  walk 
and  to  throw  a  ball.  You  have  never  consciously 
learned  to  smile,  and  yet,  when  you  feel  happy, 
you  smile  without  effort.    How  do  you  do  it? 

Years  ago,  Sir  Charles  Bell  and  Charles  Dar- 
win, the  great  scientists,  found  that,  in  addition 
to  the  muscles  used  in  walking  or  ball-throwing, 
we  have  sets  of  face  muscles  to  produce  expres- 
sion. Some  of  these  muscles  make  us  look  sad, 
some  happy,  and  so  on. 

Every  time  a  set  of  these  face  muscles  is  used, 
the  face  assumes  some  expression.  Try  it  and 
see.  When  you  exert  your  muscles  to  smile,  your 
face  looks  pleasant.  When  you  use  your  muscles 
to  frown,  your  face  is  unpleasant.  You  cannot 
exert  any  face  muscle  without  producing  an  ex- 
pression on  your  face. 


The  muscles  you  use  most  will  naturally  be- 
come the  strongest.  And  the  strongest  muscles 
will  determine  the  habitual  expression  of  the 
face.  To  be  sure,  you  cannot  make  your  nose 
longer  or  your  ears  shorter.  But  if  your  face  is 
unpleasant,  you  can  make  it  agreeable  by  altering 
the  expression.  If  you  use  your  smiling  muscles 
most,  your  face  will  gradually  become  pleasant  to 
look  upon.  On  the  other  hand,  if  you  allow  your- 
self habitually  to  think  mean  things,  your  face 
will  reflect  that  meanness.  The  face  muscles  that 
you  use  most  will  finally  determine  the  cast  of 
your  countenance.  So  you  see  that  man  is  more 
than  the  maker  of  his  destiny.  He  is  the  archi- 
tect of  his  face. 

Wonderful  as  this  provision  seems,  nature  has 
provided  another  rule  governing  expression  that 
is  more  wonderful  still.  As  we  have  seen,  we  do 
not  consciously  have  to  learn  to  use  our  muscles 
of  expression.  That  knowledge  is  born  in  us. 
Even  the  smallest  baby  can  laugh  and  cry.  By 
this  wonderful  provision  of  nature,  the  brain  is 
so  intimately  associated  with  the  muscles  of  ex- 
pression that  they  react  upon  one  another  invol- 
untarily. A  certain  frame  of  mind  inevitably 
produces  a  certain  facial  expression.  Test  this 
before  a  mirror.    Try  to  feel  happy,  and  see  how 


544 


THE  REAL  STORY  OF  THE   FACE 


pleasant  your  face  looks.  Try  to  feel  cross,  and 
see  how  disagreeable  your  face  becomes. 

Conversely,  a  certain  expression  of  the  face 
will  produce  a  corresponding  frame  of  mind. 
Try  this  too.  Smile,  and  right  away  you  feel 
pleasant.  Frown  and  look  ugly,  and  immediately 
you  feel  mean  and  disagreeable.  When  actors 
want  to  simulate  any  emotion,  they  exert  the 
muscles  that  express  that  emotion,  and  straight- 
way they  feel  the  desired  emotion.  You  see  the 
mind  and  the  facial  muscles  always  act  alike. 
You  cannot  continue  to  laugh  and  smile  without 
soon  beginning  to  feel  happy.  You  cannot  feel 
worried  and  disagreeable  without  making  your 
face  very  unpleasant  to  see. 

If  you  stop  to  think  about  this  for  a  moment, 
you  see  what  a  tremendously  important  thing  it 
is.  Just  as  surely  as  you  have  a  face,  the  story 
of  your  life  will  be  written  on  that  face.  If  you 
are  mean  and  crabbed  and  disagreeable,  your 
face  will  settle  into  a  disagreeable  expression, 
and  everybody  will  avoid  you.  If  your  disposi- 
tion is  sunny  and  kind  and  gracious,  your  face 
will  beam  with  goodness,  and  everybody  will 
know  at  a  glance  that  you  are  lovable.  And  the 
older  you  grow  the  more  distinctly  your  face  will 
tell  the  story. 


When  you  go  out  into  the  world  to  earn  your 
living,  the  first  thing  that  people  will  ask  is  this : 
What  kind  of  a  boy  is  he?  Or  what  kind  of  a 
girl  is  she?  Under  our  present  industrial  system 
the  employer  has  to  teach  young  persons  their 
trade  after  he  hires  them.  So  he  is  more  inter- 
ested in  the  applicant's  character  than  in  his 
present  ability.  And  the  character  he  will  learn 
from  the  face. 

It  is  just  as  the  director  of  the  employment 
bureau  of  a  great  department  store  said  to  me: 
"We  base  our  choice  largely  on  the  applicant's 
looks.  To  be  sure,  the  faces  of  boys  and  girls 
are  not  deeply  marked.  Many  applicants  have 
only  begun  to  outline  on  the  blank  page  of  their 
cheek  the  picture  that  will  eventually  appear 
there.  But  even  a  sketch  tells  much.  We  know 
that  almost  inevitably  a  child  will  continue  the 
facial  development  it  has  begun.  The  sullen, 
shiftless,  don't-care  kind  of  a  face  we  don't  want. 
When  we  see  a  child  with  a  face  full  of  courage, 
hope,  truth,  good-cheer,  and  kindliness,  we  pick 
that  child  quick.  That  is  the  sort  we  are  after." 
If,  then,  our  faces  have  so  much  to  do  with  our 
future  success,  is  n't  it  worth  while  to  try  to 
make  them  attractive  by  being  attractive  our- 
selves? 


OBIN 


BY  MARGARET  JOHNSON 

Miss  Araminta  Audubon  de  Brown,  all  blithe  and  gay, 
Was  walking  in  the  park  upon  a  sunny  Easter  day; 

She  smelled  the  blossoms  springing, 

And  she  heard  the  birds  a-singing, 
And  she  saw  a  sight  that  shocked  her  till  she 
almost  swooned  away. 

said  Araminta,  "what  do  you  think   of  that !" 
('T  was  a  perky  little  robin  she  was  a-looking  at.) 
"That  wicked  little  robin, 
With  her  saucy  head  a-bobbin', 
Is  wearing  song-bird's  feathers  upon  her  Easter  hat!" 


THE    HOUSEKEEPING   ADVENTURES   OF 
THE   JUNIOR   BLAIRS 

BY  CAROLINE  FRENCH  BENTON 

Author  of  "A  Little  Cook  Book  for  a  Little  Girl,"  "  Margaret's  Saturday  Mornings,"  etc. 


THE  BIRTHDAY  PICNIC 

Just  as  Mother  Blair  declared  that  she  had 
"such  a  bright  idea  !"  a  caller  came  in,  and  it 
was  dinner-time  before  Mildred  had  a  chance  to 
ask  her  what  it  was.  And  then  her  mother  put 
her  finger  on  her  lip  and  shook  her  head ;  so  Mil- 
dred knew,  of  course,  that  it  was  a  secret,  and 
waited  till  later  on  to  hear  what  it  was. 

"Now  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it,"  Mother  Blair 
said,  after  she  had  read  Brownie  a  fairy  story 
and  tucked  her  up  for  the  night.  "Jack,  you  can 
hear,  too,  and  Father,  if  he  wants  to."  So  they 
all  drew  up  around  the  fire  to  listen. 

"You  remember  how  much  Brownie  loved  the 
picnics  we  had  last  summer,"  she  began.  "She 
used  to  say  that  she  would  rather  eat  plain  bread 
and  butter  out  of  doors  than  ice-cream  in  the 
dining-room ;  and  whenever  we  took  our  supper 
and  went  off  for  the  afternoon,  she  was  so 
happy  !" 

"So  she  was,"  said  Father  Blair.  "Brownie  is 
her  father's  own  daughter;  I  love  picnics  too." 

"But,  Mother,  we  can't  have  a  picnic  at  this 
time  of  year !"  exclaimed  Mildred.     "Just  listen 


to  the  rain  and  snow  coming  down  together  this 
minute ;  and  the  slush  on  the  sidewalk  is  so  deep 
you  have  to  wade  to  school." 

"But  this  is  just  where  my  bright  idea  comes 
in  !  You  see,  next  week  will  be  Brownie's  birth- 
day, and  every  year  since  she  was  two,  she  has 
had  some  sort  of  a  party;  now  this  year,  for  a 
real  change,  I  think  it  would  be  fun  to  have  a 
picnic  for  her,  a  lovely  in-door  picnic,  for  ten 
boys  and  girls ;  and  we  '11  have  it  up  in  the  attic !" 

"Is  n't  that  just  like  Mother  !"  Jack  exclaimed, 
laughing.  "Who  else  in  the  world  would  ever 
have  thought  of  such  a  thing !" 

"But  think  what  fun  it  will  be  !"  Mother  Blair 
went  on,  her  cheeks  growing  pink  as  she  ex- 
plained all  about  it.  "The  attic  is  nice  and  large, 
and  empty  except  for  the  trunks  and  old  furniture 
which  are  tucked  away  around  the  eaves.  The 
children  will  all  come  in  their  every-day  clothes, 
and  wear  their  coats  and  hats,  so  they  won't  take 
cold  up  there.  And  we  can  spread  down  in  the 
middle  of  the  open  space  the  two  old  green  parlor 
carpets,  for  grass ;  they  are  all  worn  out,  but 
nobody  will  notice  that.  And  then,  Jack,  you  can 
carry  up  the  two  palms  and  the  rubber  plant,  and 


546 


THE   HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


[Apr., 


put  them  on  the  edge  of  the  "grass,"  and  Farmer 
Brown  can  bring  us  in  some  little  cedar-  and 
spruce-trees  from  the  woods  the  next  time  he 
drives  to  town,  and  we  will  plant  them  in  sand 
in  big  earthen  flower-pots,  and  stand  those 
around,  too.  Can't  you  see  how  lovely  it  will  be? 
Just  like  a  little  grassy  grove  !" 

Everybody  laughed,  but  everybody  thought  it 
was  going  to  be  great  fun  to  make  a  picnic-place 
in  the  attic. 

"And  we  will  tie  a  hammock  to  the  rafters," 
said  Father  Blair;  "and  there  is  the  old  ping- 
pong  set  to  play  with,  and  the  ring-toss;  and  the 
boys  can  play  ball,  if  they  choose;  there  's  noth- 
ing they  can  hurt." 

And  so  it  was  all  arranged ;  and  Brownie  was 
told  she  was  going  to  have  a  beautiful  surprise 
for  her  birthday,  and  she  must  not  ask  a  single 
question  about  it.  Mother  Blair  asked  ten  boys 
and  girls  to  come  at  twelve  on  Saturday  and 
spend  the  rest  of  the  day,  and,  after  the  notes 
were  sent,  she  and  Mildred  began  to  plan  the 
luncheon. 

"Of  course  all  the  things  must  be  packed  in 
baskets,"  said  Mildred,  "exactly  like  a  regular 
picnic." 

"Of  course  !"  said  her  mother.  "And  in  one 
basket  we  will  put  a  lunch  cloth  to  lay  on  the 
"grass,"  and  wooden  plates,  and  paper  napkins, 
and  glasses,  and  forks.  And  they  can  spread  the 
cloth  and  arrange  everything  themselves." 

"And  what  will  they  have  to  eat  ?  They  are 
sure  to  be  dreadfully  hungry." 

"Well,  there  must  be  one  substantial  dish  to 
begin  with.  We  might  have  cold  sliced  ham,  of 
course,  but  I  think  perhaps  they  would  like  some- 
thing else  better.     Suppose  we  have  veal  loaf?" 

"Just  the  very  thing,"  said  Mildred.  "May  I 
make  it?" 

"Of  course  you  may!  And  everything  else  as 
well,  if  you  want  to.  If  you  will  get  your  book, 
you  can  write  down  the  recipes  this  minute. 
Here  is  the  first: 

VEAL  LOAF 

2  pounds  of  veal,  chopped  fine. 
J4  pound  of  salt  pork,  chopped  with  it. 
]/2  cup  of  bread  crumbs,  soaked  in  milk. 

i   egg. 

i  teaspoonful  of  chopped  onion. 
Yz  teaspoonful  each  of  pepper  and  pap- 
rika. 

i  level  teaspoonful  of  salt. 

Have  the  meats  chopped  together  at  the 
market ;  put  the  crumbs  in  a  bowl  and  cover 
them  with  milk,  and  let  them  stand  for  fifteen 


minutes ;  then  squeeze  them  dry  and  add  to 
the  meat.  Beat  the  egg  without  separating  it, 
and  mix  that  in  next,  and  then  the  seasoning. 
Stir  all  together,  and  put  in  a  bread  tin  and 
bake  one  hour.  Have  on  the  stove  a  cup  half 
full  of  hot  water  mixed  with  two  table-spoon- 
fuls of  butter,  and  every  fifteen  minutes  open 
the  oven  door  and  pour  a  quarter  of  this  over 
the  meat.  When  done,  put  in  a  cold  place 
over  night.  Slice  thin,  and  put  parsley 
around  it. 

"You  see,  this  is  very  easy  to  make,  and  it  is 
always  good  for  luncheon  for  ourselves,  and  for 
Sunday  night  supper  as  well.  You  can  make  it 
Friday  afternoon,  and  then,  by  the  time  for  the 
picnic,  it  will  be  ready  to  slice." 

"And  what  are  they  to  eat  with  it  ?" 

"I  think  it  would  be  nice  to  have  some  sand- 
wiches—hot ones." 

"Hot  sandwiches,  Mother  Blair !  I  never 
heard  of  them.     How  do  you  make  them?" 

"I  invented  them  myself,"  laughed  her  mother. 
"I  really  did,  this  very  morning,  when  I  was 
thinking  about  the  picnic.     Here  is  the  rule." 


TOASTED  SARDINE  SANDWICHES 

i   can  of  sardines. 
8  slices  of  toast. 
}/2  a  lemon. 
Large  pinch  of  salt,  and  as  much  dry 
mustard. 

Open  a  can  of  sardines,  drain  off  the  oil, 
and  spread  them  on  brown  paper.  Scrape  off 
the  skin  carefully,  and  open  each  one  on  the 
side  and  take  out  the  back  bone.  Sprinkle 
over  them  all  the  salt  and  mustard,  and 
squeeze  the  lemon  on.  Then  make  the  toast, 
large  brown  slices,  and  butter  them  a  little  ; 
lay  two  together,  trim  off  the  crust,  and  cut 
them  in  strips.  Open  the  strips,  and  between 
each  two  put  one  sardine  and  press  together. 
Put  them  in  the  oven  between  two  hot  plates 
till  needed. 

"Oh,  those  do  sound  so  good  !  Can't  I  make 
some  for  lunch  to-day,  Mother  ?"  Mildred  begged. 

"But  they  belong  to  the  surprise !  Let  's  wait 
till  after  the  picnic,  and  then  you  may  make  lots 
of  them." 

"Well !"  sighed  Mildred,  "then  let  me  have 
another  recipe  right  away,  so  I  '11  forget  them. 
I  do  want  to  make  them  so  much." 

"Here  is  another  recipe  you  will  like  just  as 
well;  part  of  it  is  for  the  picnic,  and  part  of  it 
is  for  a  little  bit  of  a  party  for  you  and  Miss 
Betty  and  me,  while  the  picnic  is  going  on  up- 
stairs." 

"A  party  for  us?     What  kind  of  a  party?" 

"Lovely  grown-up  afternoon  tea !"  laughed  her 


igi4.] 


THE   HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


547 


mother.     "You   can   invite   Miss   Betty  yourself 

won't  that  be  nice?" 

"Perfectly  lovely!     Do  tell  faster!" 

"Well,    first    you    make    for    the    picnic    some 

sweet  sandwiches  like  those  we  planned  for  the 

school  lunches ;  these  are  simply,  to  begin  with : 


ORANGE  MARMALADE 
SANDWICHES 

Spread  thin  ■  white  bread  and  butter  with 
orange  marmalade  ;  trim  off  the  crusts  and 
cut  into  even  shapes ;  a  round  cooky  cutter 
makes  pretty  sandwiches." 

"I  've  made  those  for  Jack,  lots  of  times,"  said 
Mildred,  as  she  wrote  this  down,  "only  I  did  n't 
cut  them  in  nice  round  shapes,  because  boys  don't 
care  about  that." 

"No,"  said  her  mother,  smiling",  "boys  don't, 
but  girls  do  !  So  make  part  of  these  in  rounds, 
and  put  them  away,  and  send  the  square  ones 
up-stairs.  And  when  it  's  time  for  our  party, 
just  toast  ours  quickly,  and  you  will  find  them 
the  most  delicious  things  you  ever  ate,  especially 
with  tea ;  that  's  what  we  three  will  have." 

"Those  will  be  Miss  Betty's  surprise  !"  laughed 
Mildred,  as  she  wrote  down  the  word  toasted 
after  the  title  of  the  sandwiches.  "Now  what 
next?" 

"Suppose  you  try  some  very  easy  cookies; 
those  are  just  the  thing  for  a  picnic;  you  can 
make  them  Saturday  morning,  and  then  they  will 
be  fresh  and  nice.     Here  is  the  rule : 


SPICY  COOKIES 

Sprinkle  the  baking  board  with  flour  and 
rub  it  smoothly  over  ;  do  the  same  to  the  roll- 
ing-pin, and  scatter  a  little  flour  evenly  also 
over  the  bottom  of  some  shallow  tins.  Have 
a  panful  of  sifted  flour  ready  on  the  table,  as 
you  may  need  to  do  this  several  times. 


H 

3 
6 

i 

1/2 

Va 

% 

1 


cup  of  sugar, 
table-spoonfuls  of  butter, 
table-spoonfuls  of  milk. 

per  a* 

cups  of  flour, 
teaspoonful  of  soda, 
teaspoonful  of  salt, 
table-spoonful  of  hot  water, 
teaspoonful  of  cloves, 
teaspoonful  of  cinnamon. 


flour  ;  add  part  of  the  flour  to  the  sugar  and 
other  things,  and  then  part  of  the  milk,  and 
so  on  ;  then  put  in  the  spices  and  stir  all  to- 
gether. Put  the  dough  on  the  board,  roll  it 
out  thin,  and  with  a  cutter  mark  it  all  over  ; 
then  lift  out  the  pieces  with  a  cake  turner, 
very  carefully,  and  arrange  them  in  your 
pans,  but  do  not  let  them  touch.  Bake  fifteen 
minutes ;  take  them  out  of  the  pans  while 
warm,  and  spread  out  on  a  platter  to  cool." 

"Dear  me,  that  sounds  pretty  hard !"  said 
Mildred,  as  she  finished. 

"Cookies  are  not  quite  as  easy  to  make  as  some 
other  things,  but  they  arc   so  good,   so  nice  for 


Melt  the  butter,  add  the  sugar,  and  rub  to- 
gether. Beat  the  egg  without  separating,  and 
put  in  next.  Mix  the  soda  and  hot  water,  put 
the    milk    with    this ;     put    the     salt    in    the 


IrtHMfi 


MAKING    "ORANGE   BASKETS. 

luncheon  and  suppers  and  other  times,  that  I 
think  you  will  be  glad  to  know  how  to  make 
them.     And  Father  is  so  fond  of  cookies !" 

"So  he  is.  Well,  Mother,  I  '11  try  them.  And 
now  what  comes  next?" 

"Some  nice,  cunning,  easy  little  cakes,  so  easy 
that  next  time  Brownie  can  make  them  herself. 
They  are  called 

MARGUERITES 

20  round,  thin  crackers. 
20  marshmallows. 

2  table-spoonfuls  of  chopped  nuts. 

2  teaspoonfuls  of  butter. 


548 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS  [a™., 


Butter  the  crackers  on  one  side,  just  a  lit- 
tle; put  a  marshmallow  on  each,  a  tiny  bit  of 
butter  on  it,  and  a  sprinkle  of  chopped  nuts  of 
any  kind.  Put  them  in  a  shallow  pan,  and 
bake  till  they  are  soft  and  brown  ;  eat  whrle 
fresh  and  warm." 

"Oh,  lovely !  Mother,  I  must  have  some  of 
the  girls  in  and  have  those  for  myself !" 

"So  you  shall,  any  day  you  want  to.  Now 
don't  you  think  that  is  almost  enough  for  the 
picnic?" 

"I  think  we  ought  to  have  something  to  finish 
off  with— to  eat  with  the  cookies  and  marguer- 
ites ;  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"Yes,  ■  I  do;  something  in  the  way  of  fruit. 
Suppose  we  give  them  this— it  is  much  nicer  than 
plain  oranges  or  bananas ;  write  it  down,  dear. 


ORANGE  BASKETS 

6  large  oranges. 

2  bananas. 

2  table-spoonfuls  of  powdered  sugar. 

Cut  the  oranges  in  halves ;  take  out  the 
pulp  with  a  spoon,  and  put  it  in  a  bowl. 
Scrape  out  the  inside,  leaving  nice,  clean 
shells,  and  then  scallop  or  point  the  edges 
with  the  scissors.  Peel  the  bananas,  cut  them 
in  long,  narrow  strips,  and  these  into  small 
bits,  and  mix  lightly  with  the  orange,  and  add 
the  sugar  ;  heap  in  the  baskets  and  set  away 
to  grow  cold. 

"If  we  happened  to  have  any  pineapple  or 
white  grapes  in  the  house,  I  should  put  some  of 
those  in  too;  but  these  will  be  delicious  just  as 
they  are.     Now  anything  more  ?" 

"Something  to  drink  with  the  lunch.  I  think 
pink  lemonade  would  be  nice." 

"Perfectly  lovely !"  laughed  Mother  Blair. 
"We  will  get  a  can  of  raspberries  out  of  the 
fruit  closet,  and  make  something  for  them  that 
will  be  ever  so  good.     This  is  the  rule: 


PICNIC  LEMONADE 

8  lemons. 

12  glasses  of  water. 
3  cups  of  sugar. 
I  cup  of  raspberry  juice. 

Roll  the  lemons  till  they  are  soft ;  cut  them 
and  squeeze  the  juice  out.  Put  the  sugar  in 
a  little  pan  with  a  glass  of  water,  and  boil  it 
two  minutes  ;  add  this  to  the  lemon  and  rasp- 
berry juice,  and  strain  it ;  add  the  rest  of  the 
water  ;   serve  with  broken  ice  in  a  glass  pitcher. 

"Be    sure    and   boil    the    sugar    and   water    to- 
gether, Mildred,  whenever  you  make  any  kind  of 


drink   like  lemonade ;   it  is  so  much  better  than 


if 


you    put    in 


plain 
done, 


Mother, 


THE    LEMONADE. 


sugar.      When    it    is    all 
if    it    is    not    quite    sweet 
enough,    you    can    add    a    little 
powdered    sugar    without    hurt- 
ing it." 

we  forgot  the  sur- 
prise !  You  re- 
member, 'every 
luncheon  must 

have  a  surprise,' 
you  said;  see,  here 
it  is  in  the  book." 
"Dear  me,  so  I 
did!  What  shall  it  be,  Mil- 
dred ?  I  can't  seem  to  think  of 
another  thing  for  that  picnic." 
"Neither  can  I." 
"Stuffed  dates !"  exclaimed 
Mother  Blair,  presently.  "I  knew 
there  must  be  something,  and  those  will  be  ex- 
actly right." 

STUFFED  DATES 

Wash  the  dates  and  wipe  them  dry.  Open 
one  side  and  take  out  the  stone  ;  in  its  place 
press  in  half  a  pecan  or  other  nut ;  close  the 
edges,  and  roll  each  date  in  powdered  sugar. 

"Dear  me,  I  do  hope  there  will  be  some  of 
those  over  for  us,"  said  Mildred,  as  she  put  her 
book  away.  "Those  children  are  going  to 'have 
a  ■wonderful  lunch  !" 

Brownie  could  not  imagine  what  her  birthday 
surprise  was  to  be.  She  could  not  help  guess- 
ing, but  she  never  once  was  "warm."  When  Sat- 
urday came,  and  the  boys  and  girls  arrived  in 
their  everyday  clothes,  and  even  kept  on  their 
wraps  in  the  parlor,  she  did  not  know  what  to 
think ;  and  there  was  actually  no  lunch  for  them 
in  the  dining-room  !    She  began  to  look  very  sober. 

But  when  everybody  had  come,  Mother  Blair 
said:  "Won't  you  go  up-stairs?"  and  Mildred 
and  Jack  ushered  them  up  to  the  attic. 

It  was  such  a  lovely  surprise  !  The  big  green 
carpets  were  spread  down  on  the  bare  floor,  and 
all  around  were  set  little  green  trees  in  pots. 
The  canary  was  hung  up  out  of  sight,  and  he 
was  singing  as  hard  as  he  could.  It  was  not  a 
bit  too  cold,  for  the  door  had  been  kept  open  all 
day,  and  the  sun  was  shining  in  at  the  window. 

And  just  then  appeared  Mother  Blair,  and 
Norah,  and  Jack,  and  Mildred,  all  carrying  bas- 
kets, which  they  put  down  on  the  floor.  Then 
the  picnic  began  ! 

There  was  first  the  cloth  to  spread  down  on 
the  grass,   and  paper  plates  and  napkins  to  be 


igi4-] 


THE  HOUSEKEEPING  ADVENTURES  OF  THE  JUNIOR  BLAIRS 


549 


passed  around.  The  veal  loaf  was  found,  a  plat- 
ter of  it  tied  up  in  a  large  napkin,  and  hot  sand- 
wiches between  hot  plates,  tied  up  in  another 
napkin,    and    marmalade    sandwiches    folded    in 


As  they  began  to  eat,  Jack  came  up  with  a  big, 
big  pitcher  of  beautiful  pink  lemonade,  and  little 
glasses  to  drink  it  out  of.  Oh,  such  a  picnic  as  it 
was  !     Such  a  perfectly  lovely  picnic  !     Out-of- 


'SUCH    A    PERFECTLY    LOVELY    PICNIC! 


paraffin  paper  by  themselves.  Last  of  all  were 
the  orange  baskets,  each  one  twisted  up  in  a 
paper  napkin  with  a  funny  little  frill  on  top  made 
of  the  ends  of  the  napkin ;  and  the  dates  were  in 
little  square  paper  boxes,  one  box  for  each  child. 


door  picnics  were  nothing  to  it.  And  when  they 
had  eaten  up  every  crumb  and  drank  up  every 
drop,  they  played  games  until  the  attic  grew 
dark;  and  then  they  all  went  home,  and  the  birth- 
day was  over. 


re 


Painted  by  Edmund  C.  Tarbell. 


THE    SIFTERS. 


Copyright  by  The  Detroit  Publishing  Co 


BOOKS   AND    READING 

BY  HILDEGARDE   HAWTHORNE 


REGENT  AND  KING 

Prince  George  had  been  a  very  large  thorn  in 
his  poor  old  father's  side  almost  ever  since  he 
was  any  size  at  all.  He  was  a  very  wild  young 
prince,  and,  to  annoy  his  father  further,  he 
threw  in  his  influence  with  the  Whig  party,  with 
Fox  and  Sheridan.  His  friends  called  him  the 
"First  Gentleman  of  Europe,"  and  he  was  a 
handsome,  debonair  man,  with  delightful,  pol- 
ished manners,  and  a  very  taking  way.  Quite 
different  from  "Farmer  George,''  as  they  called 
George  III. 


He  had  eight  brothers,  one  of  whom,  William, 
eventually  succeeded  him  on  the  throne.  When 
he  came  of  age,  he  was  given  a  large  income, 
and  Carlton  House,  where  he  set  up  his  estab- 
lishment. He  was  constantly  in  debt,  Parliament, 
more  than  once  in  his  career,  having  to  vote 
large  sums  to  free  him ;  and  this  the  English  peo- 
ple did  n't  much  like.  So  that  George  was  at  once 
extremely  popular  and  highly  unpopular,  accord- 
ing" to  the  particular  set  of  whom  you  asked  an 
opinion. 

In  181 1,  George  III  lost  his  mind  entirely,  being 
thus    forced   to    abdicate.      In    1818,   his   devoted 


BOOKS  AND  READING 


551 


queen,  Charlotte,  died,  but  he  lived  two  years 
longer,  until  he  had  attained  the  age  of  eighty- 
two.  So  George  IV  did  not  really  become  King 
of  England  until  he  had  been  reigning  as  regent 
for  almost  ten  years. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  he  himself  came  close 
to  dying  from  a  serious  illness,  just  as  the  old 
king  expired.  He  seemed  actually  at  the  last 
gasp,  but  somehow,  in  spite  of  not  having  taken 
any  sort  of  care  of  himself  through  life,  he  re- 
covered, and  gained  the  crown. 

The  days  of  the  regent  were  crowded  with  the 
extravagances  of  the  rich  and  the  privations  of 
the  poor.  England  had  already  seen  difficult  days 
in  the  changes  brought  into  many  of  the  indus- 
tries by  the  advent  of  machinery.  Two  excellent 
books  by  two  famous  women  give  a  moving  pic- 
ture of  the  suffering  and  the  struggles  and  the 
riots  that  filled  the  last  years  of  George  Ill's 
reign  —  Mrs.  Dinah  Maria  Muloch  Craik's  "John 
Halifax,  Gentleman,"  and  Charlotte  Bronte's 
"Shirley."  In  the  latter  book,  Robert  Moore  is 
a  fine  portrait  of  the  manufacturer  of  1807  and 
thereabouts,  seeking  to  bring  in  new  things,  see- 
ing where  the  new  trend  was  taking  the  business 
of  the  country,  and  yet  understanding  the  other 
side  too. 

Henty  also  has  a  book  on  this  same  subject, 
which  was  of  great  importance  in  the  develop- 
ment of  England.  He  calls  it  "Through  the 
Fray,"  and  sets  his  story  in  Yorkshire,  among  the 
followers  of  the  so-called  "King  Lud."  It  is  one 
of  his  best  books,  giving  real  insight  into  the  life 
of  the  "croppers."  The  story  runs  from  1807  to 
1813. 

Two  books  I  meant  to  mention  last  month  were 
Frederic  Harrison's  "England  Expects,"  which 
relates  the  story  of  two  boys  who  served,  one 
under  Nelson  and  the  other  under  Collingwood, 
about  1805,  and  A.  Conan  Doyle's  delightful 
"Uncle  Bernac,"  which  presents  us  to  Napoleon 
in  camp  at  Boulogne,  showing  the  emperor  in  a 
human  way,  and  telling  much  of  the  plans  for 
invading  England.  Both  these  books  are  splendid 
reading. 

Captain  Marryatt's  sea  stories  belong  here- 
abouts, telling  the  great  story  of  England's  navy 
before  the  coming  of  steam.  There  are  five  of 
his  books,  any  or  all  of  which  are  excellent,  full 
of  rollicking  life,  yet  giving  the  sterner  and 
more  desperate  view  of  the  work,  with  its  hard- 
ships and  perils,  as  well  as  the  amusing  and 
picturesque  phases.  The  titles  are  "Mr.  Mid- 
shipman Easy,"  "Frank  Mildmay,"  "Jacob  Faith- 
ful," "Newton  Forster,"  and  "Peter  Simple." 

A  book  that  is  not  a  novel,  but  which  is  so 
good  and  so   exciting  that  it   reads   like  one,  is 


John  Kincaid's  "Adventures  in  the  Rifle  Bri- 
gade." The  book  is  a  straightforward  journal 
of  the  author's  experiences,  beginning  in  1809, 
as  a  soldier  in  the  Peninsular  War,  and  is  full 
of  the  adventures  of  a  man  in  the  trenches,  of 
the  things  which  escape  the  historian,  but  which 
are  truth  itself.  The  journal  culminates  at  the 
battle  of  Waterloo.  It  is  a  book  that  makes  good 
reading  for  both  the  young  and  the  elders,  and 
ought  to  be  easier  to  get  than  it  seems  to  be.  But 
you  can  find  it  in  many  libraries. 

A  particularly  delightful  book  by  A.  Quiller- 
Couch  is  his  "The  Adventures  of  Harry  Revell." 
In  it  he  tells  us,  in  his  most  fascinating  manner, 
of  the  wanderings  of  a  boy  through  England, 
with  many  glimpses  of  English  towns  and  coun- 
try-side, and  the  life  that  went  on  in  both.  In 
time  the  lad  becomes  a  soldier  in  this  same  Pen- 
insular War. 

Henty  has  a  book  that  gives  a  graphic  picture 
of  Waterloo,  "One  of  the  28th."  It  has  a  woman 
for  its  chief  character,  an  unusual  thing  with 
Henty.   The  battle  of  Quatre-Bras  is  also  told  of. 

A  story  set  in  the  regency  and  showing  the 
fashionable  and  extravagant  side  of  English  life 
is  H.  B.  Marriott  Watson's  "Twisted  Eglantine." 
Here  we  visit  the  famous  Brighton  Pavilion,  and 
meet  the  beau,  or  exquisite,  Sir  Piers  Blakeston, 
and  watch  the  fine  ladies  and  grand  gentlemen 
enjoying  themselves  at  suppers  and  parties,  put- 
ting on  the  most  magnificent  raiment,  and  aping 
the  wild  regent  as  much  as  they  could,  both  in 
manners  and  frivolous  expenditure.  For  they 
kept  at  this  sort  of  light  play  while  the  great  men 
of  the  country  were  hard  at  work  fighting  in 
Spain  and  India  and  France,  holding  their  own 
against  tremendous  odds,  losing  only  to  America 
in  the  trouble  that  arose  over  the  way  they 
stopped  our  ships  on  the  high  seas  and  took  our 
sailors  prisoners. 

Smugglers  flourished  in  England,  what  with 
hard  times  and  stringent  taxes.  There  are  sev- 
eral good  stories  about  these  hardy  folk,  who 
were  scarcely  thought  of  as  thieves  in  those  days, 
but  regarded  rather  as  daring  lads  enough,  who 
freely  took  their  lives  in  their  hands,  and  de- 
served to  be  considered  heroes. 

One  of  these  books  is  by  George  Bartram, 
"The  Longshoreman,"  and  relates  stirring  tales 
of  the  smugglers  of  Sussex.  Another,  one  of  the 
finest  books  of  adventure  ever  written,  is  "Ro- 
mance," by  Joseph  Conrad  and  Ford  Madox 
Hueffer.  This  story  throbs  with  life.  It  begins 
in  Essex,  and  there  are  wild  doings  among  the 
smugglers.  Then  the  story  shifts  to  the  West 
Indies,  and  takes  us  into  the  society  of  the  pi- 
rates   at    Port    Royal.      Quite    a    business    these 


552 


BOOKS  AND   READING 


pirates  made  of  it,  running  their  trade  in  the 
most  shipshape  way  imaginable.  It  is  amusing 
as  well  as  exciting,  a  truly  thrilling  book.  I  have 
not  read  it  in  a  long  while,  but  I  remember  very 
clearly  indeed  how  I  enjoyed  it,  and  just  writing 
about  it  makes  me  want  to  get  hold  of  it  again. 

A  story  set  in  Scotland  after  the  days  of  Wa- 
terloo, when  that  country  was  crowded  with  vet- 
erans of  the  wars,  is  "Gillian  the  Dreamer,"  by 
Neil  Munro.  It  is  an  interesting  story  of  an 
orphan  boy  who  is  adopted  by  a  man,  an  old  sol- 
dier, who  wants  to  make  a  soldier  of  Gillian  too. 
But  Gillian  is  a  curious  sort  of  lad,  and  has  ideas 
and  ways  that  puzzle  his  adopted  father  con- 
siderably. Incidentally,  you  get  a  lot  of  good 
pictures  of  Scotland  at  this  period  of  time. 

Stanley  J.  Weyman  also  has  a  book  that 
touches  on  these  hard  times,  "Starvecrow  Farm." 
There  is  an  enchanting  heroine  to  this  story,  and 
possibly  not  much  history;  but  we  see  something 
of  what  is  going  on,  dim  struggles  and  sad  oc- 
currences,—the  price  being  paid  for  all  the  years 
of  fighting. 

George  IV  was  drawing  toward  the  end  of  his 
life  now,  and  a  bad  king  he  had  proved  himself. 
He  had  become  so  hated  in  London  that  the  peo- 
ple would  hiss  as  he  drove  by,  and  the  windows 
of  his  coach  were  broken  more  than  once.  When 
George  was  only  fifteen  years  old,  his  tutor, 
Bishop  Hurd,  had  said  of  him  that  he  would  be- 
come either  "the  most  polished  gentleman  or  the 
most  accomplished  blackguard  in  Europe — pos- 
sibly both."  The  latter  prophecy  proved  to  be 
the  correct  one. 

He  died  in  June,  1830,  and  was  succeeded  by 
William,  who  had  been  popular  as  the  "sailor 
prince,"  and  whose  bluff,  hearty  personality  con- 
tinued to  make  him  liked,  though,  as  king,  he 
proved  so  weak  and  vacillating  that  people  soon 
lost  all  respect  for  him.  His  inability  to  take  a 
definite  stand  plunged  the  country  into  great  con- 
fusion, Whigs  and  Tories  and  (toward  the  end 
of  William's  reign)  the  Chartist  party  all  being 
at  loggerheads  both  with  each  other  and  with 
the  king. 

The  fierce  contest  between  the  classes  and  the 
masses,  as  represented  by  the  old  Tory  and  the 
new  Whig  parties,  is  admirably  presented  in 
Stanley  J.  Weyman's  novel  "Chippinge."  This 
fascinating   romance   has   as   its   background   the 


passage  of  the  second  Reform  Bill,  with  all  the 
excitement  that  attended  the  measure.  The  at- 
mosphere of  the  early  nineteenth  century  is  very 
cleverly  conveyed.  Sir  Charles  Wetherell,  Lord 
Brougham,  with  other  important  men  and  many 
charming  women  of  the  day,  appear  in  the  course 
of  the  story,  which  is  a  delightful  one,  quite  aside 
from  its  historic  significance. 

R.  M.  Thomas  has  written  a  really  wonderful 
book,  "Trewern,"  that  tells  the  Welsh  side  of  the 
story  of  the  thirties,  and  George  Eliot's  two 
books  "Felix  Holt"  and  "Middlemarch"  both  be- 
long in  this  period.  "Middlemarch,"  with  its 
beautiful  heroine  and  strange  and  moving  story, 
is  a  book  that  some  of  the  older  readers  of  St. 
Nicholas  know  already.  If  you  do  not,  you 
could  not  find  a  better  time  to  read  it  than  when 
you  are  studying  this  period  in  the  long  story  of 
England. 

Then  there  are  two  of  Disraeli's  novels  which 
you  surely  should  not  miss  reading.  One  is 
"Coningsby,"  the  other  "Sybil."  They  cover  a 
long  period,  between  1832  and  1844,  and  besides 
telling  a  fascinating  love-story,  they  put  before 
us,  with  a  mixture  of  sarcasm  and  enthusiasm 
that  is  extraordinarily  interesting,  the  whole  feel- 
ing in  England  at  that  time.  They  are  reliable 
as  history  and  enchanting  as  stories,  which  is  a 
mighty  good  combination. 

Rider  Haggard  has  written  a  story  called 
"Swallow"  which  takes  up  the  tale  of  England's 
Colonial  expansion,  and  relates  a  wonderful  ad- 
venture on  the  Great  Trek  across  South  Africa 
in  the  year  1836.  For  now  England  was  begin- 
ning to  reach  out  into  other  lands,  into  India  and 
Africa  and  Australia  and  New  Zealand,  to  found 
her  colonies  and  establish  her  rule.  In  Victoria's 
reign,  which  followed  that  of  her  Uncle  Wil- 
liam's, England  spread  to  her  present  enormous 
area,  becoming  the  great  empire  she  is.  Her  sec- 
ond war  with  America  was  over— (I  have  not 
spoken  of  any  books  particularly  related  to  the 
War  of  1812-14  because  they  belong  rather  more 
to  the  history  of  America  than  England)— and 
she  was  happily  and  safely  through  the  long  ter- 
ror of  the  French  struggle. 

Victoria's  long  reign  is  a  whole  world  in  itself. 
Next  month,  I  shall  have  something  to  say  of  the 
many  delightful  books  that  tell  the  story  of  the 
first  half  of  this  "Victorian  Era." 


THE   BABY  BEARS'  SIXTH  ADVENTURE 


BY  GRACE  G.   DRAYTON 


The  naughty  little  bears  complained 
Because  it  rained,  and  rained,  and  rained ! 


I  wish  we  were  far  out  at  sea, 
A-sailing  to  some  far  coun-tree — " 


553 


554 


FOR   VERY  LITTLE   FOLK 


[Apr. 


They  got  their  wish,  and  then,  what 's  more, 
They  landed  on  a  foreign  shore. 


With  mud- ball  bullets,  wooden  spears, 
The  natives  greet  our  little  dears. 


1914] 


FOR   VERY   LITTLE   FOLK 


55  5 


•  P^fl' 


J5t 


They  wished  //^7^  for  an  aeroplane 
To  take  them  safely  home  again. 


"We  must  n't  mind  these  April  showers," 
Says  Mother  Bear — "They  bring  May-flowers!" 


SCIENCE 


for 


through  the  covering  of  ice  and  snow  until  it 
finally  reaches  the  surface.  Here  in  the  open  air, 
surrounded  by  a  field  of  ice  and  snow,  it  blos- 
soms, a  delight  to  the  early  bees,  while  its  plant 
neighbors  are  still  soundly  sleeping  under  their 
winter  blanket. 

There  are  times  though  when  the  icy  covering 
is  so  thick  that  the  buds,  try  as  they  may,  cannot 
push  a  way  to  the  surface,  and  are  forced  to  give 
up  the  desire  to  reach  the  open  air  above,  and 
must  be  content  to  open  within  the  little  air-bub- 
ble that  surrounds  them.  But  here  it  is  entirely 
shut  away  from  the  visits  of  the  bees,  which  is  a 


AN  ALPINE  EARLY-RISER 

When  the  sun  begins  to  make  his  heat  felt  on 
the  snow  on  the  Alps,  and  the  bees  are  starting 
on  their  rounds,  there  is  a  little  plant  down  un- 
der the  snow  that  wakes  up  and  starts  to  grow, 
pushing  its  flower-buds  up  through  the  icy 
blanket,  and  blossoming  just  above  the  surface. 
Yes,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  little  flower, 
the  Alpine  Soldanella,  actually  melts  its  way 
through  snow  and  ice,  so  anxious  is  it  to  blossom 
early. 

The  thick,  round  leaves  of  this  plant  are  really 
storehouses  into  which,  during  the  previous  sum- 
mer, heating  material  is  gathered,  and  when,  in 
the  early  spring,  the  surface  of  the  snow  begins 
to  melt  and  the  water   settles  down   around  the 
plant,    an    internal   heat    is   generated    from   this 
stored  material,  which,  as  the  buds  begin  to  grow, 
melts  a  way  for  them  in  the  ice.     At  first,  this 
melted  space   is   the   shape  of   a   dome  over  the 
starting  bud,   but   as   the   flower   stem   lengthens 
and  the  bud  is  raised  farther   from  the  ground, 
the  ice  again  closes  about  the  stem  below  the  bud, 
and  the  melted  space  takes  the  form  of  a  minia- 
ture balloon,  or  round  air-bubble,  in  the  ice.     As     great  disappointment  to  the  little  flower,   for  its 
the  stem  grows,  the  bud,  surrounded  by  its  pro-     prime  object   in   melting  a  way  to  the  open  air 
tecting  bubble   of  air,   gradually  moves  upward,     and  sunlight  is  that  it  may  have  the  assistance  of 
and  thus  our  ambitious  and  daring  little   early-     the  bees  in  the  setting  of  its  seeds, 
riser,  furnishing  its  own  heat,  melts  its  way  up  George  A.  King. 

556 


FLOWERS  ABOVE  THE 
SURFACE  OF  ICE  AND  SNOW 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


557 


A  FORTUNE  IN  A  TREE 

The  most  valuable  tree  in  the  known  world  is  the 
famous  avocado,  or  alligator-pear,  tree,  owned 
by  Mr.  Harry  A.  Woodworth,  of  Whittier,  Cali- 
fornia. 

The  tree  is  just  eight  years  old,  and  this  year 
made  $5002  for  its  owner.  Mr.  Woodworth  has 
recently  had  a  thirty-foot  fence  erected  around 
his  tree  to  keep  out  miscreants,  and  has  had  the 
tree  insured  against  fire  and  wind  with  Lloyds, 
of  London,  for  $30,000.  A  local  nursery-man 
produced  this  tree  from  a  seed  sent  from  the 
Mexican  highland.  Several  more  of  these  seeds 
were  planted  at  the  same  time,  and  have  grown 
into  beautiful  trees;  but  none  have  borne  fruit. 
This  tree  stands  thirty-five  feet  high,  and  its 
trunk  is  forty-eight  inches  in  circumference.  An- 
other peculiar  feature  about  it  is  that  it  began 
bearing  when  only  three  years  old,  as  the  avo- 
cado seldom  bears  before  the  age  of  eight  or  ten 
years.  The  fruit  is  the  shape  of  a  very  large 
pear.  It  has  a  very  dark  green  skin  and  contains 
one   large   seed,   while  the   meat   is  of  a   creamy 


the  price  of  buds  from  ten  to  twenty-three  cents 
each.  $2570  of  this  year's  receipts  from  the  tree 
came  from  the  fruit,  and  $2432  from  the  sale  of 
bud-wood.     The  raising  of  the  avocado  promises 


"THE   MOST    VALUABLE    TREE    IN    THE   WORLD. 

consistency.     The  tree  bore  3865  pears  this  year, 
which  sold  from  six  to  eight  dollars  a  dozen. 

In  order  to  save  his  tree  from  ruin  in  satisfy- 
ing bud-wood  purchasers,  the  owner  has  raised 


THE    TREE    PROTECTED   AGAINST   MARAUDERS. 

to  become  one  of  the  leading  industries  in  Cali- 
fornia. It  is  being  propagated  by  thousands;  and 
hundreds  of  acres  are  being  set  out  with  young 
avocado-trees. 

Henrietta  A.  Woodworth. 

THE  MAGNET  AS  A  USEFUL  WIZARD 

The  principles  of  the  electric  magnet  have  been 
known  since  the  earliest  days  of  electrical  sci- 
ence, and  various  attempts  were  made  to  take 
advantage  of  this  knowledge  for  industrial  pur- 
poses; but  it  has  only  been  in  comparatively  re- 
cent years  that  the  electro-magnet  has  entered 
upon  its  career  as  one  of  the  most  useful  devices 
for  handling  raw  and  finished  material  in  iron- 
and  steel-mills,  foundries,  railroad-  and  machine- 
shops,  and  a  dozen  and  one  different  kinds  of 
manufacturing  plants. 

Most  of  us  are  familiar  with  the  antics  per- 
formed by  iron  filings,  needles,  or  small  particles 
of  metal  when  a  magnet  is  pushed  within  their 
field;  and  the  construction  of  small  toys  that  can 
be  moved  about  by  a  small  horseshoe-magnet  has 


558 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Apr., 


excited  our  interest,  if  not  our  wonder,  by  their 
ready  response  to  the  invisible  power  exerted  by 
this  little  magician.  A  magician  it  surely  is, 
judged  purely  from  an  optical  point  of  view! 


SEVEN    KEGS   FILLED    WITH    NAILS   LIFTED 
BY  AN    ELECTRO-MAGNET. 

A  visit  to  any  of  our  large  steel-mills  or  foun- 
dries equipped  with  electro-magnets  would  still 
further  impress  us  with  the  wizardy  of  this  won- 
derful device,  for  there  we  would  see  invisible 
fingers  picking  up  mammoth  girders,  lifting  hot 
steel  plates  from  the  fire,  separating  pieces  of 
iron  from  scrap  of  other  metals,  pulling  and 
hauling  with  tremendous  power,  and  always  re- 
leasing them  at  the  proper  moment  by  a  touch  of 
the  operator's  hand.  Their  operation  is  as  noise- 
less as- it  is  swift  and  sure.  There  is  no  clanking 
and  tightening  of  chains  and  grappling  hooks,  no 
slip  of  the  heavy  load  as  it  adjusts  itself  to  the 
pull,  no  creaking  and  groaning  of  the  tackle  — 
nothing  but  swift,  sure,  and  silent  lifting  and 
hauling  of  the  weight  to  its  new  position. 

If  we  look  more  carefully,  we  shall  see  the 
electrical  magician  work  further  wonders.  If  it 
is  in  a  foundry  where  scrap  iron,  steel,  copper, 
brass,  and  other  metals  are  piled  together  in  a 


great  heap,  it  will  separate  the  iron  and  steel 
from  the  other  metals  with  a  skill  surpassing 
anything  else  of  man's  creation.  It  will  sort  out 
and  separate  these  metals  from  all  the  others, 
pulling  and  hauling  at  iron  and  steel  pieces  lying 
underneath  the  brass  and  copper,  and  discarding 
all  else  with  absolute  certainty.  The  foundry, 
which  receives  its  mixed  scrap  from  all  conceiv- 
able sources,  some  of  it  painted,  corroded,  and 
oxidized  so  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  the 
different  metals  without  scraping  and  examining 
closely,  is  equipped  with  a  magnetic  separator 
that  will  do  the  sorting  in  a  hundredth  part  of 
the  time  required  by  hand  labor. 

Although  very  particular  as  to  what  kind  of 
material  it  will  handle,  the  electric  magnet  is  not 
at  all  particular  as  to  how  it  will  manipulate  the 
load.  Anything  and  everything  which  respond 
to  magnetic  attraction  that  come  within  its  field 
are  picked  up.  If  passed  across  a  scrap-heap,  it 
will  gather  in  its  fingers  a  queer  assortment  of 
iron  bars,  steel  shavings,  nails,  broken  pins,  and 
steel  rods.  It  is  a  queer  collection  it  hauls  up— 
a  mass  of  material  that  to  handle  singly  would 
require  an  immense  amount  of  work.  Its  load 
is  limited  only  by  its  lifting  power,  and  that  is 
something  enormous  in  these  days,  approxima- 
ting five  to  twelve  tons. 

If  we  take  a  peep  into  the  rolling-mill,  we  shall 
witness  other  peculiar  feats  of  the  lifting-mag- 
net. An  enormous  hot  steel  plate  or  girder  must 
be  lifted  from  its  bed  to  some  other  part  of  the 
mill.  To  touch  this,  or  even  to  approach  within 
a  foot  or  two  of  it,  would  prove  dangerous  to  the 
workmen.  Formerly,  when  these  hot  plates  had 
to  be  lifted  without  magnets,  the  workmen  were 
often  severely  injured  in  adjusting  the  chains. 
To-day,  the  electric  magnet  swoops  down  and 
picks  up  the  hot  plate,  and  can  transport  it  to  any 
part  of  the  mill.  Its  fingers  are  invulnerable  to 
the  scorching  heat,  and  it  is  in  no  way  concerned 
whether  it  is  a  hot  or  cold  load  it  is  called  upon 
to  handle.  The  magnets  with  their  loads  are 
raised,  lowered,  and  moved  about  by  cables  opera- 
ting from  what  are  known  as  cranes. 

In  another  part  of  the  rolling-mill,  we  may  see 
a  steel  plate  forty  or  more  feet  long,  eight  feet 
in  width,  and  only  one  half  an  inch  in  thickness. 
Now  to  lift  and  carry  that  to  another  part  of  the 
mill  used  to  be  a  pretty  difficult  matter.  When 
lifted,  it  would  bend  and  buckle  under  its  own 
weight,  and,  in  order  to  avoid  this,  the  most  care- 
ful adjustment  of  many  chains  was  necessary. 
But  several  magnets,  used  in  combination  on  a 
single  crane,  pick  up  the  long,  thin  sheet  of  metal, 
and  calmly  haul  it  away  to  the  desired  spot.  With 
the  exception  of  a  little  sagging  of  the  plate  be- 


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NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


559 


tween  the  magnets,  you  would  hardly  know  that 
it  was  being  deprived  of  the  support  of  the 
ground  as  it  swings  silently  through  the  air. 

A  still  further  perfection  of  the  industrial 
magnet  may  be  seen  in  the  handling  of  the 
"skull-cracker''  by  the  lifting-magnet.  A  skull- 
cracker  is  simply  a  huge  round  or  pear-shaped 
ball  of  iron  suspended  by  a  chain  and  hook. 
When  dropped  on  big  pieces  of  metal,  it  breaks 
and  cracks  them  into  small  particles  for  melting 
purposes.  The  combination  of  skull-cracker  and 
magnet  works  ideally. 

Swiftly  and  surely  the  huge  ball  of  iron,  weigh- 
ing from  twelve  thousand  to  twenty  thousand 
pounds,  rises  into  the  air  over  a  scrap-pile  and 
is  allowed  to  fall  upon  it,  smashing  the  ma- 
terial into  convenient  sizes.  When  the  contents 
of  the  pile  have  been  sufficiently  broken  up,  the 
pieces  are  lifted  and  carried  away  by  the  same 
magnet.  Thus  a  single  operator  can  smash 
the  plates  and  then  pick  up  the  pieces  and  drop 
them  into  the  melting-furnace.  It  is  all  done  so 
neatly  and  easily,  that  it  appears  more  like  magic 
than  actuality. 

Other  uses  of  the  electro-magnet  may  be  seen 
by  visiting  a  mine  where  low-grade  ores  are 
crushed  to  obtain  the  precious  metal  found  in 
them.  When  the  rocks  are  crushed  and  pulver- 
ized by  the  machinery,  the  magnets  are  used  for 
picking  up  the  small  particles  of  iron  from  the  ores. 
By  this  method  of  ore-separation,  old  tailings, 
that  were  formerly  discarded  as  worthless,  have 
been  made  of  great  value.  The  iron  ore  recov- 
ered is  of  sufficient  value  to  build  up  great  indus- 
tries. Before  the  big  commercial  magnets  were 
utilized,  all  of  this  low-grade  ore  was  practically 
wasted. 

Next  take  a  peep  at  a  flour-mill  or  a  factory 
where  rice  chaff  is  ground  into  small  particles  to 
make  cattle  food.  Enormous  attrition  machines 
are  used  for  grinding  the  chaff,  and  they  consist 
of  two  metal  disks  revolving  in  opposite  direc- 
tions. These  disks  are  separated  by  one  eighth 
to  three  sixteenths  of  an  inch. 

The  disks  are  indented  to  give  a  grinding  sur- 
face, and  they  make  from  1500  to  2000  revolu- 
tions per  minute.  Now,  if  a  small  particle  of 
iron  or  steel  should  be  caught  between  these  re- 
volving disks,  a  hot  spark  would  be  generated. 
Many  times  hot  sparks  produced  in  this  way  have 
caused  disastrous  fires  by  igniting  the  light,  com- 
bustible chaff.  In  flour-mills,  disastrous  explo- 
sions have  been  due  to  the  same  cause.  The  fine 
dust  which  collects  in  flour-mills  will  sometimes 
explode  almost  as  violently  as  gunpowder,  if  a 
spark  is  applied  to  it  when  suspended  in  the  air. 

The  use  of  electric  magnets  has  eliminated  the 


danger  of  both  fire  and  explosions  in  these  in- 
dustries. Strong  magnets  are  placed  in  the  at- 
trition machines  so  that  all  the  chaff  must  pass 
in  close  proximity  to  them  before  it  reaches  the 
grinding  disks.  These  magnets  are  powerful 
enough  to  draw  out  any  bits  of  iron  that  may  be 
mixed  in  the  chaff.  Similar  contrivances  are 
used  in  flour-mills,  and  they  have  reduced  the 
danger  of  explosions  and  fires  from  this  cause 
almost  to  a  minimum.  Sometimes  a  collection  of 
nearly   a   pound   of    small    pieces   of    iron    is    re- 


ELECTRO-MAGNET    LIFTING  A    "SKULL-CRACKER 
WEIGHING    13,000  POUNDS. 

moved  from  the  magnets  after  a  run  of  a  few 
hours  of  the  machinery. 

The  ever-increasing  field  of  usefulness  that  the 
electro-magnet   is  operating  in  to-day   furnishes 


560 


NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


[Apr., 


abundant  instances  of  the  remarkable  value  of 
the  device.  For  example,  a  load  which  had  re- 
quired two  men  four  hours  to  place  in  a  wagon, 
was  lifted  from  the  same  wagon  and  placed  in  the 
storage  pile  by  a  magnet  in  just  two  and  one  half 


Courtesy  of  Cutler-Hammer  Clutch  Co. 
52-INCH    MAGNET,    LIFTING   A   SKULL-CRACKER   BALL. 

minutes.  As  a  rule,  one  electric  lifting-mag- 
net does  the  work  of  a  gang  of  from  six  to 
twelve  workmen,  and  the  mode  of  operation  is  so 
simple  that  only  one  man  is  needed  to  manipulate 
two  or  three  magnets.  By  means  of  a  simple  de- 
vice, the  operator  can  regulate  the  current  and 
power  of  the  magnet  so  that  he  can  pick  up  one, 
or  two,  or  any  number  of  pieces  at  once.  If  a 
small  beam  lies  alongside  of  a  larger  one,  and  it 


is  desired  to  move  only  the  former,  the  current 
is  proportioned  to  the  lesser  weight,  and  the  mag- 
net lifts  it  without  disturbing  the  heavier  one. 
Thus,  in  the  hands  of  a  skilled  operator,  the 
magnet  performs  the  work  of  sorting  and  lifting 
different  weights  with  almost  uncanny  intelli- 
gence. It  rejects  this  piece  from  a  heap,  throws 
another  out  of  the  way,  and  finally  picks  up  the 
one  it  has  been  searching  for.  In  foundries, 
steel-mills,  ship-building  yards,  and  railroad  ma- 
chine-shops, the  big  electric  magnets  are  continu- 
ally working,  performing  jobs  of  a  difficult  na- 
ture that  were  formerly  done  by  hand,  or  by 
tackle  and  chain. 

When  the  lifting-magnets  were  first  introduced 
in  our  big  mills,  it  was  urged  against  them  that 
there  was  always  the  danger  of  a  failing  current 
and  the  sudden  release  of  the  load,  when,  it  was 
feared,  serious  injuries  would  result  to  the  work- 
men by  the  fall.  But  experience  has  shown  that 
this  danger  is  not  to  be  greatly  feared.  Indeed, 
no  more  accidents  or  delays  have  been  caused  by 
a  failing  current  than  had  been  due  to  the  slip- 
ping of  chains  and  hooks.-  In  handling  enormous 
weights  of  this  character,  there  is  always  present 
the  element  of  danger,  and  only  care  and  precau- 
tion can  eliminate  it  entirely.  The  rule  in  most 
shops  and  mills  is  that  no  workmen  shall  pass  or 
stand  under  the  heavy  loads  carried  by  cranes 
and  magnets. 

Electro-magnets  in  general  use  in  mills  and 
shops  differ  a  good  deal  in  design.  The  oldest 
and  most  popular  form  was  the  simple  horseshoe. 
This  type  has  proved  inadequate  for  plate-han- 
dling and  for  many  other  grades  of  work.  In 
the  effort  to  secure  the  most  efficient  design,  the 
round  magnet  was  developed,  which,  for  handling 
certain  kinds  of  compact  loads,  is  unsurpassed. 
But  experience  showed  that,  while  a  round  mag- 
net in  a  straight  pull  could  easily  lift  five  tons,  it 
was  incapable  of  picking  up  a  long,  thin  plate 
weighing  only  half  a  ton.  As  a  result  of  this  ex- 
perience, the  engineers  designed  a  special  plate- 
handling  magnet. 

The  design  and  construction  of  the  magnet  for 
lifting  heavy  weights  must  be  exact  and  accu- 
rate. Such  magnets  are  proof  against  heat  or 
cold,  and  there  is  practically  no  danger  of  acci- 
dental short-circuiting.  The  winding  of  the  coils 
is  the  most  expensive  part  of  the  construction  of 
the  giant  magnets.  In  the  round  type  of  magnet, 
there  may  be  as  high  as  three  thousand  turns  of 
wire,  weighing  approximately  220  pounds. 

Small  magnets  are  employed  by  manufacturing 
concerns  with  as  great  success  as  the  larger  ones 
are  used  in  the  mills  and  shops.  For  instance,  in 
needle   factories  small  magnets  are  used  at  the 


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NATURE  AND  SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG  FOLKS 


561 


STANDING  ON  A  SHEET  OF  STEEL  WHICH  IS  GRIPPED  AND 
HELD   BY   THE   UNSEEN   POWER   OF  THE   MAGNET. 

end  of  the  working-day  for  cleaning  up  the  floors 
and   benches.      The   magnets   are   passed   swiftly 
along  to  gather  up  all  the  small  particles  of  steel, 
broken  needles,   and   iron.     All   this   scrap   is   of 
value,  and  its  complete  sepa- 
ration   from    the    dust    and 
dirt  of  the  shops  greatly  sim- 
plifies operations.     The  same 
is  true  in  saw  factories  and 
in  shops  of  a  general  char- 
acter where  a  great  amount 
of    metal    is    being    cut    and 
filed.      The   accumulation   of 
fine  particles  of  metal  is  con- 
siderable.       Formerly,      this 
was  all  wasted  by  sweeping 
it  out  with  a  broom,  but  to- 
day  the   magnet   gathers   up 
everything,    from    the    finest 
filings  and  steel  shavings  to 
pieces  as  large  as  the  fist.~"~ 
The  efficiency  of  our  manu- 
facturing shops  and  factories 
is  thus  greatly  promoted  by 
the  industrial  use  of  electro- 
magnets,   and   their    applica- 
tion  and   adaptation  to   new 
industries      increase      every 
year.     Small  magnets  are  also  employed  in  ex- 
tracting  particles   of    steel   and    iron    from    the 


eyes,  lungs,  and  body,  and  some  notable  instances 
of  saving  life  are  set  down  to  its  credit. 

The  magnet  is  thus  a  wonderful  magician, 
capable  of  lifting  loads  weighing  many  tons,  or 
gathering  particles  of  metal  too  small  for  the  fin- 
gers to  pick  up  or  even  for  the  eye  to  detect.  It 
will  swing  gigantic  steel  plates  and  girders 
through  the  air  as  easily  as  a  child  handles  a  toy, 
or  draw  from  the  eye  infinitesimal  specks  of 
iron  dust.  It  has  wonderful  fingers,  invisible  but 
remarkably  efficient,  that  can  separate  and  sort 
ores  and  metal  scrap  in  the  shop  or  foundry,  or, 
when  needed,  extract  as  a  gentle  surgeon  the 
broken  points  of  a  dagger  or  needle  from  the 
body.  George  Ethelbert  Walsh. 

THE  ODD  OIL-DERRICKS  IN  RUMANIA 

Because  the  oil  industry  of  the  world  is  so  largely 
in  the  hands  of  American  capitalists,  many  per- 
sons in  the  United  States  have  gained  the  im- 
pression that  the  United  States  is  almost  the  sole 
source  of  oil-supply.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  how- 
ever, there  are  rich  petroleum  resources  in  other 
quarters  of  the  globe,  and  nowhere  more  con- 
spicuously than  in  Russia,  and  in  the  Balkan 
States,  which  have  recently  been  the  scene  of  so 
disastrous  a  war.  It  is  predicted  that,  with  the 
increasing  use  of  the  automobile,  the  adoption  of 
oil-fuel  on  steamships  and  war-ships,  and  other 
recent  demands,  mankind  will  ere  long  be  driven 
to  develop  these  European  oil-fields  to  the  fullest 


THE   CURIOUS   RUMANIAN    OIL-DERRICKS. 


extent ;  and,  indeed,  American  business  men  have 
already  acquired  property  rights  in  many  foreign 


562 


NATURE   AND   SCIENCE   FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


[Apr., 


MF-MBKRb    OF   THE    HOSPITAL    C 


\RMY    WITH    THEIR    FOUR-FOOTED   ASSISTANTS. 


oil-fields.  A  visitor  to  the  Rumanian  oil-fields  in 
the  Balkans  is  at  once  struck  by  the  marked  con- 
trast between  the  appearance  of  their  oil-derricks 
and  the  derricks  which  dot  the  average  oil-field 
in  the  United  States.  As  is  the  case  in  America, 
wood  is  largely  employed  in  the  construction  of 
these  Balkan  oil-derricks,  but  whereas  there  is 
followed  in  America  what  is  known  as  the  skel- 
eton-type of  construction,  these  foreign  towers 
are  much  more  solidly  built,  and,  consequently, 
more  massive  in  appearance. 

REAL  "DOGS   OF  WAR" 

In  all  parts  of  Europe,  and  notably  in  such  coun- 
tries as  France,  Switzerland,  Belgium,  and  Hol- 
land, dogs  are  compelled  to  take  life  much  more 
seriously  than  in  the  United  States.  This  is  due 
to  the  fact  that  in  the  Old  World  the  natural 
function  of  the  dog  is  that  of  a  draught-animal 
rather  than  a  playfellow  for  young  people.  The 
French  people  have  long  been  employing  them 
to  draw  carts  and  small  wagons.  Now  they  have 
gone  a  step  farther,  and  have  actually  put  clogs 
to  work  in  their  army.  Real  "dogs  of  war"  they 
call  the  picked  animals  which  have  entered  upon 
a  military  career.  These  four-footed  soldiers 
have  been  enrolled  in  the  hospital  corps  of  the 
French  army,  and  their  work  will  be  to  assist 
the  doctors  and  the  Red  Cross  nurses  in  camp 
and  on  the  battle-field.  It  is  suspected  that  the 
always  ingenious  French  got  the  idea  from  the 
famous  dogs  of  St.  Bernard,  whose  work  in 
carrying  succor  to  storm-bound  travelers  in  the 
Alps  is  known  to  every  reader.  At  any  rate,  the 
newly   enlisted   Red   Cross   dogs   of   the   French 


army  are  being  trained  to  carry  stimulants  to  the 
wounded;  to  search  out  injured  soldiers  and  lead 
doctors  or  nurses  to  the  scene ;  and  perform  other 
services  requiring  more  or  less  resource,  as  well 
as  to  act  as  messengers  for  the  surgeons,  and  to 
fetch  and  carry  bandages,  medicines,  etc.,  in  time 
of  emergency,  just  as  a  well-trained  American 
dog  brings  his  master's  mail  or  newspaper. 


"BECAUSE  WE 
WANT  TO  KNOW 


T 


Note  :  So  many  questions  are  received  that  we 
can  undertake  to  answer  in  these  pages  only 
those  of  unusual  or  general  interest.  Other  let- 
ters, containing  return  postage,  will  be  answered 
personally.  —  Editor. 

why  heated  air  has  a  glassy  appearance 

Oakpark,  III. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:   Why  does  the  air  above  a  fire  al- 
ways have  a  peculiar  glassy  appearance  ? 
Your  interested  reader, 

Irene  A.  Knight. 

The  gases  ascending  from  the  fire  are  hot,  and 
also  are  not  of  the  same  composition  as  the  sur- 
rounding air,  and  hence  they  have  a  different  den- 
sity, and  the  light  from  the  things  that  are  looked 
at  through  these  gases  does  not  go  in  straight 
lines,  but  is  distorted,  or  "refracted,"  in  coming  to 
us.  A  similar  thing  happens  when  one  looks 
through  ordinary  (not  plate)  glass  which  is  not 
perfectly  and  evenly  transparent.— H.  L.  W. 


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NATURE  AND  SCIENCE  FOR  YOUNG   FOLKS 


563 


why  we  can  see  the  clouds 

Dundee,  III. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  wish  that  you  would  answer  these 
questions  for  me.  Why  can  you  see  the  clouds  ?  If  you 
can  see  the  clouds,  what  makes  some  white  and  some  black  ? 
When  they  are  black  in  the  sky,  why  are  n't  they  black  in 
the  form  of  mist  down  here  ? 

Your  interested  reader,      Martha  Stiles  (age  9). 

"Why  can  you  see  the  clouds?"  If  the  clouds 
were  backed  against  a  sky  of  precisely  the  same 
tint  and  color,  we  would  hardly  notice  them  any 


they  black  when  in  the  form  of  mist  down  here?" 
Sometimes  a  misty  day  is  very  dark  because  the 
fog,  or  mist,  is  very  thick,  and  but  little  sunlight 
can  shine  through  it.  If  a  cloud  were  brought 
down  to  the  earth's  surface,  or  were  formed  at 
the  earth's  surface,  it  would  be  called  a  mist.  A 
cloud  that  is  formed  high  above  the  earth,  and 
floats  along  horizontally  until  it  envelops  a  tall 
mountain,  may  be  spoken  of  as  a  mist  by  the 
people  who  are   in   it  on   the  mountain  side,  but 


IT  IS  BY  REASON  OF  THE  CONTRAST  BETWEEN  THE  CLOUDS  AND  THE  BACKGROUND 
THAT  WE  PERCEIVE  THEM." 


more  than  we  would  in  a  dark  night  over  the 
ocean.  We  must  have  a  background  of  some 
other  color,  or  tint,  to  see  the  clouds  or  anything 
else.  It  is  by  reason  of  the  contrast  between  the 
clouds  and  the  background  that  we  perceive  them. 

"If  you  can  see  the  clouds,  what  makes  some 
white  and  some  black?"  Over  the  ocean  or  a 
broad  forest,  when  there  is  no  light  around  us  to 
shine  upward,  we  can  only  see  the  clouds  (except 
thunder-clouds  with  lightning)  by  reason  of  any 
light  that  may  shine  through  them  from  above, 
such  as  the  stars,  the  moon,  or  the  sun ;  but  the 
middle  portion  of  a  cloud  is  very  thick,  and  it 
looks  dark  to  us  because  the  sunlight  cannot  pene- 
trate through  it,  while  it  can  penetrate  through 
the  edges  of  the  cloud,  and  those  look  lighter,  and 
even  white.  The  beautiful  cirrus,  or  "feathery," 
clouds  are  high  above  us  and  thin,  so  that  they 
look  white  because  the  sunlight  shines  through 
them.  Even  the  earth  itself  is  very  bright  when 
lighted  up  with  the  sunshine,  and  its  light  reflects 
upward  against  the  lower  sides  of  the  clouds,  and 
helps  to  make  them  brighter. 

"When  clouds  are  black  in  the  sky,  why  are  n't 


will  be  called  a  cloud  by  those  higher  up  on  the 
mountain  who  look  doivn  upon  it,  and  also  by 
those  far  down  the  mountain  when  they  look  up 
at  it.  — C.  A. 

the  southern  cross 

Omaja,  Cuba. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Will  you  please  tell  me  if  it  is  pos- 
sible to  see  the  southern  cross  in  the  eastern  part  of  Cuba, 
and  what  time  of  the  year  and  day  it  is  visible  ? 
Yours  very  truly, 

Dorothy  Elizabeth  Carter. 

The  entire  southern  cross  would  be  above  the 
horizon  when  on  the  meridian  — the  imaginary 
line  in  the  heavens  which  the  sun  crosses  at  noon 
—  at  any  point  in  Cuba.  It  would  be  higher  up  in 
the  eastern  part  of  the  island. 

In  the  first  part  of  April,  it  would  be  on  the 
meridian  at  about  eleven  p.m.,  and  earlier  each 
month  by  two  hours. '  The  entire  cross  will  be 
above  the  horizon  at  any  place  whose  latitude  is 
less  than  +340.  The  southern  cross,  however,  is 
a  great  disappointment,  as  there  are  only  three 
bright  stars  in  it,  and  it  takes  a  cubist  artist  to 
see  the  cross !— E.  E.  Barnard. 


s 


«<3fi 


1        V/l?-^ 


AGAIN  the  prose  contributions  and  the  photographs  lead 
the  van,  as  they  did  last  month  ;  and  again  it  is  difficult  to 
say  whether  the  wielders  of  the  pen  or  of  the  camera  can 
claim  the  palm  of  victory,  because  of  the  very  close  com- 
petition between  their  contributions,  both  as  to  numbers 
and  quality.  Among  the  manuscripts  sent  us  under  the 
title  "  My  Favorite  Bit  of  History,"  there  are  several  little 
stories  that  League  members  will  not  soon  forget ;  and 
they  will  remember  just  as  long  several  of  the  photographic 
gems  bearing  the  legend  "  In  the  Sunshine."  Let  us  be 
content,  therefore,  to  rejoice  with  equal  pride  in  the  clever 
touch  and  the  practised  eye  of  our  young  League  comrades 
who  have  achieved  for  us  so  fine  a  series  of  contributions — 
whether  the  individual  offering  be  a  "  mental  picture  "  visu- 
alized in  words,  or  an  actual  bit  of  nature  caught  and  im- 
prisoned for  us  by  the  magic  swiftness  of  the  lens. 


Though  fewer  in  number  than  last  month,  the  drawings 
included  quite  a  number  that  were  very  skilfully  handled 
and  also  very  ingenious  in  design.  A  fair  proportion  of 
them,  moreover,  displayed  that  sense  of  humor,  in  our  young 
artists,  of  which  the  entire  League  is  proud. 

And  that  reminds  us  of  the  joke  unintentionally  perpe- 
trated by  St.  Nicholas  itself  on  page  380  of  the  February 
number,  where  the  statement  is  made  in  cold  print  that 
the  "competition  for  foreign  members  will  close  on  Feb- 
ruary J0//1  "/  The  League  young  folk  residing  or  travel- 
ing abroad  will  testify  that  we  always  strive  to  allow  the 
utmost  limit  of  time  for  their  contributions  to  cross  the 
ocean.  And  we  must  confess  that,  this  once — through  a 
mistake  which  caught  both  editor  and  proof-reader  nap- 
ping— we  have  even  extended  the  calendar  itself  in  behalf 
of  our  far-away  Leaguers  ! 


PRIZE-WINNERS,  COMPETITION  No.   170 

In  making  the  awards,  contributors'  ages  are  considered. 

PROSE.      Gold  badges,  John  K.  Stafford  (age  14),  New  York;  Eunice  Eddy  (age  16),  New  York. 

Silver  badges,  Douglas  C.  Abbott  (age  14),  Canada;    Elsie  Terhune  (age  16),  New  Jersey;    Elsie  Baum  (age  13), 

New  Jersey. 

VERSE.     Gold  badge,  Grace  C.  Freese  (age  15),  Massachusetts. 

Silver  badges,  Mary  Pangman  (age  13),  Canada;   Cora  Louise  Butterfield  (age  13),  Mississippi. 

DRAWINGS.     Silver  badges,  H.  B.  Estrada  (age   17),  Cuba;  Paulyne  F.  May  (age  17),  New  York;  Harlan  Hubbard 

(age  13),  Kentucky. 

PHOTOGRAPHS.     Gold  badges,  Patrino  M.  Colis  (age  16),  New  York;    Marie  L.  Sanderson  (age  16),  Connecticut. 

Silver  badges,  J.  Freeman  Lincoln  (age  13),  New  Jersey;     Sibyl  Weymouth  (age  14),  Massachusetts;     Whitney  N. 

Seymour  (age  12),  Wisconsin;  John  Boyd  (age  10),  Oregon;  Philys  Stringer  (age  14),  Minnesota. 

PUZZLE-MAKING.      Gold  badge,  Margaret  Spaulding  (age  12),  Massachusetts. 

Silver  badge,  Helen  Morton  (age  15);  Massachusetts. 


M    /  . 

Of^H 

■XHr  '■■■  LJH 

wr    «    IS 

HHTif? 

'IN    THE    SUNSHINE.  BY    J.     FREEMAN 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 


LINCOLN,    AGE    13 


564 


"IN    THE    SUNSHINE."       BY    SIBYL    WEYMOUTH,    AGE    14. 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


565 


A  TALE  OF  THE  SNOW 

BY    GRACE    C.    FREESE    (AGE    15) 

(Cold  Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  April,  19 13) 
Upward  the  weary  stranger  toiled, 

Thinking  each  step  his  last, 
When,  suddenly,  like  a  fury  burst 

The  angry,  raging  blast. 
Blindly  he  staggered  a  moment  about, 

Then,  sinking  to  the  snow, 
He  shouted  with  all  his  might  for  help, 

For  he  could  no  longer  go. 

Uneasily  the  monk  gazed  forth 

Into  the  storm  so  drear, 
When,  suddenly  out  from  the  night  he  heard, 

"Help,  help!   help!"  loud  and  clear. 
Quickly  he  loosened  a  St.  Bernard, 
And  sent  him  on  the  way  ; 
"For  hard  will  it  fare  with  the  traveler," 
Said  he,  "if  we  delay." 

The  wind  chilled  the  wanderer  through  and 
through, 

And  stung  his  hands  and  face  ; 
Exhausted,  he  gasped,  "Oh,  must  I  die 

In  such  a  lonely  place  ? 
But  what  is  this  which  comes — a  dog? 

My  fate  is  not  so  hard, — 
God  bless  the  kind  hearts  who  have  sent  me  help, 

And  the  dogs  of  St.  Bernard  !" 


'IN    THR    SUNSHINE."       BY    PATRINO    M.    COLIS,    AGE 
(GOLD  P.ADGE.      SILVER   BADGE  WON  JAN.,    1914. ) 


MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY   JOHN    K.    STAFFORD    (AGE    14) 

(Gold  Badge.     Silver  Badge  won  February,  1913) 
In   the   little  town   of   Sempach,   northwest   of   Lucerne, 
one  of  the  most  noble  deeds  in  history  took  place. 

On  July  9,  1386,  the  Swiss  peasant  folk,  desperate 
because  of  the  treachery  and  cruelty  inflicted  on  them 
by  Duke  Leopold  of  Austria,  banded  together  at  Sem- 
pach, and  now  were  bravely  but  timidly  facing  the 
superb  Austrian  phalanx.  Do  what  they  could,  the 
freedom-longing  peasants'  most  frantic  efforts  to  break 
that  serried  line  of  spears  were  vain.  At  last,  in 
despair,  they  fell  back. 

All  Switzerland's  bright  hope  of  freedom  and  justice 
seemed  doomed.  But  though  despairing,  the  Swiss  held 
their  ground  and  waited, — waited  for  that  something 
which   told   them   a   cause   as  just  as  theirs   would   not, 


could  not  die  so  easily,  nor  could  liberty  longer  be 
denied  the  longing  Swiss. 

A  simple  peasant,  Arnold  von  Winkelried  by  name, 
saw  liberty's  cause  was  lost  to  Switzerland  unless — 
unless — 

Suddenly  he  darted  forward,  his  arms  extended  wide-, 
straight  into   the   wondering  Austrian   phalanx.     "Make 


IN    THE    SUNSHINE.  BY    WHITNEY    N.    SEYMOUR, 

AGE    12.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 


way  for  liberty!"  he  cried,  and,  grasping  ten  spears, 
plunged  them  triumphantly  deep  in  his  breast,  stag- 
gered, and  fell,  in  death  victorious. 

Swiftly,  before  this  breach  could  be  filled,  the  Swiss, 
incited  to  their  utmost  valor  by  Winkelried's  unselfish 
devotion,  rushed  over  this  hero's  expiring  body,  and, 
inspired,  completely  routed  the  Austrians,  who  never 
again  gained  any  control  over  Switzerland. 

Thus  was  Winkelried's  beloved  Switzerland  forever 
freed  by  his  immortal  sacrifice. 

MY  FAVORITE   BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY    DOUGLAS    C.   ABBOTT    (AGE    14) 

(Silver  Badge) 
Although   I   am   a   Canadian   and  proud   of  the   fact,   I 
think  that  my  favorite  bit  of  historv  is  the  storv  of  the 


IN    THE    SUNSHINE. 


(HON( 


MARGARET    M.    HORTON,    AGE    15. 

!i    MEMBER.) 


winter  encampment  of  the  American  army  at  Valley 
Forge.  What  a  picture  of  the  triumph  of  patriotism 
over  neglect  and  want — of  principle  over  physical  suf- 
fering— and  of  supreme  self-sacrifice  that  name  brings 
before  one's  mind  ! 

The   encampment    at   Valley    Forge   was   chosen   after 
much   deliberation,   but   Washington   finally   determined 


566 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Apr., 


to  make  his  camp  for  the  winter  there,  in  order  that  he 
might  be  in  a  position  to  protect  both  the  country  and 
his  stores. 

On  December  17,  1777,  the  troops  reached  Valley 
Forge.  The  next  day  had  been  appointed  by  Congress 
as  a  day  of  Thanksgiving,  therefore  the  troops  re- 
mained in  their  quarters,  and  divine  service  was  held  in 
the  different  divisions  by  the  chaplains,  hymns  of  praise 
arising  from  men  who,  to  all  appearances,  had' nothing 
to  look  forward  to  or  be  thankful  for,  except  cold, 
famine,  and  nakedness. 

The  next  day,  work  was  commenced  on  the  huts,  and 
in  a  short  time,  a  log  city  of  over  a  thousand  rude 
dwellings  had  sprung  up.  All  through  that  long  winter 
these  troops  endured  untold  privations  of  hunger  and 
cold,  often  going  without  food  for  days  at  a  time,  when 
but  for  the  neglect  and  indifference  of  Congress  their 
wants  might  easily  have  been  relieved  ;  yet  through  all 
they  remained  true  to  their  country  and  their  leader. 
Thus  passed  the  long,  severe  winter,  but  at  last  spring 
with  its  warm  days  came,  and  was  hailed  with  delight 
by  the  suffering  troops,  who  were  further  encouraged 
by  the  news  of  Burgoyne's  defeat  at  Saratoga. 

This  bit  of  history  impresses  me  as  being  one  of  the 
finest  examples  of  true  patriotism  the  world  has  ever 
seen. 

A  SONG  OF  THE  SNOW 

BY    MARY   PANGMAN    (AGE    1 3) 

(Silver  Badge) 
Whispering,  murmuring,  whispering, 

Telling  of  Christmas  joys  ; 
Breathing  of  stockings  filled  full  to  the  brim, 

For  good  little  girls  and  boys. 

Whispering  of  parties  and  dances, 
Of  skating,  and  sledding,  and  glee  ; 

Of  great,  round,  brown,  holly-decked  puddings, 
And  Christmas  trees  wondrous  to  see. 


IN   THE    SUNSHINE. 
(GOLD    BADGE. 


IARIE    L.     SANDERSON,    AGE    16. 
BADGE    WON    FEB.,    1912.) 


Fluttering,  fluttering  downward, 
Covering  the  earth  with  a  veil  ; 

Making  great  ramparts  of  whiteness, 
Though  they  're  so  tiny  and  frail. 

Softly  the  moonlight  shines  on  them, 
Turning  to  silver  each  one. 

Sleep  !     For  with  them  on  the  morrow, 
You  will  have  frolic  and  fun. 


"IN    THE    SUNSHINE."       BY    LINDA 
SCHROEDER,    AGE   1 7. 


MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY    EUNICE   EDDY    (AGE    16) 

(Gold  Badge.  Silver  Badge  won  November,  1912) 
About  two  hundred  and  sixty  years  after  Christ,  there 
was  born  in  Patara,  Greece,  a  little  blue-eyed  baby.  His 
father  and  mother  named  him  "Nikolaos,"  and  from 
his  babyhood  he  was  greatly  beloved  by  his  playmates 
and  friends.  He  had  a  loving,  generous  heart  and  an 
unconquerable  courage.     When  he  grew  to  be  a  man,  he 

was  ordained  as  a  bishop. 
Having  a  great  deal  of 
money  left  to  him,  he 
decided  to  give  it  all 
away,  and  not  selfishly 
keep  it.  So  when  he 
heard  of  a  friend  who 
was  in  trouble,  he  went 
by  night  to  his  house  and 
threw  a  bag  of  gold  in 
at  the  window.  He  did 
this  three  times  before 
he  was  discovered.  Then, 
afterward,  when  poor 
people  found  mysterious 
gifts  left  at  their  houses 
in  the  night,  they  said 
that  it  was  Saint  Nich- 
olas who  brought  them. 

And  so  this  kindly 
man,  this  Greek  saint, 
called  by  the  Germans 
"Saint  Nicolaus,"  from 
which  we  get  our  "Santa 
Claus,"  is  the  person 
whose  memory  little 
children  all  over  the  world  honor  every.  Christmas  time, 
and  whom  they  expect  to  come  down  the  chimney  and 
put  good  things  in  their  stockings.  The  Russians,  the 
Lapps,  and  the  rest  of  the  northern  people  love  him  as 
much  as  the  eastern  people  do. 

But  now,  in  these  days,  a  message,  as  full  of  good 
cheer  as  this  kind  Greek  saint,  comes  not  ooaly  at  the 
Christmas  time,  but  every  month  in  the  year,  to  make 
the  children  happy,  even  as  this  hero  did — and  this 
message  of  fun  and  jollity  is  none  other  than  Saint 
Nicholas. 


MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY   DORRIS   ELISABETH    PADGHAM    (AGE    1 5) 

The  battle  of  Gettysburg,  in  July,  1863,  the  greatest 
contest  ever  fought  on  American  soil,  resulted  in  a 
victory  for  the  Federal  army.  Great  was  the  loss  of 
life.  Fifty  thousand  was  the  number  of  dead  and  in- 
jured men.  There  on  the  ground  where  they  had  fought 
so  bravely,  the  dead  were  buried. 

On  November  19  of  the  same  year,  a  great  multitude 
assembled  on  that  same  battle-field  and  burying-ground, 
to  witness  its  dedication  as  a  national  cemetery. 

Many  of  those  who  had  come  to  the  dedication  had 
loved  ones  who  had  fought  on  that  field.  All  minds 
were  filled  with  serious  thoughts. 

Edward  Everett,  the  well-known  orator,  delivered  a 
long  and  brilliant  oration.  Then  Abraham  Lincoln 
spoke  to  the  people.  He  deeply  felt  the  intensity  of  the 
moment.  As  he  said,  "We  cannot  dedicate,  we  cannot 
consecrate,  we  cannot  hallow  this  ground.  The  brave 
men  living  and  dead  who  struggled  here  have  conse- 
crated it  far  above  our  poor  power  to  add  or  detract." 

When  Lincoln  spoke,  he  thought  of  the  brave  soldiers 


ST.   NICHOLAS   LEAGUE 


BY    ANITA    LEE,    ACE     14. 


BY   JOHN    BOVD,    AGE    10.       (SILVER    13  MICE.) 


BY    ELIZABETH    HUBERTS,    AGE    16. 


BY    HELEN     BESLY,    AGE    12 


BY    MARGARET   GRIFEI'IH,     AGE.    It 


BY    Rl'DOLPH    DE    11.    YER    JIEHIi,    JR.,   AGE    12.  BY    CATHERINE    A.    HOMER,    AGE    16. 


BY    FRANCES    E.    GALI'IN,    AGE    14. 


BY    PHILYS   STRINGER,    AGE    14.       (SILVER    BADGE.)  BY    MARY   DAWSON,    AGE    14. 

"IN  THE  SUNSHINE." 


568 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Apr., 


who  had  marched  into  the  very  face  of  death,  the 
homes  that  had  been  wrecked,  and  of  the  country  still  in 
the  throes  of  war.  In  a  few  words  he  made  the  people 
see  that  he  understood  and  that  he  sympathized  with 
them. 

A  noted  Englishman  recently  said  that  Lincoln's  Get- 
tysburg address  is  the  "greatest  masterpiece  in  oratory 
of  the  last  half-century." 


IN    THE    SUNSHINE.  BY    KENNETH    D.    SMITH, 

(HONOR    MEMBER.) 


3E    I7. 


MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY   BLANCHE   F.    MOORE    (AGE    14) 

It  was  on  March  6,  1836,  that  my  favorite  bit  of  his- 
tory occurred.  Before  daybreak  of  that  day,  the  Mex- 
icans, who  had  been  in  the  town  of  San  Antonio  since 
February  23,  surrounded  the  Alamo.  The  infantry 
were  supplied  with  crowbars  and  ladders  for  scaling  the 
walls.  They  were  followed  by  the  cavalry,  who  were  to 
shoot  any  man  who  tried  to  turn  back.  As  the  sun 
arose,  a  bugle  blast,  the  signal  for  battle,  rang  out. 
Then  the  Mexicans,  some  five  thousand  in  number,  ad- 
vanced upon  the  fort. 

The  little  band  of  one  hundred  and  eighty-two  heroes 
within  was  well  supplied  with  weapons,  but  their  am- 
munition was  scarce.  Their  courage,  however,  was 
great.  When  the  Mexicans  planted  their  ladders  and 
tried  to  ascend,  they  were  driven  back  with  a  volley  of 
cannon  and  musket-shots.  Again  they  tried,  and  again 
they  were  driven  back.     They  hesitated  before  attempt- 


•'IN    THE    SUNSHINE.  BY    FLORA    M.    ROS,    AGE    14. 

ing  a  third  time,  but  Santa  Anna,  their  leader,  and  the 
cavalry  drove  them  forward.  This  time  they  swarmed 
up  the  ladders  by  hundreds.  But  the  Texans  slew  those 
who  came  first,  and  they  fell  backward,  crushing  all 
beneath  them. 

So  far,  not  a  Texan  had  been  killed  ;   but  there  was 
only   a   handful   of  them   compared   with   the    Mexican 


host.  Then,  too,  they  were  exhausted  from  the  eleven 
days  of  constant  watchfulness  which  they  had  had  since 
the  Mexicans  had  been  in  the  town. 

As  the  Mexicans  again  scaled  the  walls,  the  Texans 
were  overpowered,  and  one  after  another  of  the  brave 
heroes  fell.  Now  Travis — now  Bonham — and  now 
Bowie.  Every  man  was  slain.  But  not  one  gave  up. 
Each  fought  until  he  lay  lifeless  on  the  bloody  floor. 
"Thermopylae  had  its  messenger  of  defeat,  but  the 
Alamo  had  none." 


MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY    ELSIE   TERHUNE    (AGE    1 6) 

(Silver  Badge) 
The  bit  of  history  that  I  love  is  connected  with  a  small 
lad  who  has  thoughtful,  black  eyes  and  a  bunch  of 
ebon  hair.  We  see  him  walking  down  a  country  road. 
Behind  him  are  the  gates  of  Genoa,  his  first  place  of 
learning,  gleaming  whitely  in  the  sunlight.  Towers  of 
temples  and  spires  rise  to  the  coppery  sky.  We  leave 
him  gathering  knowledge  of  the  studies  of  astronomy 
and  the  sea,  which  he  loved. 

We   next   spy  him   on   a   small   sailing   vessel   on   the 
way  to  the  Canary  Islands.     He  sits  in  the  cabin  exam- 


'  IN  THE  SUNSHINE.    BY  EASTON  B.  NOBLE,  AGE 
(HONOR  MEMBER.) 


ining  a  chart.  He  is  downhearted  after  his  fruitless 
attempt  to  obtain  vessels  for  his  exploration  voyage. 
He  folds  up  his  chart  slowly,  leans  his  forehead  on  his 
palm,  closes  his  eyes,  and  thinks — thinks — thinks. 

Many  years  pass.  Columbus  is  not  young,  but  is  still 
courageous.  Now  something  else  shines  from  his  eyes. 
It  is  joy.  He  is  standing  on  the  shore.  Grouped  around 
him  are  priests,  townfolk,  and  nobles,  some  still  laugh- 
ing at  his  idea.  Columbus  looks  his  farewell,  then  is 
rowed  to  the  ship.  The.  day  is  sultry,  and,  as  they  leave 
the  city  of  Palos,  they  can  see  red,  yellow,  and  spark- 
ling beams  on  the  shore  now  fading. 

It  is  midnight.  A  storm  is  rolling  from  the  west. 
The  lightning  reveals  three  ships  on  the  ocean.  The 
cries  of  the  frightened  and  angry  sailors  mingle  with 
the  growling  thunder  like  spirits  from  the  deep.  On 
one  of  the  ships  stands  Columbus.  He  kneels  upon  the 
deck  and  prays  silently: 

"Help  me  !     Oh,  save  me  to  live  my  dream  !" 

Several  days  later,  he  steps  upon  the  shore  with  his 
crew,  a  thankful,  happy  man. 

Another  scene  shows  to  us  prosperous  America,  and 
I  sit  here  writing  amid  the  luxuries  of  our  great  nation, 


1914] 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


569 


A  SONG  OF  THE  SNOW 

BY   LUCILE    H.    QUARRY    (AGE    l6) 

Over  the  country  and  over  the  town, 
Lazily,  gently,  the  snow  falls  down  ; 
All  through  the  day  and  into  the  night, 
Making  the  landscape  pure  and  white. 

Under  its  weight  the  trees  bow  low, 
Sway  in  the  soft  breeze  to  and  fro  ; 
Then,  when  the  snow-storm-clouds  are  past, 
The  moon  shines  out  in  the  sky  at  last. 


HE  ME 

RAF 


!  EWM1-GUU113 


"A    HEADING    FOR   APRIL."       BY    EDWIN    GILL,    AGE    14. 

Bright  are  the  gleams  that  touch  the  earth, 
Waking  the  snowflakes  into  mirth, 
Tenderly  giving  them  each  a  kiss. 
And  the  song  that  the  snowflakes  sing  is  this : 

"Out  of  the  sky  that  is  soft  and  gray, 
Out  of  the  clouds  have  we  come  to-day  ; 
Winter  is  hard  for  the  flowers  and  grass, 
We  '11  keep  them  safe,  and  the  cold  will  pass. 

Pureness  and  brightness  to  earth  we  bring, 
As  we  cover  the  trees  and  everything ; 
All  is,  whiteness,  where'er  we  go, 
For  we  are  the  starry  flakes  of  snow." 

MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY    ELSIE    BAUM     (AGE    13) 

(Silver  Badge) 
As  I  sit  with  an  open  "History  of  France"  in  my  lap, 
in  fancy  I  live  over  again  the  story  of  Joan  of  Arc. 

Before  me  arises  a  room  in  the  home  of  a  peasant  of 
Domremy.  Around  the  oaken  table  sit  men,  prominent 
personages  in  the  little  community. 

Bitterly  they  talk  of  the  sufferings  of  the  people  at 
the  hands  of  the  English,  who  are  now  the  masters  of 
France  ;  of  the  beautiful  country,  once  blooming,  fertile 
and  well  cultivated,  now  barren,  deserted,  and  given 
over  to  the  hands  of  the  English  plunderers.  Furiously 
they  rage  against  the  weakling  king,  who,  oblivious  of 
the  miseries  of  his  people,  forgets  the  shame  of  the 
retreat  in  pleasure  and  feasting. 

But  they  regard  as  insane  the  tall,  dark-eyed  girl 
who  declares  that  God  has  instructed  her  to  deliver 
France. 

But  her  gentle  tact  and  firmness  succeed,  not  only  in 
convincing  them,  but  even  King  Charles,  who  gives  her 
an  army. 

With  a  heaven-inspired  courage  and  strength,  she 
sweeps  the  enemy  before  her  till  she  reaches  Orleans. 


There,  after  a  long  battle,  she  delivers  Orleans. 

Then  triumphantly  crowning  the  dauphin,  she  leads 
her  army  forth  to  victorious  battle  in  the  Compiegne, 
and  delivers  France. 

But,  alas !  she  herself  is  captured  by  treachery  and 
sold  to  the  English. 

Now  the  scene  changes.  I  see  her  before  the  merci- 
less tribunal,  who,  after  a  brutal  trial,  failing  to  find 
any  real  guilt,  fix  a  pretended  charge  on  her,  and  con- 
demn her  to  be  burned  alive. 

Bravely  she  hears  her  sentence,  for  she  still  has  faith 
in  her  Maker.  Uncomplaining  she  goes  to  the  stake, 
unmindful  of  the  jeers  of  the  people. 

As  the  fire  creeps  up  around  her  girlish  form,  her  lips 
move  in  prayer.  Nearer  and  nearer  come  the  flames, 
and,  still  trusting  in  God,  she  dies. 

I  look  up,  my  eyes  wet  with  tears.  Once  more  I  am 
in  the  twentieth  century. 

But  oh,  Joan  of  Arc,  your  name  shall  be  a  bright 
light  in  history  until  courage,  loyalty,  and  piety  shall 
cease  to  be  respected. 

MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

(The  Gettysburg  Speech) 

BY    OSCAR    BLATTER    (AGE    I  3) 

About  four  months  after  the  battle  of  Gettysburg,  a 
party  of  men  left  Washington.  Among  them  was  a  tall, 
thin  figure,  fully  six  feet  in  height.  Abraham  Lincoln, 
for  it  was  he,  was  on  his  way  to  the  battle-field  of  Get- 
tysbtirg,  to  take  part  in  the  ceremonies  dedicating  that 
spot. 

As  the  train  moved  swiftly  along,  Lincoln  was  think- 
ing of  the  speech  he  was  to  make  the  following  day. 
Now  and  then,  he  would  write  a  few  words,  and  then 
again  would  fall  into  deep  thought. 

As  he  gazed  about  the  car,  his  glance  fell  on  the 
distinguished  orator,  Mr.  Edward  Everett.  Lincoln  felt 
quite  discouraged  when  he  thought  of  the  stirring  sen- 
tences of  this  man  compared  with  his  own,  so  he  put 
his  paper  and  pencil  into  his  pocket. 


4.  i-A*.  ,  -f^V^&h&djP-'. 


P 


n  I  l 


',*-     s4-t- 


"A    HEADING    FOR   APRIL."      BY    MARINELLA   COLONNA,  AGE    16. 
(HONOR    MEMBER.) 


The  next  morning,  about  eleven  o'clock,  he  was 
seated  on  a  great  platform  before  a  multitude  of  people. 
Soon  Mr.  Everett  began  his  part  of  the  ceremonies. 
He  spoke  of  the  terrible  war  they  were  engaged  in,  and 
of  his  hopes  for  the  future.  As  Lincoln  listened,  he 
felt  more  disappointed  than  ever. 

When  Mr.  Everett  had  ended,  there  was  a  deafening 


570 


ST.  NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


[Apr., 


applause.  When  the  tumult  had  subsided,  Lincoln  rose 
and  came  forward. 

As  he  began  to  speak,  the  crowd  hung  breathless  on 
his  words.     They  did  not  want  to  miss  a  word. 

But  soon  it  was  ended.  Not  a  shout  was  given  or  a 
hand  lifted  to  applaud.  Lincoln  returned  to  his  seat 
thinking  his  speech  was  a  failure,  and  it  nearly  broke 
his  heart.  But  as  we  know,  and  he  found  out  after- 
ward, he  had  made  one  of  the  greatest  speeches  re- 
corded in  history. 


"HELPING."       BY    FREDERICK    W.    AGNEW,    AGE    l6. 

MY  FAVORITE  BIT  OF  HISTORY 

BY    SALLY   THOMPSON    (AGE    13) 

I  think  that  one  of  the  most  interesting  battles  in  the 
world's  history  is  the  battle  of  Thermopylae,  where  Leon- 
idas,  with  his  brave  three  hundred  Spartans  and  seven 
hundred  allies,  defended  so  gallantly  the  pass  against 
Xerxes,  the  Persian  king,  who  had  many  thousands  of 
soldiers. 

The  Greeks'  religious  scruples  prevented  them  from 
postponing  the  Olympian  games  which  were  held  every 
fourth  year  in  honor  of  Zeus ;  but  no  scruples  pre- 
vented them  from  leaving  Leonidas  with  only  a  few 
men  to  guard  the  pass  and  keep  back  the  Persians, 
whose  coming  might  mean  slavery  for  Greece.  All 
Greece  was  endangered  by  Persia,  and  if  the  pass  were 
captured,  the  country  would  be  open  to  the  invaders. 


"HELPING."       BY    H.    B.    ESTRADA,    AGE    17.       (SILVER    BADGE.) 

Every  one  knows  how  the  Persians  were  kept  back 
for  two  days,  and  how  Ephialtes,  "the  Judas  of  Greece," 
revealed  to  Xerxes  the  way  across  the  mountain  to  the 
rear  of  Leonidas,  and  so  prevented  him  from  holding 
the  pass ;  and  how  the  little  army  of  three  hundred 
with  seven  hundred  of  the  allies  would  not  betray  their 
trust,  preferring  death  ;  and  how  they  were  every  one 
slain  by  the  Persians'  spears. 

Not  far  from  the  place  where  these  brave  men  fell, 
there  stands  a  statue  with  the  inscription  : 

Stranger,    the  tidings  to  the  Spartans  tell, 
That  here,  obeying  their  commands,  we  fell. 


This  battle  proves  Spartan  valor  and  faithfulness ; 
and  Leonidas,  with  his  brave  three  hundred,  has  won 
for  Sparta  a  name  in  history  never  to  be  forgotten. 

A  SONG  OF  THE  SNOWFLAKES 

BY    CORA    LOUISE    BUTTERFIELD    (AGE    1 3) 

(Silver  Badge) 
How  can  I  sing  of  the  snowflakes 

Falling  on  spruce  and  pines, 
While  I  sit  here  in  Mississippi, 

Where  the  summer  sun  still  shines? 

How  can  I  sing  of  the  heavens 

Banked  with  clouds  of  gray, 
When  they  're  smiling  softly  upon  me, 

As  blue  as  they  are  in  May  ? 

How  can  I  sing  of  winter 

With  the  sun  "gone  out  of  sight," 

When  it  's  shining  down  upon  me   ■ 
So  lovely,  and  warm,  and  bright  ? 

Ah,  no  !  a  song  of  the  snowflakes 

Can  never  be  sung  by  me  ; 
For  down  here  in  Mississippi, 

'T  is  always  summer,  you  see. 


"A  HEADING   FOR    APRIL.  BY    PAULYNE    F.    MAY,    AGE    17. 

(SILVER    BADGE.) 

THE  ROLL  OF  HONOR 

No.  1.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  would  have  been  used  had  space 
permitted. 

No.  2.     A  list  of  those  whose  work  entitles  them  to  encouragement. 
PROSE    1  Dorothy  M.  Robathan  Hyman  Mendelow 

Dorothy  Levy  Cornelius  A.  Shell 

Eliza  A.  Peterson  Rebecca  Offner 

Mary  Q.  Richmond       Mabelle  Teller 

Elmaza  Fletcher 

John  T.  Opie 

Esther  R.  Hayes 

Mildred  Kadow 

Winifred  Birkett 


Elizabeth  B.  Loring 
'  Lucy  O.  Lewton 
Elizabeth  N.  Dale 
Griffith  M.  Harsh 
D.  B.  Newkirk 
Ruth  Schmidt 
Edith  Sise 
Robert  Henry  Reid,  Jr.  Esther  J.  Lowell 


Walter  B.  Lister 
Adrian  Spencer 
Mary  Hallock 
Daniel  B.  Benscoter 
Josephine  Fellows 
C.  Rosalind  Holmes 
Carrol  T.  Mitchell 
William  vom  Cleff 
Eileen  Creelman 
Lavinia  Janes 
Elizabeth  Talley 
Beulah  Zimmerman 
Raymond  Ray 
Agnes  Nolan 
Mead  Treadwell 
Dorothy  Woolcott 
Charlotte  Waller 
Ruth  Hooper 
Julian  L.  Ross 
Elizabeth  Helmer 
Martha  Eiseman 
Dorothy  V.  Fuller 
Alfred  S.  Valentine 
Mab  N.  Barber 
Eleanor  Bowman 


Hettie  J.  Pritchard 
Kathryn  French 
Marion  Ellet 
Lois  Hopkins 

PROSE,  2 


Gladys  Dingledine 
Francis  P.  Squibb 
Justin  Andrews 
Edith  Culver 
Helen  Beeman 
Susan  Appel 
Cyota  Rigdon" 
Mayme  E.  Reed 
Laura  Morris 
Roberta  S.  Jennings 
Mary  K.  Jacobs 

VERSE,  1 


Annetta  B.  Stainton 

Nell  Hiscox 

Reba  Goldstine 

Florence  Temple 

Alma  Rosenzi 

Elsie  Daubert 

Cornelia  Felix 

Mary  Landrus 

Florence  Fraim 

Mira  Bowles 

Helen  Bull 

William  P.  Whitney 

Patrick  T.  L.  Putnam    Mary  B.  Closson 

Mary  Wright  Aher,  Jr.  Catherine  Rapp 

Huston  Murdock  Peggy  Norris 

Constance  Dreyfus         Madeline  Buzzell 

Lindsay  Thompson         Linda  Van  Norden 

Bessie  Rosenman  Ruth  M.  Paine. 


Eleanor  Johnson 
Frances  Riker 
Francesca  W.  Moffat 
Dorothy  P.  Petgen 
Jessie  M.  Thompson 
Nell  Adams 
Thelma  Stillson 
Florence  W.  Towle 
Elsie  L.  Lustig 
Constance  C.  Ling 
Isabel  Scott 


I9I4-J 


ST.   NICHOLAS  LEAGUE 


571 


Sarah  F.  Borock 
Catherine  E.  Cook 
Hildegarde  Halliday 
Lucy  Swallow 
Margaret  C.  Bland 
Elizabeth  Roy 
Marion  McMillan 

VERSE,  2 

Helen  Schoening 
Arthur  D.  Lionberger 
Lazare  Chernoff 
Eliza  S.  Morton 
Lillian  Rhodes 
Pauline  Lyles 
Lucile  Kapp 
Virginia  Palmer 
Austin  W.  West 
Elizabeth  Carter 
Mildred  Aaron 
Margaret  Thomas 
Therese  Rosenstein 
Ethelyn  B.  Crusel 
Edith  S.  Holihan 
Winifred  Fletcher 
Marie  L.  Muriedas 
Bessie  Radlofsky 
Isidore  Helfand 
Julia  Fox 
Carol  Klink 
Sydney  R.  McLean 
Theresa  Winsor 
Elizabeth  Elting 
Rose  Weller 
Hannah  Forthal 

DRAWINGS,  i 


Beth  Lyon 
Donald  Kennedy 
E.  H.  Chapin 
Robert  Mare 
Margaret  Bliss 
Montgomery  Knight 
Edward  S.  Watson 
James  A.  G. 
Campbell,  Jr. 


Elizabeth  F.  Cornell 
Myra  Eraser 
Anita  Marburg 
Muriel  W.  Curtis 
Marion  Barnett 
Oliver  L.  Williams 
Francis  S. Bradford,  Jr. 
Elizabeth  W.  Pharo 
Alice  Musser 


Lida  Raymond 

Frances  M.  E.  Patten 

Welthea  B.  Thoday  Morris  Ress 

Henrietta  H.  Henning  Eleanor  L.  Topliff 

S.  Dorothy  Bell  Jennie  E.  Everden 

Louise  S.  May 

Helen  Hitchcock  PHOTOGRAPHS,  i 

Sam  Kirkland 

Ralph  Schubert  Margaret  A.  Biddle 

Kenneth  C.  Davis  Margaret  H.  Pooley 

Loena  King  Marjorie  R.  Hunt 

Helen  C.  Jaeger  Helen  M.  Folwell 


A    HEADING    FOR    APRIL.  Bl 

ARDERY  V.  DE  FONDS,  AGE  15. 


Jr 


DRAWINGS,  2 
Elizabeth  Norton 
Jack  Jervis 
Beatrice  B.  Sawyer 
Dorothy  Benson 
Mildred  Rappleyea 
Ruth  B.  Miller 
Virginia  L.  Hyams 


BY  HARLAN  HUBBARD, 
(SILVER    BADGE.) 

Use  Bischoff 
2        Dorothy  StefFan 

Cornelia  A.  Rogers 
Addie  Thomas 


Pearl  I.  Henderson 
Leopold  A. 
Camacho,  Jr. 

PHOTOGRAPHS,  2 

Charles  C.  McCrea 
Elsa  Oppenheimer 
Dorothy  Frees 
Eleanor  B.  Phillips 
Margaret  Mc  A. 

Janeway 
Mercedes  Jones 
Jessica  Raymond 
Halsey  T.  Tichenor, 
Edward  S.  Peer 
Elizabeth  Merz 
Eleanor  Stevenson 
Jessie  L.  Metcalf 
Mariana  Blood 
Helen  Crawford 
Wilhelmina  Reichard 
L.  Armstrong  Kern 
Margaret  K.  Hinds 
Anne  B.  Townsend 
Dorothea  H.  Nau 
Beatrice  N.  Penny 
James  L.  Witkowsky 
Thomas  Redwood 
Marjorie  A.  Calvert 
Pauline  Coburn 
Edith  Carruthers 
P.  Ernest  Isbell 
Josephs.  Sylvester,  Jr. 
Eunice  S.  Underwood 
Louise  E.  de  Gaugue 
Mildred  Bolles 
Mary  C.  Dreyspring 
Lee  Whittlesey 
Ethel  Cox 
Frances  Raymond 
Edith  B.  Gardner 
Helen  F.  Mann 
Dorothy  Gladding 
Marie  W.  Smith 


Christina  C.  McMurtie  Helen  Curtis 


Josephine  Keech 
Irving  A.  Leonard 
Jessica  B.  Noble 
Clara  Frederichs 


Marie  Therese  Bouniol  Margaret  M.  Benney 
Jack  Field  Delphine  Burr 

Mary  D.  K.  Field  Phebe  Poole 

Arthur  Pollak  Emilie  J.  Daggett 

Gladys  Holiday  Alethea  Carpenter 


William  Biddle 

PUZZLES,  1 
Ruth  K.  Gaylord 
Marguerite  T.  Arnold 
Kenneth  H.  Zabriskie 
Ruth  Lee 
Robert  S.  Holt 
Angela  M.  Smith 


Margaret  Anderson 
Ida  Cramer 
Fred  Floyd,  Jr. 

PUZZLES,  2 

Howard  Blundell 
Virginia  M.  Allcock 
Gladys  M.  Randall 


Katherine  Bull 
Margaret  George 
Selma  Moskowitz 
Helen  T.  Stevenson 
Oscar  Pitschman  • 
Anita  Fenton 
Evelyn  Brady 
Dorothy  A.  Smith 
B.  H.  Bronson 


Carrie  Cypress 
Emily  Pendleton 
Eloise  Rigby 
J.  Roy  Elliott 
Philip  R.  Nichols 
Katherine  Clark 
Alice  L.  Cushing 
Grace  E.  Lustig 
Ruth  M.  Cole 


PRIZE  COMPETITION  No.  174 

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.  174  will  close  April  24  (for  for- 
eign members  April  30).  Prize  announcements  will 
be  made  and  the  selected  contributions  published  in  St. 
Nicholas  for  August. 

Verse.  To  contain  not  more  than  twenty-four  lines. 
Subject,  "The  Echo." 

Prose.  Essay  or  story  of  not  more  than  three  hundred 
words.      Subject,  "  A  Story  of  the  Garden." 

Photograph.  Any  size,  mounted  or  unmounted  ;  no  blue 
prints  or  negatives.     Subject,  "The  Race." 

Drawing.  India  ink,  very  black  writing-ink,  or  wash. 
Subject,    "The  Messenger,"  or  a  Heading  for  August. 

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  a  few  words  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. 


RULES 

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 — and  must  state  in  writing — thai 
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,  however,  does  not  include  the  "  advertising 
competition"  (see  advertising  pages)  or  "Answers  to 
Puzzles." 
Address  :  The  St.  Nicholas  League, 

Union  Square,  New  York. 


THE   LETTER-BOX 


EDITORIAL  NOTE 
By  an  oversight,  which  is  much  regretted,  the  article 
entitled  "At  the  Children's  Matinee,"  in  our  February 
number,  was  signed  "Clara  Meadowcroft,"  instead  of 
with  the  full  name  of  the  author,  which  is  Clara  Piatt 
Meadowcroft.  We  cheerfully  make  this  correction,  and 
are  sorry  that  the  proper  signature  did  not  appear  in 
the  decorative  heading  printed  with  the  article  itself. 


Springfield,  Mass. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  Years  ago,  when  I  was  a  little 
fellow  and  a  constant  reader  of  St.  Nicholas,  you  pub- 
lished diagrams  and  directions  for  some  very  clever 
paper-folding.  I  remember  with  what  enthusiasm  I 
solved  for  myself  the  mysteries  connected  with  the  con- 
struction of  a  "Nantasket  Sink"  and  other  wonders, 
into  some  of  which  I  have  initiated  a  good  many  boys 
and  girls  since  then. 

I  was  reminded  of  those  times  and  of  St.  Nicholas 
when  I  lately  saw  a  Japanese  student,  surrounded  by 
an  eager  group  of  boys  and  girls,  and  folding  for  them 
from  square  pieces  of  paper  what  they  all  agreed  were 
"real  Easter  lilies."  I  learned  from  him  how  it  was 
done,  and  have  written  it  all  out  with  the  diagrams  and 
directions  which  used  to  be  so  dear  to  my  own  heart. 
I  have  even  tried  them  on  some  young  friends  of  mine, 
so  I  know  they  can  be  understood  and  used. 
Yours  sincerely, 

Horace  J.  Rice. 

HOW  TO   FOLD  AN   EASTER   LILY 


the  edges  that  ran  from  this  corner  at  F  to  C,  and  giv- 
ing once  more  Figure  6. 

Now  turn  the  whole  figure  over,  and  repeat  the  fold 
with  the  other  corner  at  H  and  the  other  corner  at  F, 
giving  Figure  7. 

Raise  somewhat  the  edge  IJ,  and  taking  a  single  edge 
of  the  lyie  IC  and  its  continuation  IK,  and  a  single 
edge  of  the  line  JC  and  its  continuation  JK,  make  each 
to  lie  along  the  line  EC.  This  will  form  a  little  angle 
at  K,  which  will  be  forced  upward  and  then  backward 
upon  the  line  EC,  producing  Figure  8. 

Turn  the  whole  figure  over,  and  proceed  as  before. 
Now  take  one  of  the  corners  at  J  and  bring  it  over 
upon  the  corner  at  I.  Turn  the  whole  figure  over,  and 
again  bring  one  of  the  corners  at  J  over  upon  the  cor- 
ner at  I.  This  brings  us  back,  apparently,  to  Figure  7 
again.  Proceed  as  before,  turn  the  whole  figure  over, 
and  repeat  yet  once  more.  The  result  will  be  Figure  9 
(except  for  the  dotted  lines). 

Lift  the  corner  at  K  and  bring  it  forward  along  the 
line  EC  as  far  as  it  will  go,  to  L.  Do  the  same  with 
each  of  the  other  three  similar  angles. 

Take  one  of  the  edges  ME  and  bring  it  over  upon  the 
line  NE.  Turn  the  whole  figure  over  and  repeat,  form- 
ing Figure   10. 

Take  one  of  the  edges  ME  and  one  of  the  edges  NE, 
and  bring  them  over  upon  the  line  EC,  creasing  thor- 
oughly, thus  forming  Figure   1 1  ;  turn  over  and  repeat. 


Take  a  square  piece  of  paper,  as  in  Figure 
1.  Bring  the  corner  A  over  upon  the  cor- 
ner C,  and  crease  firmly  along  the  diagonal 
DB,  producing  Figure  2. 

Bring  the  corner  B  over  upon  the  corner 
D,  and  crease  along  the  line  EC,  producing 
Figure  3. 

Now  lift  the  corner  B  again  until  the 
line  BE  is  perpendicular,  and  spreading 
apart  the  two  edges  that  run  from  B  to  C, 
press  the  corner  B  down  upon  the  corner 
C.  The  crease  EB  will  thus  fall  upon  the 
crease  EC,  forming  Figure  4. 

Turn  the  whole  figure  over,  and  proceed 
in  similar  manner  to  raise  the  corner  D 
until  the  line  DE  is  perpendicular,  and 
then,  spreading  apart  the  two  edges  that 
run  from  D  to  C,  press  the  corner  at  D 
down  upon  the  corner  at  C.  The  result  is 
Figure  5. 

You  will  see  that  the  center  of  the  orig- 
inal square  of  paper  is  now  at  E,  and  all 
the  original  corners  at  C,  while  four  new  corners  have 
been  formed,  two  at  H  and  two  at  F,  thus  making  four 
exactly  similar  double-thickness  triangles.  Hereafter, 
whatever  fold  is  made  on  one  of  these  four  similar  parts 
of  the  figure,  will  be  repeated  on  each  of  the  other  three. 

Lift  one  of  the  corners  at  H  until  it  is  directly  above 
the  line  EC,  and,  spreading  apart  the  two  edges  that  run 
from  the  corner  at  H  to  C,  press  the  corner  at  H  down 
firmly  upon  the  line  EC.     The  result  will  be  Figure  6. 

Bring  the  corner  at  J  over  upon  the  corner  at  I.  Now 
lift  one  of  the  corners  at  F  until  it  is  above  the  line 
CE,  and  press  it  down  upon  that  line,  spreading  apart 


e h  h E 


DIAGRAM    SHOWING    THE    SUCCESSIVE    FOLDINGS    TO    FORM    THE    EASTER    LILIES. 


Then  take  one  of  the  edges  ME  and  bring  it  over  upon 
the  line  NE,  and  fold  in  ME  and  NE  to  EC  as  before  ; 
turn  over  and  repeat.     The  result  will  be  Figure  12. 

Now  with  a  pencil  curl  back  a  single  thickness  of  the 
angle  at  C  upon  the  line  CE  as  far  as  it  will  go.  Do 
the  same  with  the  other  three  angles  at  C,  and  you  will 
have  a  full-blown  Easter  lily. 

A  skilful  folder  can  produce  all  sorts  of  interesting 
and  elaborate  variations  of  this  lily,  as  follows  : 

Cut  a  somewhat  star-shaped  figure,  with  as  many 
points  as  you  wish  your  lily  to  have  petals.  For  the 
best    results,    each    of    these    points    should    be    a    right 


THE  LETTER-BOX 


573 


angle,  or  somewhat  less.  Use  thin,  tough  paper  Crease 
strongly  from  the  tip  of  each  point  to  the  center;  in  Fig- 
ure 13,  for  instance,  crease  ET,  EV,  EW,  EX,  EY,  and 
EZ.     Now  bring  together  the  creases  ET,  EV,  and  EW 


THE    FOl'R-PETALED    AND    SIX-PETALED    PAPER    LILY. 


so  that  they  lie  one  upon  another ;  and,  on  the  other 
side,  bring  together  the  creases  EX,  EY,  and  EZ  so  that 
they  lie  one  upon  another,  and  press  down,  giving  Fig- 
ure 14. 

This  corresponds  to  Figure  5  in  the  description  of  the 
four-petaled  lily ;  and  as  Figure  5  was  composed  of 
four  similar  parts,  each  a  double-thickness  triangle,  so 
this  figure  is  composed  of  as  many  similar  parts  as  it 
originally  had  points,  each  being  a  double-thickness 
triangle.  Treat  each  of  these  parts  as  you  treated  each 
part  of  Figure  5  before,  and  each  point  in  your  figure 
will  become  a  petal  in  your  flower. 

Some  interesting  effects  can  be  produced  by  making 
every  other  petal  short  and  broad,  and  every  other  one 
long  and  slim  ;  or  by  using  a  piece  of  paper  shaped  as 
in  Figure  15,  but  treating  it  as  though  it  had  but  three 
points,  X,  Y,  and  Z. 


Bryan,  O. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  am  a  girl  thirteen  years  of  age, 
and  have  lived  in  India  with  my  mother  and  father  for 
ten  years.  My  mother,  brother,  sister,  and  myself  came 
to  America,  and  we  were  passengers  on  the  Titanic. 
My  father  stayed  in  India  for  another  year.  I  am  going 
to  tell  you  about  our  journey  home,  and  about  the 
Titanic  disaster. 

We  started  from  India  March  7,  on  the  steamer  City 
of  Benares.  We  had  a  very  nice  voyage  to  Port  Said. 
The  sea  was  very  calm.  While  in  the  Suez  Canal  we 
saw  camels  and  many  other  interesting  objects.  When 
we  left  Port  Said,  it  began  getting  cooler,  and  the  sea 
was  getting  a  little  rougher.  We  went  between  the  two 
islands  Corsica  and  Sardinia  to  Marseilles.  There, 
nearly  everybody  got  off  to  go  shopping.  When  we  left 
Marseilles,  we  got  into  the  Gulf  of  Lyons,  and  it  was 
very  rough  there.  The  waves  just  dashed  over  the 
highest  deck.  When  we  went  through  the  Strait  of 
Gibraltar,  we  did  not  sec  the  rock,  because  it  was  night. 


It  was  rough  when  we  were  in  the  Bay  of  Biscay,  too, 
but  those  were  the  only  places.  We  got  to  London  on 
the  fifth  of  April,  Good  Friday.  We  never  were  so  glad 
to  get  off  anything,  I  think,  as  that  boat ;  we  had  been 
on  it  twenty-nine  days,  almost  a 
month.  We  stayed  in  London 
five  days,  so  as  to  make  connec- 
tion with  the  steamship  Titanic, 
which  was  sailing  the  tenth  of 
April  from  Southampton.  During 
those  five  days,  we  went  to  the 
places  of  interest,  like  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  Zoological  Gardens, 
and  Westminster  Abbey.  We 
also  saw  the  largest  clock  in  the 
world,  which  is  called  "Big  Ben." 
On  the  tenth,  we  left  London 
for  Southampton  on  the  train. 
We  got  on  the  Titanic  about  ten 
o'clock,  and  sailed  at  twelve.  We 
were  thinking  of  getting  to  New 
York  in  about  six  or  seven  days, 
but  when  we  got  on  the  Titanic, 
we  heard  people  saying  that  we 
were  going  to  get  there  in  about 
four  or  five  days,  that  Captain 
Smith  was  going  to  make  his 
maiden   voyage    a    record    one. 

We  were  just  dazzled  when  we 
got  on  this  lovely  big  boat.  Our 
cabin  was  just  like  a  hotel  room, 
it  was  so  big.  The  dining-room 
was  beautiful,  with  the  new 
linen  and  silver.  There  was  an  elevator,  so  we  did  not 
have  to  walk  up  or  down.  We  had  been  on  the  Titanic 
for  three  or  four  days,  when  we  found  it  was  beginning 
to  get  bitterly  cold.  On  Sunday,  we  all  crowded  to  the 
inner  decks  especially  made   for  winter. 

On  Sunday  night,  my  mother  had  just  gone  to  bed,  it 
seemed,  when  she  was  awakened  by  the  engines  stop- 
ping ;  then  she  heard  a  pounding  noise  above  our  cabin. 
She  got  up  and  asked  a  steward  what  the  matter  was, 
but  he  said,  "Nothing,"  and  that  she  should  go  back  to 
bed.  She  came  back  into  the  cabin  ;  but  then  our  own 
cabin  steward  came,  and  she  asked  him,  and  he  said  to 
tie  on  her  life-belt  and  come,  that  the  ship  was  sinking  ; 
so  she  awakened  me,  and  we  all  put  on  our  shoes  and 
stockings  and  our  coats  over  our  night-clothes,  and 
went  to  the  upper  deck.  We  heard  them  sending  off 
rockets  for  help,  and  the  band  was  playing.  Soon  an 
officer  came  and  told  us  to  all  come  and  get  into  the 
life-boats.  We  went.  My  mother,  brother,  and  sister 
got  into  one  life-boat,  and  then  they  said  it  was  all  for 
this  boat,  so  my  mother  told  me  to  get  into  the  next  one. 
I  got  into  another  boat,  and  when  they  were  lowering  it, 
another  one  nearly  came  on  top  of  us.  We  finally  did 
get  to  the  surface  of  the  water,  with  much  difficulty. 
The  Titanic  was  sinking  lower  and  lower.  We  could 
see  the  port  lights  go  under  one  by  one  until  there  was 
an  awful  explosion  of  the  boilers  bursting,  and  then  the 
ship  seemed  to  break  right  in  the  middle,  and,  after  a 
bit,  go  down.  When  it  did  go  down,  we  heard  terrible 
screams  and  cries  from  the  people  that  were  going  down 
with  the  boat.  We  rowed  for  quite  a  while,  then  the 
oarsmen  on  our  boat  began  singing  songs  to  cheer  us  up. 
Sometimes  we  would  think  we  saw  a  light,  but  it  would 
only  be  a  star  in  the  horizon.  It  was  bitterly  cold,  and 
we  did  not  have  anything  on  except  our  coats  over  our 
night-clothes.  None  of  our  family  had  any  life-belts  on 
at  all.  Suddenly,  in  the  early  morning,  we  saw  a  faint 
green  light  ;  it  came  nearer  and  nearer.     It  proved  to  be 


574 


THE   LETTER-BOX 


the  light  on  the  rescue  ship  Carpathia,  which  was  send- 
ing off  rockets  to  notify  us  that  it  had  come  to  save  us. 
We  rowed  as  fast  as  we  could  to  it,  and  were  one  of  the 
first  boats  to  get  there.  I  was  the  first  to  be  taken  off, 
and  a  steward  came  and  took  me  to  the  first-class  din- 
ing-saloon,  and  gave  me  brandy  and  hot  coffee  ;  but  I 
could  not  drink  anything,  I  was  so  worried  about  my 
mother.  After  a  while,  though,  I  found  her  in  the  sec- 
ond-class dining-saloon,  trying  to  find  me,  with  my 
sister  and  brother.  My,  but  I  was  glad  to  see  her !  The 
women  were  hunting  for  their  husbands,  and  when  they 
could  not  find  them,  they  knew  they  had  gone  down 
with  the  Titanic.     It  was  an  awful  sight ! 

Then,  before  we  sailed  for  New  York,  they  sent  four 
life-boats  afloat  so  that  they  could  get  any  one  that  was 
drowning. 

We  had  fog  all  the  way  to  New  York,  and  got  there 
in  the  pouring  rain.  We  went  right  to  a  hotel,  and  the 
next  day  we  went  on  to  Michigan. 

I  have  taken  St.  Nicholas  for  a  year  now,  and  like 
it  very  much.  I  can  hardly  wait  until  the  time  for  the 
next  one  to  come.. 

Your  most  interested  reader, 

Ruth  E.  Becker. 


Havana,  Cuba. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas:  This  is  the  first  letter  I  have  ever 
written    to    you,    although    I    have    taken    you    for    four 
years.     We  live  on  a  big  farm.     I  have  three  sisters  and 
one  brother. 

We  have  on  our  farm  grape-fruit,  oranges,  mangos, 
lemons,  and  guavas.  May  is  the  mango  season  here,  and 
then  we  just  feast  on  them.  We  live  twelve  miles  from 
the  city,  and  less  than  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the 
nearest  town. 

We  had  two  cocoanut-palms  in  our  yard,  but  one  got 
sick  and  died. 

The  best  story  I  have  ever  read  is  "Dorothy,  the 
Motor-Girl."  Another  exciting  story  is  "The  Land  of 
Mystery." 

Your  interested  reader, 

Natalie  E.  Harvey   (age  n). 


Santa  Clara,  Cal. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  think  that  the  St.  Nicholas 
family  may  be  interested  to  hear  about  the  place  where 
I  spent  my  vacation.  It  was  in  the  Big  Basin  of  Cali- 
fornia, where  the  largest  redwood-trees  in  the  world 
grow. 

These  trees,  although  not  so  large  as  those  in  the 
Yosemite,  are  large  enough  to  interest  most  people,  and 
possess  a  characteristic  which  the  Mariposa  trees  do 
not.  If  a  tree  is  burned  or  cut  down,  or  in  any  way 
injured,  it  does  not  die,  but,  sending  up  new  shoots, 
lives  on.  Thus  it  is  practically  impossible  to  kill  them. 
One  tree  is  burned  out  completely,  and  as  its  heart  is 
gone,  looks  much  like  a  chimney  ;  but,  in  spite  of  this. 
it  is  growing  and  apparently  enjoying  life  as  much  as  its 
neighbors. 

The  highest  tree  is  350  feet  high,  and  the  largest  is 
sixty-seven  feet  in  circumference  at  the  base.  Auto- 
mobiles are  backed  into  this  tree,  and  then  a  picture  is 
taken. 

Early  one  morning,  we  took  a  beautiful  walk,  and  in 
one  place  saw  Woodwardia  ferns  that  were  eight  feet 
high.  Huckleberry  bushes  lined  the  creek  banks  and 
covered  the  hillside,  and  the  blueberries  were  a  pleas- 
ing contrast  to  the  bright  green.  The  water  babbled 
below  us,  and  the  wind  sighing  above  us  seemed  to  be 
an  echo  of  the  rushing  water.     Once  or  twice  a  blue-jay 


cawed,  and  the  discordant  sound  seemed  to  belong  to 
the  place  in  some  way,  although  everything  else  was 
harmonious. 

I    have   only   taken    St.    Nicholas    for   a   year,   but   I 
watch  for  its  coming  every  month,  and  my  only  regre,*- 
is  that  I  did  not  become  a  subscriber  sooner. 
Your  true  friend, 

Gertrude  Grotophorst  (age. 16). 


THE  DREAM  OF  A  FAIRY 

Rock  opal  point,  a  point  of  land 
Just  like  the  greater  Guiding  Hand 
That  leads  to  the  wonderful  silver  sea 
By  the  golden  river,  a  dream  to  me. 

Birch-trees  cover  its  mossy  banks, 

And  shells  of  rare  kinds  are  on  its  planks 

That  cross  over  the  river  so  wide 

That  leads  to  the  sea  with  its  roaring  tide. 

The  little  pebbles  along  its  shore 
Are  washed  by  the  sea  with  its  awful  roar  ; 
It  washes  over  the  soggy  sands, 
Covering  abalone,  snails,  and  clams. 

The  sun  rises  over  the  water  so  deep, 
And  wakens  the  robins  from  their  sleep, 
As  they  begin  their  morning  song,- 
Just  as  the  church-bells  go  ding-dong. 

James  Jerome  Hill,  2d  (age  8). 


Shruboak,  N.  Y. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  You  have  been  in  our  home  for  a 
great,  great  many  years  ;  we  are  all  anxious  to  get  the 
mail  when  it  is  time  for  you  to  come. 

I  have  one  sister  and  three  brothers.  My  oldest 
brother  is  twenty-one  years  old,  the  next  twelve,  and 
the  last  seven.  My  sister  is  fifteen.  We  are  all  much 
interested  in  you,  and  read  all  your  stories.  I  have 
joined  the  League  and  so  have  my  sister  and  brother. 
We   have   four  volumes  bound,   which   we   are   fond  of. 

We  have  a  horse,  a  cat  with  two  kittens  (the  mother 
and  children  are  all  tiger-kittens),  and  quite  a  good 
many  chickens. 

The   mother   kitten    never   catches   chickens,   but   she 
catches  mice.     She  seems  to  like  chickens,  and  there  is 
one   chicken   she   rubs   against   every   morning   when   it 
comes  in,  and  the  little  kittens  play  with  it. 
Your  interested  reader, 

Emily  Minor  Martens  (age  10). 


London,  England. 
Dear  St.  Nicholas  :  I  have  taken  you  for  one  year, 
and  think  you  are  the  nicest  book  I  have  had ;  I  am 
particularly  interested  in  "The  Lucky  Sixpence"  and 
"Beatrice  of  Denewood,"  and  often  wish  I  could  see 
Denewood. 

I  am  an  Australian,  and  have  lived  most  of  my  life 
in   Sydney. 

I  came  over  from  Australia  in  July,  1912,  on  a  Ger- 
man boat  called  the  Scharnhorst.  It  was  very  nice,  and 
we  sometimes  had  as  many  as  three  ice-creams  a  day 
in  the  hot  weather.  The  captain  let  me  and  a  little  boy 
called  Ted  see  the  wireless  room,  which  we  liked  very 
much. 

Yours  very  faithfully, 

Joan  Antill  (age  11). 


ANSWERS  TO  PUZZLES  IN  THE  MARCH  NUMBER 


Novel  Numerical  Acrostic.  Mine,  rifle,  powder,  torpedo,  cannon, 
field-gun,  artillery,  bullet,  sword,  bayonet,  fort,  redoubt.  Cross-words  : 
i.  Range.  2.  Tense.  3.  Labor.  4.  Oddly.  5.  Odeon.  6.  Rainy. 
7.  Robin.  8.  Wince.  9.  Meter.  10.  Utter.  11.  Lower.  12.  Fruit. 
13.  Doubt.     14.  Ladle.     15.   Fluff.     16.  Props. 

Double  Acrostic.  Primals,  "Able  was  I  ere  I  saw  Elba"  ;  finals, 
Napoleon's,  palindrome.  Cross-words:  1.  JEsop.  2.  Broma.  3.  Label. 
4.  Ennui.  5.  Waken.  6.  Amend.  7.  Savor.  8.  Idaho.  9.  Epsom. 
10.  Rhone.  11.  Ellen.  12.  India.  13.  Strap.  14.  Abaco.  15.  Wheel. 
16.   Eagle.     17.   Limbo.     18.  Basin.     19.   Atlas. 

Numerical  Enigma.  "The  wise  man  will  want  to  be  ever  with 
him  who  is  better  than  himself." 

Quintuple  Beheadings  and  Quadruple  Curtailings.  Michel- 
angelo. 1.  Funda-men-tals.  2.  Munif-ice-ntly.  3.  Alter-cat-ions.  4. 
Decip-her-able.  5.  Immod-era-tely.  6.  Mytho-log-ical.  7.  Unman- 
ageable. 8.  Gover-nor-ship.  q.  Unima-gin-able.  10.  Independ- 
ence,    n.  Overf-low-ings.     12.   Foreb-ode-ment. 

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  January  Number  were  received  before  January  24  from  Arnold  Guyot  Cameron — R.  Kenneth 
Everson — Claire  A.  Hepner — Florence  S.  Carter — Evelyn  Hillman—  Elizabeth  L.  Young — Eleanor  Manning — Janet  Brouse — Isabel  Shaw — Wil- 
liam B.  Spurrier — R.  P.  Barnard — Courtenay  Halsey — Sophie  Rosenheim — Helen  A.  Moulton — Ethel  M.  Ray — "Terrapin" — "Chums" — 
"Midwood" — "Allil  and  Adi." 

Answers  to  Puzzles  in  the  January  Number  were  received  before  January  24  from  Sidney  Washburn,  8 — Theodore  H.  Ames,  8 — Eloise 
M.  Peckham,  8 — Richard  Sears,  7 — Ruth  Champion,  7 — Mary  L.  Ingles,  7 — Sarah  S.  Cummings,  7 — Caryl  Dunham,  7 — Alan  D.  Bush,  7 — 
Kathleen  Thompson,  7 — Lothrop  Bartlett,  7 — Elizabeth  G.  Jones,  6 — Lucy  M.  Burgin,  5 — Janet  B.  Fine,  5 — Edith  Thomas  Betts,  4 — Margaret 
Abraham,  3 — Lazare  Chernoff,  3 — E.  Smeeth,  2 — Evelyn  Heymann,  2 — S.  Livermore,  2 — E.  Rogow,  1 — J.  L.  Stevens,  1 — L.  Glorieux,  1 — M. 
Bigger,  1— M.  Gardner,  1— D.  F.  Hape,  1— M.,  E.,  and  C,  1— J.  E.  Walker,  1. 


Connecting  Pyramids.  I.  1.  Tubes.  2.  Used.  3.  Bee.  4.  Ed. 
5.  S.  II.  1.  Scrag.  2.  Clan.  3.  Rag.  4.  An.  5.  G.  III.  1. 
Shrug.  2.  Hoes.  3.  Red.  4.  Us.  5.  G.  IV.  1.  Grown.  2.  Rode. 
3.  Ode.  4.  We.  5.  N.  V.  1.  Grain.  2.  Rain.  3.  Air.  4.  In.  5. 
N.  VI.  1.  Groan.  2.  Ream.'  3.  Oat.  4-.  Am.  5.  N.  VII.  1. 
Niece.  2.  Idea.  3.  Eel.  4.  C.  A.  5.  E.  VIII.  1.  Niche.  2.  Into. 
3.  Cts.  4.  Ho.  5.  E.  IX.  1.  Noise.  2.  Oint.  3.  Ink.  4.  St.  5. 
E.     X.     1.   Noble.     2.  Olio.     3.  Big.     4.   Lo.     5.  E. 

Geographical  Central  Acrostic.  Centrals,  Kansas.  Cross- 
words: 1.  Aiken.  2.  Spain.  3.  ^Kongo.  4.  Essex.  5.  Drave.  6. 
Weser. 

Some  Ships  of  1812.  1.  Dolphin.  2.  Chesapeake.  3.  Phcebe.  4. 
Boxer.  5.  Little  Belt.  6.  Peacock.  7.  Hornet.  8.  Cherub.  9. 
Wasp.     10.   Essex.     11.    Reindeer. 

Connecting  Words,  i.  Ch-ar.  2.  Ar-id.  3.  Id-le.  4.  Le-ar.  5. 
Ar-ch.     6.   Ch-ap.     7.  Ap-es.     8.   Es-py.     9.   Py-re.     10.   Re-ly. 

Cross-word  Enigma.     Macbeth. 


26 


26 


31 


29 


16 


32 


9 

25 

10 

2 

17 

14 

23 

12 

30 

7 

20 

6 

21 

3 

22 

IS 

21 

17 

19 

33 

1 1 

4 

24 

13 

18 

27 

12 

5 

25 

3 

NOVEL,  ZIGZAG 

*  28  9  25  10  Cross-words:  i.  A  nasal 
34  *  2  17  14  sound  of  the  voice.  2.  Indian 
corn.  3.  New.  4.  Beneath. 
5.  To  hook.  6.  A  dance.  7. 
Pertaining  to  a  city.  8. 
One  who  introduces.  9.  To 
efface.     10.  A  French  coin. 

When  the  foregoing  words 
have  been  rightly  guessed,  the 
zigzag  (indicated  by  stars) 
will  spell  the  name  of  an  opera  ;  the  letters  indicated  by 
the  numbers  from  1  to  13  spell  the  name  of  the  com- 
poser of  the  opera;  while  the  letters  from  14  to  22,  23 
to  27,  and  28  to  34,  each  spell  the  name  of  a  character 
in  this  opera. 

gustav  diechmann   (age  14),  Honor  Member. 

FALSE  COMPARATIVES 

Example  :  Positive,  a  relish ;  comparative,  a  shallow 
dish.     Answer,  sauce,  saucer. 

1.  Positive,  a  unit  of  weight;  comparative,  the  science 
of  language.  2.  Positive,  the  Orient ;  comparative,  a 
church  festival.  3.  Positive,  a  lyric  poem  ;  comparative, 
scent.      4.    Positive,   to   scour ;    comparative,    an    eraser. 

5.  Positive,    to    brighten ;    comparative,    a    Dutch    coin. 

6.  Positive,  former  ages ;  comparative,  a  senior.  7. 
Positive,  to  cause  to  sound ;  comparative,  something 
useful  in  a  laundry.  8.  Positive,  a  tree  ;  comparative,  a 
pigment.  9.  Positive,  walk  ;  comparative,  a  covering  for 
the  ankle.  10.  Positive,  a  sheep;  comparative,  a  pitcher. 
11.  Positive,  to  split;  comparative,  to  restore.     12.  Posi- 


tive, to  slide;  comparative,  a  low  shoe.  13.  Positive,  an 
animal;  comparative,  to  crouch.  14.  Positive,  a  boy; 
comparative,  a  frame  forming  steps.  15.  Positive,  to 
sum  up;  comparative,  a  serpent.  16.  Positive,  coarse; 
comparative,  malice.  17.  Positive,  the  principal  timber 
of  a  ship  ;  comparative,  a  small,  shallow  tub. 

The  initials  of  the  positives  and  of  the  comparatives 
both  spell  the  same  name, — the  name  of  an  American 
general  in  the  wars  against  the  Indians. 

edith  pierpont  stickney  (age  14),  Honor  Member. 


A  PUZZLING  SIGN-POST 

Four  small  places  in  Illinois 
are  represented  in  this  little 
picture.  They  are  located  in 
the  following  counties :  Ver- 
milion, Marion,  Madison,  and 
Iroquois.     Which  are  they? 


\tALTQNt 

5023 


joe  earnest  (age  13),  League  Member. 


DIAGONAL 

All  the  words  described  contain  the  same  number  of 
letters.  When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another,  the  diagonal,  beginning  with  the  upper,  left- 
hand  letter  and  ending  with  the  lower,  right-hand  let- 
ter, will  spell  the  surname  of  an  American  poet. 

Cross-words  :  1.  A  couch.  2.  Purchased.  3.  Cour- 
tesying.  4.  A  masculine  name.  5.  Very  plain.  6.  A 
gardener's  tool  for  digging,  resembling  a  similar  tool 
used  by  masons. 

John  irwin  (age  8),  League  Member. 


575 


576 


THE   RIDDLE-BOX 


ILLUSTRATED   ZIGZAG 

All  the  words  pictured  contain  the  same  number  of  let- 
ters. When  rightly  guessed  and  written  one  below 
another  in  the  order  numbered,  the  zigzag  (beginning  at 
the  upper  left-hand  letter)  will  spell  the  name  of  a  very 
famous  woman. 

A  PUZZLING  SMOKER 

( Gold  Badge.      Silver  Badge  ivon  November,  ion) 

Mr.  Jones,  on  being  asked  how  much  he  smoked  a  day, 
replied  : 

"I  smoke  one  half  as  many  pipes  in  the  morning  as 
I  do  cigars  and  cigarettes  combined.  In  the  afternoon, 
I  smoke  just  five  times  as  many  pipes  and  cigarettes 
as  I  do  cigars ;  while  in  the  evening,  the  number  of 
cigars  and  cigarettes  I  smoke  amount  to  three  times 
the  number  of  pipes.  Yet  during  the  day  I  smoke  the 
same  number  of  each, — pipes,  cigars,  and  cigarettes." 

How  many  pipes  did  Mr.  Jones  smoke  in  a  day? 

MARGARET   SPAULDING    (age    1 2). 

CROSS-WORD  ENIGMA 

My  first  is  in  pudding,  also  in  pie  ; 
My  second  in  wheat,  also  in  rye ; 
My  third  is  in  trail,  also  in  trace; 
My  fourth  is  in  write,  as  well  as  erase  ; 
My  fifth  is  in  rifle,  as  well  as  report ; 
My  sixth  is  in  play,  also  in  sport ; 
My  seventh  in  war,  and  also  in  fray  ; 
My  eighth  is  in  no,  and  also  in  nay  ; 
My  whole  is  the  name  of  a  famous  play. 
Margaret  Anderson  (age  14),  League  Member. 

DOUBLE  BEHEADINGS 

When  the  following  words  (of  equal  length)  have  been 
rightly  beheaded  and  written  one  below  the  other,  the 
initials  of  the  remaining  words,  reading  downward,  will 
spell  the  name  of  a  famous  American  general. 

Cross-words:  i.  Doubly  behead  to  deprive  of  cour- 
age, and  leave  intrepidity.  2.  Doubly  behead  a  small, 
sparkling  object,  and  leave  a  corner.  3.  Doubly  behead 
to  disavow,  and  leave  a  region.  4.  Doubly  behead  to 
dwell  in,  and  leave  established  custom.  5.  Doubly  be- 
head a  bowl,  and  leave  a  feminine  name.  6.  Doubly 
behead  to  make  noble,  and  leave  a  peer.  7.  Doubly  be- 
head a  prickly  shrub,  and  leave  to  pace.  8.  Doubly 
behead  a  church  dignitary,  and  leave  exultant.  9. 
Doubly  behead  a  pair  of  scales,  and  leave  a  spear.     10. 


Doubly  behead  to  debase,  and  leave  an  incline.  11. 
Doubly  behead  to  put  in  order,  and  leave  a  stove.  12. 
Doubly  behead  a  preliminary,  and  leave  to  avoid  by 
stratagem.  13.  Doubly  behead  to  bring  to  light,  and 
leave  the  world.  14.  Doubly  behead  signified,  and  leave 
famous.  15.  Doubly  behead  to  foretell,  and  leave  a 
decree. 

duncan  Scarborough  (age  17),  Honor  Member. 

THREE  ANAGRAMS 

The  letters  in  each  of  the  three  following  groups  of 
words  may  be  rearranged  so  as  to  form  a  single  word. 
What  are  the  three  long  words  ? 

1.  A  moment's  cure. 

2.  Cod  is  nice. 

3.  It  lures  a  cat. 

benjamin  m.  shure  (age  14),  League  Member. 

DOUBLE  ACROSTIC 

My  primals  and  finals  each  name  a  well-known  ex- 
plorer. 

Cross-words  (of  equal  length)  :  1.  To  omit.  2.  A 
priest's  cloak.  3.  Gumbo.  4.  An  excursion.  5.  An 
ancient  city. 

Theodore  h.  ames  (age  16),  Honor  Member. 

NOVEL    ACROSTIC 

(Silver  Badge,  St.  Nicholas  League  Competition) 

Cross-words  :    1.  A  cave. 

2.  Fruit  of  a  certain  kind. 

3.  To  originate.  4.  A  cov- 
ering for  the  hand.  5.  To 
hint.  6.  To  enter  with 
hostile  intentions.  7.  Fix- 
edness. 8.  To  attack.  9. 
A  companion.  10.  Expi- 
ated. 11.  Happened.  12. 
A  kind  of  mortar.  13. 
Sufficient.  14.  A  cord.  15. 
Hurled. 

When  the  foregoing 
words  have  been  rightly 
guessed,  the  letters  indi- 
cated by  stars  will  spell  a 
famous  date  ;  the  letters  indicated  by  numbers  from  1  to 
20  spell  the  year  in  which  the  date  was  made  famous  ; 
from  21  to  37,  the  famous  event ;  and  from  38  to  47,  the 
surname  of  an  author  who  wrote  a  famous  poem  about  it. 

HELEN    MORTON    (age    15). 


* 

19 

20 

37 

* 

44 

8 

1 

* 

43 

24 

2 

* 

23 

7 

9 

22 

* 

38 

32 

* 

3 

13 

42 

* 

31 

18 

35 

16 

*• 

12 

4 

28 

* 

25 

29 

39 

* 

46 

14 

30 

21 

* 

17 

26 

45 

* 

33 

6 

I  I 

* 

36 

34 

10 

* 

40 

41 

IS 

* 

27 

47 

5 

THE    DE  VINNE    PRESS,  NEW  YORK. 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


i^ 


Do  you  realize  the  full  meaning 
of  the  Campbell  Kids? 

Behind  their  whimsical  pranks  and  droll  sayings 
is  a  serious  purpose  of  direct  importance  to  you. 
For  the  main  object-in-life  of  these  rollicking 
youngsters  is  to  remind  you  of 

Campbell's  Tomato  Soup 

To  remind  you  that  it  is  good  for  your  own  young 
people  as  well  as  the  older  ones;  that  its  lively  and  en- 
ticing flavor  adds  to  the  enjoyment  of  life  just  as  its 
wholesome  quality  helps  to  promote  good  digestion  and 
robust  health;  and  that  you  cannot  too  often  remem- 
ber and  act  on  these  facts  for  the  well-being  of  the 
whole  family.     How  about  today? 

21  kinds       10c  a  can 


\M1 


^fc*CE 


C7>     ^Mi)i 


Look  -wr  -lihe  re^an^An-'te  Isbsl 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Trim,  Neat  Appearance 

Is  Always  Assured  in  Holeproof  Hose 

For  Children     For  Women 
For  Men 

MORE  than  a  million  people  wear 
Holeproof  Hosiery  because  of 
its  style,  comfort  and  reliability. 

But  few  know  what  it  costs  to  com- 
bine such  style  with  the  comfort  and 
"the  guaranteed  six  months'  wear^ 

Please  let  us  tell  you.  Then  buy 
six  pairs  for  the  children,  for  yourself 
and  your  husband.  Save  yourself  all  that 
darning. 


For  Men, 
Women  and 
Children 


ffoleproof 
Jfasieiy 


We  use  only  Egyptian 
and  Sea  Island  cotton 
yarns,  and  we  pay  an  aver- 
age of  74c  a  pound  for 
them.  32c  is  the  price  of 
common  yarns. 

Then  we  use  every  mod- 
ern machine  regardless  of 
what  it  costs  us  —  even 
though  such  a  machine 
betters  only  a  single 
stitch. 

We  spend  for  inspection 
$60,000  yearly  —  just  to 
g  uard  against  the  smallest 
flaws  in  the  finished  prod- 
uct. 


Six  pairs  of  Holeproof 
will  wear  half  a  year  with- 
out holes  or  tears.  That  is 
guaranteed.  If  any  of  the 
six  pairs  fail  in  that  time 
we  will  replace  them  with 
new  hose  free. 

The  genuine  Holeproof 
is  sold  in  your  town.  Write 
for  the  dealers'  names. 
We  ship  direct  where  no 
dealer  is  near,  charges  pre- 
paid, on  receipt  of  remit- 
tance. Write  for  free 
book  that 
tells  all  about 
Holeproof. 


HOLEPROOF  HOSIERY  COMPANY,   Milwaukee,  Wisconsin 


Holeproof  Hosiery  Company  of  Canada,  Ltd.,  London,  Canada 
Holeproof  Hosiery  Company,  10  Church  Alley,  Liverpool,  England 


By  invitation,   member 

of  Rice  Leaders  of 
the  World  Association 


rb<n£cZiuc/£ 


$1.50  per  box  and  up  for  six  pairs  of  men's ; 
$2.00  per  box  and  up  for  six  pairs  of  women's 
and  children's  :  $1.00  per  box  for  four  pairs  of 
infants'.  Above  boxes  guaranteed  six  months. 
$1.00  per  box  for  three  pairs  of  children's, 
guaranteed  three  months;  $2.00  per  box  for 
three  pairs  of  men's  silk  Holeproof  socks  ;  $3.00 
per  box  for  three  pairs  of  women's  silk  Hole- 
proof stockings.  Boxes  of  silk  guaranteed 
three  montlis. 


FOR  WOMEN 


Write  for  the  free  book  about 
Holeproof  Silk  Gloves,  and 
ask  for  the  name  of  the  dealer 
who  sells  them.  These  are 
the  durable,  stylish  gloves 
that  every  woman  has  want- 
ed. Made  in  all  sizes,  lengths 
and  colors.  (539) 


IO 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


JUVENILE  GOLF  OUTFIT 


THE  LITTLE 
MIND  BUILDER 


All  the  Fun  of  Real  Golf 

"Skibo"  golf  outfit  will  give  you  more 
sport  than  anything  you  ever  tried. 
You'll  soon  be  making  dandy  drives  and 
approach  shots.  And  by  practising 
"putting"  around  your  yard  or  in  your 
room,  you'll  train  yourself  to  make 
teams  and  win  championships  later  on. 

"Skibo"  Golf  Outfits  include  hand- 
some wooden  and  iron  clubs  with  two 
balls  in  serviceable  golf  bag.  Tell  your 
father  about  them.  Your  toy  or  sta- 
tionery store  has  them.  Or  we  will 
send  complete  Skibo  Golf  Outfit  on  re- 
ceipt of  $1.25  in  cash,  check  or  postal 
order.  Or  special  "SKIBO"  Golf  Out- 
fit de  luxe  for  $2. 50. 

Boys,  Send  Postal  Now 

for  FREE  Folder  illustrating  our  "SKIBO  " 
Lawn  Golf,  "The  Little  Mind  Builder"  and 
electrically  equipped  "Automoto"  (Ju- 
venile Automobiles). 

BAKER  &  BENNETT  CO. 

Creators  of  American  Toys  end  Novelties 
79  Bleecker  Street  New  York 


% 


With  these  fascinating  block  let- 
ters and  numerals  the  child  learns 
his  alphabet  and  how  to  spell, 
count  and  construct  sentences. 
While  enjoying  the  most  delightful 
play,  he  is  unconsciously  absorb- 
ing the  names  of  the  letters  and 
figures,  then  words  and  numbers, 
then  longer  words  and  sentences; 
besides  developing  a  true  sense  of 
proportions. 

"The  Little  Mind  Builder"  is  ideal 
to  trace  signs  with,  play  with  in  the 
sand,  play  store,  etc.,  etc.  It  consists 
of  26  letters  and  10  figures,  4  inches  high, 
made  of  nice  clean  wood,  without  paint 
or  varnish,  and  firmly  put  together;  in 
handsome  box  with  instructive  Primer 
showing  alphabet,  words  of  one  or  two 
syllables,  short  sentences  and  simple 
sums.  At  your  toy  store,  or  we  will 
send  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price,  $1.25. 

No.  2  "The  Little  Mind  Builder,"  con- 
taining a  larger  4-A  font  of  letters, 
enough  to  construct  long  sentences, 
will  be  sent  postpaid  for  $2.50. 

Send  for  FREE  Illustrated 

Descriptive  Circular 
BAKER  &  BENNETT  CO. 

Creators  of  American  Toys  and  Novelties' 
79  Bleecker  Street      New  York 


II 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


cJoudy  azd 

u 


WilflQ 

the  great  author  who  wrote  the 
Jungle  Stories  (you  may  remember 
that  they  were  written  for  and  pub- 
lished in  St.  Nicholas),  has  written 

a  new  story  called  "The  Dog  Harvey."     It  is  appearing  in  the 

April  Century. 

There  are  a  great  many  other  things,  too,  that  your  Mother  and 

Father  ought  to  know  about  in  that  number,  which  is  called  the 


JTCodeza  Q^zt  [Lamb 


ez 


It  contains  a  group  of  papers  by  different  artists  giving  a  complete 
description  of  American  art  at  the  present  time.  The  illustrations, 
some  of  them  in  color,  show  more  than  fifty  examples  of  the 
work  of  modern  painters,  including  the  Cubists,  Futurists — all 
the  younger  men  who  have  startled  the  public  so  violently. 

Be  sure  that  the  grown-ups  in  your  family  know  about 
this  great  April  number  of 

(She  Ueatazy 

This  coupon  is  valuable.     It  is  worth  $1.05 

The  Century  Co.,  Union  Square,  N.  Y.: 

I  accept  your  special  offer  of  The  Century  for  15  months  (beginning  with  the 
February  number  and  including  the  Modern-Art-Kipling  number)  and  inclose 
direct  to  you  $4.00  (the  regular  price  of  12  months). 


Name 


12 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


DOYS-do  you 
*^  know  that  in  two 
years  your  demand 
for  these  tires  made 


them  the  biggest  sell- 
i  n  g  manufacturers' 
brand  on  the  market? 


PENNSYLVANIA 

TZ&d   ©tCfVLOO^  Tread 

VACUUM  'CUP  h\  RES 

SINGLE  TUBE  AND  CLINCHER  TYPE 

And  for  this  year  we  are  making  three  times  as  many,  so  they  won't 
be  so  hard  to  get  as  last  year,  when  we  ran  so  far  behind  our  orders. 

The  Vacuum  Cup  Tread  prevents  skidding  and  is  practically  puncture 
proof.  The  rubber  is  Oilproof — you  don't  have  to  avoid  oiled  roads. 
And  each  tire  is  guaranteed  to  give  you  a  full  season's  service,  or  it 
will  be  replaced  or  repaired  at  our  expense. 

Start  this  Biking  Season  on  Red  Tread  Vacuum  Cup  Tires 

Pennsylvania  Rubber  Co.,  Jeannette,  Pa 


New  York  Boston 

Chicago  Pittsburgh 

Cleveland  Seattle 

San  Francisco  Dall 


Los  Angeles  Minneapolis 

Detroit  Omaha 

St.  Paul  Atlanta 

Kansas  City,  Mo. 

A  n  Independent  Company  with  a?i  independent  setting  policy 


13 


St.  Nicholas  Advertising  Competition,  No.  148. 


Time  to  send  in  ans7vers  is  up  April  20.     Prize-win?iers  announced  in  the  June  number. 


HERE  is  an  April  Fool  Competition  that 
all  will  enjoy. 

For  the  sake  of  seeing  whether  our  fre- 
quent admonitions  have  taught  our  read- 
ers care  and  correctness,  we  are  going  to 
ask  you  to  send  in  a  corrected  copy  of  the 
following  letter  from  our  young  friends 
Charley  Careless  and  Helen  Heedless. 

Examine  it  carefully,  compare  the  way 
things  are  put  in  the  letter  with  the  way 
the  same  things  are  printed  in  the  adver- 
tising pages  of  the  February  St.  NICHO- 
LAS, 1914,  and  do  not  be  misled  by 
Charles's  and  Helen's  blunders  ! 

The  prizes  will  be  given  to  the  letters 
as  the  Judges  shall  decide  them  to  be  cor- 
rected most  carefully  and  intelligently. 

Do  not  trust  this  letter,  but  follow  it  as 
closely  as  you  can  except  when  you  find 
it  in  error.  Then  make  it  right,  taking 
the  advertisements  as  your  standards. 
Attention  should  be  given  to  grammatical 
construction  and  spelling,  as  well  as  to 
truth  of  the  statements  made.  You  may 
obtain  assistance  from  others  so  long  as 
the  letter  you  send  in  is  your  own  handi- 
work. 

THE  LETTER 

This  is  Charles  and  Helen's  letter  about 
the  February  Saint  Nicolus  Advertise- 
ments. We  rote  it  ourself,  without  any 
help : 

One  page  we  seen  was  about  Reuben's 
Shirts  for  winter,  and  there  was  two  a 
advertisement  about  the  Mandelette  cam- 
era, and  1847  Rogers'  Bos.  who  make 
Cromell  Silver  Spoon.  There  was  another 
page  about  the  grand  Canyon,  and  Peters 
Chocolate  Milk.  Another  brand  of  choco- 
late had  a  picture  of  a  waitress  under 
which  it  says,  "  United  States  Pat.  Off. 
Registered  "  Just  beside  this  was  some- 
thing about  Cambells  57  Varieties  of 
Soups ;  and  not  far  a  way  was  the  jello 
page,  with  six  young  ladys  eating  a  col- 
lege spread.  Facing  them  are  some  men 
talking  about  Whole-Proof  Hosery,  made 
in  Milwaukee,  Ohio.      Page  number  Sev- 


enteenth was  one  about  Coolgates'  Dental 
Ribbon  cream,  and  tells  why  a  soldier,  a 
corporal,  rejects  a  recruit  for  the  navy  on 
account  of  his  teeth,  and  speaking  of  de- 
ceased aural  conditions. 

Then  there  was  a  funny  little  phellow 
who  is  playing  the  piano,  and  this  is  about 
the  book  published  by  the  Company  C. 
Schirmer,  3  East  43th  St.,  New  York — a 
book  of  songs. 

Eskay  Food  is  told  about  in  another 
quarter-page,  and  portraits  of  children  are 
shone.  On  the  very  next-  page  is  the. 
Condense  Milk,  maid  by  Gale  Borden, 
and  then  there  's  "Beech  Pea  Nut-But- 
ter" made  at  Cannajoharie,  N.  Y. 

Pollie  and  Peter  Ponds  interest  us  very 
much,  and  this  one  about  there  winter 
sports  is  good,  and  so  is  the  page  on  the 
"  Crews  of  the  Ivory  Ship",  and  the  other 
on  Libby's  "California  Asparra  Gus." 
Yours  sinceerly 

Helen  and  Charles. 

The  first  prize  will  be  five  dollars,  as 
usual.  There  will  be  two  second  prizes  $3 
each,  three  third  prizes  of  $2,  and  ten  new 
one  dollar  bills  for  fourth  prizes,  all  awarded 
in  order  of  merit.  Prize-winners  are  also 
allowed  special  subscription  rates  upon 
immediate  application. 

The  following  rules  should  be  observed: 

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.  There  is  no  age  limit,  and 
no  endorsement  of  originality  is  required. 

2.  In  the  upper  left-hand  corner  of  your  list 
give  name,  age,  address,  and  the  number  of  this 
competition  ( 148). 

3.  Submit  answers  by  April  20,  19 14.  Do  not 
use  pencil. 

4.  Write  letter  on  one  side  of  your  paper 
only — if  more  than  one  sheet  is  required  be  sure 
your  name  and  address  appears  on  both  sheets, 
also  that  they  are  fastened  together. 

5.  Be  sure  to  comply  with  these  conditions  if 
you  wish  to  win  a  prize. 

6.  Address  answer:  Advertising  Competition 
No.  148,  St.  Nicholas  Magazine,  Union 
Square,  New  York. 


(See  also  page  16.) 


H 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


C  U  N  A  R  D 


FIRST  CLASS  SMOKING  ROOM 


S.  S.  " AQUITANIA" 


From  LIVERPOOL 
From  NEW  YORK 


May  30 
June lO 


June  20 
July      1 


July  1 1 
July  22 


August  IS 
August  26 


The  modem  voyager  demands  three  things:  Stability,  Speed,  and  Comfort.  The  "Aquitania"  meets  these  demands 
and  offers,  in  addition,  an  individuality  which  makes  her  a  ship  supreme  among  ships. 

The  "Aquitania"  is  Britain's  biggest  ship,  and  together  with  the  "Mauretania"  and  "Lusitania,"  which  already 
hold  the  world's  Atlantic  record,  will  maintain  the  Cunard  Line's  express  service  between  Europe  and  America. 

Together  these  three  magnificent  vessels  will  form  the  largest,  fastest  and  most  perfectly  equipped  weekly  express 
ocean  service  in  the  world. 

THE  CUNARD  STEAMSHIP  CO.,  ltd. 

2 1  -24  STATE  STREET,  NEW  YORK  Or  to  our  Offices  or  Local  Agents  Everywhere 


15 


-ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


-0 

■  ■ 


/ 


PREPARE 

BABY 

for  the  SUMMER- 

Proper  feeding  mitigates 
most  of  the  ills  to  which  Baby  is  so  fre- 
quently subject  during  the  Summer. 
This  season  will  be  a  happy  time  for 

you   if  you   begin    now  to    prepare  Baby 

for  it.     Babies  raised  on 

Mother's  Milk  seldom 
suffer  from  Sum- 
mer ills. 


*■> cul£>  TScrrcCcsri' 


BJFL^TSTD 


MILK 

:       >i    THE  ORIGINAL  .     ^ 


same  as 

Milk. 


The  infant  stom- 
ach acts  upon  Eagle 
Brand  Condensed  Milk 
almost     identically     the 
it   does   on    Mother's 
Eagle    Brand    is   pre-    ( 


pared  with  scrupulous  care  especially 
for  infant  feeding.      Send 

for  Booklets  and        , 

Feeding   Chart. 

BORDEN'S 

Condensed 
Milk  Co. 

"Leaders  of  Quality" 
Est.  1857 

New  York 


Report  on  Advertising  Competition 

No.  146 

The  winner  of  the  first  prize  this  month 
wrote  about  Three-In-One  Oil.  The  favor- 
ites were  Campbell's  Soup,  Crystal  Domino 
Sugar,  Ba'ker's  Cocoa,  Peter's  Chocolate, 
and  a  pet  of  one  kind  or  another.  Alto- 
gether it  was  a  most  charming  competition 
to  judge  because  of  the  delightful  turfis  of 
imagination  which  made  common  every- 
day things  read  like  fairy  tales. 

This  competition  revealed  careful  inves- 
tigation on  the  part  of  many  before  writing 
the  story.  Perhaps  both  you  and  the 
Judges  realize  more  than  ever  how  many 
wonderful  things  happened  to  common 
articles  which  we  see  and  know  about 
every  day  before  they  come  into  our 
possession.  How  would  you  like  to  have 
some  of  the  manufacturers  tell  in  their 
advertisements  how  their  articles  are  made? 

Did  you  like  the  Fairy  Soap  story 
which  ran  in  St.  NICHOLAS  last  year? 
We  try  to  make  our  advertising  pages 
interesting  and  valuable  to  you,  and  we 
need  your  help. 

Here    are    the    lucky    youngsters    this 
month: 
One  First  Prize,  $5.00: 

Whitson  Fetter,  age  14,  New  Jersey. 

Two  Second  Prises,  $j.oo  each: 

Florence  Gay,  age  13,  New  York. 
'    Oliver  Burke,  age  16,  Louisiana. 

Three  Third  Prizes,  $2.00  each: 
Ruth  Owens,  age  12,  California. 
Alice  Weiss,  age  18,  New  York. 
Charles    H.   Smith,  Jr.,   age    16,    New 
Jersey. 

Ten  Fourth  Prizes,  $1.00  each. 

Arthur  H.  Nethercot,  age  18,  Illinois. 

Leisa  Wilson,  age  15,  Michigan. 

Evelyn  Sleer,  age  13,  Wisconsin. 

Marguerite  Carter,  age  15,  Massachu- 
setts. 

J.  Ferry  Idema,  age  15,  Michigan. 

Sibyl  Weymouth,  age  1 4,  Massachusetts. 

Alvin  E.  Blomquist,  age  16,  New  York. 

Francis  Fletcher,  age  13,  Virginia. 

Esther  R.  Harrington,  age  14,  Massa- 
chusetts. 

Ruth  Kemble,  age  11,  New  Jersey. 


16 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Look  for  the  name  "KING"  on  the 
side-plate  of  your  gun  and  you  can  be 
sure  you'll  get  what  you  want. 


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When  you  see 

the  name  KING 

on  the  side-plate,  you 

know  you've  got  an  air-rifle  that 

shoots  straight  and.  true,  that's 

beautifully  finished  you're  proud 

carry  it  and  show  it  to  your  friends. 

You've  heard  of  the  KING  1000-shot  Lever- Action 
Repeater — the  "thousand-shootin'  air-gun."  It's  the 
most  famous  air  rifle  ever  made. 

Well,  you  can  now  get  a  genuine  KI N  G  Lever- Action, 
Repeating  Air-Rifle  in  any  size  to  fityour  age  and  strength. 


SO 

to 


But  be 

sure  it's  a 

KING.   If  you  can't 

get  a  KING  in  the  sporting  goods,  toy  or 

hardware  stores  in  your  town,  we'll  send  you  one  from 

the  factory  on  receipt  of  price.    Write  for  free  catalog. 

The  Markham  Air-Rifle  Company 

Plymouth,  Michigan,  U.  S.  A. 

Pacific  Coast  Office:    717  Market  Street,  San  Francisco,  CaL 

Phil.  B.  Bekeart  Co.,  Managers 

Sand  &  Hulfish,  Southern  Representatives, 

11  Hausa  Haus,  Baltimore,  Md. 


i7 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


only  8  pounds  when  7  months 
old.    She  was  then  put  on 

ESKAY5  POOD 

and  began  to  gain  almost  from  the 
first  feeding. 

Her  picture,  taken  at  15  months, 
shows  how  she  developed  after  she 
received  proper  nourishment, 

Why  will  mothers  allow  baby  to 
struggle  on  during  the  most  uncertain 
— — j  period  of  his  life,  when 

N  vTu  D  S  ^C  tS  n0t  gJ"r"ng' m^  ^s 

.,  every  appearance  shows 

or  anyone  with  i*    £     J  •         *.    •  Lii 

impaireddiges-  hlS  food  »  not  n8nt! 
tion,  Eskay's       Eskay's  Food,  added 

makesahighly-  to  pure  fresn  cow's  j^ 

nourishing,  •       1  •       .1  •  . 

palatable  and  !?  «°lving  this  great  ques- 

easily-digested  tion    for   thousands  of 
food.  Literature  anxious  mothers, 
andsamplefree-l     ,tAak  Year  Doctor" 

TEN  FEEDINGS  FREE 


Smith,  Kline  &  French  Co. ,  462  Arch  St.,  Philadelphia 

Gentlemen: — Please  send  me  free  10  feedings  of  Eskay's  Food  and 
your  helpful  book  for  mothers.  "  How  to  Care  for  the  Baby. " 


Street  and  Number- 
City  and  State 


Here  is  the  first  answer  that  came  to  my  ques- 
tion in  the  March  St.  Nicholas.  I  am  always 
glad  to  know  about  these  St.  Nicholas  fami- 
lies where  St.  Nick  means  almost  as  much  to 
the  Mother  and  Father  as  it  does  to  the  chil- 
dren : 

"Dear  Book  Man  :  I  read  your  letter  in  the 
St.  Nicholas.  My  father  has  one  St.  Nich- 
olas i  88  i.  My  mother  has  two  1882  and  1883. 
We  children  have  twelve.     They  are : 


1908  part  1 

191 1  part  1- 

1908  "  2 

1911  "  2 

1909  "  1 

1912  "  1 

1909     2 

1912  "  2 

1910     1 

1913     1 

1910  "  2 

1913  "  2 

Papa's  and  Mama's  are  black  with  black 
leather.  Our  books  are  red  and  gold.  We 
enjoy  them  very  much. 

"Yours  truly, 


"I  am  ten  years  old. 


The  Book  Man  has  had,  among  many  inter- 
esting letters,  a  specially  nice  one  from  a 
nine-year-old  who  lives  on  Long  Island.  She 
writes,  in  part : 

"I  am  a  great  lover  of  animals  and  flowers. 
.  .  .  I  would  like  to  know  all  about  birds  and 


18 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


THE  BOOK  MAN— Continued 

animals  as  well  as  flowers.  Please  tell  me 
where  I  can  get  books  on  these  subjects." 

When  it  comes  to  books  on  birds  and  ani- 
mals and  flowers,  there  are  so  many,  delight- 
fully written  and  delightfully  illustrated,  that 
it  is  difficult  to  make  a  choice.  There  is  "Cat- 
erpillars and  Their  Moths,"  written  by  Ida 
Mitchell  Eliot  and  Caroline  Gray  Soule.  It 
tells  the  story  and  shows  pictures  of  forty- 
three  different  kinds  of  moths,  and  it  is  a  per- 
fectly fascinating  book.  Then,  for  any  one 
who  loves  the  sea  and  its  people,  there  is 
Augusta  Foote  Arnold's  "The  Sea  Beach  at 
Ebb-tide,"  with  six  hundred  pictures.  Would 
n't  you  like  to  make  a  collection  of  seaweed 
this  summer?  This  wonderful  book  will  tell 
you  how.  For  every  little  gardener  there  is 
"Mary's  Garden  and  How  It  Grew,"  which  is 
a  perfect  joy  of  a  book  for  all  who  love  to  dig 
and  make  things  grow. 

There  is  a  world  of  pleasure  wrapped  up  in 
friendship  with  ferns ;  and  there  are  no  better 
books  to  help  to  such  acquaintance  and  friend- 
ship than  M.  C.  Cooke's  "Fern  Book  for 
Everybody,"  G.  A.  Woolson's  "Ferns  and  How 
to  Grow  Them,"  and  M.  Wright's  "Flowers 
and  Ferns  in  Their  Haunts."  You  will  almost 
certainly  find  any  of  these  books  at  the  near- 
est book-store.  If  not,  write  to  The  Book 
Man,  and  he  will  have  catalogues  sent  you 
direct. 

DON'T  FORGET 

That  just  the  two  best  books  to  date  on  the 
Panama  Canal,  "the  biggest,  cleanest  job  the 
world  has  ever  seen,"  are  "Panama  Past  and 
Present,"  by  Farnham  Bishop,  who  writes  with 
the  authority  of  the  son  of  the  secretary  of 
the  Isthmian  Canal  Commission,  and  "Zone 
Policeman  88,"  in  which  Harry  A.  Franck, 
author  of  "A  Vagabond  Journey  Around  the 
World,"  tells  the  story  of  his  five  months'  ex- 
periences as  a  census  taker  and  a  plain-clothes 
policeman  in  the  Canal  Zone,  and  tells  it  so 
entertainingly  and  vividly  that  you  feel  as  if 
you  had  been  with  him  day  after  day. 

For  you  older  boys  and  girls  again,  out- 
growing the  books  which  have  been  dear  to 
you  for  many  years,  try  "T.  Tembarom,"  by 
that  Princess  of  Story-tellers,  Mrs.  Frances 
Hodgson  Burnett. 

It  is  all  quite  delightfully  impossible — what 
the  Christian  Endeavor  World  calls  "a  mod- 
ern fairy  story  without  fairies ;  a  romance 
without  knights  and  dragons,  but  with  all  the 
delightful  qualities  of  fairy  stories  and  ro- 
mances." 

All  the  family  will  enjoy  reading  it  aloud 
too. 


Your  Boy 

is  a  Little  Steam  Boiler 

Jacob  A.  Riis,  the  New  York  set- 
tlement worker,  says:  "Every  American  Boy 

is  a  little  steam  boiler  with  the  steam  always  up.  Sit 
on  the  safety  valve  and  bang  goes  the  boiler." 

Parents  who  provide  (or  help  him  secure)  a  real 
billiard  table,  will  go  far  toward  solving  their  particular 
"  Boy  Problem." 

He  will  find  keen  enjoyment  and  an  outlet  for  boy- 
ish enthusiasm  right  in  his  own  home. 


U 


19 


Baby  Grand 

Billiard  or  Pocket-Billiard  Table 

The  "Baby  Grand"  is  a  genuine 
BRUNSWICK,  equal  in  playing  qualities  to  our  Reg- 
ulation tables,  used  exclusively  by  the  world's  cue  ex- 
perts.     Made  of  Mahogany,  inlaid. 

Fitted  with  Slate  Bed,  Monarch  Cushions  and 
Drawer  which  holds  Playing  Outfit. 

Sizes  3x6,  3/4x7,  4x8.  Our  Brunswick  "Convert- 
ible" styles  serve  also  as  Dining  or  Library  Tables  and 
Davenports. 

Let  the  Boy  Buy  the  Table! 

Your  boy  can  easily  pay  for  the  table,  it  's  a  good 
way  to  teach  him  to  save.  We  offer  very  easy  terms, 
as  low  as  20  cents  a  day. 

Playing  Outfit  Free 

The  price  of  each  table  includes  complete  high- 
grade  Playing  Outfit  —  Cues,  Balls,  Bridge,  Rack, 
Chalk,  Markers,  Brush,  Cover,  Rules,  Book  on  "How 
to  Play,"  etc.,  etc. 

Send  the  Coupon  or  a  Postal  Card  for  richly  illus- 
trated book,  giving  complete  information. 


The  Brunswick-Balke-Collender  Co.         (249) 
Dept.  X.Z.,  623-633  S.  Wabash  Ave.,  Chicago 

Please  send  me  the  free  color-illustrated  book  — 

"Billiards— The  Home  Magnet" 

19 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


No   3| 
Matter 

how  long  the  journey  Mother's 
mind  is  at  rest  when  Baby  wears 
Kleinert's  Waterproof  Baby   Pants. 

They  are  waterproof  and  a 
perfect  protection. 


Waterproof 

BABY 
PANTS 


Single  Texture,  25c. 


Double  Texture,  50c. 


CLASS  PINS 


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  manyartistic  designs  free. 

FLOWER  CITY  CLASS  PIN  CO.,  680  Central  Building,  Rochester,  N.  V. 

If  you  own  a  VICTOR 
or  a  COLUMBIA— get 
this  RECORD  for  25c. 

(From  your  dealer 

or  from  us  direct.)  (coin  or  stamps) 

A  full-size  double-disc  record  — on  one  side 
"Good  Night,  Little  Girl,  Good  Night,"  (tenor  solo,1)  on  the  other 
an  interesting  musical  experiment. 

£*C    ^^w*!-—    each   is    the   price    of   1000    ten-inch    double-disc 
OO   CClllS   Columbia  Records.     Hear  them  at  your  dealer's. 

COLUMBIA  GRAPHOPHONE  CO. 

Box  D237  Woolworth  Building, New  York 

V  frScI*  UHa  Like  hungry  wolves 
f  Mr  tall  JSllC  any  time  of  the  year 
if  you  use  Magic-Fish-Lure.  Best 
fish  bait  ever  discovered.  Keeps  you  busy 
pulling  them  out.  Write  to-day  and  get  a 
box  to  help  introduoe  it.  Agents  wanted. 
J.  F.  Gregory,  Dept,  74    St.  Louis,  Me 

pmo 

r      ROLLERS 

Original  and  unequaled. 

Wood  or  tin  rollers.    "Improved' 

requires  no  tacks.     Inventor's 

signature  on  genuine: 


You  don't  have  to  be  a  crank  on  fishing  or  golf  to 
enjoy  ALL  OUTDOORS.  And  yet  the  golf  sugges- 
tions represent  the  best  thought  of  experts. 

The  fishing  pictures,  stories  and  information  are  second 
only  to  that  ideal  day  with  trout  or  bass.  Further,  you 
learn  to  know  the  difference  between  a  brown  and  a 
speckled  trout.  You  find  the  legal  open  season;  the 
proper  tackle  to  use  and  the  way  to  use  it. 

On  camping,  woodcraft,  outdoor  games,  birds,  shoot- 
ing, adventure  stories,  you  will  find  equally  satisfactory 
reading.  Over  200  separate  articles  in  the  spring 
number. 

On  sale  at  all  newsstands,  1 5  cents.  Or  better,  use 
the  coupon  and  be  certain  of  a  full  year  of  enjoyment. 


Coupon 


All  Outdoors,  Inc.,  141  W.  36th  St.,  New  York 

I  enclose  fifty  cents  for  one  years  subscription  to  All 
Outdoors  including  Spring,  Summer,  Autumn,  and 
Winter  numbers. 


Na 


Addr. 


20 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


jC% 


I    ! 


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/:: 


N  Ford  Suits  are  sold  direct  by  mail  only — not  to 

CW       be  had  elsewhere — This  booklet  shows  you  more 
C.     1  than  50  original  Ford  styles  for  girls  and  boys. 

cHcllOS  You  are  sure  to  find  what  your  child  needs  be- 
t-"i->  t->  r"  cause  there  are  Play  Suits— Party  Frocks,  Middy 
I*  I\Ililli  Suits  —  Blouse  Suits  —  Russian  Suits  — Rompers 
and  Special  London  styles — Well  cut;  double 
stitched,  strongly  reinforced ;  colors  combined  with  taste ; 
trimmings  effectively  chosen — Dozens  of  patterns  at  60c,  $  1.00, 
$1.30,  $2.00,  $2.50.    Also  special  styles  up  to  $5.00. 

Ford's  Tailored 
Wash  Suits  ^SK 

Our  models  are  our  own,  original  and  exclusive — of  excellent 
material — well  shaped — well  made  in  sanitary  airy  rooms. 
Every  garment  has  a  clever,  distinctive  expression — many  little 
touches  that  will  be  a  constant  delight.  They  are  created  by 
Specialists.  So  attractive,  so  different  they  win  admiration 
wherever  worn.     Money  back  if  unsatisfactory. 

Write  for  catalog  today 

FORD  &  ALLEN  ,Inc,  aSftSJMSS 

Free  samples — -free  delivery   everywhere.     No   Dealers 


ELECTRICITY 


BOYS — Thisbqok — ourbrand-newcatalog 
-is  a  mine  of  electrical  knowledge.  128  pages 
full  of  cuts,  complete  description  and  prijes  of  the 
latest  ELECTRICAL  APPARATUS  for  experi- 
mental 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.) 

VOLTAMP  ELECTRIC  MFG.  CO.,  Nichol  Bldg..  Baltimore,  Md. 


Make  This  a  Canoe      #:  f  $ 
Summer 


Warm  days  and 
moonlit  nightsare 
coming,  ■with  pic- 
turesque streams 
and  placid  lakes 
foryoutoexplore. 
Get  the  prettiest 
of  nature's  views 
—  get  solitude, 
pleasure  and  rest 
—get  an   « 


^Id^bwttCanch 

Staunch,  swift,  safe— graceful  designs.    Send  for  our  cata- 
logue and  learn  all  about  canoes.     4,000  in 
stock.    Agents  everywhere. 

OLD  TOWN  CANOE  CO. 

254  Main  St,  Old  Town,  Maine,  U.  S.  A. 


Children's 
School  Gardens 
Send  To  Us 
For  Helps 

DON'T  experiment  and  make 
a  fizzle  of  things;  write  to 
us.  Our  School  Garden  ex- 
pert, Ellen  Eddy  Shaw,  will  cheer- 
fully help  you  plan  things  out  or 
lend  assistance  in  starting  a  School 
Garden  Association. 

Identify  yourself  with  this  won- 
derful work  of  interesting  the 
young  in  a  happy,  healthy  way. 

We  make  special  price  conces- 
sions on  seeds  for  school  gardens. 

Send  for  our  Garden  Guide  and 
special  booklet  by  Miss  Shaw, 
entitled :  "  School  Gardens  and 
School  Garden  Associations;  How 
to  Organize  Them."  Don't  put 
off  the  doing — the  robins  are  al- 
ready back— Spring  is  on  tip-toe. 
Give  the  kiddies  a  chance. 


Arthur  T.  Boddington 
342  West  14th  Street,  New  York  City 


21 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


(TiimmiiiHniimmiiiiiiiiiimiiiniiiHniminiMHiiumrmmHiiiiiuiinimimm 


Beech-Nut 
PeanutButter 


To  the  Daughter 
of  the  House 

Now  that  you  are  be- 
ginning to  entertain,  you 
should  learn  all  about 
Beech-Nut  Peanut  Butter 

and  the  many  delightful  ways  it 
can  be  served — whether  for  the 
little  informal  lunch,  or  for  your 
parties  or  dancing  class. 

Mother  can  show  you.  She 
knows  a  dozen  ways  to  serve 
Beech-Nut  Peanut  Butter,  and 
will  tell  you  how  her  own  friends 
like  its  rich  blended  flavor,  delicately 
salted. 

A  plate  of  dainty  sandwiches  or 
crackers  spread  with  Beech-Nut 
Peanut  Butter,  with  chocolate, 
milk  or  grape  juice,  makes  a  party 
in  itself. 

Beech-Nut  Peanut  Butter  comes 
in  vacuum-sealed  jars  of  three  sizes. 
Try  the  15-cent  size.  Sold  by 
representative  grocers  and  pro- 
visioned everywhere. 

Send  your  name  on  a  post  card  for 
"Happy  Little  Beech-Nats"— jingle 
booklet,  beautifully  illustrated. 

beech -Nut  Packing  Company 
canajoharie,  n.  y. 


iniNIIIMIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIlWlTIII^IIIMIMIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMM, 


A  Book  for  Every  Boy 

The  Battle  of 
Base-Ball 

By  G.  H.  CLAUDY 

A  book  which  gets  at  the  heart 
of  the  great  American  game, 
and  tells  of  it  from  a  boy's  stand- 
point— every  page  snappy  and 
alive. 

A  book  which  shows  a  boy 
not  only  the  wonders  done  by 
skilled  players  on  fine  teams, 
but  how  he,  too,  can  become 
skilful,  and,  in  part  at  least, 
can  do  for  himself  and  for  his 
team  what  his  favorite  base- 
ball idol  does  frequently  in  a 
game  of  the  Major  and  Minor 
Leagues. 

Christy  Mathewson  tells  "How 
I  became  a  '  Big-League'  Pitcher," 
and  there  are  pages  of  pictures 
from  photographs  of  famous  players, 
managers,  and  base-ball  fields. 


The   Author    Himself    is 
"Crazy  About  Base-ball" 


Price  $1.50  net,  postage  11  cents 

THE  CENTURY  GO. 


22 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Ailing  Arches 
and  Weak  Ankles 

so  common,  nowadays,  among  grow- 
ing boys  and  girls,  are  relieved,  helped 
and  strengthened  by  wearing  the 


COWARD  suaprpcohRt  SHOE 

With  COWARD  EXTENSION  Heel 

made  to  fit  and  benefit  all  forms  of 
structural  foot- weakness;  keeps  the 
ankle  upright,  holds  the  arch  in  place, 
gives  free  play  to  the  toe-muscles, 
and  makes  the  wearer  sure-footed. 
A  practical,  comfortable,  corrective 
shoe  for  weak  ankles,  falling  arch 
and  "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-three  years. 

Mail  Orders  Filled — Send  for  Catalogue 


SOLD  NOWHERE  ELSE 

JAMES  S.  COWARD 

264-274    Greenwich    St.,  New   York   City 

(near  warren  street) 


Every  box  of  ■e^Xs-  Chocolates 
is  full  of  new  and  wonderful  delights. 
Melting  creams,  toothsome  caramels, 
crisp  molasses  chips,  dainty  fruit  jel- 
lies, nuts  and  fudge  and  many  more, 
each  coated  with  •e^^  delicious 
chocolate — all  the  treasures  of  taste 
are  there. 


Bonbons      Chocolates 

Besides  ■&&$£&  bonbons  and  choco- 
lates there  are  nearly  fifty  other  kinds 
to  suit  every  candy  taste. 

They  include  the  famous  old- 
fashioned  molasses  candy  and  many 
other  favorites  for  children. 

fy&#  candies    are   sold   by 
sales  agents  (leading  druggists  every- 
where) in  United  States  and  Canada. 
If  there  should  be  no  sales  agent     &^ 
near  you,  please  write  us-  / 


I 

I 


23 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


J  347  nmM 


Silver  'Plate  that  We 


iSs**8* 


Send  for 
catalogue  "  R-5.v 


^e  Old  Colony 

A  design  of  marked  individuality. 
Sold  by  leading  dealers. 

INTERNATIONAL  SILVER  CO.,  MERIOEN,  CONN. 

SUCCESSOR   TO    MERIOEN  BRITANNIA   CO. 

The  World's  Largest  Makers  of  Sterling  Silver  and  Plate. 


yidwiLM* 


For  the 
Bath  and  Toilet 

always  use  the  genuine 

MURRAY® 

LANMAN'S  1 
Florida  Water 

Imitations  of  this  delicious  perfume 

are  numberless,  but  it  has 

never  been  equalled. 

IT  REFRESHES  AND  DELIGHTS 

as  does  no  other. 


Always  look  for  the  Trade  Mark. 


PREPARED   ONLY   BY 

LANMAN   ®>  KEMP 

NEW   YORK 

For  sale  by  all  Druggists 

and 

Perfumers. 


Sample  size  mailed  for  six  cents  in  stamps 
Ask  for  our  booklet,  "Health  and  Beauty.'' 


Defeats  Rust 
and  Tarnish 


A  few  drops  of  3-iri-One 
on  a  flannel  cloth  works 
wonders  on  escutcheons, 
door  knobs   and  locks, 
electric  push  buttons, 
andirons  and  black  iron 
ornaments  of  every  kind 
Use 

3-IN-ONE  OIL 

on  nickeled  and  brass  faucets.  Also  on 
guns,  revolvers,  musical  instruments,  every- 
thing metal.  3-in-One  is  the  foe  of  tarnish 
S  — the  absolute  preventive  of  rust  every- 
■  where.  Keeps  all  metal  surfaces  bright, 
M       indoors  or  out. 

ffr  Sold  in  hardware,  drug,  grocery,  housefurnish- 

|A      ing  and  general  stores:  1  oz.,  10c;  3  oz.,  25c;  8  oz. 

Mk      O2  Pt-)i  50c.     Also  in  Handy  Oil  Cans,  :;>_,  oz., 

W^^^^^    25c.    If'your  dealer  docs  no1   have  these 

B   cans,  we  will  send  one  by  parcel  post,  full 

of  3-in-One,  for  30c.    A  Library  Slip  with 

every  bottle. 

FREE:    Write  for  free  sample  and 
3-in-One  Dictionary. 

THREE-IN-ONE  OIL  CO. 

42  QW.  Broadway,  New  York 


We    win   Ship    you  a 
"RANGER''  BICYCLE 


10  DAYS  FREE  TRIAL. ._ 

prepaid,  to  any  place  in  the  United  States  without  a  cent  deposit  zn  advance,  and  allow  ten  days  free 

trial  from  the  day  you  receive  it.    If  it  does  not  suit  you  in  every  way  and  is  not  all  or  more  than  we 

claim  for  it  and  a  better  bicycle  than  you  can  get  anywhere  else  regardless  of  price,  or  if  for  any 

reason  whatever  you  do  not  wish  to  keep  it,  ship  it  back  to  us  at  our  expense  for  freight  and 

you  will  not  be  out  one  cent. 

LOW  FACTORY  PRICED  We  sell  the  highest  grade  bicycles  direct  from  factory  to  rider  at 
fcw"  rHHIWIll  rniWfcy  lower  prices  than  any  other  house.  We  save  you  $10  to  $25  middle- 
men's profit  on  every  bicycle.  Highest  grade  models  with  Puncture-Proof  tires,  Imported  Roller 
chains,  pedals,  etc.,  at  prices  no  higher  than  cheap  mail  order  bicycles;  also  reliable  medium 
grade  models  at  unheard  of  low  prices. 

RinCD  UPrilTC  UfAIITEn  >B  eachtown  and  district  to  ri.ie  and  exhibit  a  sample  1914  "Ranger"  Bicycle 
niUErl  MUClllO  If  fin  I  CU  furnished  by  us.  You  will  be  astonished  at  the  7i/otAj/i.^/ot  fric« 
and  the  liberal  propositions  and  special  offer  we  will  give  on  the  first  1914  sample  going  to  your  town.  Write  at  o:;.;© 
for  our  special  otTer.  DO  NOT  BUY  a  bicycleora  pair  of  tiresfrom  anyone  at  any  price  until  you  receive  our  catalogue 
and  learn  our  low  prices  and  liberal  terms,  BICYCLE  DEALERS,  you  can  sell  our  bicycles  under  your  own  name  plate 
at  double  our  prices.  Orders  filled  the  day  received.  SECONDHAND  BICYCLES— a  limited  number  taken  in  tradeby 
our  Chicago  retail  stores  will  be  closed  out  at  once,  at  $3  to  $8  each.  Descriptive  bargain  list  mailed  free. 
TIB  CO  Art  ACTPD  DDA  M  C  rear  wheels.inner  tubes,  lamps,  cyclometers,  parts,  repairs  and  everything  in  the  bicycle 
llflCOj  VVHH  I  Cn-DltHAC  line  at  half  usual  prices.  DO  NOT  WAIT,  but  write  today  for  our  Large  Cata, 
cogue  beautifully  illustrated  and  containing  a  great  fund  of  interesting  matter  and  useful  information.    It  only  costs  a  postal  to  get  everything. 


Write 
it  Now. 


MEAD  CYCLE  CO.   Dept.  A  272,   CHICAGO,  ILL. 


24 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Hardy    English    Walnut 

No  longer  an  experiment 


Orchards  j 


in  Zero  Climates 


Plant  an  English  Walnut  orchard  this  Spring.  Make  a  beginning 
and  add  to  it  each  season.  No  bank  failures,  business  depres- 
sions, nor  trust  investigations  can  interfere  with  this  source  of 
pleasure  and  income,  tor  its  rock  foundation  is  the  development  ol 
a  natural  resource.  Start  with  rugged  acclimated  trees,  grown 
under  severe  climatic  conditions,  with  temperature  far  below 
zero  at  times.  Conditions'  that  breed  iron-clad  vigor  and 
vitality;  and  that  produce  trees  so  hardy,  they  may 
be  planted  in  cold  climates  with  the  same  assurance 
of  successful  fruiting  as  Peach  trees. 

We  believe  this  is  the  only  northern  locality  where  com- 
mercial orchards  oi  English  Walnuts  may  be  seen,  some 
ol  them  containing  hundreds  ot  trees  which  have  been 
bearing  regularly  for  more  than  twenty  years. 

For  the  lawn  or  driveway,  English  Walnut  is  exquisitely 
beautiful  with  its  smooth  light  gray  bark,  luxuriant 
dark  green  foliage,  lofty,  symmetrical  growth.  A 
homeful  tree  to  plant  about  the  home.  Rochester 
parks  and  public  streets  contain  many  beautiful 
bearing  trees,  apparently  as  hardy  as  the  Maples  and 
Elms.  At  least,  thriving  under' the  same  conditions, 
and  producing  annually  delicious  nuts  as  well  as 
shade.    Truly  a  most  delightful  combination. 

We  have  unlimited  faith  in  trees  bred  and  grown 
under  these  conditions,  and  are  sure  that  those  who 
plant  our  hardy  strains  of  English  Walnuts  will  be 
well  pleased. 

The  picture  shows  a  Mayo  English  Walnut  tree  planted  in  1907, 
began  bearing  in  1911.  Superior  quality,  extreme  hardiness, 
early  bearer,  safe  to  plant. 

Our  1914  Catalog  and  Planting  Guide — 
Includes  Nut  Culture,  Fruits,  Roses,  Shrubs, 
Evergreens,  etc. ,  Mailed  FREE  on  Request. 

GLEN  BROS.,  Inc.,  Glenwood  Nursery. 
Estab'd  1S66.  2216  Main  St.,  Rochester,  N.  Y. 


TCiSf 


u 


That  Perfect  Shirt  For  Baby 


99 


"Where  did  you  get  that  perfect  shirt?"  has  been  asked 
of  millions  of  mothers  about  the  Rubens  Shirt  for  babies. 

A  double-thick  shirt — over  the  chest  and  abdomen — giving  added 
protection  to  the  parts  that  most  need  it. 

A  shirt  made  without  buttons — and  without  open  laps.  A  shirt 
you  can  adjust  so  it  always  fits. 

15,000,000  babies  have  worn  the  Rubens.  A  million  little  people 
are  now  wrapped  in  this  shirt. 

Thus  innumerable  coughs  and  colds  are  prevented.  There  's  a 
special  need  for  this  shirt  during  this  changeable  weather.  Let  it 
safeguard  your  baby. 

Ask  for  Rubens  Shirts  and  be  sure  that  this  label  ap- 
pears on  the  front.  This  shirt  is  our  invention,  and  this 
whole  factory  is  devoted  to  its  right  production.  Don't 
be    misled    by    imitations    on    a    garment   iso   important. 


No  Buttons  No  Trouble 

Beg.  V.  S.  Pat.  Office  (9.3 


Rubens  Shirts 

For  Infants 

Sizes  for  any  age  from  birth.  Made  in  cotton,  wool  and  silk.  Also 
in  merino  (half  wool).  Also  in  silk  and  wool.  Prices  run  from 
25  cents  up. 

Sold  by  dry  goods  stores,  or  sold  direct  where  dealers  can't  supply. 
Ask  us  for  pictures,  sizes  and  prices. 

RUBENS    &    MARBLE,  Inc.,  354  W.    Madison   St.,  Chicago 


25 


ST.   NICHOLAS   STAMP   PAGE 


• 


HELPFUL  HINTS 

C*  VERY  collector  now  and  then  likes  to  add  by 
*— '  purchase  a  few  stamps  to  his  collection.  And 
what  more  natural  than  that  he  should  turn  to  the 
advertisers  in  St.  Nicholas  for  this  purpose.  Most 
of  the  readers  of  Stamp  Page  study  carefully  the 
many  and  varied  bargains  which  appear  from  month 
to  month.  Some  enjoy  looking  the  advertisements 
over  and  deciding  what  they  would  most  like  to  buy 
if  their  pocket-money  permitted,  while  many  actually 
avail  themselves  each  month  of  the  bargains  offered. 
Some  of  our  readers,  however,  are  not  experienced 
buyers,  and  to  these  a  few  hints  may  be  helpful. 
One  of  the  most  important  hints  concerns  references. 
When  writing  for  the  first  time  to  a  dealer  for 
stamps,  never  fail  to  give  him  a  reference.  Do  not 
refer  him  to  some  other  dealer,  but  give  the  name  of 


some  one  who  can  and  will  guarantee  your  account 
such  as  your  father,  or  mother,  or  teacher.  For 
"grown-ups"  a  bank  reference  is  better,  but  for  a 
minor  any  of  the  persons  mentioned  will  do.  Do  not 
get  impatient  with  the  dealer  if  there  is  a  delay  in 
receiving  the  stamps  ;  he  will  naturally  like  to  verify 
the  reference  before  filling  your  order.  Another 
thing  to  be  careful  about  is  your  address  ;  always  be 
sure  to  write  this  plainly  and  in  full.  It  makes  it 
easier  for  the  dealer,  and  facilitates  a  prompt  reply 
to  your  letters.  And  be  careful  to  have  your  address 
plain  not  only  when  asking  for  stamps,  but  even 
more  so  when  sending  them  back,  so  that  you  may  be 
certain  of  getting  proper  credit  for  their  return.  Be 
punctilious  to  return  them  by  registered  mail  if  the 
dealer  sends  them  registered  to  you.  By  observing 
these  two  things  especially,  you  will  soon  establish  a 
feeling  of  confidence  between  yourself  and  your 
chosen  dealer  which  would  be  mutually  helpful. 

It  is  also  advisable  to  mention  the  size  of  your 
collection  and  the  grade  of  stamps  you  prefer  to 
receive. 

Lastly,  we  should  not  object  if  you  would  mention 
the  "Stamp  Page." 

NEW   ISSUES 

IS  there  any  delight  in  the  world  equal  to  that  which 
fills  a  stamp-collector  when  he  sees  a  new  and 
beautiful  issue,  one  which  he  feels  is  a  worthy  addi- 
tion to  the  treasures  already  in  his  album,  and  one 
which  sends  him  to  the  encyclopedia  to  study  a  bit 
about  countries  other  than  his  own !  This  month 
that  mysterious  country,  Egypt,  presents  to  our  read- 
ers illustrations  of  four  of  her  new  series  of  stamps. 
She  has  departed  from  the  long  familiar  pyramid 
and  sphinx  type,  and  has  given  us  a  series  of  well- 
executed  designs  representing  most  fascinating  sub- 
jects. This  series  is  issued  in  commemoration  of 
the   twenty-second  year  of  the   reign   of  the  present 


iihiiiiiiih 


[gjtasgegiwin. 

ni;r\T77f|i: 


Khedive.  Not  only  are  these  new  stamps  remark- 
able for  their  departure  from  the  old  designs,  but 
because  the  inscriptions  are  all  in  English  instead  of 

French,  and  also 
because  of  the 
fact  that  the 
higher  values  are 
no  longer  in 
piasters.  We  il- 
lustrate the  four 
lower  values  of 
the  series  of  ten. 
The  one-mil- 

lieme  (brown) 
shows  a  view  of 
the  Nile  with 
palm-trees  and 
native  boats 
(gyassas)  ;  the 
two  -  m  i  1 1  i  e  m  e 
(green)  is  a 
striking    presen- 


m  1 1  r  hi  mitlif 


:i_4JfeaBtiaKasI]Fjr 

1 


iksc 


tation  of  the  goddess  Isis,  whose  head-dress  is  a  pair 
of  cow's  horns  between  which  rests  the  moon  ;  the 
three-millieme  (orange)  is  more  modern  looking, 
showing  the  palace  at  Alexandria  ;  the  four-millieme 
(vermilion)  shows  the  desert,  camels,  and,  in  the 
background,  the  familiar  pyramid  of  Ghizeh.  On  the 
five-millieme  (lake)  is  the  Sphinx;  on  the  ten-mil- 
lieme  (blue),  the  Colossi  of  Thebes, (two  seated  fig- 
ures). The  stamps  of  the  next  four  values  are  larger 
in  size  ;  on  the  twenty-millieme  (olive)  is  the  Pylon 
— the  gateway  to  the  Temple  of  Karnak ;  the  fifty- 
millieme  (mauve),  a  picture  of  Cairo;  on  the  ioo- 
millieme  (slate),  the  brick 
temples  of  Abu-Simbel ;  and 
on  the  200-millieme  (claret) 
is  shown  the  new  dam  of 
Assuan.  This  completes  what 
we  believe  will  be  one  of  the 
most  popular  series  of  stamps 
ever  issued. 

We   also   picture   one  more 

new  stamp — that  of  the  lady 

with    the    curl.      This    stamp, 

which    bears    nothing    on    its 

face    to    indicate    the    issuing 

country,  will'  surely  prove  a  puzzler  to  the  beginner 

in  collecting.     It  is  one  of  a  new  series  of  newspaper 

stamps  issued  by  Bosnia. 

ANSWERS  TO  QUERIES 

^]f"CTAMP  PAGE"  is  only  too  glad  to  be  of 
jl  ^  service  to  its  readers.  It  takes  great  plea- 
sure in  answering,  so  far  as  it  can,  the  queries  sub- 
mitted to  it,  in  identifying  stamps  sent,  and  in  every 
possible  way  being  helpful  to  the  beginner  in  stamp- 
collecting,  no  matter  how  young  or  how  old  he  may 
be.  But  there  are  many  questions  sent  in  which  are 
not  of  sufficient  general  interest  to  warrant  space  in 
the  Stamp  Page  itself.  In  order  that  these  may  be 
answered  direct,  it  is  urged  upon  those  who  submit 
queries  that  they  write  their  addresses  plainly,  or 
preferably  inclose  a  self-addressed  stamped  envelop 
for  a  reply.  This  insures  promptness,  as  it  is  often 
several  months  before  an  answer  can  appear  in  the 
Stamp  Page. 


fezgg2gg2agZ222g222g£gS?gi^ 


26 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


ST.  NICHOLAS  STAMP  DIRECTORY 


INTERNATIONAL 
JUNIOR  STAMP  ALBUM  ^MtT* 

Contains  separately  described  printed  spaces  for  over  15,000 
different  stamps  from  the  earliest  issues  to  the  present  year. 
All  in  one  volume.  An  unequaled  grift  for  young  people  who  are 
starting  stamp  collections.  Board  covers,  $2.25;cloth  covers  $3.25. 


Over  two  hundred  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 


A  postalbrings  you  Ohlman's  Philatelic  Advertiser.  Finestamps. 
Low  prices.     M.  Ohlman,  75-77  Nassau  St.,  New  York  City. 


STAMPS  108  ALL  DIFFERENT. 

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  Brillante  Av.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


LEATHER  NOVELTY  FREE  if  you  agree  to  buy  from  my 
approvals.    E.  Hughes,  212  Harvard  St.,  Cambridge,  Mass. 

Q1M  A  P«  200  ALL  DIFFERENT  FOREIGN  STAMPS 

Ol^^vriJ  for  only  10c.  65  All  Dif.  U.  S.  including  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. 


l£j 


Approvals  offer  you  good  U.  S.  postage  and  revenues. 
Also  fine  foreign,  medium  priced.  Premium:  two  mint 
copies,  NewTurkish.  Reference  necessary.  Mrs.  L.  W. 
Kellogg,  West  Hartford,  Conn.,  Dept.  St. 


STAMPS  100  VARIETIES  FOREIGN.  FREE.  Postage  2c. 
Mention  St.  Nicholas.     Quaker  Stamp  Co.,   Toledo,  Ohio. 

Special  bargain  sets,  5c  each 


With  our 
net  approvals 

Palm  Stamp  Co. 


10  Brazil 
10  Cuba 


10  China 

10  Dutch  Indies 

Los  Angeles,  Cal. 


STAMPS  105  China,  Egypt,etc,stamp  dictionary  and  list  3000  I 
bargains  2c.    Agts.,  50%.     Bullard  &  Co.,  Sta.  A,  Boston.  I 


FRFF   SET  w  PARCEL  POST  STAMPS 

r  rV.HI-1    Girls  trying  our 


Frisco  Stamp  Co. 


Boys  and 
ovo  Approvals. 
Box  878,  St.  Louis,  Missouri. 


ClMp  stamps  sold  cheap.   50%  and  more  allowed  from  Scott's 
rilld  prices.     International  Stamp  Co.,  Covington,  O. 


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., 
FREE!    WE  BUY  STAMPS. 

Hussman  Stamp  Co.,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


PENNANTS 


Size  9x24, 10c.  each.  12  x  30, 25c.  each.  Felt  ties  with  school 
initials  25c.  Pennants  for  any  City,  School  or  College.  Cata- 
logue free.    Agents  wanted. 

Western  Mail  Supply  Co.,  G.  La  Crosse,  Wis. 


RARE  Stamps  Free.  15  all  different,  Canadians,  and  io  India 
xJSSjs.  with  Catalogue  Free.  Postage2cents.  Ifpossiblesend 
ajjnKra  names  nnd  addresses  of  two  stamp  collectors.  Special 
tmt  Jm\  offers,  all  different,  contain  no  two  alike.  50  Spain, 
WSLMBIi  Hc.;40  [apan,  5c:  100  U.  S.,20c;  1"  Paraguay,  7c;  17 
NSSSf*/  Mexico,  10c:20Turkey,  7c;  10  Persia,  7c. ;3  Sudan, 5c; 
^■SHS^  lOChile,  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.  Fineapproval  sheets  50%  Discount,  50 Page  List 
Free.    Marks  Stamp  Company.  Dept.  N,  Toronto,  Canada. 


DANDY  PACKET  STAMPS  free  for  name,  address  2  collec- 
tors, 2c  postage.  Send  to-day.  U.T.K.  Stamp  Co.,  Utica,  N.  Y. 


VEST  POCKET 


WATERMARK   DETECTOR 

and  50  different  Stamps,  only  10c 
BurtMcCann,515NewYorkLifeBldg.,Minneapolis,Minn. 


UC     Postage  and  Revenue  I  The  Hobby  Co.,  P.O.  Box 403. 
•  »J»       Foreign  Postage  Springfield,  Ohio. 


RARfiAINS    EACH  SET  5  CENTS. 

t»/-vrvvi/Aiii,j     i0  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. 


VARIETIES  PERU  FREE. 

With  trial  approval  sheets.    F.  E.  Thorp,  Norwich,  N.Y. 


1  o  i  All  diff.  foreign  stamps  incl.  China,  Egypt,  Chili,  Peru, 
*  ~  *  Brazil,  Japan,  Mexico,  Portugal,  Turkey,  Roumania, 
Guiana,  Greece,  Russia,  N.  S.  Wales,  Cape  of  G.  H,  etc.,  15c 
200  hinges  free.    Royal  Stamp  Co.,  232  S.  54th  St.,  Phila.,  Pa. 


STAMPS  FREE,  100  ALL  DIFFERENT 

For  the  names  of  two  collectors  and  2c  postage.    20  different 
foreign  coins,  25c    Toledo  Stamp  Co.,  Toledo,  Ohio,  U.S.A. 


FOREIGN    STAMPS    FREE   fo'reigSud- 
ing  China  and  Venezuela,  to  all  who  apply  for  our  high  grade 
approval  selections.     Send  two  cent  stamp  for  return  postage. 
The  Edgewood  Stamp  Co.,  Dept.  S,  Milford,  Conn. 


STAMPS  Fine  copies,  low  prices  on  approval.  References. 
Premiums.  E.  Krohne,  256  Church  St.,  N.  Y.  City. 

APPROVALS  at  50%  discount.    80  var.  free  if  requested. 
Harry  C.  Bradley,  Dorchester  Center,  Mass. 

Ci  •»**•«  I  333  Foreign  Missionary  stamps,  only  7c  100  for- 
JlainpS  •  eign,  no  2  alike,  incl.  Mexico,  Japan,  etc.,  5c. 
100  diff.  U.  S.  fine,  30c.  1000  fine  mixed,  20c.  Agents  wanted, 
50%.  List  free !    I  Buy  Stamps.    L.  B.  Dover,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 

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. 

/    below  Scott's  when   you 
0    buy  on  my 
-PREMIUM    PLAN- 

Ask  about  Durland's  Album  and  Handy  Stamp  Holder. 

A.  O.  Durland,  Evansville,  Indiana. 


APPROVALS  662/ 


i\  I  •  C*____-  Our  book  "  How  to  Become  a  Stamp 
L/eai  in  OtampS  Dealer"  tells  how  to  do  good  busi- 
ness selling  among  your  friends. 

Dealers'  Stock  Only  50c.  We  send  the  book  and  500  mixed 
stamps  to  make  up  packets,  approval  sheets,  etc.,  two  50  var.  pkts. 
stamps,  one  100  var.  pkt.,  one  150  var.  pkt.,  5  diff.  animal  stamps, 
1000  stamp  hinges,  2  millimetre  scales,  10  blank  approval  sheets, 
5  approval  books,  1  pkt.  25  Asiatic  stamps,  50  African  stamps,  1 
stamp  album,  15  stamps  to  sell  at  3c.  each,  10  stamps  to  sell  at  5c. 
each.  Retail  price  of  lot  is  about  $2.00.  We  send  it  with  book  for 
50c.  and  5c.  for  postage.        E.  G.  Staats,  G.  La  Crosse,  Wis. 


*7 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


^lj- 


esttotts 


ON  this  page  are  suggestions  where  most  ideal  pets  may  be  found.  Dolls  can't  play  with  you,  games  some- 
times 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  build- 
ing 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.    ST.  NICHOLAS  PET  DEPARTMENT 


HOW  TO  WIN  BIRDS 

Mr.  Godson's  Free  Booklet  tells  you  how  to  attract  our  native 
song  birds  to  your  gardens  and  how  to  make  them  come  back 
to  you  every  year.  Write  for  this  book  and  have  bluebirds, 
wrens,  purple  martins  and  other  birds  living  near  you. 


Here  within  one  small  garden— I've  drawn  a  ring  about  each— are: 

The  Dodson  Automatic  Feeding  Table  for  birds.  Price,  with  8-foot 
pole,  $6.00;  all  copper  roof,  $7.50.     Size  24  x  22  x  r2  inches. 

The  Dodson  Great-Crested  Flycatcher  House.  Price  $3.00;  with  all 
copper  roof,  $4.00     Size  15  x  n  x  8  inches. 

The  Dodson  Bluebird  House.  Solid  oak,  cypress  shingle  roof,  copper 
coping.     Price  $5.00.     Size,  21  inches  high,  16  inches  in  diameter. 

The  Dodson  Cement  Bird  Bath.  32  inches  high,  basin  34  inches  in 
diameter. 

The  Dodson  IVren  House.  Solid  oak,  cypress  shingle  roof,  copper 
coping.       Price  $5.00. 

The  Dodson  Purple  Martin  House.  Three  stories,  26  rooms  and  attic. 

Over  all,  44  x 37x31  inches.   Price  $12.00;  with  all  copper  roof.  $15.00. 

All  Prices  are  f.o.b. Chicago 

I  have  20  different  Houses,  Feeding  Tables,  Shelters  and 
Baths,  all  for  Native  Birds.  Prices  $1.50  to  $70.00.  Have  been 
building  Bird  Houses  for  18  years. 

The  Dodsou  Sparrow  Traps  are  catching  thousands  of 
Sparraivs  all  over  A  inertca.  Get  07ie;  banish  the  Pest  that  drives 
away  song  birds.  Strong  wire,  electrically  welded,  needle  poiids 
at  mouths  of  two  funnels.    Price  $5.00,  f.o.b.  Chicago. 

Let  me  send  you  my  illustrated  book  about  birds. 
Joseph  H.  Dodson,  1217  Association  Bldg.,  Chicago,  111. 

Mr.  Dodson  is  a  Director  of  the  Illinois  Audubon  Society. 


^.IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIMIIIIIIIUIIIIMIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIMIIII^ 

I   Do  You  Know  the  Judging    1 
I  Points  of  the  Dog?  | 

1  Booklet  giving  all  the  information  and  = 

=  points  of  the  dog,  ten  cents,  postpaid  g 

I   THE  C  S.  R.  CO.,  P.  0.  Box  1028,  New  York  City    | 


Scottish  Terriers 

Offered    as    companions.      Not 

given    to    fighting   or    roaming. 

Best  for  children's  pets. 

NEWCASTLE  KENNELS 

Brookline,  Mass. 


Lovable  Children 

The  healthier  and  happier  your  children  are  the^_ 

'better  men  and  women  they  will  become.  A  Shetland!^ 

"Pony  for  a  playfellow  brings  them  health,  teaches  them" 

self  reliance  and  self  control  and  makes  them  manly.  Ke- 

P  cure  a  pony  from  the  Belle  Meade  Farm  and  you  can  be\ 

'  quite  sure  it  will  be  a  sturdy, reliable  little  fellow, playful  as  1 

a  kitten  but  full  of  good  sense  and  quite  unafraidof  autos, 

trains  or  anything  to  be  met  with  on  the  road.  We  have  a 

HERD  OF  300 

for  you  to  choose  from— every  J 
one  well  mannered   and  abso- 
lutelysafe.many  of  them  prize  J 
winners.    We  always  guaran-^ 
^tee  satisfaction.    Write  for^' 
illustrated  catalogue.^ 

Belle  Meade  Farm^ 

Markham,  Va 
Box  9 


A  Perfect  Cake  for  Pampered  Pets 

SPRATTS  "M0LLIC0DDLES" 

Write  for  sample  and  send  2c.  stamp  for 
"Dog  Culture" 

SPRATT'S  PATENT  LIMITED,  Newark,  N.J. 


Shady  Nook  Shetland 
Pony  Farm 

Beautiful  and  useful  little  pets,  for  chil- 
dren and  breeding,  for  sale.  Am  offer- 
ing some  extra  good  broken  pony  mares, 
some  of  them  in  foal,  at  most  reasonable 
prices.    "Write  your  wants."    Dept.  M. 

SHADY  NOOK  FARM 
No.  Ferrisburg  Vermont 


SELECTED 

BOSTON    TERRIERS 

All  Ages  Low  Prices 

CARPENTER'S 

148  Portland  St.  Boston,  Mass. 


KITTENS 


PUPPIES 

Every boyand  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 

BLACK  SHORT  HAIRED  CATTERY 
ORADELI.,  N,  J. 


CATS 


York  Office  — 154  West  57th  Street 


DOGS 


28 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


$>L  &itt)ola$  pet  department— contmueo 


AMERICAN    KENNELS 

Toy  white  French  Silk  Poodles,  from  3  pound  par- 
ents. Pedigreed,  smallest  obtainable,  rare  Beau- 
ties, $15.00.  Toy  Maltese  Terriers,  Toy  Black  and 
Tans,  Toy  Yorkshire  Terriers,  Toy  Boston  Ter- 
riers, $15.00  up.  Pekinese  Spaniels,  Toy  Pomeran- 
ians, $25.00  up.  Toy  Fox  Terriers, $5. 00  up.  St.  Ber- 
nards, Great  Danes,  Newfoundlands,  $20.00  up. 
Scotch  Collies,  $10.00  up.  Irish  Terriers,  Fox 
Terriers,  Airedales,  English  Bulls,  Puppies  and 
grown,  Stud  Dogs  and  Bitches  in  whelp. 

State  wants,  we  ship  anywhere. 
Dept.  St.,  113  E.  9th  St.  New  York  City 


YOU  AND  NICK! 

Good  times  like  this  certain  when  Nick  comes 
to  you  from  the 

PINE  HILL  PONY  FARM 

He  brings  with  him  health,  happiness,  and  use- 
fulness. Writenow.  There  must  be  just  the  pony 
you  want  at  the  right  price  in  our  large  herd. 


IrJW     MXE  HIM/ 

'  "HSHETUm  AND  WELSH  POHIE! 

MEDFOBO  MrtfiS,! 


VIKING  KENNELS 

Old  English  sheep  dogs  a 
specialty.  Lord  Lehigh  and 
Fanners'  Pride  at  stud.  Puppies 
and  grown  dogs.  All  pedigreed 
and  registered  stock.  Prize  win- 
ning strain,  Old  English  sheep 
dogs,  Chow  Chows,  Scottish  ter- 
riers. Bostons,  French  and  Eng- 
lish bull  dogs.  West  Highland 
terriers,  at  very  reasonable 
prices.  Photos  gladly  submit- 
ted. Mrs.  THOS.  W.LARSEN, 
Downing  Ave. ,  Newburgh,  N.  Y. 


66 


RAGS 


95 


This  is  the  name  of  a  beautiful  little  thoroughbred  black 
Cocker  Spaniel  pup.  His  parents  are  both  registered. 
Rags  just  now  is  very  anxious  to  give  his  baby  love  to  the 
boy  or  girl  who  wants  a  staunch  friend  and  playfellow. 
Write  at  once  to  H.  V.  OGDEN,  Michigan  City,  Ind. 


ROVER'S  DREAM 

Here  is  a  picture  of  Rover's  father. 
Rover  is  a  wee  Scotch  collie  pup,  gentle 
and  loving  but  full  of  life.  Last  night 
he  dreamed  he  came  to  live  with  you 
and  had  such  fun  playing  in  the  bright 
spring  sunshine.  Why  don't  you  make 
his  dream  come  true  ?    Write  to 

F.  R.  CLARKE 
Sunnybrae  Collie  Kennels,  Bloomington,  111. 


If  you  are  in  any  way  interested  in  dogs,  you  cannot  afford 
to  miss  reading 

The  Independent  Kennel  Reporter 

America'*  111  out  interesting  Doj;  Journal 

Cartoons— Dog  Stories — News — Photos — Humor 

$1 .00  per  year  anywhere  in  the  world 

Julian  R.  Brandon,  Jr.,  Publisher,  1632  California  Street,  San  Francisco,  California 

'Do  it  now'*  "Lest  you  forget" 


SCHOOLS  AND  CAMPS 


New- York,  Ossining-on-Hudson 
Homnfnn  THToll  Ossining  A"  department  of"  Ossining 
XiampiUU  ndU  School  School, for  girls  14  and  under. 
Separate  home  accommodating  20,  in  charge  of  house  mother.  Care- 
fully graded  instruction,  individual  care  and  attention.  Open  air 
study  hall,  ample  playgrounds  and  children's  gardens.  For  booklet 
address  Principals:  Clara  C.  Fuller,  Martha  J.  Naramore. 


MINNE-WAWA 


Algonquin  National  Park, 
Ontario,  Canada. 

Summer  Camp  for  Boys  and  Young  Men.  Permanent  Camp,  whole- 
some surroundings.  Careful  oversight.  Canoeing,  fishing,  observa- 
tion of  nature  and  wild  animal  photography.  For  booklet  D,  refer- 
ence, etc.,  address     W.  L.  Wise,  Ph.B.,  Bordentown,  New  Jersey. 

Connecticut,  New  Haven. 

CAMP  SUNNYSIDE  ^  fr-^J^ 

A  Country  Camp  with  variety  of  interests  and  entertainment,  includ- 
ing visits  to  Shore.  For  girls  from  eight  to  twenty,  and  boys  from 
eight  to  twelve.     Send  for  Booklet. 

Under  personal  direction  of  Dr.  and  Mrs.  J.  F.  Rogers. 


DO  YOU  KNOW  WHY  ?  ?  ?  ? 

FOREST  AND  STREAM  is  official  organ  for 
more  sportsmen's  organizations  than  is  any  other 
publication?  Because  it  publishes  current,  crisp, 
certified  news  for  fishermen,  trap  shooters,  field 
shooters,  big  game  hunters,  canoeists,  etc.,  that  make 
the  magazine  a  service  publication  as  well  as  a 
magazine  of  interest  to  you. 

The  real  outdoor  man  cannot  afford  to  be  without  it. 
Special  trial  offer  to  anyone  who,  in  so  far  as 
possible,  agrees  to  patronize  advertisers  in 
Forest  and  Stream— $1.00  for  six  months.  Regular 
price  $3.00 

FOREST  AND  STREAM 
22  THAMES  ST.  NEW  YORK  CITY 


Thompson  -  Baldasseroni     School     of 

Travel  ^or  Girls.     14th  Year.     Eight  months'  travel  and 

study  abroad.      Usual  courses.      American    home 


comforts. 


October  sailing. 

Mrs.  W.  W.  Scott,  Sec'y,  Dover,  N. 


II 


District  of  Columbia,  Washington  (Suburbs). 

National  Park  Seminary      fowlomeIn  G 

The  story  of  the  school ;  its  remarkable  equipment  of  20  buildings  ; 
its  training  in  homemaking ;  its  study  of  the  Capital— can  be  told 
fully  only  in  our  catalogue.    Address  Box  178,  Forest  Glen,  Md. 

New- York,  Catskill  Mountains,  Catskill. 
tCVT  F1  C  A  1\/I  t>  Model  "Bungalows.  No  damp  tents.  All 
XV  1  i-,c  v^AlVXJ-  land  and  water  sports.  Base-ball  diamonds 
and  lawn-tennis  courts.  Rifle  range.  Bowling  alley.  Piano  and 
billiards.  Free  courses  in  English  and  German.  Tutoring  to  make 
up  conditions.  Dr.  Paul  Kyle,  Kyle  School, 

Flushing,  Long  Island,  Box  2. 

Do. You  Like  to  Fish? 

The  1914  Summer  Outing  for  Boys  under  fifteen  provides 
eight  weeks  of  work  and  play  in  Maritime  Canada  —  just 
overnight  from  Boston.  Real  fishing,  real  sailing,  real 
lumber-camp  life,  real  work  for  which,  you  are  paid, 
planned  for  a  limited  and  congenial  group  and  something 
different  from  the  usual  camp.  Kindly  state  your  age 
and  school  in  applying  for  a  prospectus. 

H.  HOLDEN,  Pi  O.  Box  E,  MORRISTOWN,  N.  J. 
FRENCH,     GERMAN,     SPANISH,     ITALIAN 

Can  be  learned  quickly,  easily,  and  pleasantly  at  spare  mo- 
ments, in  your  own  home.     You  hear  the  living-  voice  of  a 
native  professor  pronounce  each  word  and  phrase.  In  a  sur- 
prisingly short  time  you  can  speak  a  new  language  by  the 

LANGUAGE-PHONE  METHOD 

combined  with 

ROSENTHAL'S  PRACTICAL  LINGUISTRY 

Disc  or  Cylinder  Records.     Can  be  used  on  your  own 

talking  machine.     Send  for  Particulars  and  Booklet. 

The  Langu aj»e -Phone  Method 

979  Putnam  Building,  2  West  45th  Street,  N.  Y. 


29 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Easter  Greetings  to  every  reader  of  St.  Nicholas 

-LA^SCHWARZ 


1  The  Home 
of  Toys" 


We  cordially  invite  you  all  to  come  and  see  our  splendid  exhibition  of  Easter  toys,  games, 

and  novelties — for  Easter  gifts,  Easter  parties  and  entertainments. 

Here  you  will  find  a  great  variety  of  the  most  delightful  surprises — big,  gorgeous-colored  eggs 
filled  with  gifts  of  various  kinds — rabbits,  chicks,  ducks — games — 
beautiful  dolls  in  new  Easter  clothes — sporting  goods — every  con- 
ceivable toy  and  novelty  for  making  Easter-time  most  enjoyable. 
Come  if  you  can,  but  if  you  can't  come  write  for  catalogue — 
which  is  full  of  pictures  of  many  of  our  nicest  toys  and  things,  and 
you  can  pick  what  you  want  almost  as  easy  as  if  you  were  in  our 
store.     Highest  quality — lowest  prices. 


ISTERIN 


Use  it  every  day 

LISTERINE  is  the  original  antiseptic 
j  preparation  and  can  be  safely  em- 
ployed in  the    home    because    it   is 

non- poisonous. 

Children  as  well  as  older  folks  should 
use  it  freely  as  a  mouth-wash  after  brush- 
ing the  teeth.  It  acts  as  a  preservative. 
Listerine  is  first  aid  for  cuts,  burns, 
scalds,  etc.  It  has  held  favor  with  phy 
sicians  and  dentists  for  over30  years. 

All  Druggists  Sell  Listerine 

LAMBERT  PHARMACAL  COMPANY 

St.  Louis,  Mo. 


Duplex 

Coaster  Brake 


Going  down  hill  your  feet  are  at 
rest  on  the  pedals — not  forced  to 
follow  them  around  and  around  in 
a  tiring  grind. 

And  the  wheel  is  under  your  complete 
control  at  all  times  —  in  crowded  streets 
■ —  when  coasting  down  the  steepest  hills. 
"  Corbin    Control    Means    Safety    Assured" 

Sold  and  equipped  by  bicycle  and  hardware 
dealers  everywhere 

Write  for  new  1914  Catalog 

THE  CORBIN  SCREW  CORPORATION 

The  American  Hardware 
Successors 

211  HIGH  ST. 

New  Britain 
Conn. 


30 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


Polly  and  Peter  Ponds 

have  gone  away  to  school.     Their  letters 
will    appear  in  this  magazine  each  month 

Dear  Polly: 

It  is  a  fine  day.  It  is  a  shame  to 
have  to  study  on  a  day  like  this.  I 
can't  see  any  use  in  learning  so  much, 
but  everybody  says  that  a  gentleman 
has  to  be  educated,  so  I  guess  I  '11 
have  to  keep  on. 

We  don' t  work  all  the  time,  though . 
We  have  a  lot  of  fun  sometimes,  such 
as  basketball  and  baseball  and  several 
athletic  sports. 

Say,  this  morning — it  was  awfully 
funny — one  of  the  fellows  got  hold  of 
an  old  hat  of  "  Sneeze  Harkins ' '  — he '  s 
a  Latin  Prof,  and  we  call  him  that  for 
short  of  "Julius  Sneezer" — anyway, 
he  'most  always  has  a  cold  in  the  head. 
Well,  we  put  a  brick  in  the  hat  and 
set  it  out  by  the  corner  of  the  Library 
so  that  you  couldn't  see  the  brick. 

And  Sam  Winston  came  by  pretty 

soon — he's  awfully  mad  at  "Sneeze" 

because  he  flunked  his  Latin  last  term — and  Sain  let  out  a  whoop  when  he  saw  the  hat,  and  yelled, 

"Here  goes  old  'Sneeze'  into  the  middle  of  next  week  !"  and  kicked  the  hat  with  all  his  might. 

Well,  you  ought  to  have  seen  Sam's  face  !    He  yelled  again,  but  it  sounded  quite  different.     That 

was  a  real  hard  brick. 

Some  of  us  fellows  were  standing  round  the  corner  just  to  see  who  would  be  the  goat,  and  we 
all  yelled,  "April  Fool!" 

But  I  felt  sort  of  sorry  for  Sam,  because  he  held  on  to  his  foot  as  if  it  hurt  like  anything,  so  I 
went  up  to  him  and  offered  him  my  sample  bottle  of 

POND'S  EXTRACT 

to  fix  it  with. 

But  he  looked  at  me  as  if  he  wanted  to  bite  my  head  off,  and  said,  "You  get  out,  doggone  you, 
I  believe  you  did  this  !" 

"Well,"  I  said,  "you  don't  have  to  have  it,  and  I  didn't  do  it,  anyway,"  and  walked  away. 

But  do  you  know,  about  half  an  hour  later,  Sam  came  limping  round  to  my  room  and  said, 
"Say,  Peter,  I  guess  I  '11  have  to  take  back  what  I  said.      Bill  Conley  did  that  trick." 

"Well,  Sam,"  I  said,  "that's  all  right.      It  was  a  mean  thing  to  do.      There's  lots  ot  ways 
of  playing  April  Fool  without  hurting  people." 

"That's  so,"  said  Sam.     "Say,  Peter,  I  want  to  borrow  that  Pond's  Extract  bottle.     My  toe 
hurts  yet,  and  I  know  that  '11  cure  it  in  no  time.    There  's  nothing  like  it  for  bruises  and  sprains." 

And,  sure  enough,  in  a  couple  of  hours  he  said  it  didn't  hurt  a  bit. 

Your  affectionate  brother,  Peter. 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY 

131  Hudson  Street       -       -       New  York 


POND'S  EXTRACT  COMPANY'S  Vanishing  Cream 
— Talcum  Powder — Toilet  Soap  —  Pond's  Extract. 


3i 


ST.  NICHOLAS  ADVERTISEMENTS 


The  modern  girl  is  a  healthy,  outdoor 
creature.  She  will  help  Nature  and  defy 
the  weather  by  using 


FAIRY 


Made  of  pure  vegetable  oils  and  high  grade  materials 
—  so  clean,  sweet  and  wholesome  —  it  is  agreeable  to 
the  tenderest  skin  and  complexion. 

It  is  the  kind  of  soap  particular  people  use.  The  oval  cake 
fits  the  hand  naturally  and  always  floats  within  easy  reach. 
It  cleanses  to  the  last  atom. 

'  Have  you  a  little  '  Fairy  '  in  your  home  ?  " 


Fairy  is  the  best  soap 
for  washing  dainty  fab' 
rics  and  laces. 


With  all  its  goodness, 
Fairy  Soap  costs  but 
five  cents  a  cake. 


32 


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