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^mtJErs!itj>of i^ortfi Carolina 

Carnegie Corporation jFunti 


HJnsitruction in Hilirariansifjip 




g?t , m chn las 

This book must not 
be taken from the 
library building. 


Digitized by the Internet Archive 
in 2013 



Illustrated Magazine 

For Young Folks 

Part II. — May to October, 1914. 

The century CO., NEW YORK 


Copyright, 1914, by T»E Century Co. 

The De Vinne Press. 


Library, Univ. ©f 
North Csrr,i;,,, 



PART 11. 

.Six Months — May to October, 1914. 



Aquaplane Riding. (Illustrations from photographs) E. J. Morris, M.D 974 

Aviator, The. Verse. (Decoration by Junius S. Cravens) Arthur Wallace Peach. . . 963 

Bambaroo. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) C. F. Lester 1114 

Baring-Gould. Photograph. See Letter-Box Editorial Note 860 

Base-ball Problems 807, 907, 1018, 1148 

Base-ball : The Game and Its Players. (Illustrations from photographs) . . Billy Evans 607 

708, 802, 903, 10 14, 1063 

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

The Making of a Canoeist. (Illustrated by Norman Price, William Van 

Dresser, and from photographs and diagrams) 629, 725, 796 

Boast, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Harmon Neill) Emily Rose Burt 892 

Bonheur, Rose. See "Tomboy from Bordeaux, The" 1057 

Booth, Edwin. See "More Than Conquerors." 996 

Botany, The Boy Who Studies. Verse Robert Emmet Ward 741 

Boy of Cadore, The. (Illustrated by Maurice Lincoln Bower) Katherine Dunlap Gather 674 

Brave Little Girl, The. Verse Tudor Jenks 841 

Brook, Capitalizing a. (Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha) Frank J. Stillman 879 

Building Contract, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) . . . Caroline Hofnian 814 

Butterflying. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 612 

Canoeist, The Making of a. ("Under the Blue Sky" Series.) (Illustrated 
by Norman Price, William Van Dresser, and from photographs and dia- 
grams) E. T. Keyser 629 

72s, 796 

Capitalizing a Brook. (Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha) Frank . /. Stillman 879 

Cassowary, The, His Vocabulary, and the Dictionary. Verse. (Illus- 
trated by Reginald Birch) E. L. McKinney 978 

Cheeses, Dutch. (Illustrations from photographs) H. M. Smith 1108 

Cherry-time. Verse. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Marion Mallette Thornton 673 

Clever Artist and the Hungry Wave, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the 

Author) George O. Butler 968 

Contract, A Big. Picture. Drawn by Harrison Cady iioo 

Coon Hollow Push-mobile Aeroplane, The. Pictures. Drawn by Culmer 

Barnes , 832 

Decoration Day, After the Parade on. Picture. Drawn by George T. Tobin 724 

"Eternal Feminine, The." Picture. Drawn by Grace G. Drayton 633 

"Evening Glow, In the." Picture. From a painting by Charles C. Curran 819 

Faery Men, The Foolish. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Jo L. G. McMahon 1128 

Fairy Steeple, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Katharine Maynadier 

Browne 820 

Fancy Dress, A Rush Order for Josephine Story 977 

Finding out Aunt Hester. (Illustrated by W. F. Stecher) Virginia Woods Mackall. 990 



Flag, Two Boys and the. (Illustrated by Charles M. Relyea) Eleanor Schureman 769 

First Impressions— Or, The First Day of School. Picture. Drawn by 

Mary Louise Baker 1025 

Foot-ball: Tactics and Tacticians of the Gridiron. (Illustrations from 

photographs) Parke H. Davis 11 16 

Footstep Fairies, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Harold Sichel) Muriel E. Windram 628 

Fortunate Frog, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) G. O. Butler 1004 

"Frog Prince, The." See Editorial Note 764 

Gardener, the Complete. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) B. S 828 

Garden, In the. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) Caroline Hofman 910 

Garden-Making and Some of the Garden's Stories Grace Tabor 

The Storj^ of the Twofold Torments 634 

The Story of the Defenders Unaware 730 

The Story of the Fractions 829 

The Story of the Sentinels 925 

The Story of the Crystal Halls 1021 

Giants, Stories of Friendly. (Illustrated by Pamela C. Smith) <„ _ ' ,> 

( iieymotir Barnard ) 

1. The Wigwam Giants 694 

2. How the Giants Got the Best of Thor 822 

3. The Giant and the Herdboy 918 

4. How Jack Found the Giant Riverrath i loi 

Golf: The Game I Love. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea and from photo- 
graphs) Francis Ouimct 592 

689, 815, 911 

"Hallowe'en, A-Coming Home on." Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) . . . George O. Butler 1077 

"Hallowe'en." Picture. Painted by George Luks 1093 

Hallowe'en Night, 'T is. Verse Blanche Eliaabeth Wade. 1120 

Home, The. Verse. (Illustration from photograph) Gladys Hyatt Sinclair. . . 743 

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

Sarah K. Smith) Caroline French Benton. 641 

737, 833, 929, 1026, 1 121 

How the Neighbors Knew. Verse. (Illustrated by Dugald Stewart Walker) C/ora Piatt Meadowcroft 585 
"In Days of Old, When Knights Were Bold." Picture. Drawn by Grace 

G. Drayton 613 

Independence Day. Verse. (Illustrated by Beatrice Stevens) Ella M. Boiilt 821 

Interrupted Song, An. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 801 

Johnson, Walter. See " 'Speed-King,' Some Experiences of a" 1063 

Joy. Verse C. H 713 

June-time Jingles. Verse Clinton Scollard 699 

"Just Anne." (Illustrated by Harriet Roosevelt Richards) /. L. Glover mo 

Kind-hearted Countryman, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 900 

Laughing. Verse Mary MacRae Gray 1125 

"Laurel Blossoms, Among the." Picture. Painted by Charles C. Curran 596 

Little Jo. Verse. (Illustrated by Edmund Frederick) Anna Fletcher 742 

Luck— Pluck. Verse Abbie Farwell Brown. . . . 990 

Lucky Stone, The. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Abbie Farwell Brown. . . . 614 

713, 808 
Men Who Do Things, With. (Illustrated by Edwin F. Bayha and from pho- 
tographs) A. Russell Bond 621 

718, 837, 893, 1006, 1094 
More Than Conquerors. The Star-Shower Baby (Edwin Booth). (Illus- 
trations from photographs) Ariadne Gilbert 996 

Mothering Dolly— For Polly. Verse. (Illustrations by C. Clyde Squires) . .Constance Johnson 916 

Mozart Raced with Marie Antoinette, When. (Illustrated by Maurice L. 

Bower) Katherine D. Gather 867 



Nature-Study and Teacher. Verse Blanche Elizabeth Wade. 766 

Newton and the Pin. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald Birch) Helen E. Richards 1083 

Officer, An Ingenious. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) George O. Butler 688 

Path of Least Resistance, The. Verse. (Illustrated by R. B. Birch) Helen Coale Creiv 670 

Peter of the Wild Rose-tree. (Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall and from pho- 
tographs) Patten Beard 586 

Pinch of Necessity, The. (Illustrated by Charles R. Chickering) Mary Bronson Hartt 872 

"Please, Mother!— Did You Say the Candy Was in the Top Drawer?" 

Picture. Drawn by B. J. Rosenmeyer 1013 

Polite Pirate, The. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Frederick Moxon 620 

Princess and the Pirate, The. (Illustrated by Dugald Stewart Walker) . .Doris Webb 780 

"Princess Primrose Takes the Air, When." Picture. Drawn by Esther 

Peck 1003 

Procession, The. Verse Margaret Widdcmer 820 

QuEELA Hunted the Hawk's Bill, How. (Illustrated by Charles Livingston 

Bull) Peri Lupia 964 

Race, A Useless. Picture. Drawn by C. Barnes 795 

Race, Go-As- You-Please, on the Old Mill-Pond, A. Picture. Drawn by 

Harrison Cady 9^5 

Revere, Paul— Goldsmith. (Illustrations from photographs) Park Pressey 784 

Rose Alba, The "K. K." of the. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Eveline Warner Brainerd 1070 

Runaway, The. (Illustrated by C. M. Relyea) Allen French 597 

700, 788, 886, 981, 1086 

School, The First Day of. Picture. Drawn by Mary Louise Baker 1025 

Sea-Horse of Grand Terre, The. (Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull) . . Charles Tenney Jackson . S77 

Self-made Man, A. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) Caroline Hofman 1020 

Shaker Town, In. Verse. (Illustrated by Charles M. Relyea) Marion Pugh Read 884 

Silver Cup, The. (Illustrated by Charles R. Chickering) George M. Johnson 1078 

Singing. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) Caroline Hofman 736 

Sir Rigmarole's Ramble. Verse. (Illustrated by the Author) Charles F. Lester 638 

"Speed-King," Some Experiences of a. (Illustrations from photographs) . . . Walter Johnson 1063 

"Star-Spangled Banner, The," The Story of. (Illustrations from photo- 
graphs, painting, and manuscript) J. L. Harbour 969 

Summer Shower, A. Picture. Drawn by George T. Tobin 902 

"Sun AND Shade." Picture. Drawn by M. L. McMillan 779 

Swing Time. Verse. (Illustrated by Henrietta Collins) M. F 584 

Tactics and Tacticians of the Gridiron. (Illustrations from photographs) . Parke H. Davis 1116 

Teddy and Miss Rainy-Day. Verse Pauline Frances Camp . . . 591 

Thoughts. Verse Ethel Blair 729 

Titian. See "Boy of Cadore, The." 674 

Tomboy from Bordeaux, The. (Illustrated by Maurice Lincoln Bower) Katherine Dunlap Gather 1057 

Tommy and Nan. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer) Caroline Hofman 640 

Touchy, Little Miss. Verse. (Illustrated by S. Wendell Mitchell) Laura G. Thompson 1019 

Trail, The Hidden. Verse Mary Carolyn Davies 936 

Travel, Concerning. Verse. (Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Rimer) ... .Caroline Hofman 640 

Twinkle, Twinkle! Verse. (Illustration from a photograph) Ruth McEnery Stuart. . . 916 

Two Boys and the Flag. (Illustrated by Charles M. Relyea) Eleanor Schureman 769 

Umbrellas. Verse. (Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay) Melville Chater 604 

Unselfishness. Verse. (Illustrated by G. E. Wesson) Marjorie Osborn Wesson 637 

Victory, The Greater. (Illustrated by Robert McCaig) H. Carson Davies 679 

Warm-Weather Shop, The Most Popular, in the Deep Woods District. 

Picture. Drawn by Sears Gallagher 878 

Wasted Hole, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay) Melville Chater 1084 

"Yes" and "No." Essay George Lawrence Parker 605 

Youngest, The. Verse. (Illustrated by Reginald B. Birch) Ethel M. Kelley 908 




"Wee Folk," painted by Arthur Rackham, facing page 577— "The Frog Prince," painted by Arthur 
Rackham, facing page 673—" Marjorie and Margaret," painted by Arthur Rackham, facing page 769— 
"Jack and the Beanstalk," drawn by Arthur Rackham, facing page 867— A Little Maid of Holland, 
from a painting by Jacob Gerritsz Cuyp, facing page 963—" Puss in Boots," painted by Arthur Rackham, 
facing page 1057. 

For Very Little Folk. (Illustrated) 

The Lost Curl Grace E. Craig 649 

Proud Daddy-long-legs Anne Porter Johnson. . . . 744 

The Toy Pussy-Cat. Verse Margaret G. Hays 747 

The Doll's Circus. Verse Will Philip Hooper 857 

The Adventures of Arabella Helen Peck 

I. The Adventure of the Big Wave 937 

II. The Adventure of the Lovely Lights 1033 

III. The Adventure at the Zoo 1 129 

Nature and Science. (Illustrated) 652, 748, 842, 940, 1036, 1132 

St. Nicholas League. (Illustrated) 660, 756, 849, 948, 1044, 1140 

Books and Reading. (Illustrated) Hildegarde Hawthorne . . 646 

734- 934. 1030, 1126 

Editorial Notes 764 

The Letter-Box. (Illustrated) 668, 764, 860, 956, 1053, 1149 

The Riddle-Box. (Illustrated) 671, 767, 863, 959, 1055, 1151 




MAY, 1914 

Price, 25 Cents 


In Spotless Town this teacher rules 

The new Domestic Science Schools. 
"A little loaf is £:ood," she said, 
"it helps to make us better bred." 

We soften crusty natures so 

By polishing: with 

TRY this on your dirtiest, 
greasiest pan : 

Rub just the amount of 
Sapolio you need on a damp 
cloth. Scour the black sur- 
face of the pan. 

Sapolio quick ly drives the 
and grime) 

Sapolio keeps your hands 
soft and works without waste. 



We have a surprise for you. 
a toy spotless town- just like the 
real one, only smaller. it is 8 'a 
inches long. the nine (9) cunning 
people of spotless town, in colors, 
are ready to cut out and stand up. 


Enoch Morgan's Sons Company, Sole Manufacturers, New York City 



Copyright, 1914, by The Century Co.] (Title Registered U. S. Pat. Off.) [Entered at N. Y. Post Office as Second Class Mail Matter, 


Dancing is delightful 
to the music of the Victrola 

Every one enjoys dancing to music of such splendid 
such clearness and perfect rhythm — and the Victrola 
long- as any one wants to dance. 

The Victrola brings to you all kinds of 
music and entertainment, superbly rendered 
by the world's greatest artists who make 
records exclusively for the Victor. 

Any Victor dealer will gladly play the latest dance music 
ur any other music you v/ish to hear. There are Victors 
and Victrolas in great variety of styles from $10 to $500. 

Victor Talking Machine Co., Camden, N. J., U. S. A. 

Berliner Gramophooe Co. , Montreal, Canadian Distributors 

New Victor Records demonstrated at all dealers on the 28th of each month 


'•ate- - -* 


Mellin s Food 


tHis j\^omer wrdes 

r^UAAAyt/Ui \fv-irz\^ Uo^ 


04 lA/ty a 

• -±7 J J 

a^ uro OAiy q/^tttUa^ ^44oJ!£/t^tdiA^ 

Send \oAa^ for 

a sample bottle qfcAiellins &ood 

and start your baby riyht 

Mellin's Food Co., Boston, Mass. 

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


Frontispiece. " Wee Folk. " Painted by Arthur Rackham. Page 
The Sea-horse of Grand Terre. Story cnarles Tenney Jackson 577 

Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull. 

Swing Time. Verse M. F 584 

Illustrated by Henrietta Collins. 

How the Neighbors Knew. Verse Clara Piatt Meadowcroft 585 

Illustrated by Dugald Stewart Walker. 

Peter of the Wild Rose-tree. Story Patten Beard 586 

Illustrated by Bruce Horsfall, and from photographs. 

Teddy and Miss Rainy-day. Verse Pauline Frances Camp 591 

The Game I Love. Serial Francis Oulmet 592 

Illustrations from photographs. 

"Among the Laurel Blossoms." Picture. Painted by Charles C. Curran 596 

The Runaway. Serial Story. Illustrated by C. M. Relyea Allen French 597 

Umbrellas. Verse, illustrated by Gertrude A. Kay Melville Chater 604 

"Yes" and "No." Essay George Lawrence Parker 605 

Base-ball: The Game and Its Players. Serial BUiy Evans 607 

Illustrations from photographs. 
Butterflying. Verse. Illustrated by the Author George 0. Butler 612 

" In Days of Old, When Knights Were Bold." I'icture. Drawn by 

Grace G. Drayton 613 

The Lucky Stone. Serial Story. Illustrated by Reginald Birch Abbie Farwell Brown 614 

The Polite Pirate. Verse, illustrated by the Author Frederick Moxon 620 

With Men Who Do Things. Serial, illustrated by Edwin F. Kayha A. Russell Bond 621 

The Footstep Fairies. Verse, illustrated by Harold Sichei Muriel E. Windram 628 

The Making of a Canoeist. ("Under the Blue Sky " Series.) E. T. Keyser 629 

Illustrated by Norman Price, and from photograph. 

" The Eternal Feminine." Picture 633 

Garden-making and Some of the Garden's Stories; The Story of 

the Twofold Torments. Heading by Laetitia Herr Grace Tabor 634 

Unselfishness. Verse. Illustrated by G. E. Wesson Marjorle Osbom Wesson 637 

Sir Rigmarole's Ramble. Verse, illustrated by the Author Charles F. Lester 638 

Concerning Travel. )^^^^^^ Caroline Hofman 640 

Tommy and Nan. ) 

Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer. 

The Housekeeping Adventures of the Junior Blairs. Serial ..... Caroline French Benton 641 

Illustrated by Sarah K. Smith. 

Books and Reading, illustrated Hildegarde Hawthorne 646 

For Very Little Folk : 

The Lost Curl. Story. Illustrated by George T. Tobin Grace E. Craig 649 

Nature and Science for Young Folks, illustrated 652 

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

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles. Illustrated 660 

The Letter-Box. illustrated 668 

The Path of Least Resistance. Verse, illustrated by r. b. Birch Helen Coaie Crew 670 

The Riddle-Box 671 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page Advertising page 26 

Tlie Ce7itury Co. audits editors receive tnamiscri^tsnndari material, submitted for publication, only 071 the tender standirig tluitthey s/zall 
not be responsible for loss or injury thereto while in their possession or in tratisit. Copies of matntscripts 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 35 cents a 

single copy, without discount or extra inducement of any kind. Foreign postage is 60 cents extra when subscribers abroad wish the 
magrazine 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 binddinA. 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 MONTHLY. 

WILLIAM W. ELLSWORTH, _,,__, ..„.„,.,„„.,»„ ^^ WILLIAM W. ELLSWORTH, /"jfiirffK/ 


GEORGE INNESS. Jr. xt • n, -i-r t» 1 »t »» DOUGLAS Z. DOTY, ierrf^ary 

Trusties Union Souare, New York, N. Y. rodman gilder, masuyer 

GEORGE L. WHEELOCK. Ass't Treasurer 



DEAR St. Nicholas Reader: As you yourself 
ne\-er miss a number of St. Nicholas, you will 
be interested to know that my niece's friend Helen, 
who likes to read articles with good solid founda- 
tions of information in them, has become a regular 
reader of St. Nicholas. 

She tells me, however, that there is one thing 
about St. Nicholas that she does not like at all, 
and that is that people keep borrowing it from her. 
The other day, for instance, she was telling her 
cousin Sylvia about it. She was just in the middle 
of the Francis Ouimet article on golf, and knowing 
that Sylvia was very much of an outdoor girl, she 
showed the article to her. The result was that Syl- 
via marched off with St. Nicholas, and poor Helen 
had to go without her St. Nicholas for a week! I 
have heard of this kind of thing happening often. 
A reader will be in the middle of an instalment of a 
story and some friend will come along and take the 
magazine and forget to bring it back. 

Have YOU ever had an experience of this kind? 
If so, drop me a line about it. 

I have been trying to devise a plan to protect St. 
Nicholas readers whose friends take away their 
copies of St. Nicholas in this way and forget to 
return them. If your friend wants to borrow your 
June St. Nicholas before you have finished it your- 
self, let him or her have it, of course, but take a big 
blue pencil and mark the following in it : 

'^^^e botli like &t, ibickoLad ac/zeat 
deal, vQIxij don t you aztange to get 
it zecjulaziij evezy month. ? \K^zite to 
'io/i'e (oentazy (do,, i^hnion Squaze, 
IGew ^ozk, and dee wketkez tkey 
will not duggedt a dpecial plan wkick 
will make it eady foz youto decuze it. 

Did you ever think what a wonderful thing it is 
ns you read St. Nicholas that there are boys and 
girls all over the world who are reading it at the 
same time? A letter has just been placed on my 
desk which comes from a gentleman in Asiatic Tur- 
key, which begins with the following sentence : 

"Our five children have been brought up on the St. 
Nicholas as much as on oatmeal and bread and 
butter, and have enjoyed the reading so much that 
when a fresh magazine comes they can hardly stop 
to eat." 

base-ball and other things 

There is such a fine lot of stories, articles, and 
pictures in the June St. Nicholas that I hardly 
know which to mention first. The great Umpire, 
Billy Evans, has another of his articles on base-ball. 
It is called "The Unknown Recruit and the Fox\ 
Manager," and tells how two great managers, Connie 
Mack and McGraw, develop star players from the 
raw material by entirely different methods. I re- 
member once in a college gymnasium, just after 
the close of the foot-ball season, how a few of the 
'Varsity foot-ball squad decided to go over to the 
gymnasium and keep in trim by playing basket-ball. 
One of them remarked that he hoped they would not 
damage the men who had been playing basket-ball 
since the early fall. At the end of the first after- 
noon, the foot-ball men were completely exhausted 
and had a very profound respect for the game of 
basket-ball and for the men who played it. I wonder 
if those foot-ball players will read, in the June St. 
Nicholas, the exciting and true to life story in 
which girls are the players, called "The Greater 
Victory" ? 

People have been telling various tales for a good 
many hundred years. An Indian Fairy Tale that is 
new to Americans is told in the June St. Nicholas, 
and illustrated by Pamela Smith, who is herself a 
celebrated teller of fairy tales and an authority on 

Many a crowd of girls would like to organize a 
Girls' Reading Club if they knew just how to go 
about it. Hildegarde Hawthorne, in her Department 
on Books and Reading, tells you just what to do in 
order to form such a club. 

Any one who has ever painted or tried to paint 
will be fascinated by the story of the boyhood of the 
great painter, Titian. This story, called "A Boy of 
Cadore," tells of Titian's first painting and how he 
obtained colors for it by crushing, flowers on the 
surface of his picture. This, like nearly every ar- 
ticle in St. Nicholas, is illustrated. 

Did you ever take a night ride on an engine of a 
Pennsylvania Railroad Flyer? I never did, either. 
But I certainly wanted to, after I read "With Men 
Who Do Things" for June. This is one of the best 
instalments in this fine series. 

The June paper of the "Under the Blue Sky" 
series gi\es further information on canoeing and 

St. Nicholas League, Letter-box, etc., with their com- 
petitions and prizes, are as interesting as ever in June. 

The Garden series will be especially valuable be- 
cause we are now in the midst of the garden season. 

"The Housekeeping Adventures of the Junior 
Blairs" tells about a school-girl party in which ice- 
cream, lemonade, and strawberry concoctions play a 
leading part. 

There is a Daddy-Long-Legs story illustrated in 
the department for Very Little Folk. 

what librarians think of us 
By the way, it is interesting to note the estimate 
which some learned librarians have placed upon St. 
Nicholas. The Massachusetts librarians appointed- 
a committee, which had several meetings at which the 
merits and demerits of certain leading periodicals 
were discussed. The committee prepared a list of 
fifty magazines, which they recommended for li- 
braries. These fifty periodicals were arranged in 
groups of ten, to cover the demands of libraries sub- 
scribing to ten, twenty, thirty, forty, or fifty of the 

It is good to know, therefore, that St. Nicholas 
is up near the top, for it is numbered among the 
i-trst ten of the fifty magazines. 

The list will be found in a recent issue of the 
Massachusetts Library Club Bulletin. 


The instalment of "The Runaway" in this number is 
certainly exciting, is it not ? I wonder how many men 
that you see driving automobiles would have the nerve 
and courage to do as Wilson Lee did in this story. 

Speaking of automobiles, Billy is learning to drive 
one. He has not yet taken hold of the steering- 
wheel, but in a short time I think he will be allowed 
to do so. His father turns over to him all the 
printed matter he receives in the mail from auto- 
mobile concerns, and has promised to teach him to 
drive as soon as Billy can describe thoroughly each 
part of the car. Billy spends at least half an hour a 
day fussing around the garage and asking questions 
that get more intelligent every week ! His father 
has no more use for any one who drives a car 
without knowing the insides of it than he has for a 
man who rides horseback without knowing how to 
feed and care for a horse. 

What do you think about this scheme of teaching 
Billy to drive? Is any such plan in operation in 
your family, I wonder? 


Do You 

Can You Make 

A sundial 

An aeroplane 

A book case 

A bell ring or a lamp light 
with electricity 

A poultry house for your 

Extra money at home 

A profit from your back 

A canoe at small expense 

Moving toys 

A gasoline launch 

A desk set 

Decorative work on leath- 
er, copper, etc. 

Irish Crochet lace 

A dress 

A room harmoniously dec- 
orated and furnished 

Can you build a. real camp 

Can you light a camp by 

Can you raise animals for 

Can you keep bees 

Send the coupon without 
money for the way to do 
these things and thousands 
of others, told in these ii 
volumes we send to you 
free on approval. 

When You Were a Boy 

how you wanted to build a boat — how you 
tinkered with boards and planks? It was 
perfectly natural then for you to want to 
do that, because you had within you then 
the constructive spirit that is a boy's 
very life. 

Give your boy a chance to build a boat — • 
to make a table for his mother. It teaches 

him that sure touch of the hand and that 
mental discipline that are essential to con- 
structive effort. It teaches him to feel the 
pleasure of things well done — to accomplish 
things — to act. 

The true spirit of the new education is the 
training of the mind through the hand, and 
that true spirit is carried out in the 

Library of Work and Play 

What it does for the boy it will do for the girl, too. 
And it opens new possibilities of mind and hand 
for the grown-up. 

In story form it tells the wonders of the world — of 
Aeroplanes and Gyroscope — of the sun and moon 
and stars — of animal and plant life — of heat — and 
light — and sound — stories for young and for older 
folks, told in such fashion that the boy and girl 
must use eye and ear and hand to learn. The boy 
that builds an aeroplane understands more of aerial 

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Cover Design By howard gbeenley 

" The Dawn of a New Life " Frontispiece 

Printed in color, frmn a painting by Thomas Shields Clarke. 

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About Wrinkles 

If the skin be kept soft and smooth, wrinkles may be 
staved off almost indefinitely. But the question is — 
How is it possible to achieve this? 

The Natural Way of Preventing Wrinkles 
is to use 

Pears' Soap 

The soap that was invented 125 years ago for this 
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Its action is at once protective and preservative, main- 
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The Great 





for the 


'All rights seciiri'dy 




Vol. XLI 

MAY, 1914 

Copyright, 1914, by The Century Co. All rights reserved 

No. 7 



Allesjandro, the seine-captain, first told the men 
at Chinese Platforms that the light-keeper at 
Grand Terre Island was sick. One of the Zclic's 
crew had gone ashore for water, and reported 
that old Miller was "done beat out with feveh.'' 
The Zelie had two hundred dollars' worth of 
shrimp which a few hours' delay under the Lou- 
isiana sun would spoil, so the lugger sailed for 
the drying platforms, where Allesjandro told Mr. 
West, the camp boss. 

And the camp boss turned with simple confi- 
dence to his sturdy sixteen-year-old son, who, 
that morning, was idling in the shade of the com- 
missary with his chum, George Fernald. 

"Better go see to the old man, Paul. The Tivo 
Sisters is flying the catch-flag, and the launch is 
going to tow her in. Landry will put you ashore, 
and you can hike up the beach with some lemons 
and stuff. See if he needs the doctor." 

And blazing hot as low-lying Grand Terre ap- 
peared in the September calm, the boys were 
eager to go. Miller was a friend of Paul's. In 
half an hour, they had the few delicacies and sim- 
ple remedies which the camp possessed, and were 
on the launch speeding for the outlying reef. 
For a week, black, majestic storm-clouds had 
swung about Barataria Bay, at intervals, for this 
was the time of the equinox, when the south coast 
had been swept time and again by the West In- 
dian hurricanes. Still the shrimp luggers went out, 
and when the boys landed in the salt marsh, they 
saw the Two Sisters, limp-sailed and far on the 
lA contraction of the word 

gulf, but flying the red flag that told of a success- 
ful catch. The launch went on through Four 
Bayou Pass to meet her, while the lads turned up 
the six-mile beach to the lighthouse. 

"Dad said that Caspar, who takes care of the 
oyster-beds here and keeps an eye on our cattle, 
might round up a couple of horses for us," com- 
mented Paul. "But all the stock seems to be 
miles away, and Caspar is n't around his shack." 

They passed the tiny, palm-thatched hut 
perched on a ten-foot platform above the tides. 
The mud beneath was trampled where the stock 
sought refuge from the sun, and here Paul 
pointed out a great hoof-mark. 

"That 's Big King's, the stallion that Father 
turned loose here when he went into this experi- 
ment with stock on the salt marsh. He has never 
been able to recapture him since. Caspar com- 
plains that the white stallion hates him, and 
chases him every time he goes ashore. The 
Zclie's crew say that they saw Big King follow 
Caspar in his skiff away out in deep water, and 
that the Cajun i was so scared that, finally, he 
over and swam to their boat. Caspar 
will shoot the horse or 

dived over and swam 
sometimes declares he 
quit his job !" 

"Must be a regular old sea-horse !" laughed 
George. "Is that him — that beautiful big white 
fellow over in the mangroves?" 

"Yes," Paul whispered cautiously. "And don't 
provoke him to charge us— there is n't a place to 
escape him if he does !" 

Acadian, " used in Louisiana to designate the descendants of the early French settlers 
exiled from Nova Scotia, as described in "Evangeline." 



Two hundred yards away, the splendid crea- 
ture stood, his eyes warily on the invaders. He 
snorted menacingly, his mane erect and tail 
spread, but he let them pass, and then charged 
magnificently down the wet sands to turn and 
watch them, with the surf breaking about his legs. 

"What a grand old fellow he is !" cried Paul. 
"Father ought not to put him in charge of an 
oyster-diggei like Caspar— of course he 'd hate 
him !" 

It was dazzling noon when the weary lads 
reached the lighthouse. The oppressive calm 
made the heat in the marshy hollows intolerable, 
and they hailed with relief the sight of the 
keeper, whom they found lying on his airy plat- 
form. The keeper's eyes were feverish as he 
explained how, all the morning, he had watched 
them with his powerful glasses, which gave him 
the only diversion of his monotonous life. But 
he was n"t sick, he said— just a "touch o' sun," 
and he was chagrined to find that the Zclic had 
reported him ill. "Lighthouse folks ain't no busi- 
ness gettin' sick, ever," he declared. 

All the same, he was glad to get the lemons 
and other things the boys brought, and when they 
tried to make him a corn-starch pudding, the 
ensuing hilarity seemed to hearten him wonder- 
fully. When they came out on the gallery, he 
declared all this "cuttin'-up had made him plumb 
well." But when the keeper gazed around, he 
fixed an intent look on the southeast. 

"Your dad 's goin' to have the launch at Four 
Bayou for you ?" he asked. "Well, you boys bet- 
ter get off. The wind 's scuddin' them clouds fast 
over there, and this is the hurricane month, re- 
member. There 's a sea running now, and— feel 
that? The air 's twitching!" 

And in fifteen minutes it was more than 
twitching. Out of the strange, calm oasis with 
the black clouds rolling up all about the horizon, 
there suddenly shot a squall from the southeast 
that tore the sand from under the boys' feet when 
they went down Mr. Miller's ladder. But they 
did n't mind the blow. They laughed, and shook 
Miller's hand, and promised to come the next 
day with the launch and make another pudding, 
and with raisins in it. 

"Mebbe you will and mebbe you won't," 
shouted the old man. "It 's time for a blow up 
from Cuby, and I reckon I 'm better off here 
than you '11 be on your dad's crazy platforms. 
Yoti boys won't see old man Miller for a while, if 
a sou'east sea begins to pound over them marshes. 
In La Cheniere storm, there was n't a thing 
above water except this light, from here to upper 
Lafourche. And your dad's platform villages — 
pooh ! was n't stick or stump left of any of 'cm 1" 

The boys talked of the dreaded gulf hurricanes 
as they tramped on the harder sand, as near to 
the water as they could. On their left, the sand 
was already blowing from the dunes, and when 
they reached a little bayou which they had 
crossed dryshod in the morning, they found the 
water pounding half a mile inland, and had to go 
around it. "The gulf is so shallow for miles out," 
explained Paul, "that the least little wind kicks 
up a quick sea." 

But when they rounded the bayou and went 
over the low ridge, the wind was so fierce as to 
stagger them and whirl the loose sand around 
their feet. 

"Whew!" cried George, "and just see how the 
water 's rising, Paul ! It 's all through the grass 
there, and beyond — why, it 's a lake !" 

"Let 's cut over on the bay side and see if the 
mangroves won't break the wind a bit," suggested 
Paul. "If it keeps on, we can't well walk against 
it." He reached a rise in the meadows and vainly 
stared at the pass which, two miles away, was 
hidden by the oncoming rain and scud. There 
was no boat in sight, and, northward, Barataria 
Bay was whipped to as furious a sea as was the 
outside water to the south. "It 's there sure," 
Paul muttered, "but, if we made the launch, I 
don't think she 'd live in that gale. But we can 
run to Grand Bank and put into that camp for 
the night." 

He hastened on, not telling his friend all his 
fears. But from the highest dune they saw noth- 
ing except the oyster-guard's thatched hut, and, 
far off, near the mangrove clumps, a few of the 
cattle wandering with the storm. 

"Ticklish business if we have to spend the 
night in this shack," George declared half an 
hour later, when, wet and tired, they reached the 
hut on the edge of the marsh and climbed the lad- 
der to the door. Indeed, the sight was an evil 
one. The oyster-stakes had entirely disappeared, 
and the rising sea was pouring across the island 
in three places back on the way they had come. 
The pounding water against the piles made the 
shack reel, while every now and then portions of 
the thatched sides would be torn off, and go hum- 
ming away in the gale. The boys went in and 
inspected the gaping roof ; the sheets of rain 
reached every inch of the interior— they were as 
well off outside. Where Caspar had gone they did 
not know ; they concluded that he had aban- 
doned his job— "Scared off by the big horse," 
said Paul. 

"If the water keeps on rising, you '11 lose all 
your stock," observed George. "But the launch 
— where do you suppose it is?" 

Though night and darkness were coming on, they 

Library, Univ. 94 
North C«roiwiii 






could see the pass enough to know it held no boat. 
What had happened was that the launch, early 
in the afternoon, had broken its propeller in 
towing the Two Sisters, and had then drifted un- 
til both boats grounded in the marsh, where the 
crew clung, half drowned, to the lugger's rigging 
through the night of the hurricane. The boys, 
huddled in what should have been the lee shelter 
of the thatch on the platform, noticed again how 
fast the shallow sea was rising. Grand Terre light 
was invisible in the storm, and it seemed that the 
whitecaps were speeding across the island every- 
where except over the higher sand-ridge near 
them. Watching this, they saw the backs of the 

k; iiiiKsi: Is [.LADING them! 

cattle moving through the mangroves, and then 
Mr. West's old bay mare. "The stock are coming 
back !" cried Paul. "The water 's coming in from 
the pass now, and it 's turned them." He looked 
apprehensively at his companion's face. "George, 
if it rises high enough to get a sweep at this 
shack over the bars, the platform won't last half 
the night." 

"Your cattle are coming here, anyway. And 
look, the big horse is leading them !" 

The stock had been accustomed to huddle in 
the shade of the platform hut, and now they were 
deserting the mangrove ridge to seek this bit of 
human companionship. The cows were mooing 
in a scared fashion as they waded, more than 
knee-deep, to the place. The two bay horses cast 
appealing looks up at the boys, and Paul called 
down encouragingly. Big King lunged about the 
piling and whinnied, watching off to the main- 
land. The frail structure trembled when the 
crowding cattle got under it. 

"Better drive them out," George shouted above 
the wind. But this was impossible ; and presently, 
as the darkness fell, the animals were quieter in 

the fierce rain, though the waves pounded over 
their backs, and the calves could hardly keep 
their footing. 

Paul crawled back on the platform after an 
inspection of the base of the timbers. The sands 
were washing up badly, and the tramping hoofs 
assisted at the slow settling of the platform. Paul 
could touch the horses' necks from the floor, and 
once his fingers went lightly along the rough 
mane of the white stallion. The big brute turned 
about his fine, wary eyes at the boy. But he did 
not bite ; he even seemed to crowd closer to his 
master's son. "Get over there— you!" Paul 
yelled; "don't crowd against that post!'' 

He reached down 
and slapped the 
great horse, and then 
dug him in the ribs 
ineffectually. King 
neither resented it 
nor obeyed. The 
boys laid out full- 
length on the boards 
to avoid the wind, 
and in the last light 
saw their dumb com- 
])anions half buried 
in the waves. Al- 
tliough the rain was 
not cold, they were 
shivering with ex- 
haustion from the 
pounding wind and 
water. For an hour, the dark was intense. Then 
it seemed as if the rising moon broke the gloom 
a trifle, though the storm did not abate. 

"It 's still rising !" commented Paul, after he 
had thrust a crab-net pole down by the piling; 
"and very fast, George. I wish it was daylight I" 
Then, when he had crawled back to his wet 
comrade, there came a tremendous shock to the 
platform. They heard one of the calves bawl 
wildly, and felt a rush and stagger of the ani- 
mals beneath them. Paul jumped up and ran to 
the other end of the reeling platform, where an en- 
tire side of the thatched wall fell out into the sea. 
"It 's a big tree !" he shouted back, as George 
groped for his hand. "I was afraid of that, when- 
ever the tide got high enough to bring the drift 
off the gulf side. Now we 're in for it ! It tore 
out three of the piles, and it 's dragging at an- 
other. Come, let 's try to get it off!" 

Thirty-five miles away, the Southwest Pass of 
the Mississippi poured all the flotsam of the 
mighty river into the gulf to be spread far along 
the sand-dunes by the tides, and every south- 
easter sent this wreckage charging over the 




marshes. In every great blow the platform dwell- 
ers of Barataria dreaded this invasion. The lads 
vainly hunted for poles to fend off the tree 
pounding under their shelter. Some of the cattle 
had been knocked down and others were scat- 

waves. Paul had saved a coil of half-inch rope 
from Gaspar's belongings, with the idea of tying 
fast some of the loose piles, but this was now 

"The rest of it will go sure !" he muttered. 


tered, and Paul saw one of the mares go swim- 
ming off in the whitecaps to certain death. Above 
the wind they heard the frightened stock strug- 
gling for foothold in the sand and the groaning 
of the timbers. There was nothing to do. The 
shack, trembling, twisting, finally settled slowly 
back; the big cypress-tree had gone on, luckily. 
But presently a smaller one was battering at the 
piling, and more of the cattle were scattered. 

"The other end of the platform is sinking !" 
George shouted; "everything is gone there!" 

They fought their way back just in time to see 
more than half the thatch hut tumble into the 

"George, when it does, jump clear of the cattle 
and head southwest—" he looked helplessly off 
in the dark— "if we can swim to the mangroves, 
maybe we can hold on a little longer." 

But to reach the ridge, even if it was above the 
breakers, was an impossibility, for one would 
have to swim directly into the storm. And the 
boys had lost all sense of direction. The next 
big shock from the driftwood sent them to their 
feet in a wild effort to leap free of the animals, 
although how many of them there still were they 
did not know. The last log crashed through the 
midst of them and left the platform tilted at 




such an angle that the boys could no longer walk 
on it. Paul slipped and went over the side to his 
waist, but he still clung to his rope. As he kicked 
to recover his footing, while George reached 
down to help him, he slowly became aware that 
his legs were over the wet, heaving back of Big 
King. His hold on the boards was slipping; the 
entire platform seemed to be coming after him. 

"It 's all sinking !'' George yelled at him. 
"Don't let it pin you under the water !" 

But Paul was motioning wildly for his friend 
to slide after him. He was reaching around the 
slipping boards to drag the rope about the big 
stallion's neck. 

"li it goes," he shouted, "hang to the rope; 
maybe Big King will drag us free of the stuff." 

He was working busily at the rope about the 
horse's neck when George was thrown into the 
water beside him. The stallion was plunging 
about with Paul firmly astride his back and 
George fighting to grasp the rope. Another in- 
stant and the wrecked platform slid down upon 
them, striking Paul in the side and dealing the 
horse a savage blow on the flank, driving him out 
from under the piles where he had fought to the 
last against the sea. He plunged on madly, with 
the water breaking over his back, to which Paul 
clung while he tried to drag his friend up behind 
him. They never would have succeeded if King 
had been on dry land. But the water and the 
small drift impeded his struggles to shake off the 
rope and the burden, and now he dashed into a 
depression where his hoofs failed to find bottom, 
and the waves swept entirely over him. 

The panting lads clung to the rope and to 
each other. Paul was dragged off the back of the 
swimming horse, and then they both were thrown 
against him and regained a hold on his tough and 
heavy mane. But the whitecaps were almost 
drowning them. Big King reached a ridge and 
drew himself up where the water was hardly to 
his breast ; then he plunged on in the teeth of 
the storm, swimming again. He knew where he 
was going well enough. While the foolish cattle 
drifted with the waves out to the open bay, the 
lion-hearted stallion fought his way seaward and 
to the mangrove ridge. 

But before he gained it, the boys were all but 
washed off. Once, indeed, Paul felt his friend's 
hand slip from his. George went over the horse's 
flank and under the water, but he kept his grip 
on the rope. From his gasps, the rope was ap- 
parently all but strangling the stallion. When 
they reached another shallow, Paul leaned for- 
ward and loosened it. "Hold up, old fellow !" he 
muttered; "hold up, and we 'II make it yet!" 

And the big wild horse actually twisted his 

shaggy neck knowingly under the boy's fingers 
as he eased the line ! Paul got George on the 
animal's back again, as they reached the man- 
grove ridge. The bushes, beaten by the hurri- 
cane, cut and pounded their faces, and the 
choppy seas broke through, churning the sands 
about them. But the water here was not more 
than three feet deep, and Big King fought 
through it. 

Paul was anxious to stop him now. They were 
on the highest point, and no other refuge was 
possible. He began patting the horse and mur- 
muring to him as one would to a pet colt, and, 
after a quarter of a rnile of fruitless tramping, 
Big King suddenly rounded the thickest clump 
of mangrove and stopped, with his tail pointing 
into the gale. 

"He knows !" whispered Paul, weakly, to his 
comrade. "It 's the only shelter to be found. 
Now if he only lets us stay on his back!" 

But apart from nervous and resentful starts 
and shakings, the horse did not stir. He seemed 
badly exhausted himself. The boys laid forward 
on his heaving back, Paul clinging to him, and 
George to Paul, and there the weary, dark hours 
passed. The sea was rising more slowly now. 
At times, King struggled deeper into the bushes 
as the sand washed from under his feet. And 
how the wind did blow I It was as if the air 
above them was full of salt water, and even with 
their backs to it, the boys could not speak without 
strangling. The lashing mangroves skinned 
their legs painfully, and the salt added to their 
suffering. But their chief fear was the rising 
water. They measured it time and again during 
the long nightj but could never tell whether it 
was coming up or whether their live refuge was 
slowly sinking. The stallion changed his position 
whenever his legs went in too deep. "Old boy," 
muttered Paul, "you can manage this much bet- 
ter than we can." 

Somehow, in his heart, he felt a hot and almost 
tearful love and admiration for the dreaded 
horse of the Grand Terre meadows. "If we 
ever get out," Paul told George, "I '11 take him 
back to New Orleans and ride him. He 's the 
biggest, bravest horse in all the world !" 

"// we get out !" retorted George. "And I do 
believe the rain is quitting !" And with the ceas- 
ing of the rain, a slow lightening came over the 
waters. Yet not for hours longer, while the long, 
tugging swells surged through the mangroves 
and kept the tired boys ever struggling to retain 
their place, did it become light enough to be 
really day. And then they saw nothing in any 
direction but gray sky over the stormy sea. For 
two hundred yards, the higher mangroves were 





above the flood. Of the pahn-thatched hut and 
the platform not a stick remained, nor was a 
single one of the cattle or either of the two 
mares in sight. 

"Nobody but Big King," muttered Paul, "and 
you and me, George ! I 'm going to get down 
and pet the old fellow !" 

He swung off in water to his armpits and went 
about to King's head. The horse bared his teeth, 
and then slowly, with lessening pride, allowed 
the boy's hand to stroke his muzzle. "Old man," 
whispered Paul, "you weathered the blow for us, 
did n't you !" 

And the strangest thing was that, when the 
boys were tired of standing in the water, the 
great creature allowed them to climb again on 
his back. At last the wind died out, and when 
the first glint of sun broke through, it could be 
seen that the sea was not rising further. Big 
King began nibbling at the mangroves, while the 
exhausted lads half dozed and watched the waters 
to the north. It was two hours before they could 
see anything two miles distant, and knew that the 
"hurricane-tide," so feared by the shrimpers, had 
turned again seaward. Drift and wreckage were 
going out through the flooded pass. And, finally, 
almost at noon, Paul made out the little gas 

steamer that ran from camp to camp, headed 
down from the direction of the platforms. 

"It 's looking for us, George !" he cried. "But 
Dad— he '11 never dream we lived through it all !" 

They watched the boat with weak yells of 
jubilation. A mile away. Big King's white flanks 
caught the attention of the steamer men. Then 
they saw the boys, and, fifteen minutes later, 
Paul and George were shaking hands with Paul's 
father. "Dad, your old sea-horse did it !" cried 
the son. "I 'm going to get him off this island, 
for he deserves better things. He ought to get 
a life-saving medal !" 

"I '11 wager," laughed Mr. West, "you '11 never 
lay hands on him again." 

And the boys never did, though they made 
three trips to Grand Terre after the sea went 
down, first to attend to old man Miller, and then 
to tame the great white horse. Big King did not 
molest them ; he even let Paul come close enough 
to reach out a loving finger to his nervous muz- 
zle. But that was all; at sight of a halter or the 
motion of a hand to his neck, he was off, again 
charging magnificently down the wet sands to 
turn and watch them, with the surf breaking 
about his legs. To the end of his days he was the 
lonely and wild sea-horse of Grand Terre. 


BY M. F. 

The oriole swings in her nest, 

The bough swings high in the breeze ; 
Mother swings Bud in the hammock, 

And I swing under the trees. 
It is up, and tip, and higher ! 

With toes 'most touching the skies ; 
Then down, and down, and sl-ow-er, 

The old cat dies. 

The butterfly swings on a rose, 

The gull swings low on the seas ; 
A little boat swings at anchor. 

And I swing under the trees. 
It is up, and up, and higher ! 

With toes 'most touching the skies ; 
Then down, and down, and sl-ow-er, 

The old cat dies. 


».*- -^ . 



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Annabel and Bettibel and Claribel together, 
Each inside her own sedan, went out to take the weather. 
Annabel is slim and prim, sober, sweet, and proper. 
(She would look and act the same, should the footmen drop her!) 
Bettibel is fidgety, full of fuss and flutter. 
"Pray sit still," her chair-men cry, "we '11 all be in the gutter !" 
Claribel is princess-proud, peacock-fine, and stately. 

— Sedans are very much alike: the contents differ greatly. 

Every shade was closely drawn, yet the neighbors, meeting, 
Gave each maiden, by her name, a friendly, fitting greeting. 
"Good morning. Mistress Annabel, you seem as well as ever !" 
"You 're in high spirits, Bettibel,— look out there ! well, I never!" 
"Miss Claribel, you 're feeling fine, as usual, that 's certain!" 

— Now can you guess the way they guessed the maid behind the curtain ? 

That you may no longer be left lingering in doubt. 

We '11 show you here those same sedans upon their way about. 

Clara Piatt Meadowcroft. 


(.) binUov,-) 


T the beginning, there was the 
wild rose-tree. It grew not far 
away from the low liquid gur- 
gle of a shallow brown creek 
that meandered through spring- 
green meadow-land somewhere 
in North Carolina. 

There was a mother mock- 
ing-bird's nest in the wild 
rose-tree. Its four cherished, 
blue-green speckled eggs were 
more precious than the dawn- 
colored pink of the wild roses, for each held the 
wild, free, joyous sparkle of a winged song. But, 
oh, Mother Mocking-bird ! why did you build in a 
low-growing rose-tree ? It has always hurt my 

heart to inquire into what happened to that nest. 
All I know is that the last elfin bird who chipped 
his shell found himself motherless, brotherless, 
carried away from the wild rose-tree after a week 
of sunlight. 

I did not know my Peter in those days. I can 
scarcely picture him to myself as anything so pas- 
sive as a speckled ^gg, or an elfin-monster all 
eyes and bill, and almost featherless. I never saw 
the wild rose-tree; I never knew Peter's mother 
mocking-bird. But I have heard the gurgle of 
the brown creek, for Peter sings of it nowadays, 
and I know he must be telling me about it, and 
the wild rose-tree, and the nest, and mother 
mocking-bird. There are sad little notes that 
linger in his song, for my Peter is a caged bird; 




yes, though I would have it otherwise. I would 
gladly have given him back his freedom to swing 
in the leafy tree-tops, if I could. He was sent 
up North to me when he was ten days old. He 
came as a gift of love. 

From the first moment that he spied me, he 
welcomed me as his foster-mother with frantic 
flapping of wings and wide-open yellow bill. His 
voice at that time was harsh and insistent. He 
was dusty, cindery, unprepossessing, tailless, 
songless, elfin. We called him Peter Pan from 
the start, because he was so faerie — wilful, and 
capricious, and woodsy. 

Like his namesake, Peter Pan Mocking-bird 
came to a Never-Never Land of his own. And 
my Peter Pan's Never-Never Land was far away 
from the wild rose-tree. It lay in southern 
Connecticut, where there is no possibility of 
letting a baby mocking-bird go free to care for 
himself, even if he is old enough to be afraid of 

Peter was not afraid of anything. He sat as 
confidingly upon a forefinger as he might have 
clung to a branch of willow that hung over the 
gurgling brown brook. He accepted the four 
bounding walls of my room as cheerfully as if 
he believed that no stone walls can make the 
winged soul prisoner, that no cage bars can keep 
it fettered. 

In an awkward human way I did my best to 
make up to Peter for what he had lost — the sway- 
ing branches in the wind under the clear blue 
sky, the joyous flight over ilowered meadows, 
the concert of birds at dawn and at dusk that 
rings from the woodland. I did my best to make 
up to him for his loss of these — I played with 
him; I talked with him; unceasingly I dug for 
curly black garden worms, and fed them, wig- 
gling, to him. This loving drudgery of insect- 
catching was as persistent as that of Father 
Robin, and I think I can fully appreciate the 
relief from care that must come to a pair of birds 
whose young ones have, at last, learned to shift 
for themselves. Oh, it was a red-letter day on 
the spring almanac when Peter voluntarily killed 
his first worm, and ate it without having to have 
it dangled over his head by me, his foster- 
mother ! 

For the sake of greater safety, Peter had his 
own small home, into which he retired at fre- 
quent intervals to eat— when not busy hopping 
over my floor or making heavy baby-flights from 
window-sill to desk in pursuit of such bright, 
shiny objects as attracted his fancy. To be sure, 
others would call it his cage, though Peter Pan's 
foster-mother, mindful of Peter's Never-Never 
Land, insisted that to Peter Pan Mocking-bird it 

was his home, his Tree-Top House. It was wont 
to hang in the branches of an apple-tree where 
robins and catbirds, orioles and song-sparrows 
all came to teach him singing. 

Yet I have never believed that Peter learned 
his song from the northern birds. It seemed to 
be the epic of his own little poet-soul rather 
than a medley from other birds' notes. He 
guarded it in secret for a long while, and was 
as shy of singing in public as a youth with an 
untrained voice. We hid behind the vines, quite 
out of sight, and held our breath when its first 
low murmuring ripples of tentative harmony 
whispered through the silence of a summer's 
afternoon. It was eery, like a chime of bluebells, 
delicate, and its cadences rose and fell gently, 
gently, like the rising and falling of a butterfly 
flight up and down — here, there, everywhere ! 
There were soft bubbles of colorful sound that 
broke into scattered bird-calls, and ever, ever, 
ever, the song grew with timid practising to be 
the art of an artist, sure of himself and true to 
his own divinity of self-expression. Then Peter 

,. ' ■■% 

, f'-iszr X 



Pan Mocking-bird "signed his name" in song to 
his themes, and one could hear him singing, 
"Peter, Peter, Peter," at the opening or closing 
of his melody. 

In due time Peter passed through his first 
moulting successfully, as a child goes through 
measles. It was trying, but expected. It may be 
mortifying to have red speckles all over one, but 
it is, I am sure, infinitely worse for a bird to lose 
its tail, even if it is a poor one. From moult- 
ing, Peter emerged full-fledged, dapper in a suit 




of soft blue-gray trimmed on the wings with 
pearl-white feathers. He bore no more resem- 
blance to his elfish self of the wild rose-tree days 
than a grubby brown caterpiiiar bears to its later 
self when it emerges from the chrysalis a jewel- 
winged living flower. At this time, he learned 
unconsciously to assume attitudes as graceful as 
those of a pretty girl innocent of her own beauty. 
Wings spread to their full, showing markings of 
white, that expressed rapture, happiness,— he 
greeted beauty in that way. At sight of birch- 
bark, red berries, or a rose near by, spread 
wings, sweeping open wide and folding, told of 
the artist's appreciation of the beautiful. Fluffed 
feathers indicated wrath, playful or real. His 
listening attitude with cocked head and elongated 
body was emblematic of curiosity. Perked tail, 
accompanied by dandified switching, meant just 
the glad joy of being. 

He had a language, too, quite as individual. 
There was his little fledgling note of content, 
"Chuck." It was a baby word never forgotten, 
and seemed the most endearing of all flattering 
remarks to his foster-mother. At morning and 
at evening, there was always a sweet warble of 
three or four liquid stanzas in which Peter said 
good-night or good-morning. On waking to find 
a dark day, he would follow this with the tree- 
toad's damp foreboding, though where Peter ac- 
quired any knowledge of the meaning of a tree- 
toad's cry, no one of us has been able to explain. 
I never knew of any tree-toads living in our 

At certain seasons of the year, Peter's song 
would change. In spring, he would be bluebird 
or robin. Later, he mimicked the catbirds ; later 
still, the woodpecker, the starlings, or the Eng- 
lish sparrows chirping on the bare branches 
where the summer birds' nests still swung lonely 
in the wind. Peter was something of a Henry 
Irving too, or perhaps it might be better to say 
that he, like Shakspere, acted a part in his own 
comedies. Sometimes he condescended to the 

The sounds about the house, Peter incorporated 
into his songs. There was our little dog, whose 
delight was to howl at the back door. Flis howl 
became Peter's, and with it he greeted the sight 
of the little dog, Launce, whenever he appeared 
on the horizon. Then, too, there was the post- 
man's whistle that Peter imitated to perfection. 
There was Banty Rooster learning to crow, and 
the click of the type-writer. Oh, Peter found 
song in everything , as a true artist should. 

Yet there were always the sad, lingering notes 
in Peter's song. They came with the glad season 
of leafing spring, when the first feathery tufts of 

the maple-trees broke into soft green— when the 
robins paired, when the twilight was alive with 
bird-calls. Then the tears would start to my eyes, 
and I would know that a caged bird is a bird to 

Yes, I did what I could to make Peter happy. 
I gave him all but his freedom, and that I dared 
not give him, though there were times when I 
strove with my heart, arguing that a brief life in 
the tree-tops was far better than one fettered 
in a cage. At these moments I knew that his wild 
instincts had never been trained; fed, sheltered, 
cared for, trusting, how should he know, in the 
full liberty of tree-tops, hidden danger, self- 
defense, food, drink? Would the other birds 
teach him? Would instinct come to his aid? 
The white sparrow is hated by his tribe. There 
is no choice but loneliness and death for a hated 
bird. Death ! And still I hesitated. What is 
death if the little life has been a free one in the 
spot where nature placed it? And still I hesi- 

I loved Peter. 

I felt that he loved me. 

He had told me so in his own way many times. 

From one end of the house to the other, he 
would call three little notes, rising and falling. 
It was my call, and we made it up when Peter 
was but a baby bird. He had his part and I had 
mine. When I called Peter, I began with the 
first of the notes, and Peter concluded mine. So 
we knew, no matter where I chanced to be, that 
we were thinking of one another. From the gar- 
den I would call and the answer would come. 
From the back porch, where Peter's "Tree-Top 
House" stood in the shade of the Dutchman's- 
pipe vine with its large heart-shaped leaves, 
there where, in long summer days, Peter called 
to catbirds, orioles, and robins, he would call to 
me, too; and when I came at his call to talk to 
him, his song lost -the sad insistent throbbing of 
its tone, lost its longing, and settled into a fan- 
tastic welcome of wild-wood greeting. 

Dancing from perch to perch, with many flirt- 
ings of his long, slender tail, waltzing about over 
my hand, when I put it in the cage to duel 
with him in play, Peter found his playfellow in 

Oh, we were good comrades, Peter and I ! Oh, 
if I could but have become a mocking-bird, we 
might have shared together the dangers that 
lurked in the open. Together we did share a 
happy hunting-place of worms and insects which 
lay under the cherry-tree at the rear of our gar- 
den. Peter in his cage, I digging furiously for 
worms — elusive black ones, the kind Peter liked 
best ! Then I would take the bottom from the 




cage, and let Peter hop about on the grass to 
pick up insects at his excited leisure. He never 
tried to get out of the cage, but I never dared 
to open his cage door. 

And yet we v^^ere mutually trustful. Peter 
never took a careless opportunity to fly away and 
leave me, no, never ! In recompense, he had the 
largest cage that could be found, and freedom to 
come and go about my room when doors and 

put Peter as usual in the shadow of the Dutch- 
man's-pipe vine and went to fill his food cup. A 
busy day was ahead, and if I had sung a song 
that day, it would have had sad cadences in it 
like Peter's. So, with an absent mind, intent on 
my own doings, I left the slide open and went on 
about my business. When I put the cup back, I 
did not glance at the cage. I did not stop to 
parley. And I went my way. 

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windows were safely closed. It may have been 
a poor substitute for wild life, yet I know he was 
happy in it with me. 

Who could have helped loving Peter Pan 
Mocking-bird ! As the years grew with new 
springs and summers to number Peter's fifth, we 
knew and shared many things together — the lone- 
liness of the spring, the happy secrets of his 
song, the morning and the evening greeting, the 
dog, the tree-toad's foreboding, the rollicking 
fun of the little games that Peter invented when 
he was let loose to fly about my room. Yet ever 
there lay in my thought of him the spring sad- 
ness in his song when he called to the robins and 
the catbirds in the green branches. And I wanted 
to open the cage door and let him go — and yet 
I did not ! I did not ! 

It was a hot June morning when, one day, I 

Something seemed to tell me that there was 
trouble. It haunted me through all my work till 
I went back to look to see if all was well with 
the little bird. The cage was empty. Peter had 
flown away. He must have gone long ago ; I 
must have left the cage open when I was think- 
ing of myself ! It was over an hour since he had 
gone ! 

With the first crushing knowledge that he had 
flown came a certain sense of wild joy. The 
tears were in my heart, too, but I seemed to feel 
the buoyancy of Peter's first joy in being a free 
bird — and yet — and yet it must mean death. 

I called. There was no answer, no echo to the 
three notes of our bird-call. Peter had gone — 
gone— gone to his tree-tops! It was useless to 
linger with the empty cage in the garden, more 
than useless to attempt to seek him. No wild bird 




to whom freedom has been given, who has felt 
the thrill of untamed happiness in the rush of the 
wind through his wings, will return. No. 

Yet still I kept on calling, calling, calling. 


And I listened, and new keenness came to my 
hearing. I heard above the song of the red- 
winged blackbird in the neighboring field, above 
the robin's call to its young in a near-l^y tree, 
above the warble of starlings making merry in 
the elm, distant, distant, far away, faint, dream- 
like, softly rising and falling, the liquid gurgle 
of the little brown creek near the wild rose-tree 
down south, and it was the song of Peter Pan 
in his real tree-top house in the real Never-Never 
Land, telling the catbirds and the robins of the 
nest in the wild rose-tree. 

With Galahad's singleness of purpose, I set 
out upon the quest that should lead me whereso- 
e'er it would. Like Ferdinand of "The Tem- 
pest," I was guided by the faerie music of a 
song. Up the white road to the turning, through 
a patch of flower garden and a bit of an inclo- 
sure for cattle, over the hill I went, calling, call- 
ing, calling. 

And, at last, the tones grew clearer, clearer, 
and I knew that I had come to my journey's end. 
From a wide-spreading apple-tree came the song, 
full, and rich, and strong. 

"Peter ! Peter, Sweetheart, little bird, where 
are you ?" Then there came the answer, three 
little notes rising and falling— and I answered. 

Yes, there he was ! Shall I ever forget him 
perched on the apple-bough — leaves about him 
dark and freshly green from recent rain, with 
sunlight filtering through the shadow on his soft, 

blue-gray feathers ! And while he called, he 
hopped from branch to branch. 

"Peter," said I, for I was used to talk aloud to 
him, "Peter Pan, here is your home. Come down 
to mc. The door is open — come down, Peter 
darling, come home to me !" But the wild bird in 
him forbade, though he called and called to me. 
His wings spread wide with the gesture of rap- 
ture, he trilled as he only trilled when we played 
together our gay little games, and his head cocked 
on one side regarded me playfully. 

For an eternity, it seemed, I stood there coax- 
ing, hi the background of the orchard I could 
see the great gray cat lurking crouched, listening 
to it all. And then I missed Peter. He had gone 
again ! 

The gray cat slunk out of sight as I made the 
round of the orchard listening, listening. I could 
hear the red-winged blackbird still singing in the 
swamp ; I could hear a song-sparrow on a twig in 
a buttercup field ; I could hear a robin and a 
bobolink ; but Peter's voice was silent, and I had 
lost the guiding of his song. 

Thus I should always remember him now, in 
his native wild-wood happiness, looking down at 
me, calling, calling with the little pet term of en- 
dearment which he used for me alone. It was 
the last thing I heard when I lost sight of him. 
It was his farewell. 

But when the storms rocked the trees at night, 
when the wind was wild, when the chill was in 
the air, whenever I should hear the cry of a bird, 
then I should hear Peter's little call of distress 
all through the summer and all through the fall. 
And what would become of my own little bird — 
my own little lonely bird ! 

No ! Was it— Yes ! Yes ! I heard again 
the song, distant, soft, sweet ! It was farther 
away than before. It came from over far mead- 
ows — how far? Who knows! With Peter's cage 
in my arms I climbed fences ; with the cage in 
my arms I followed over meadow and green- 
growing corn-field till the song answered my 
calling, stopped, and was still. 

There was a sloping hill with waving high 
grass full of daisies ; there was a clear blue cloud- 
less sky above ; there were birds in the wild 
cherry-tree near the old stone wall, and birds in 
the elms and fruit-trees near by. And there in 
an apple-tree was my little Peter Pan with the 
wanderlust in his heart ! 

Ah ! There he was ! I spied him in a tree 
with catbirds and— yes, he saw me too. At my 
approach, they took sudden fright, and I saw 
them go. I thought that Peter was with them, 
yet, when the wild rush of their wings had passed 
and I seemed to have seen him go with them, I 





heard his song behind me, and it came straight 
from a low-growing wild cherry-tree near an old 
vine-covered stone wall. It was the next best 
thing to a wild rose-bush. 

"Peter ! Peter ! How happy I am ! Come to 
me— Come—" and I whistled a snatch of song, 
for Peter loved to have songs whistled to him. 
Consciously, I recalled the words of the melody : 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest, 

Home-keeping hearts are happiest — 

P'or those that wander, they know not where, 

Are full of trouble and full of care — 

Stay, stay at home, my heart, and rest. 

Home-keeping hearts are happiest! 

and Peter, from his branch in the tree above me, 
answered in a very riot of song. 

It was beyond my belief that he would come 
back to me— I dared not hope for it! But I held 
the door of the "Tree-Top Home" open wide and 
coaxed. And then, slowly, slowly, the miracle 
came to pass ! With flutters of white showing in 
his blue-gray wings, he dropped from twig to 
twig, nearer, nearer, nearer, ever nearer ! Down, 
down, down closer and closer, he came. With a 
quick sweep he was home again ! Home again ! 
And I closed the door. Was it my song that 

brought him ? Or was it his love for me ? Who 
shall tell ! 

Back we came through the long meadow-grass 
together, over the fence and through the green- 
growing corn-field, into the orchard where the 
gray cat crouched in the shadow under the apple- 
trees like conquered Fate, past the cattle-yard, 
through the gay-blooming garden, over the close- 
clipped lawn, out of the gate, back on the dusty 
white road again, and home! Back we came to 
the sheltered porch where the heavy vine with its 
heart-shaped leaves had grown when Peter first 
thought of the song and mingled the low gurgle 
of the little brown creek that meandered through 
spring-green meadows with his first wee lisping 
love-notes to his foster-mother. 

Oh, my heart is singing, singing for the love 
that a little bird has shown me ! Mother Mock- 
ing-bird ! Mother Mocking-bird ! There is 
something beside tragedy symbolized in the 
choice you made of your wild rose-tree for a 
nest ! In its dawn-colored pink blossom is typi- 
fied a faerie sweetness that is like the love that 
Peter Pan has shown me. And I have the wild 
roses ever with me when I hear the low liquid 
gurgle of the little brown brook of the song. 



When Teddy meets "Miss Rainy-day," 
He wears a rubber coat of gray. 
A drooping hat protects his head ; 
A big umbrella 's o'er him spread; 
And on the street, he seems to be 
A blot of black and gray, to me. 

But if I peep beneath the rim 
Of his umbrella, black and grim; 
I find the loveliest surprise. 

Of laughing lips and merry eyes. 
And I laugh back and quite forget 
The grayness and the rain and wet. 

And 't is the very self-same way 
With what we call "Miss Rainy-day." 
Behind her cloak of dismal clouds. 
Gay little sunbeams lurk in crowds ; 
And if you look for them, you '11 see 
How nice Miss Rainy-day can be ! 


Francis Ouimet 

C^ational Coif (Champion 


Many a school-boy in scoffing at golf as a 
namby-pamby game, not to be mentioned in the 
same breath with foot-ball, track-athletics, base- 
ball, and other sports of their ilk, does not stop 
to think of the more lasting benefits which he 
might derive from the game he derides. Of its 
joys he knows nothing, never having experienced 
them; he looks upon golf with a vague sort of 
feeling that some day, when he is getting along 
in years, he may take up the game to be "in the 
fashion." Meantime, something more vigorous 
for him in the athletic line ! 

B'ortunately for themselves, as I look at the 
matter, there are a great many boys who form 
an unalterable attachment for golf, and whose 
identification with the game as school-boys is 
only the forerunner of years of pleasure on the 
links. To continue their play after school-days, 
naturally they either have to join a club or to 
have their rounds on a public course. Regarding 
the latter, there is not the slightest doubt in my 
mind that public courses have played an impor- 
tant part in the development of the game in Amer- 
ica, both among the young and the older players. 
Scores of boys who have enjoyed golf while in 
school have not been in a position, financially, to 
join a golf or country club immediately after 
their school-days are over, yet have continued 
their play by making use of such links as the 
Franklin Park course, in Boston, Van Cortlandt 
Park, in New York, and Jackson Park, in Chi- 

The average school-boy golfer becomes ambi- 
tious to join a golf or country club from the time 

that he takes part in an interscholastic tourna- 
ment. He sees the members come in, go to their 
regularly assigned locker, sit down to a luncheon 
for which they merely sign a slip of paper, and 
do other things with an air of proprietorship that 
has a certain fascination. The school-boy golfer, 
too, would be a member and enjoy all these privi- 
leges. He would like to rub elbows with men of 
prominence in the community, — for in the golf 
and country clubs are to be found "big" men, 
men of influence in the city, the State, or the 
country at large. 

Any youth who joins a golf or country club 
and who lays too much stress upon the privilege 
of merely signing checks for luncheons and such 
things, is apt to get a bit of a shock when those 
checks, like chickens, "come home to roost." 
They all have to be paid, sooner or later, so, 
if he is a golfer in moderate financial circum- 
stances, he had better not be overgenerous with 
either himself or his friends in the early stages 
of his club life. This may sound a little like 
preaching, yet it is a fact that club life some- 
times has an unfortunate influence upon a young 
man, especially if he gets started in the wrong 

On the other hand, for the young golfer who 
is willing to hold a modest place in the club, 
there are a host of advantages. There is no 
denying that in golf he does have the opportunity 
to mingle with the finest class of people, intel- 
lectually and socially, and, if he is properly ob- 
serving and discreetly curious, he can learn a 
great deal in several directions, and in par- 
ticular many things which will improve his game 
of golf. 




Doubtless it is true that one reason why the 
general standard of play in this country is not 
higher is that devotees of the game are so keen 
for playing themselves that they are not willing 
to put in a little more time in following and ob- 
serving the methods of the better golfers. We 
know that on the other side of the Atlantic it is 
nothing unusual for even such great profession- 
als as Vardon, Ray, Braid, and Taylor to spend 
some of their time watching each other play. 
George Duncan, perhaps the most brilliant golfer 
in the world to-day, says unrestrictedly that his 
game is a composite of the styles of such players 
as those named above. Therein is his own con- 
fession that what he is as a golfer is largely the 
result of watching the play of the masters. 

I can advance no stronger argument for driv- 
ing home the idea that it pays to study the strokes 
of good players as well as to practise to perfect 
our own. And I think I am absolutely correct in 
saying that any young golfer who is ambitious 
to learn will always find good golfers ready to 
give him the benefit of their experience and 
observations. Right here is one of the greatest 
features of the game. The finest players, profes- 
sionals or amateurs, are forever trying to learn 
new points, and they rarely hesitate to divulge 
any point in connection with their own game. 
In other words, while there may be keen indi- 
vidual rivalries among the golfers, the greatest 
rivals may frequently be seen comparing notes 
on the best method for playing different shots. 


There are many things for the young plaver 
to learn, aside from the best method for playing 
different shots. One golfer might pitch directly 
at the flag at a certain shot, while in your opin- 
ion the run-up would be the more natural. You 
might find, by questioning (but never question- 
ing at an inappropriate time), that this particular 
green is softer than the others on the course. 
Or, again, a golfer might play a run-up where 
the more natural shot would be the pitch ; only 
you find that he knows the ground is too hard 
to get good results from a pitch. These are mat- 
ters which have nearly as much to do with suc- 
cess in competition as the ability to hit the ball 
correctly, and they are points which must be 
learned through experience. Sometimes there 
are marked differences in the character of the 
turf and soil on different holes of the same 
course. The experienced golfer gradually learns 

to form an estimate of such changing conditions, 
even by noting whether ground is high or low, 
and judging whether the low land has much 
moisture in it. 

These points, of course, do not enter imme- 
diately into the game of the younger golfer, but 
they are injected merely to emphasize the ad- 
vantage of being observant. 


On this very point, I once had a good lesson 
taught me. Together with Mr. Ray R. Gorton 

eupyriglilbj LinltruuuiU^ L iideiuood. 

and Mr. H. W. Stucklen, prominent players of 
the Boston district, and Captain Albert Scott, 
also of Boston, who has a collection of wonder- 
ful photographs of famous golfers in action, I 
was visiting at the Garden Citv course, Long 
Island. Mr. Walter J. Travis and Mr. John M. 
Ward of the Metropolitan district were there, 
and after a round of golf, we went into the club- 
house, where a discussion began of the way dif- 
ferent shots were played. Mr. Travis, who prob- 
ably has made as deep a study of the game as any 
man in the world, began to explain how he played 
different shots. His explanations opened my 




eyes in two ways. One was that I was rather 
astonished to hear him tell so clearly and mi- 
nutely exactly how he played each shot, so that 
any person who had watched him play as closely 
as I had could have a clear mental vision of each 
movement of his club and body. The other thing 
that struck me most forcibly as I listened to his 
explanations was how little I actually knew about 
how I played shots myself. Put the club in my 
hand and let me get out to play a shot, and I felt 
confident of being able to play it in a reasonably 
skilful manner ; but to sit down and tell some- 
body else how I did it I realized was beyond nie. 


From that time to the present, it has been my 
aim not only to try to play the shots correctly, 
but to know how and why I play them a certain 
way. Therefore my suggestion to the young 
golfer— any golfer for that matter: to study his 
own game as well as that of others. I 'II admit 
that at first it is not a very easy thing to do, 
especially for the golfer who is not sure of hit- 
ting the ball at all "true." Doubtless he feels that 
he has trouble enough obeying the cardinal prin- 
ciple of keeping his eye on the ball, taking the 
club back in approved fashion, and such like, 
without trying to pay heed to anything else. 


But a golfer can do something like this: he can 
take a dozen balls, for practice, and change his 
stance several times to note results. He might 
try placing the ball directly abreast of him and 
about half-way between his feet, with an open 
stance. Drive a few balls from that position 
and note the general results. Then he might try 
driving the ball from a position more in line with 
his right foot, and next time with it more abreast 
of his left foot. He doubtless will note, if he 
still stands about the same distance from the ball, 
that each stance brings its own general results. 
With one he finds that he is more apt to get the 
ball down the middle of the course, another 
seems to develop a tendency to pull, and another 
to slice. 

Of course, I should not advise begiimers. or 
even those who have made moderate progress 
in the game, to spend a great deal of time on 
such experiments merely for the sake of knowing 
how to slice or pull at will. My suggestion is that 
such experiments occasionally are excellent cor- 
rectives ; as, for example, when a golfer finds 
himself continually pulling or slicing. It may 

not be that his stance is at fault at all, but that 
he is pulling his hands in toward him when he 
plays the shot, thus coming across the ball and 
slicing it, or that he is pushing his hands out. 
This I will say about experiments, however, that 
they at least inculcate in the golfer the idea of 
being something more than an automaton in the 
game. Every golfer naturally would like to be 
able to play with mechanical precision, but at 
the same time the average golfer would enjoy his 
own precision far more by knowing exactly "how 
he does it." . 


The more one. studies his own game, too, the 
more discerning he becomes in noting the good 
and bad points of some one else's play. As I 
have said before, there can be a great deal 
learned from watching good golfers. A person 
may note the stance taken by the proficient 
golfer; how much he bends his knees; how he 
holds his head; how far back he carries his club; 
liow he finishes the stroke ; how he grips his club. 
It should be borne in mind, though, in watching 
a first-class golfer to pick up pointers, that what 
the first-class golfer may do is not always a good 
method to follow. It might be impossible for the 
rank and file. Edward Ray is a mighty driver, 
but there probably are not a great many others 
who could drive exactly as he does and get good 
results. The more a player observes, the more 
readily will he pick up the point which is going 
to help his game, and cast aside the peculiarity 
which is not safe to follow. 

In suggesting that the young golfer would be 
wise in spending some of his time watching 
others, rather than playing himself, I know I am 
counseling something which hardly will appeal to 
many who delight in playing. They want the fun 
of playing. That is what they are in the game 
for ; that is why they are members of a club. 
Yet I can truthfully say that one of the keenest 
pleasures that I can have personally is in fol- 
lowing a couple of good golfers playing a round. 
It is almost as good as playing an eixeptionally 
fine shot yourself to see some one else get up and 
hit the ball exactly as you would wish to see it 
hit or to do it yourself. You know just how you 
would feel after making such a shot, and you are 
mentally exhilarated by seeing some one else 
do it. 


There are other things, too, which cannot fail 
to impress themselves upon a person of normal 
observance who watches the play, we '11 say, of 
two skilful professionals. He will see these 





men strive, not necessarily to get down the middle 
of the course, nor as far as they can from the tee, 
but to place the ball at some particular point 
which is more advantageous for the second shot. 
They will drive, let us say, well to the left at a 
certain hole, trusting in their own skill to keep 
them away from trouble that looms up on that 
side, merely for the sake of playing their second 
shot from a point where they can see the green. 
To drive straight down the middle would be lots 
safer, but it might leave the ball where the green 
would be hidden from view. It is little things 
like that which mark the difference between the 
golfer who continues gradually to improve in his 
play and his scoring and so many others who 
reach a certain point and there seem to stick. 


For the younger player joining a club and hop- 
ing not only to become a good player, but to 
make a favorable impression upon older members 
and get along well in the more social side of club 
life, I would suggest that it is more advisable to 
be a good listener than to do a great deal of talk- 
ing. To listen to men of experience discuss the 

game, or, for that matter, to hear their views on 
various topics, is to gain many points which may 
prove valuable. By that I do not by any manner 
of means suggest that the younger member should 
eavesdrop or try to hear something not intended 
for his ears. 

Many golfers are apt to give a wide berth to 
the man who is inclined ever to talk about his own 
game. He wants to explain every victory and 
every defeat; how if his shot to the fourteenth 
green had not hit a stone and bounded off the 
course, he would have won the match, or how 
lucky his opponent was in holding an approach 
at the fifteenth. The great thing to remember is 
that what has happened to you, in one particular 
match or round, has happened to many others, 
and will happen to many more, so it has not even 
the merit of being newsy; unless there should 
happen to be some extraordinary occurrence, such 
as hitting a bird in flight or killing a fish in a 

For the young man, also (and this, too, may 
sound like preaching), my advice is to steer clear 
of that part of the social life which includes 
liquors. As this is not an article on temperance, 
however, I will say nothing more on that score. 

( To be continued.) 





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

Chapter XV 


From his seat in the stem Brian looked back. 
The canoe had doubled its distance from the 
wire. He looked at the paddle. Being lighter, 
it had floated faster yet. He looked at the shore. 
Close by the right-hand end of the dam rose up 
the first of the mill buildings, from which he 
heard the quiet humming of the machinery. No 
one was visible at the windows or on the shore. 
With fear in his heart, he shouted. 

Nobody could have heard him, for no answer 
came. The shores were still deserted, the win- 
dows of the factory blank. He shouted again, 
but again there was no response. He turned to 

"It 's no use," he complained irritably. 
. Harriet was steadfast. "Shout again, and 
wave your hands. We '11 shout together." 

Her positiveness so far influenced him that he 
obeyed, though he felt like a fool, shouting at 
the stolid landscape and waving his arms at 
nothing. He was about to give in, when sud- 
denly from the roof of the factory there leaped 
a white jet of steam. Across the water there 
came, and smote him in the face like a blow, the 
scream of the steam-whistle. 

"The fire-whistle !" exclaimed- Harriet. "Sit 
still now. We ve done all we can." 

Now suddenly the fire-escapes of the factory 
were crowded with men, there were heads at all 
the windows, and out of the door poured a 
stream of figures. Others came hurrying around 
the corners of the building. Brian heard shouts, 
and looked with satisfaction on the crowd. In 
the shortest possible time there must have been 
a hundred men at the shore, with many more 
coming. He looked at Harriet. "They will get 
us ashore." 

"How?" she asked. "No one keeps a boat 
below the wire. Those men at the dam can do 
nothing. We shall go over." 

His head came suddenly round as he looked at 
the dam. He saw it only as a line that cut 
short the surface of the pond. From beyond it 
came a ceaseless growling of the waters. What 
was below there ? 

"The fall is ten feet, upon rocks," Harriet 
said. "Then there are rapids for quite a dis- 

"Only ten feet," answered Brian. "We shall 
be all right." He continued looking at the dam, 
and at the crowd of men at the end of it. 

"I hope so," answered Harriet, softly. 

The men at the shore were very quiet. Why 
were n't they doing something? But suddenly he 
saw one of them run out upon the dam, splashing 
as he went. 

"There !" he cried triumphantly. 

The man fell. There must have been a rope 
tied to him, for the men on the shore were seen 
hauling him back. 

"No one can do that," said Harriet. "There 
is a wide top to the dam, but it is of wooden 
planking, grown with moss, and very slippery. 
The current is so strong it will knock any one 

"He 's trying it again !" exclaimed Brian. 

But the man failed a second time. He had 
taken scarcely two steps when he disappeared, 
only to be hauled to shore. Then, though Brian 
watched eagerly, no further attempt was made. 
The men on the shore stood apparently watch- 
ing. Once he heard voices raised above the 
noise of the dam, once came the noise of a 
scream. But that was all. 

"Why don't they do something?" he cried. 

"They can't," answered Harriet. "Brian, I 
think we have less than a minute now." 

He looked at her. Her cheeks were a little 
pale, but her face was quite calm. She was 
looking at him earnestly. "If I said anything 
unkind just now, I am very sorry for it." 

"Why, Harriet," he protested, "we shall get 
through all right !" 

"I hope so," she answered. "I hope at least 
that you do. But if you do and I don't, please, 
Brian, act differently toward Rodman." 

They were her dying words, soberly and truly 
impressive. But he flung up his. arms in irrita- 

"I tell you it is n't as bad as you think!" he 

The men at the shore were still quiet. Brian 
looked at the dam. The canoe was not more 
than fifty feet away, and the current was bearing 
it steadily on. Brian could see the brown water 
turn pale green, and then curl over at the far- 
ther edge. The growling of the fall was now 
a muffled roar. What should he see when he 
looked down from the top of the dam? 



Chapter XVI 


Pelham and Rodman were working together in 
the office of the mill. Mr. Dodd was away, but 
Bob occasionally went in and out. Through a 
closed door sounded the murmur of the machin- 
ery, and through the open window came the rumble 
of the dam. The two boys sat side by side at 
the bookkeeper's desk, and while one read items 
the other checked them. 

"You 've got beyond me," said Pelham, at a 
pause in the work. "I 've learned a couple of 
tricks from you already. But I can help make 
the work go faster. — What was that?" 

Rodman, absorbed in his work, had been mur- 
muring his thanks. "I heard nothing," he said. 

Pelham returned to the work. "Thought I 
heard some one calling. Ready? Twelve bolts 
uncut corduroy. Twenty-seven— Excuse me, 
Rodman. I must see what that galoot is shout- 
ing for." 

He went to the window, while Rodman rested 
his elbow on the desk and waited. 

Pelham shaded his eyes against the sun. 
"They 've got no business to be there," he said, 
frowning. "Are they fooling, or do you sup- 

"What is it?" asked Rodman. 

"He 's waving his arms," cried Pelham. Then 
he turned and sprang to the wall, where hung a 
rope. His face was white as he looked at Rod- 
man. "It 's Harriet and Brian !" He threw his 
weight on the rope, then pulled again and again. 
From overhead sounded the hoarse and insistent 
blasts of the fire-whistle. 

The door burst open, and Bob dashed in. He 
saw Pelham at the rope. "What is it?" he de- 

"Harriet and Brian are drifting to the dam ! 
They 're almost there !" He pointed toward the 
window, but Bob did not look. Instead, he turned 
to the weaving-room, where the noise of ma- 
chinery had suddenly ceased. His great voice 
rang through the silence. 

"No fire ! D&nger on the pond !" 

In the room overhead was heard stamping, 
calling, and running. Feet were pounding on 
the stairs. Bob, snatching open the door, rushed 
out, shouting "Ropes !" Pelham and Rodman fol- 
lowed. From the other buildings, from their 
own, streams of men were issuing, and with 
shouts and calls rushing toward the dam. 

But when they reached it, there was silence. 
The men formed, three deep, at the edge of the 
pond, and looked helplessly at the water. A 
hundred and fifty feet away glided the little 

canoe broadside toward the dam, and they stared 
at it, fascinated. 

The picture was so peaceful ! There was not 
a flaw on the clear surface of the pond, the fields 
rose softly green beyond, and cattle grazed on 
the farther shore. No clouds were in the sky. 
It was a perfect summer's day, a beautiful scene. 
No sign of danger overhung the little craft that 
rode so steadily upon the pond. Ah, but the men 
saw the advance of the canoe toward the edge 
of the fall ; they saw the curling water running 
swiftly across the platform of the dam; they 
knew how remorselessly it flung itself, and would 
fling any burden, down the steep drop upon the 
sharp rocks beneath. No wonder that breaths 
were sharply drawn, no wonder that a sob rose 
throughout the crowd when suddenly a voice 
called : 

"It "s the young leddy !" 

For every man there knew Harriet, admired 
her young freshness, liked her shy friendliness, 
and prized her higher than any girl in the vil- 
lage. They knew her character well, from much 
discussion of it. There was no silliness about 
her, she dressed simply — as did all the Dodds, 
except this young sprig from the city— and she 
was interested in the workmen's wives and chil- 
dren. There was dismay in all their hearts as 
they learned who rode so quietly to her death. 

Not one man doubted the result. The fall was 
too high, the rocks too many, the rapids too 
fierce. They had heard Bob shouting his direc- 
tions for men to take boat below the rapids, to 
be ready to help ; but no man believed that any 
one could come, through alive, except by a mira- 
cle. Restlessly the crowd swayed to and fro, 
wishing to act, but seeing no means. 

Then Bob's voice was again heard, calling 
"Make way !" Hatless and coatless he pushed 
to the front, a rope round his waist ; he was 
giving directions to the man who, carrying the 
coil of the rope, was following him. "Pay out 
as I go — " The men raised a feeble cheer. They 
knew he would fail. 

There was a broad top to the dam, made of 
boards, slightly sloping, and slimy with weeds. 
Over it the current, suddenly becoming swift, 
ran strongly. Though there was scarcely a foot 
of water at the rim, no man could stand against 
it. But bracing himself for the attempt, Bob ran 
down the slope that led to the dam, and tramped 
into the water. Three, four, five steps he took, 
successful where the water was slowest. Then 
his feet slipped from beneath him, and he was 
swept over the edge. The rope kept his head 
above water, and the men drew him quickly to 
shore in spite of the bufifeting of the current. 




















Breathless, blowing, Bob stamped his foot. "A 
pole !" he gasped. "I can't make it without one." 

"Mr. Bob," cried Pat Cudahy, the big Irishman 
who maiaaged the rope, "you can't make it at 
all !" 

Bob stamped his foot. "We '11 see !'' He 
snatched the pole that was brought him, and 
once more made the venture. This time he took 
two steps farther than before, and then van- 

" rodman stepped aside to let it pass." 
(see page 602.) 

ished in the swirl of water at the foot of the 
dam ! 

"The young boss is gone !" shouted the men. 

"Shtand aside !" roared Cudahy, pulling fiercely 
on the rope. Bob's head emerged from the wa- 
ter, and once again he was hauled ashore. 
Scarcely able to stand, he coughed his lungs free 
of water. He gazed bitterly at the dam. Bob 
had been among the lumbermen. Give him a 
pair of calked boots and a pike-pole, and he could 
walk the dam, but as it was— ! 

"Another pole !" he demanded. 

"You can't make it now," said Cudahy, sup- 
porting him. "H you could walk it, they 'd be 
over before you could reach them." 

Bob sprang erect. "Another pole !" he panted. 
But there was despair even in his defiance of 
danger. He knew he could not make it. 

"H the men will make way, I '11 try my luck," 
said a voice. 

Bob turned. Quite unobserved, an automobile 
had run into the mill-yard, and its driver, stand- 
ing in his place, was looking down at him. It 
was a young man, well-dressed and smiling. His 
car was massive, double-seated, compact. 

"The dam is wide enough for the machine," 
he said. "And the car is too heavy to be pushed 

Hope sprang up. Bob turned to the men. 
"Make room!" he shouted. The men, also shout- 
ing, speedily cleared the path. The young man 
sat down liehind his wheel. Then he looked at 

"I '11 need you, I think." 

Bob sprang into the seat behind him. 

Pelham, gazing with all his eyes as the ma- 
chine moved slowly forward, saw the striking 
contrast between the two young men. Bob was 
grimly defiant of danger and death ; he knew 
their power, but he despised them. The stranger, 
still smiling as he glanced down the sloping run- 
way, was jauntily indifferent to anything that 
might happen. A puff of smoke issued from be- 
tween his lips. The fellow was smoking a ciga- 
rette ! 

"They '11 be too late !" cried some one. 

The big machine purred loudly, and suddenly 
dashed at the water. Right and left shot wide 
sheets of spray. The men held their breaths. 
Then, as the car churned onward, rose cries of 

"Well done! — He has n't a foot to spare, but 
he 's doin' it! — Stiddy as a rock! — Losh, yon 's 
a gran' machine! — Man, was iver the loike?" 

The powerful automobile, heavily built, low 
hung, never wavered in its steady advance. 
Though it rocked a little, it held true to the line. 
But against the strong resistance it went slowly. 
The shouts died as suspense seized all hearts. 
Would it be in tiine? For moving always faster, 
the light canoe was now gliding swiftly toward 
its fall. It was not its own length from the dam. 

"He '11 make it ! He won't ! He will !" 

Then one loud yell fairly burst from all throats. 
For the automobile had thrust itself between the 
canoe and the greedy falls ! 

The men saw Bob, leaning forward, seize the 
canoe ; they saw Harriet first, then Brian, clam- 
ber to the machine ; they shouted aloud again. 
And then once more there was silence and sus- 

The automobile had stopped. The farther bank 




was a sharp bank up which it could not climb. 
It must return. Could the driver steer it back? 
They knew that would be a feat beside which the 
outward trip was a mere nothing. 

The stranger rose in his seat, and leaning on 
the back, looked toward the shore. . The canoe, 
thrust by Bob, floated away. Then the big ma- 
chine began to move. There was a single shout 
of admiration, and again fell silence. The men 
knew that the stranger was guiding the machine 
with but a single hand, quickening the speed, 
steering on the narrow way. Every chance was 
in favor of some slight turn to right or left, 
when some irregularity of the track would shoot 
the machine from the dam. It swayed, and the 
men groaned. It rocked, and they held their 
breaths. But steadily, certainly, it came onward 
until the shore was near. 

"Give me room to fling the rope av they need 
it !" cried Cudahy. 

But there was no need. The automobile 
reached the upward slope, and shot out of the 
water. Suddenly freed from resistance, it roared 
up the runway. Then, subsiding, it quieted and 
stopped. The driver threw his cigarette away. 

"AH ashore !" he said, laughing. 

Chapter XVII 


Pelham strove in his sleep against a summons. 
His heavy slumber was too pleasant to relinquish. 
At length, however, he yielded, and slowly opened 
his eyes. Had any one called him? 

In the other bed lay Brian, and Pelham heard 
him murmuring: "No need of another paddle, I 
tell you." 

"He must have waked me," thought Pelham. 
"But it seemed like something else." 

"We sha'n't get hurt, anyway," muttered Brian. 

"Does n't make enough noise to wake me," 
Pelham decided. 

Brian snarled suddenly : "I won't be drowned !" 

Pelham lay in doubt. The room was bright 
with moonlight as he looked about it. There was 
no sound in the hall outside, or in all the house. 
He turned over on his side, and was just yawn- 
ing comfortably, when a sharp rapping at the 
window made him start upright. Some one had 
thrown pebbles 1 He sprang out of bed and went 
to the window. Below the open window, on the 
garden path, stood a dark figure, gazing upward. 

"Who is it?" whispered Pelham. 

The answer was cautious, but clear: "It 's me 
—Nate. Is that cousin of yourn asleep?" 

Pelham turned and listened. He heard Brian 
muttering. "Yes," he answered. 

"Don't wake him,'' cautioned Nate. "Pelham, 
will you come with me ? I want you and your 
boss and cart." 

"What for?" asked Pelham, amazed. 

Nate seemed to stretch up on tiptoe ; his whis- 
per, lower than before, was still clear. "Rod- 
man 's gone." 

"Gone!" cried Pelham. 

" 'S-sh !" replied Nate. "Yes. He 's got nearly 
an hour's start of me, an' I must ketch him." 

"What time is it?" asked Pelham. 

"Nearly eleven." 

Pelham thought rapidly, excited at the situa- 
tion. His father and mother were o'utj they had 
not expected to return until after midnight. 
Nevertheless, they would be willing that he 
should go with Nate. He knew where the key 
of the stable was kept. 

"Be down in five minutes," he said. 

A voice spoke suddenly, from somewhere. 
"Harness the light two-seater. I 'm coming too." 

"Harriet !" exclaimed Pelham. He knew that 
she was at her window. 

"Good!" exclaimed Nate. "Now we 're sure 
of him." 

Pelham. frowned as he thought. As an older 
brother, ought he to prevent her going? Ex- 
cited and eager to succeed, influenced by Nate's 
encouragement, he decided to let her come. 

"Quick, then !" he whispered. 

He turned to the room. Tossing and mutter- 
ing, Brian was still asleep. In the moonlight 
Pelham needed no candle. It was but a few min- 
utes before he crept silently down-stairs, and a 
few more before the horse was harnessed. As 
they led him quietly out of the stable, Harriet 

"I was n't asleep," she said. "I heard Nate's 
news. I know I can help." 

"Of course," agreed Nate. "All aboard !" 

In less than ten minutes they had passed the 
last houses of the town. Harriet, dressed in dark 
clothes, was on the back seat ; Pelham was driv- 
ing. In front rose the black mass of the woods. 
"How are you sure," Pelham asked, "that this 
is the way he took?" 

"Two reasons," answered Nate. "Fust it 's 
the quickest to the railway. Second it 's the only 
way he knows." 

"When did you learn he 'd gone ?" asked Har- 

"Hardly a half-hour ago," answered Nate. 
"Soon after supper I went down to the town. 
He asked me how long I sh'd be gone, but I 
could n't tell him, not knowin' whom I sh'd meet. 
When I got back, I looked into his room, as 
usual; someway I suspected the look o' his bed." 




"He 'd meant you to think he was there?" 
asked Pelham. 

"I s'pose so. Anyway, the clothes was humped 
up. But when I looked closer, he was n't there, 
nor had n't been to bed at all. On the bureau 
was a note." Nate stopped. 

"What did it say?" asked Harriet, softly. 

"Jes' good-by, an' thank ye, an' that he 'd come 
back some day." Nate choked, and the others 
were silent. Presently he said: "li I thought it 
right to let him go, I would ; but I can't think he 
needs to go. Felly, what did you say to him this 

"I?" asked' Pelham. "I did see him, of course, 
when I was helping him with the bookkeeping, 
after all that happened this morning. — But, I 
don't remember that I told him anything to worry 

"He come home from the mill mighty trou- 
bled," said Nate. "He told me all about that 
out-o'-town feller an' his autermobile a-gittin' 
Harriet an' Brian off the dam — and a good piece 
o' work as ever I heard of. Feller 's named Lee, 
ain't he?" 

"Wilson Lee," answered Pelham. "Why, I 
can't remember that I told Rodman anything to 
upset him. Of course, when I came back after 
lunch, we discussed Mr. Lee, and I said that he 
was to stay with us for a while." 

"Sho !" exclaimed Nate. "Goin' to stay with 

"He was coming to call on Father, anyway," 
explained Pelham. "He 's interested in our sort 
of work, and wanted Father to show him some of 
our methods." 

"That ain't a request that your father 'd be 
particularly glad to say 'yes' to, ordinarily," re- 
marked Nate. 

"Father 'd do anything for him, though," an- 
swered Pelham, warmly. "So would we all.— 
But except for this, Nate, I can't remember say- 
ing to Rodman anything especial. Why do you 

"Rodman was mighty thoughtful all supper," 
answered Nate. "I could n't git him out o' him- 
self nohow. Once he began, sort o' sudden, 'Pel- 
ham says—' Then he shut up, an' pretended he 
had n't really been goin' to say anythin'." 

"If you don't know what 's on his mind," asked 
Harriet, "how shall you be able to stop him ?" 

Nate thumped his knee. "Between the three 
of us, we '11 get him !" he declared. 

They drove on in silence for nearly an hour. 
Although the road was arched by trees, the moon- 
light filtered through, making a twilight in which 
the way could be seen. Pelham sat wondering 
what he could have said that drove Rodman to 

this action. He could think of nothing at all. 
They turned a corner in the road, and there 
ahead of them lay a vista that ended in a stretch 
of open moonlight. The trees arched themselves 
like a frame, and at the bottom the three saw the 
black outline of a figure, trudging onward. Nate 
grunted, and Harriet gave a little cry of relief. 

"I was afraid—" she said. 

Pelham urged the horse. He wanted to over- 
take Rodman before he should again reach the 
shadow, and he succeeded. As the carriage rap- 
idly overtook the boy, Rodman stepped aside to 
let it pass. It stopped beside him, he took one 
look at its occupants, and then recoiled. 

If he thought of flight through the bushes, 
there was no time. Nate leaped out and laid a 
hand on his shoulder. "Rodman," he said in a 
shaking voice, "we 've come for ye." Harriet, 
noting the tremor, realized that Nate, too, had 
feared lest Rodman should escape them. 

Rodman stood looking down. "I can't go back," 
he said, very quietly. 

"What 's wrong?" asked Nate. "Have I done 
anything to send ye away?" 

"No !" cried Rodman, flashing at him a look of 
eager gratitude. "You have n't— you could n't !" 

"Have I ?" demanded Pelham, leaning from 
his seat. 

"Nor you, nor Harriet, nor any one," ex- 
claimed Rodman with deep feeling. "But I must 

Harriet spoke quietly to Pelham. "Drive for- 
ward, and leave him with Nate." Pelham obeyed, 
drove forward for a little distance, turned the 
carriage about, and stood waiting. Together 
they watched the other two talking in the moon- 
light. Nate's tall and spare figure gesticulated 
earnestly ; occasionally they heard his urgent 
tones. Rodman, despondently standing, answered 
with few words, and steadily shook his head. 

At last Harriet slipped into the front seat and 
took the reins from her brother. "Nate will fail," 
she said. "Pelham, go and see what you can do." 

Pelham went, and she watched the three. It 
was two against one now, ardently arguing, 
pleading, explaining. Pelham's clear young voice 
mingled with Nate's as the two scarcely gave 
each other time to speak, or Rodman to answer. 
But still Rodman's head drooped, and still he 
shook it almost desperately. At last, throwing 
up his hands in despair, Nate left the two boys 
and came to the carriage. 

"We can't do nothing with him !" 

"Then," said Harriet, "send him to me." 

While Nate and Pelham waited in the back- 
ground, Rodman came slowly. He lifted to Har- 
riet a face that was full of distress, almost of 




agony.. The kindness of the others had appealed 
to the depths of his nature, and to refuse them 
had taken all his courage. Harriet was not sur- 
prised to see tears on his cheeks. 

"Don't go over it all again," he begged. 

She had made up her mind that the others had 
been using the wrong method. He was steeled 
against requests, and against appeals to his af- 
fections. So she spoke firmly. 

"Rodman, I have just two things to say. First, 
this going away is cowardly." 

"Cowardly !" he cried. The distress vanished 
from his face, and his drooping shoulders squared 
themselves. He looked her straight in the eye. 

Harriet did not flinch, "li there 's anything 
you 're afraid to stand and meet, it 's cowardly 
to run away." 

Rodman gripped his hands on the wheel. "You 
don't know what it is !" 

"I don't need to," she replied. "And in the 
second place, to go away is ungrateful." 
. This did not seem to reach him. "Well," he 
said, "I shall come back." 

She saw only one thing to say. "Perhaps by 
that time we sha'n't care." He started as if he 
had been spurred. "We 'd think better of a boy 
who would stay and do his duty right here." 

He gripped the wheel again. "My duty?" 

"If you owe us anything," she explained, "you 
owe us your services now, when Father needs 
them. Nobody can do quite what you can." 

His hands fell suddenly to his sides ; she saw 
that he had clenched them tight. A new expres- 
sion came to his face ; he looked almost solemn. 

"That is true !" he said in a hushed voice. It 
was as if he had made a discovery. "No one can 
do what I can." 

Surprised that her appeal had struck so deep, 
yet very thankful, Harriet spoke more persua- 
sively: "Then will you run away?" 

He looked at her as if for a moment he had 
forgotten her presence. "You don't know how 
hard it will be." 

He had practically said that already. She per- 
mitted a little impatience to show in her voice. 
"We will help you." 

"Nobody can do that !" he cried. But now he 
was not daunted. He pressed a little closer to 

the wheel. "Harriet, will you believe in me, 
whatever happens?" 

"What do you mean?" she asked, surprised. 
She wondered if after all there was some real 
thing of which he was afraid. Surely, though he 
might have lost his memory, his mind was clear, 
and he seemed to know what he was talking of. 

"I carinot tell you," he replied. "But if I go 
back, and do my best, and perhaps fail, will you 
think the best of me?" 

There was a little quiver in his voice that sud- 
denly moved her. She had been sitting upright, 
but now she bent toward him. "Why, Rodman, 
you may be sure I will !" 

"Very well, then," he answered quietly. "I 
will go back." 

"Get in beside me," she directed. He clam- 
bered in, and they drove toward the others, who, 
with one joyous cry, hastened toward them. Rod- 
man, with a long breath, turned toward her. 
"I 'm in for it now !" 

"I don't understand — " she was beginning. 

He interrupted her. "I 'm glad you don't, and 
I hope you won't. Perhaps some day—" 

Nate sprang into the carriage, and Pelham 
after him. Each gave Rodman a thump upon the 
shoulder, but they said nothing. Harriet snapped 
the whip, and the willing horse started forward. 
In silence they plunged again into the dusky 

At the crossroads Nate and Rodman left the 
others. They disappeared in the path, Nate with 
a hand upon the boy's shoulder. Pelham, with 
shining eyes, turned to his sister. 

"I don't know what you said," he began, "but 
it was bully. You sat up stiff, and you looked 
him in the eye, and you gave it to him straight. 
Harriet, I 'm proud of you !" 

She felt her cheeks grow warm with pleasure. 
"Then I 'm glad I came. — But, Pelham, can you 
guess what it is that is so terribly on Rodman's 
mind ?" 

He answered thoughtfully : "Nate thinks it 's 
some trick of his memory, that comes back and 
bothers him, but that there is n't anything real. 
I don't know what to think." 

Harriet spoke decidedly : "I know there 's 

something real." (To be contitmed.) 





Umbrellas, umbrellas, 'way down in the street, 
Bobbing along through the rain on feet; 
That 's how they look as they pass below— 
Umbrellas and feet are the most that show. 

Umbrellas, umbrellas, wet pavements, and me 
A-watching for mother to come home to tea; 

How am I to know her or wave through the pane 
When every umbrella 's the same in the rain ? 

Policemen, conductors, and pirates, and kings 
Are easily known by their trousers and things. 
On days like to-day, when the weather "s to blame. 
Beneath their umbrellas they 'd all look the same. 



Two of the greatest words in our language are 
spelled with the fewest letters. They are "yes" 
and "no." They are almost the first words we 
learn to speak ; the words that we use most ; and 
those on which most depends. Really, we decide 
who we are and what kind of people we are, by 
the way in which we learn to handle these two 
little words. Every question or problem that ever 
comes to us will be rightly or wrongly answered 
according as we say "yes" or "no," and as we say 
it at the right or the wrong time. 

You can see how important these words are 
when you remember that all laws and all govern- 
ments in the world may be said to be built upon 
them. This is especially true of our own country. 
We are a democracy, which means that each man 
has a right to say "yes" or "no" to everything 
that concerns us all. We say this in voting, or, as 
we call it, the ballot; but, after all, it is just the 
right to say "yes" or "no." To each State legis- 
lature and to Congress, we send our representa- 
tives simply to do one thing, to say "yes" to what 
seems to be best for the individual State or for 
the United States, and "no" to what seems to be 
wrong. How familiar the words are to us, from 
our school-debating society, "Those who are in 
favor of this motion will signify it by saying 'aye' 
(that is an old word for 'yes'), those who are op- 
posed by saying 'no.' " And then the chairman, 
or presiding officer, says, "The ayes have it," or, 
"The noes have it," and so the question is settled. 
Our nation depends upon each of us learning how 
to say "yes" and "no" to the right things. Just 
on that and on nothing more. We do not have 
armies or kings to make us do certain things. We 
have only our power to say "yes" and "no." 

When wo have said one or the other, we have 
then set up our own army and our own king to 
rule us. 

It is the same way in our own characters, in our 
pleasures, in our duties, in everything that con- 
cerns us. There is an old song that says, "Have 
courage, my boy, to say no." But really we want 
to have courage to say "yes" as well as "no" ; 
and, more than that, we want wisdom enough to 
know when to say one and when to say the other. 
If one makes it a rule to say "yes" to everything, 
he is weak. We call him a weak character. He 
just gets in the habit of it, and very soon, no 
matter what some one else asks him to do, he says 
"yes," and then he has no will of his own. He 
has lost his power to say "no." Have you ever 
seen a group of boys who act this way? Some 
boy will say, "Come on, let 's do this or that." 
And before they realize it, they all say "Yes," and 
then it is too late to change. But if some other 
boy says "No," the rest stop, and, taking a mo- 
ment to think it over, they see, perhaps, that the 
thing was really not a thing to say "yes" to, at all. 
It is a great thing to be able to give "no" a chance 
— especially when "yes" gets the start of it. 

But, on the other hand, it is wrong to be always 
saying "no." If we get into that habit, we get 
stubborn; and, before we are conscious of it, we 
say "no" to good things as well as bad. I have 
seen people who oppose excellent things all the 
time, not because they really wish to, but because 
they have got into the way of it, and can't break 
the habit. As I said a moment ago that "no" 
must have a chance, so I can say now that "yes' 
must have a chance. Just to say "no" for the 
sake of saying "no," means that we keep our- 




selves in a bad mood, and drive away a great deal 
of happiness. People vi^ho get this habit are very 
much like balky horses. They just balk when 
there is n't any sense in balking. We might say 
that they "don't play the game," and one of the 
things we are all in the world to do is to play the 
game as well as we know how. The game may 
be work — it is that most of the time— or it may be 
pleasure of the right sort. Whichever it is, we 
must not always be balky "no-people." A good 
part of the time we must be "yes-people." 

Now I think it 's perfectly plain that, without 
going very far, we find a great number of things 
to say "yes" to. And if we say "yes" to them 
they are easy, but if we say "no" to them they 
are hard. Something tells us right away that 
education, for instance, is a thing to say "yes" to. 
It may not mean that I must learn everything in 
the world. It may not even mean that I must go 
to college. I may not be able to say "yes" to that 
extent. But, nevertheless, education is a thing to 
say "yes" to. 

In this matter of lessons or education, all of 
this is quite clear. Have you ever sat down to 
study, and found it so hard that you could 
scarcely go on with it? The lesson itself was not 
so very hard, but you just could n't study 1 Your 
thoughts kept on saying, "No, no," and you could 
n't remember anything on the page ! Now the 
thing to do in that case was to stop for just a 
moment, look the matter squarely and cheerfully 
in the face, turn the whole thing around, as it 
were, and say "Yes" to it— to drive out the stub- 
born "no" and let in the helpful "yes." Why, 
sometimes you can do that almost "as quick as a 
wink," and it changes the whole matter. Work- 
ing with "yes" alongside of you, you can accom- 
plish something. The thing becomes easy then, 
and you find that it is not the lesson that is hard. 

And there are other things like it, more than we 
can name here; but it might be well to start a 
"yes" column and put in it, besides education, 
such words as good character, purpose, honesty, 
kindness, fair play, work, and many others. 
These may all, at times, be hard things to say 
"yes" to, but most of us make them hard because 
we keep on saying "no" to them. Once say "yes" 
to them, and you will see how different they look. 
They will wear smiles instead of frowns. 

Then in the "no" column, — well, we all know 
what belongs there. We can put down imme- 
diately such things as selfishness, laziness, bad 

thoughts, untruthfulness, and a dozen others. 
Something tells us at once that these are things 
to say "no" to. And these things often get the 
best of many people, not because they are strong 
qualities, but because we fail to say "no" to them. 

Or, to put this thought in still another way. My 
door-bell is an electric bell. Down in the cellar, 
the wires meet in a battery— a little jar where 
what we call the negative pole and the positive 
pole come together. If either of these poles or 
any part of the battery gets out of order, my bell 
will refuse to ring. So, deep down in us is a 
positive pole and a negative pole, the power to 
say "yes" and the power to say "no." If either 
one of these gets out of order, we will never be 
able to say or do the right kind of things. But if 
both are kept in order, we will "ring true," as the 
good expression puts it. 

Of course, each of us will say "yes" to different 
things and "no" to different things. We must 
choose for ourselves in many cases. Few of us 
can do as many kinds of things as did that great 
man named Leonardo da Vinci, who could paint 
pictures (such as "The Last Supper") and could 
also build bridges, do engineering work, and write 
about many different subjects. We can't be a 
doctor, and a lawyer, and an engineer, and a poet, 
and a business man, and an artist, all at the same 
time. To some of these pursuits we must say 
"no." But to some, or at least to one, we can 
say "yes." And we need not think that any one 
else has the advantage over us if he says "yes" to 
one to which we say "no." Here, as I said before, 
the point to remember is to say "yes" to that 
occupation which calls most loudly to us, indi- 
vidually,— to say "yes," and then go on with it. 
And usually those negative and positive poles in 
us will tell us what that one thing is. 

Sometimes when you listen to older people talk, 
you will often hear them say, "So and so is a 
well-balanced person." Now, a well-balanced thing 
swings easily and evenly, and a well-balanced 
person is one who has the right kind of swing to 
him. And it seems to me that this is what "yes" 
and "no" mean. When we have learned to use 
"yes" and "no" rightly, we have a swing to us. 
We are not overloaded on either side. We can 
move easily, gracefully, and have that splendid 
thing about us that some people call harmony. 

"Yes" and "no" are almost the two greatest 
words in the dictionary. "Let your conversation 
be yea, yea, and nay, nay." 



Umpire in the y^mericatiLeaAi 

lamousPitcKers and their Styles 
Interesting Stories about the 
Game's greatest Twirlers 
and how thej achieve success 

In an important game, or in any big series, the 
opposing pitchers always receive the most con- 
sideration. In such events, a team's chances are 
figured mainly on the strength of its pitching 
stafif. In the last World's Series, between the 
New York "Giants" and the Philadelphia Ath- 
letics, most of the critics favored the Giants, be- 
cause they regarded McGraw's pitching staff as 
much more formidable than Connie Mack's. 
They all praised Mack's "$100,000 infield," en- 
thused over the team's wonderful batting ability, 
commented favorably on the veteran Eddie Plank 
and the crafty Indian, Chief Bender, but insisted 
that McGraw's pitching staff was so much su- 
perior that it would decide the issue in favor of 
the Giants. 

The great Christy Mathewson, the sensational 
"Rube" Marquard, the sturdy Tesreau, and the 
clever Demaree were regarded as the best quartet 
of twirlers the National League could offer. 
None doubted the ability of Bender and Plank, 
although some insisted that age had slowed up 
both men. But the base-ball writers persisted in 
believing that none of Mack's youngsters would 
be able to deliver the needed hits. 

There have been few greater pitchers than the 
late Addie Joss. Joss always insisted that pitch- 
ing was sixty per cent, of the game. My observa- 
tions have led me to believe that his summing up 
of the situation was about right. Pitching was 
the determining factor in the recent World's 
Series, but not the pitching of the New York 
staff, as had been expected. The phenomenal 
twirling of the forty-year-old Plank, the veteran 
Bender, and the nineteen-year-old youngster, 
"Bullet" Bush, was what did the work. The 

Athletics hit the offerings of the Giant twirlers, 
excepting Mathewson, very hard, while Plank, 
Bender, and Bush kept the New Yorkers in 

There is no denying the fact that the pitcher 
is the popular hero. Very often the catcher plays 
an even more prominent part in a team's success 
than its pitchers do, but very little consideration 
is given the back-stop, at least in comparison with* 
the pitchers. When a fan goes to the game, the 
thing he gives consideration is who will do the 
pitching. The announcement that Walter John- 
son, Christy Mathewson, or any of the other stars 
will pitch is certain to swell the crowd by several 

To illustrate what a hold on the public star 
players obtain, I will tell you about a very promi- 
nent business man of Chicago who regards John- 
son as "the last word in pitching," a deduction 
that is just about correct. This man does not 
enthuse very much over the Washington club. I 
have heard him say that with Johnson off the 
team, it would have no attraction for him. But 
he believes that to miss a game when Johnson is 
in the box would be a grave mistake, and so he 
makes it a rule never to miss a game when Wash- 
ington plays in Chicago. No matter who starts 
the game, he sticks to the finish, always hoping 
that at some stage of the game Manager Griffith 
will call upon Johnson. 

Most star players, at one time or another in 
their careers, aspired to be pitchers. A good 
many of them have started at the pitching game, 
and then found out that they were not destined to 
shine in that capacity. Others, although rated 
among the game's greatest infielders or outfield- 





ers, still yearn for the pitching job. If you will 
watch Tris Speaker, Hal Chase, Ty Cobb, or any 
of the other stars prior to the beginning of a 
game, nine times out of ten you will see them do 
some pitching. Cobb and Chase are both quite 
clever in that line, and each of them has done 
some pitching. Catchers say that Cobb has devel- 
oped a spit ball that many a Big League twirler 
would be proud of. 

Almost any one who has ever played ball can 
recall a time when he desired to pose as a pitcher. 
A good many can remember occasions when they 
threatened to break up the game if not allowed to 
do the twirling. There is something about pitch- 
ing that seems to appeal to everybody who has 
ever played the game at all. Undoubtedly it is 
the fact that more is made of the position by the 
public and the press than of any other position on 
the team. Seldom do fans leave the park without 
commenting on the good or bad work of the 
twirlers. The pitching job keeps a man con- 
stantly in the limelight, and perhaps that is one 
important reason why every youngster yearns 
to emulate the deeds of the great pitchers he so 
frequently reads about on the sporting pages. 

Of the latter-day twirlers perhaps the name of 
no one is more firmly imprinted on the minds of 
the game's lovers than that of Christy Mathew- 
son, the wonderful pitcher of the New York 
Giants. Back in 1905, Mathewson was the main- 
stay of the Giants in the series with the Athletics, 
which the Giants won because of his magnificent 
work. In 191 1, Mathewson was chiefly relied 
upon again by McGraw, in the series with the 
Athletics. This series was lost, but not because 
of any poor pitching on the part of Mathewson. 
In 1912, Mathewson was said by the critics to be 
"all in"; but his work in the big series with the 
Boston "Red Sox" that autumn was easily the 
feature of the struggle, despite the fact that he 
did not win a game in three starts. Twice he 
was defeated by a single run because his support 
faltered at the critical moment, and the other 
game he pitched ended in a tie. In 1913, Mathew- 
son was still McGraw's chief hope in the big 
series. The one victory, over Plank by a score of 
3 to o in ten innings, that the Giants won was 
made possible by his great pitching. Every year 
since he entered the service of the New York 
club, he has kept the team in the race by his mas- 
terly work in the box. No wonder he is the idol 
of the fans; no wonder his name is so constantly 
seen in the newspaper pages ; no wonder the 
young pitchers who are growing up look upon 
him as a man after whom to mold themselves. 
They have a perfect right to, for Mathewsons are 
few and far between, when it comes to base-ball. 

Mathewson when in the box has a very pe- 
culiar style. From your seat in the grand stand, 
you cannot understand why the batters do not 
knock the ball to all corners of the field. The ball 
appears to sail lazily up to the plate and almost 
beg you to hit it. Mathewson was a great pitcher in 
1905, and is still a great pitcher, because he never 
forgot the fact that he had eight men to assist 
him in his effort to win the game. He always 
gives those eight men plenty of opportunity to do 
their share, and thereby saves his arm at every 
opportunity. When the pinch comes, he can 
tighten up just a little bit tighter than almost any 
other pitcher in the business. He pitches in a 
pinch just as some pitchers try to work the entire 
nine innings. That is the most important reason 
why Mathewson continues to be a great pitcher, 
while twirlers who entered the Major League 
ranks long after he did have drifted back to the 

Steve Evans, the clever outfielder, and the 
comedian of the National League, is a great 
admirer of the New York star. Because of the 
reason that I live in the same city that he does, 
I see Evans often during the winter season. 
Recently in discussing Mathewson, he made the 
following interesting comment : 

"At first Matty makes you think he is the 
easiest pitcher in the world to hit, and the next 
moment he makes you think you are very foolish 
for so thinking. The first time I faced Matty I 
hit safely. Upon reaching the bench I allowed 
myself to become a bit puffed up over my suc- 
cess, even though I had been thrown out by a 
mile when I attempted to steal. The next time 
up I crashed one into the fence for a double. 
When I got back to the bench, I asked my team- 
mates if they were sure it was Matty who was 
pitching. The third time up I singled. When I 
reached first, I told the boys I would like to bat 
against Mathewson every day; that I would be 
leading the League in batting. But, right here let 
me call attention to the fact that nobody was on 
the bases when I made these three hits ! The 
last two times I faced Mathewson the bases were 
filled, and in each instance a hit would have 
meant the game, and a new hero in St. Louis. I 
did n't even make a foul. I was outguessed at 
every stage. Do you wonder that I regard Chris- 
topher as some pitcher?" And with a smile he 
concluded his remarks with : "Any pitcher who 
can strike out Steve Evans twice in a pinch is 
bound to be a great pitcher." 

The estimate of Mathewson here given by the 
St. Louis outfielder is a truly accurate one. 
Mathewson will allow the batter to get the edge 
on him when nothing is at stake ; but when the 




game is in the balance, nine times out of ten lie 
holds the high hand. He is a pitcher with a brain 
as well as the brawn. He makes just as little 
work out of pitching as possible. He calls on his 
reserve stock of strength only when it is abso- 
lutely necessary. His curves are the ordinary 
curves when nothing is at stake, but his change 


of pace and his famous "fade- 
away" are well-nigh unhittaldc 
when a safe drive means the game. 

Another great pitcher who for 
years has commanded the atten- 
tion of the American public is Ed 
Walsh. He is a regular glutton 
for work, and for years has been 
the mainstay of the Chicago Amer- 
ican League club. Walsh depended 
on a freak delivery for his suc- 
cess—the spit ball. Undoubtedly 
he is the most successful user of 
that delivery. 

Year after year, Walsh has taken part in from 
forty to sixty games. When he did not start the 
games, he would be rushed into the fray to finish, 
or would be kept warming up, ready to go to the 
aid of a faltering twirler. Walsh's control of the 
spit ball was almost uncanny. Most managers 
and pitchers will tell you that the "spitter" is very 
deceptive, and that few pitchers have any idea as 
to just where the ball is going when they start 

it toward the plate. Walsh was one pitcher who 
could control the spitter. He was one of the few 
spit-ball pitchers who invariably served up the 
moist delivery when there were three balls and 
two strikes on the batter. Most pitchers at this 
stage put aside the spitter, and use the fast ball, 
in order to get the ball over some part of the 

When the spit ball is broken low, it is the most 
effective. The pitcher who can keep the spit ball 
the height of the knee is the pitcher who will 
make trouble for the opposition. It seemed that 
Walsh could throw the ball knee-high nine times 
out of ten, and it was his ability to do that that 
made his delivery so hard to hit. Because of the 
fact that he worked so often, and because he 
relied almost entirely on the spit ball, and threw 
it a great number of times during each game, it 
was freely predicted that Walsh would not last 
very long. Back in 1907, they began to say that 
the big fellow was "down and out" ; but not until 
last year did he show the least signs of faltering. 
At the beginning of the 1913 season, he looked 
as good as ever. In the opening game. Manager 
Callahan rushed him to 
the rescue, with the 
bases filled and no one 
out. The best the big 
fellow could do in such 
a critical situation was 
to retire the next three 
men on strikes. It was 
"some pitching." But it 
was not long before he 
began to complain of 
trouble with his arm, 
and during the greater 
part of the season just 
closed, he was of prac- 
tically no use to the Chi- 
cago club. The strenu- 
ous campaigns of the 
past and the almost con- 
tinual use of a delivery 
known to raise havoc 
with the arm, seem to 
have finally got in their 
deadly work. Walsh ex- 
pects to come back — all great athletes do. It 
will mean much to the Chicago club if he is able 
to regain his old-time form. 

Walsh's leaving the Big League will mark the 
exit of a pitcher who had the most deceptive 
motion for holding a runner close to first base 
that I have ever seen. Ability to hold runners 
close to the bases, thus minimizing the chance of 
their stealing, is one of a pitcher's greatest assets. 







Walsh had such a deceptive motion that it was 
almost fatal to get any distance away from first. 
Players and managers of rival teams have argued 
for years that the motion was a balk, pure and 
simple. Every now and then, an umpire would so 
regard it, but ordinarily Walsh got away with his 
peculiar motion. However, the use of it has 
caused many an umpire a sleepless night, and has 
created riots for some of them. No one will relish 
the passing of Walsh from the Big Leagues, 
but many will say "Amen" when his motion to 
first base makes its exit. 

To my way of thinking, there never was a 
greater pitcher than Walter Johnson. Not having 
seen many of the pitchers of the old school in 
action, of course I am really in no position to 
make a comparison. But I have talked with a 
number of the stars of years ago, who are now 
practically forgotten, and all of them unite in 
saying that a better pitcher than the Washington 
star never threw a ball. 

I umpired the first game Walter Johnson 
pitched in the American League. At that time, 
he had nothing in the way of curves, but he 
surely did have the speed ! He faced Detroit in 
his first game, and they had a team of "sluggers," 
who, as they declared, "simply ate up speed." 
Yet they had the hardest kind of a time defeating 
Johnson in that game by a score of 2 to i. The 
two runs were made possible not through slug- 
ging, as the "Tigers" won most of their games, 

but by a couple of puny bunts and a few misplays. 
No greater tribute could be paid to Johnson's 
speed than that. And not once during the game 
did he use a curve ball ! 

A wonderful arm, a good brain, and a grand 
disposition have tended to make Johnson a pitcher 
who will be talked about as long as base-ball is 
played. When he joined the American League, 
he knew nothing about fielding his position, and 
no one thought he would be much of a batsman. 
It did not take him long to learn that a pitcher 
with nothing but speed, no matter how great that 
speed might be, was at a decided disadvantage. 

By constant practice, Johnson soon made him- 
self one of the very best fielding pitchers in the 
American League. Teams that could not hit his 
speed, but made trouble for him by bunting, were 
forced to change their tactics, and players who at 
first had "tied Johnson up in a knot" by bunting, 
were finding themselves thrown out with the 
greatest ease. The sluggers on the various teams, 
realizing that because of Johnson's control there 
was little chance of being hit, would "get a toe 
hold," to use base-ball slang, when they faced 
him, and thereby have a better chance of hitting 
his speed, as they would be set for the pitch. 

This caused the tall pitcher to do some more 
thinking, and he decided it was up to him to 
develop a change of pace, and master a slow ball. 
All of a sudden, batters who had been making it 
a point to "get a toe hold" and "lay for the fast 




ones," were thrown completely off their stride by 
a pitch that came up so slowly that it would 
scarcely break a pane of glass, followed by a fast- 
breaking curve. Johnson in a very short time 
developed into one of the most finished twirlers 
who ever took part in the great national game. 

His fine disposition is as great an asset to him as 
his wonderful pitching ability. Success has not 
changed him the least bit. He is the same re- 
tiring, modest chap to-day that he was when he 
joined the Washington club, in 1907. He is 
never peevish with his team-mates, no matter how 
badly they play. Nor does he fume about the 
umpiring, regardless of what that official does. 
Johnson simply pitches, and lets the other men 
perform their duties to the best of their ability. 
He is a wonderful pitcher, and an equally won- 
derful fellow, personally. 

Chief Bender, of the Athletics, is one of the 
craftiest twirlers that ever pitched a ball. He is 
a great student of the game, and if a batter shows 
the least sign of weakness of a certain ball. 
Bender never forgets to take advantage of that 
point when opposing that particular player. I 
seriously doubt if any pitcher knows more about 
the finer points of the twirling game than Mack's 
great Indian. Bender's control is unusually good, 
and because of it he works the batter to the limit. 
He puts mighty few balls across the heart of the 
plate, and is always trying to make the batter 
strike at the kind of a ball he does not like. His 
gameness under fire has been well established. 
In the pinch, Mack has almost invariably called 
on the chief, and to use Mack's own words, "The 
Indian has never failed me." 

Mordecai Brown, the "three-fingered marvel," 
and the pitcher who did much to keep the Chicago 
"Cubs" in the running, will long live in the his- 
tory of base-ball as one of the game's greatest 
pitchers. He was taken on by Cincinnati last 
year after Chicago had decided he was "all in." 
He justified the confidence his old comrade, Joe 
Tinker, had in him by pitching high-class ball 
for him. Brown was always a great pitcher in a 
pinch. Frank Chance usually called on him when 
there was much at stake, and Brown seldom 
failed him. One of the most remarkable things 
he did was to defeat Mathewson almost every 
time the two stars faced each other. Brown was 
the possessor of a corking curve ball and an ac- 
tive brain, and was a pitcher hard to beat, for he 
never lost heart, no matter how tense was the 

Almost forty years of age, the star of many a 
campaign, and the pitching surprise of the recent 
World's Series, that is Eddie Plank, the phenom- 

enal left-hander of the Philadelphia Athletics. 
When I first umpired behind Plank, nine years 
ago, he showed me the greatest cross-fire delivery 
I had ever seen. Naturally, age has tended to 
impair the strength of that great pitching arm, 
but there is a lot above Mr. Plank's shoulders, 
and he gives serious consideration to every batter 
who faces him. Plank has a more deliberate way 

of pitching than any 
other man I know. The 
older he gets the more 
deliberate he becomes. 
If he continues to pitch 
until he is fifty, it will 
l)e necessary to start 
tiie games in which he 
is scheduled to pitch 
a])out an hour earlier 
than the time usually 

Upon receiving the 
l)all from the catcher, 
Eddie wipes his hands 
on the ground, hitches 
up his trousers, and 
then adjusts his cap, 
a fler w'hich he is ready 
lo receive the signal 
from the catcher. Af- 
ter getting it, or be- 
lieving he has, he 
makes his way to the 
rubber. The batter in 
the meantime is won- 
dering if he really in- 
tends to pitch the ball. 
Eddie then scratches 
around with his spiked 
shoes, reminding one 
of an old hen, and, fol- 
lowing that, decides he had better get the sig- 
nal again, so as to be sure he has not made a 
mistake. About the time the batter begins to 
wonder whether he is at a ball game or taking a 
trip in an airship, Eddie unexpectedly pitches the 
ball. There is no denying that his deliberate 
method plays havoc with the batters. 

It is great to be a star pitcher. Walter John- 
son is said to have signed for $12,500 for the 
coming season, the largest salary ever paid any 
pitcher. Mathewson has long had a $10,000 con- 
tract. Walsh is getting close to that amount, as 
are Bender and Plank. There are few pitchers 
of any great prominence who are getting less 
than $5000. A pretty good salary for working a 
couple of hours every third or fourth day. 


{To be continued.) 





A ra I rK navmfl^ dressed Kimself in aviaioKs clotKes, 

Tied many pretiv ButierFlies toaetKer. 
Lxactly now he mancmed it, none 'but tTieFairj'' knows. 
The day v/as>'ound; deliAhxrul was ine weaiker. 

o o, mounted on his Aeropiane, he star-i:ed m a trice. 

To 'aviate is Q.uite an occupation; 
Desides, an Aeroplane ox jOu/rerr/ies is rather nice ! 

It looks exact[ the illustration. 

D ut when the Aeroplane espied aDaisy fiela below, 
It made a dip that sent Ihe Fairy flyind, 

And landed on the honey-laden flowers in a row. 
The Aviator started home a-ci^^ma.! 



r .r 



\\ ^■''^ 








Author of " Tlie Flower Princess," " The Lonesomest iJoU," etc. 

Chapter VIII 


Meanwhile, in fear of the terrible ogre who 
had doubtless laid his wicked spell upon the Prin- 
cess, Maggie had fled like the other two. Losing 
sight of them, she turned into a path between 
high box hedges which she thought was the one 
by which she had come into the garden. But she 
soon learned her mistake. This path kept turn- 
ing at sharp angles, doubling upon itself in the 
strangest way. It kept branching into other 
paths, too, so that she did not know which way 
to go. She seemed to be going around in a cir- 
cle without getting anywhere. She heard the 
ogre's terrible voice close to her, though she 
could not see him because the hedge was so high. 
"Where are yez?" he called. "Where are yez, 
ye little villains?" 

Maggie tried to go softly. But suddenly she 
tripped on a stone and fell headlong. It bruised 
her knees, and she could not help crying out a 
little. The ogre was just on the other side of the 
hedge, and heard her. 

"Oh!" he cried. "So there yez are! Ye 're 
in the maze, and can't find yer way out now. 
I 've got yez then, caught like a mouse in a trap ! 
Ho, ho !" he roared, with a terrible laugh. 

Maggie was dreadfully frightened at his last 
words. She did not know what a maze was. But 
she did feel like a mouse in a trap. She ran on 
and on wildly, growing more and more breath- 
less and tearful, and always hearing close at hand 
the growling voice of the ogre, whom she could 
not see. 

She hesitated between two ways to go, and, 
choosing one, found herself presently in a little 
opening where there was a seat and a table un- 
der a tiny arbor. Panting and flushed, she fell 
upon the seat. Her strength was quite gone, and 
she felt ill. The high box hedge rose about her 
on every side. She could hear the ogre coming, 
but she could not escape. She was truly caught 
in a trap. Presently, the ugly face of the ogre 
appeared in the opening. 

"Ah I There yez are !" he cried, brandishing 
his pitchfork and grinning cruelly. "But where 
are the other two? There was a b'y. I wanted 
to kill him first! Where is he?" 

"I don't know !" gasped Maggie. "Please don't 
kill me !" 

"G-r-r!" growled the ogre. "What do ye 
mean, then, trespassin' on private grounds ? Don't 
ye know any better, ye spalpeen ? It 's a thief ye 
are, come to steal the flowers and the fruit,— 
and other things, for all I know." 

"I 'm not a thief !" said Maggie, with some 
show of spirit. 

"G-r-r! How do I know that?" snarled the 
ogre. "You come along with me, and I '11 fix 
ye !" 

"Oh, please!" begged Maggie, as he grasped 
her arm roughly, "I only wanted to see the Prin- 

"To see the Princess, is it ?" growled he. "And 
is that why ye come spyin' and pryin' about the 
lady's private gardin, gettin' wound up in her 
maze, and frightenin' her parrot? You come 
along, and we '11 see what we '11 see !" 

The ogre kept tightly hold of her arm. He 
very well knew the way out of the maze, and in 
a few minutes they were in the garden, mount- 
ing the marble steps toward where the parrot 
still sat, very much ruffled in temper. 

"Caught ! Ha, ha ! Caught !" he mocked, as 
Maggie was led past him. "Oh, fie ! No tres- 
passing ! Tut, tut, tut !'' he clucked with his 
tongue in a most insulting manner. Maggie eyed 
him with awe and terror. How could a bird 
know so much, and talk about it, too ? She con- 
cluded that he must be a human being changed 
into a bird. 

As they came nearer to the house, Maggie saw 
a white figure flash across the veranda and van- 
ish within. She was sure it must be the Princess. 
The ogre dragged Maggie to the foot of the steps 
and paused. Then he gave a great cough : 
"Ahem ! Ho, ho!" 

Almost immediately, a white-robed young wo- 
man with stiff cuffs and collar and an apron came 
out, and stood looking at the two inquiringly. 

"I caught this young un in the gardin," said 
the ogre, hoarsely. "There was three of 'em ; 
another girl and a boy, who got away. This one 
I trapped in the maze. He, he I" he chuckled 

"Well?" queried the woman, looking keenly at 
Maggie, "what does she say for herself?" 

"Says she wants to see the Princess !" growled 
the ogre. "I don't know what she manes, but 
I '11 turn her over to you, and ye can see what 
the lady says to it. But if I catch that boy, I 'm 




going to skin and eat him !" When he had ut- 
tered these terrible words, the ogre turned away 
with his pitchfork over his shoulder. 

"So you were stealing flowers, were you?" said 
the young woman, looking sternly at Maggie. 
"Well, are n't you ashamed of 

Maggie was about to deny 
this indignantly, when a little 
bell tinkled inside the house. 

"You stay here till I come 
back," said the woman. "It 's 
no use your trying to run 
away, you know. He will 
catch you again, sure." She 
nodded toward the spot where 
Maggie could see the shoul- 
ders of the ogre moving behind 
some shrubbery, then she hur- 
ried away into the house. 
Maggie sank wearily down on 
the step of the piazza, wonder- 
ing what would happen next. 

Presently, the woman re- 
turned. "Come along with 
me, child," she said, leading 
the way into the house. 

It was a beautiful house, all 
white and cool and airy, with 
soft rugs covering a floor as 
smooth and slippery as ice. 
There were flowers every- 
where. On the walls were 
pictures and book-shelves, and 
beautiful vases, and things 
which Maggie longed to stop 
and examine. She had a 
glimpse of a cool dining-room 
where a table was set with 
glittering silver and crystal ; 
of a staircase winding up and 
dividing into two parts quite 
wonderfully. The palace of 
the Princess was difi^erent 
from what Maggie had fan- 
cied, but was even more 
beautiful, because it was so 
homelike, and cozy, and com- 
fortable, as well as grand. 

Her guide led Maggie into a room full of 
books, from floor to ceiling. Maggie had never 
seen so many books before in all her life; not 
even in the Settlement library. She wondered if 
among them there were any fairy books that she 
had not read. There were a table, a desk, and 
some chairs, and in one corner a tall screen with 
flowers and birds embroidered upon it. The wo- 

man led Maggie straight up to this screen, and 
then paused. A voice came from behind the 
screen. "You may go, Miss Miggs. Please shut 
the door after you." 

The young woman went away, and Maggie was 

HA, ha! caught!' he mocked, as MAGGIE 

left alone in the room with the voice. For a few 
moments there was complete silence. 

"You must not try to see me," said the voice, 
presently— such a sweet voice 1 Maggie almost 
fancied she had heard it before somewhere, 
though she could not remember; perhaps it was 
only in a dream. "I suppose you will obey now." 
The voice grew a trifle sterner. 




'T did n't mean to disobey," said Maggie, quav- 
eringly. She suddenly felt very tired and ill, 
her head was throbbing painfully, and she wanted 
to cry. "I did n't think it was very wrong — " 

''You took everything that came your way; all 
the privileges, and the presents, and the good 
things. But you would not mind ; you could not 
check your curiosity that once. Oh, we are dis- 


"Not to trespass where you were not invited? 
Not to disobey the sign 'No Passing Through' ? 
It was put there to test you. We thought we 
could trust you." Maggie was silent, and the 
tears were in her eyes. She had nothing to say 
for herself. The voice went on: 

appointed in you, Maggie Price — more 

I did n't 

pointed than I can say !" 

A tear rolled down Maggie's cheek 
mean to !" she said. "I 'm sorry." 

"What did you want?" questioned the voice, 
more sharply. "They say you were found in the 




sunken garden, bothering the parrot. Were you 
stealing flowers ?" 

"Oh, no, I was n't stealing!" cried Maggie. 
"Bob wanted to see the ponies, and Bess did, too ; 
and I—" 

"And you?" the voice echoed questioningly. 

"I wanted to see the Princess," said Maggie, 
simply. "I 've got to go back to the city in three 

"H-m!" The voice was softer, but it grew 
hard again. "You ought to know better than to 
trespass, and spy, and pry. These are private 

"The gate was open," volunteered Maggie, 
with some spirit, though her knees were shaking. 

"That was a test, too," answered the voice. 
"We hoped you would not try to come in to-day 
when you were not invited. If you had been 
good children, there would have been such a nice 
treat to-morrow !" 

Maggie sobbed aloud at this ; but the voice was 
now quite cold, and went on without noticing the 
interruption : "We might have known how it 
would be. You cared only for what we could 
give you. You did not wish to please any one. 
You are like every one else, Maggie Price. You 
want to get all you can, and you don't care how 
you do it. Give you an inch and you take an 
ell. I 'm tired of it ! Why did I ever imagine 
there could be anything different?" 

Maggie said nothing, but stood with the tears 
rolling down her cheeks, a picture of misery. 
If the owner of the voice could have seen her 
now, surely she would not have spoken so 

"There, you may go," said the voice, finally ; 
and there was no sweetness at all left in the 
tones. "You will not be punished except in one 
way. You shall never come to the Park again, 
neither you nor those other two ungrateful chil- 
dren. The game is ended." 

A little bell tinkled behind the screen, and im- 
mediately Miss Miggs appeared at the door. 
"Take the child to the main entrance," the voice 
commanded, "and let her go home by the shortest 
way. She will not trouble us again." 

Miss Miggs did as she was bid. She led Mag- 
gie through the house— bigger than the tene- 
ment; big enough for twenty families— down the 
hall,— wider than the alley in which Maggie played 
at home,— to the great front door. Without any 
words they followed the avenue with its lovely 
flower beds and fountains to the entrance guarded 
by the marble lions. Here Miss Miggs pulled 
the bolt and let Maggie pass through. "Do you 
know the way home, child?" she asked, not un- 
kindly. Maggie nodded, and pointed up the hill. 

"Ah, yes," said Miss Miggs. "You live at Mrs. 
Timmins's? I thought so. Well, good-by. You'd 
better not be caught here again. They 're awful 
fussy about letting strangers see this place. Some 
might call it selfish,— but it 's no business of 
mine. Now run along. You look sick, child. 
Your cheeks are red as fire ! Tell the folks to 
put you to bed as soon as you get home." 

Maggie walked away slowly up the hill, feel- 
ing strangely tired. 

"I feel almost as if I 'd been magicked !" she 
said wearily, as she went in at the gate of the 
farm. "And I 've given away my lucky stone !' 

Chapter IX 


It was a beautiful, bright morning in Bonny- 
burn. The whole air was sweet with the per- 
fume of flowers growing in the various gardens 
of the Park. Even the parrot, on his perch in 
front of the veranda, was in an unusually pleas- 
ant humor, and made happy noises as he looked 
proudly down upon his coat of many colors. 

Allegra lay in her chair just as she had done 
on the day when Maggie came to Bonnyburn. 
But this time no butterfly tempted her to wander 
out of her sad mood. Miss Miggs came out on 
the piazza singing, but stopped when she saw 
the occupant of the chair. 

"Well, I declare !" she cried, "I did not know 
you were here. Miss Allegra. I thought you had 
gone to walk in the garden, the way you 've been 
doing every morning this last week." 

Allegra shook her head slowly. "No," she 
said, "I 'm tired of the garden. I shall spend the 
morning here, probably." 

"Oh !" cried Miss Miggs, with a disappointed 
air. Her charge had been so much livelier and 
more human of late, that she had hoped the 
change was permanent, and that soon she her- 
self might go away to where she was more 
needed. This relapse was very discouraging. 
"By the way," she said carelessly, "a big express 
bundle has come from Boston. What do you 
wish done with it?" 

Allegra frowned. "It is of no consequence 
now," she said. "Have James take it up to the 
green room in the west wing." 

"Yes, Miss." The nurse sailed away to exe- 
cute this errand. The parrot cocked his mali- 
cious little eye at his mistress, and chuckled. 

"He, he, he ! Thieves ! Trespassers ! Fie !" 
he cried, as if he knew what she was thinking 
about at that moment. He began a series of 
monologues on the subject, varying the words, 
but keeping to the original theme with madden- 




ing persistence. At last, Allegra could stand 
it no longer. She rose and went down the ter- 
race to find Michael, the gardener, and have him 
remove the tiresome bird. Also, she wanted to 
have a talk with Michael about the subject upon 
which Old Nick was so eloquent. Allegra walked 
with a much lighter step than a week ago, and 
before she knew it, she found herself at the 
great cobweb which barred the path to the gate. 
She tore it down pettishly, and went on. When 
she came to the gate, she paused. Caesar was 
lying by the gate, half asleep. He wagged his 
tail expectantly as she approached. 

"I wonder if they took me at my word?" she 
thought. "Perhaps they will come, after all. I 
should like to know." She paused at the gate, 
listening. But there was no sound to break the 
stillness. Allegra drew a key from her pocket, 
and, inserting it, lifted the latch cautiously and 
peered outside. Csesar also thrust out his head 
and sniffed. There was no one to be seen, up or 
down the pasture. Allegra sighed. 

"It is too bad !" she said to herself. "There 
were many more things I could have done for 
them, if they had not been such ungrateful little 
creatures. Come in, Caesar." She closed the 
gate and locked it irritably, then, almost without 
thinking, continued her walk. Caesar stayed by 
the gate. Allegra came first to the garden of 
the peacocks, the lake, and the swans. Getting 
into the green boat, she paddled idly about the 
lake until she tired of the exercise, and drew up 
at the little island. But, instead of landing, with 
a sigh and a yawn she dropped the oars and lay 
back on the cushions, drifting. Everything was 
dull and stupid to-day. She missed something 
that had been making life interesting of late. 

"Oh, dear !". mused Allegra. "Why could n't 
they have been different? Why does every one 
disappoint me so?" 

Restlessly she wandered over the Park: to the 
wishing-well, and the cave, and the wigwam,— 
all the places which the children had enjoyed on 
the different days of mystery. Finally, she re- 
turned to the villa. But instead of sinking back 
on the cushions of the long chair, she made her 
way through the hall and up-stairs to a little 
room in the west wing. It was the green room, 
where the Penfolds had stored away all the old 
toys, fancy costumes, and theatrical "proper- 
ties" which a series of children had collected in 
years past. Over a chair hung a long, brown 
robe such as the children's old guide had worn 
one morning. Beside it were tossed green hose 
and russet doublet, a hat with a red feather, a 
bow and a;rrows. On the table lay several wigs, 
a witch-wife's long gray hair, an old man's 

snowy locks and beard, a boy's short black curls. 
Allegra eyed them with disfavor ; finally, she 
seized them impatiently, and began to stuff them 
into one of the trunks, the lid of which was 

As she shut in the folds of the Peter Pan cos- 
tume, something fell from it upon the floor. It 
was a small stone, shaped like a heart, with a 
white stripe around it. Allegra picked it up and 
looked at it earnestly. 

"Maggie's lucky stone !" she said. "The little 
thing sent it to me to bring me luck. She said 
it was all she had. I wonder if that is true, — I 
know so little about her. She did not seem Hke a 
selfish, grasping child. I wonder if I was too 
hard on her? Children are curious, and I sup- 
pose it was a great temptation to them all. Per- 
haps it was n't quite fair to tempt them so." She 
put the lucky stone in her pocket. 

Behind the door stood a large express package, 
as yet unopened. Allegra set herself to undoing 
the fastenings, and strewed the contents care- 
lessly about her on the floor. There were dolls, 
animals, mechanical toys, books and favors, rib- 
bons and gloves, and children's garments. In a 
box by itself was the spangled dress and wand 
of a conventional fairy. Allegra took this out 
carefully, and held it up with something like 
eagerness. "It is perfect!" she murmured. "If 
only they could have kept up the game a little 
longer. What geese !" And she shook the glit- 
tering dress as she would have liked to shake 
the children who had disappointed her and spoiled 
her plans. 

Allegra sat down in the window with Maggie's 
lucky stone in her hand and with the fairy dress 
across her knees, and pondered. 

"I can write to them," she said to herself. "I 
can have them find mysterious notes in some 
strange place. If I say I have forgiven them, 
I believe they would come again. Maggie said 
she was to go home in a few days,— there is no 
time to lose. There might be rain, which would 
spoil everything. Yes, — I '11 write now." 

Allegra laid the fairy dress carefully on a 
chair, went down to the library, and busied her- 
self with pen and paper. To her there came Miss 
Miggs, with a stern look on her face and deter- 
mination in her eye. 

"If you please. Miss Allegra," said Miggs, 
standing before the desk at which Allegra sat, 
"you told me yesterday that I need not give no- 
tice, but could go any time I wanted to, for you 
did n't need me. And I think that is true. I 'd 
like to go at once, then." 

"Why, what is the matter?" asked Allegra, 
looking up from her note with annoyed surprise 




at being thus interrupted. "Has anything hap- 

"Nothing important to you, Miss," said the 
nurse, with biting emphasis. "But there 's a child 
taken sick with scarlet fever, and I 'm going to 
nurse her." 

"A child?" said Allegra, laying down her pen, 
"what child?" 

"Nobody of any account to you, Miss," an- 
swered Miggs, cruelly. "A child at Farmer Tim- 
mins's, up the road." 

"Oh!" cried Allegra, half rising from her 
chair, "which one?" 

"The little city girl called Maggie," replied 
the nurse, looking steadily at Allegra; "the one 
Michael caught trespassing, and that you had 
brought to you in here, and then sent packing 
home, crying all the way as if her heart would 

"Maggie !" exclaimed Allegra, clasping her 
hands. "Oh, I am so sorry 1 The poor little 
thing ! If I had only known !" 

"She looked sick yesterday," went on the nurse 
in her professional manner. "I knew something 
was the matter. The doctor says she must have 
brought the infection from the city. She lives 
in a wretched tenement, it seems, and her folks 
are n't good to her. She 's got to be quarantined 
from the other children, and I 'm going to nurse 
her through." Miss Miggs's determination was 

Allegra's mind moved rapidly. "Where can 
she be quarantined?" she asked. "There 's no 
suitable place in the village, is there?" 

The nurse shook her head. "There 's a camp 
out in the woods that some men have just left,— 
a nice shack with everything all ready for the 
next tenant. The doctor 's going to fix us up 

"But how inconvenient it will be 1" cried Alle- 
gra. "No hot and cold water— none of the things 
you are accustomed to." 

"I can do it," said Miss Miggs. "It 's the best 
we can arrange. The country folks are so scared, 
it 's got to be some place away from everybody 
in the village." 

Allegra was silent for a minute, then she said: 
"There 's the east wing. It is all planned for a 
quarantine, just as it was when my brother John 
was sick, years ago ; when I cried because they 
would not let me see him. We could put her 

Miss Miggs gasped in amazement. "Miss Alle- 
gra 1 Do you mean it?" Her eyes shone eagerly. 

"She can have the little pink bedroom," an- 
swered Allegra; "she would like that when she 
got better. And you had best move your things 
into the blue room next to it. I will telephone 
the doctor to have Maggie brought here directly, 
and I '11 tell the maids what they must do to 
make ready. You can get whatever you need at 
the village; or, if they are not supplied, I will 
myself go to the Junction in the automobile." 

Allegra bustled out of the room with more ani- 
mation than she had shown for months, while 
the nurse stared after her with eyes wide open. 

"Well, I never !" was all she said. 

Two hours later. Bob with a scared face and 
Bess with tear-stained cheeks were sitting much 
subdued under a tree beyond the Timmins house, 
from which they had been temporarily banished. 

"Poor Maggie !" sighed Bess. "The doctor 
says she 's awful sick. And she was going back 
to the city in two days ! Was n't it strange. Bob, 
that she got sick just now?" 

"I told her she ought not to give away that 
lucky stone !" said Bob. 

Bess shook her head. "I believe it was the 
un-fairies' doings. But why did n't they punish 
us? We were badder than Maggie was. Mag- 
gie did n't want to go." 

"If that parrot had n't given us away, no one 
would ever have known," grumbled Bob. "He 's 
about the nearest to a bad fairy that I want to 
see !" 

At that moment, before the astonished gaze of 
the two children, a carriage drove up to the Tim- 
mins front porch. Bess nearly screamed aloud, 
and Bob's eyes stuck out of his head. For it was a 
tiny carriage drawn by two white ponies ! On 
the box sat a coachman in livery, and in the car- 
riage was seated Miss Miggs. The children did 
not know who she was; but it was the team of 
tiny steeds that made them stare. 

"The white ponies of the Princess !" cried 
Bess, clapping her hands. "They have come for 
Maggie ! It 's like Cinderella's coach !" 

Bob said nothing, but gave a low whistle, and 
glued his eyes upon the fascinating turnout. 
Presently, down came the doctor, and bundled 
upon his strong arm was Maggie. He put her 
upon the nurse's knees, with her head resting 
against Miggs's sympathetic shoulder. The coach- 
man touched up the ponies, and very gently they 
drove away down the road and disappeared in 
the direction of the Park. 

"Well, I never !" said Bob, just as Miss Miggs 
had done. 

(To be continued.') 




Oh, he was n't one bit like a 
buccaneer bold of the pat- 
tern of Captain Kidd ! 
And you need have no fear 
of your spine getting cold 
when you hear of the 
deeds he did. 

a gentleman true, of the 
purest degree, he undoubt- 
edly bore the palm, 
And he never invited his men 
out to sea unless it was 
perfectly calm ; 
For he feared in his own 

estimation to sink, 
Did Captain O'Chesterfield 
Paragon Pink. 

Now the cross-bones-and-skull, on 
a flag black as tar, is the time- 
honored trade-mark shown 
By piratical craft ; but the Beautiful Star never once such device had flown. 
For instead, from the rigging would gracefully swell a large pennant of brightest blue, 
Bearing '"WELCOME" in letters quite easy to spell, of a pleasant, contrasting hue; 
For from any rude shock to the feelings did shrink 
Brave Captain O'Chesterfield Paragon Pink. 

When his business demanded the taking a prize for the pay of his pirate band. 
The necessity stern he would kindly disguise by deportment politely bland. 
Not a shot would he fire, but his megaphone big in his manicured hands would take, 
And call out, "Ship ahoy ! I am sending my gig, 
— please come over to tea and cake." 

Not one "salt" by his orders salt-water 

should drink. 
Said Captain O'Chesterfield Paragon 

So delighted his captives, they never demurred to 

hand over their stores of wealth ; 
Not a thought of refusing him ever occurred, but 

they merrily quaffed his health ; 
For he practised this motto, " 'T is better, by far, 

to conquer by love than fear," 
And his guests, ere they rowed from the Beauti- 
ful Star, stood and gave him a parting cheer ! 
"An occasion of pleasure and profit, I 
Smiled Captain O'Chesterfield Paragon 




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

Chapter VIII 


When we asked Uncle Edward to tell us some- 
thing about Gary, all we could get out of him 
was, "I don't know, boys. I went through the 
place eight years ago, and there was n't the sign 
of a house anywhere around — nothing but a 
wilderness of sand." You can irnagine our sur- 
prise, then, on getting off the train at Gary, to 
find ourselves in a flourishing city of nearly forty 
thousand inhabitants. That is what a steel plant 
did for a wilderness in eight years. 

Uncle Edward had brought a pass with him 
from the main offices in Chicago, and so a guide 
was appointed to pilot us around. 

"Are there any ore-boats in?" asked Uncle 
Edward. "Take us over there, please, for I want 
these boys to see the whole show from start to 

He led us past buildings from which issued 
mysterious clanking noises, past tall structures 
that looked like giant factory chimneys. 

"But there can't be anything very interesting 
in unloading a boat," protested Will. 

"I suppose you think they take the stuff off in 
wheelbarrows," replied Uncle Edward. "If it 
had to be done by hand, it would take an army 
of men a week or more ; but now unloading ma- 
chines do the whole job in a few hours." 

The unloading machines were bridge-like 
structures mounted on wheels, and traveled on 
rails laid parallel to the dock line. Big grab- 
buckets, hung from the ends of gigantic scale- 
beams, moved forward over the boats, and dived 
down through the hatches into the holds, only to 
reappear in a moment with jaws shut tight over 
a huge bite of ore, which was dumped on shore, 
and afterward picked up by other buckets and 
dumped where required in the ore-yard. 

"But is that stuff iron?" I exclaimed. "It 
looks just like red dirt." 

"Oh, yes ; it 's iron ore, and pretty good ore, 
too. We '11 go back to the blast-furnaces now, 
and see what they do with it." 

The blast-furnaces proved to be the "factory 
chimneys" we had seen on our way to the ore- 
unloading machines. Alongside of each furnace 
were four "stoves," to heat the air that was 
blown into the furnace. The stoves were big fel- 

Copyright, 1913, by A. Russell Bond. 621 

lows, almost as high and as big around as the 

"Do you see that big pipe that goes all around 
the lower part of. the furnace?" asked Uncle 
Edward. "That is called the 'bustle pipe.' It 
feeds hot air to the 'twyers,' which are the pipes 
that carry the hot air into the furnace. They 
have copper nozl^s, and are made hollow so that 
water can keep circulating through them ; other- 
wise the intense heat of the furnace would burn 
them right out." 

"But why does n't the furnace itself melt?" I 
queried. "It is made of iron, is n't it?" 

"Yes, outside; but it has a lining of fire-brick 
that will not melt, and that protects the outer 

"Where is the door to the furnace?" I asked. 

"The door?" 

"Yes; where do they put the ore in?" 


"Why, they dump it in at the top. Don't you 
see that inclined elevator leading up to the top of 
the furnace? There goes a car of ore now." 

"But there must be a furnace door somewhere 
to let the coal in," I persisted. 

"Oh, no. In the first place, they don't use coal, 
but coke, which is coal with the coal-gas baked 
out of it. The coke goes in at the top, too." 

"What! Over the iron?" I exclaimed, mys- 

"Usually we build our fire under the pot con- 
taining the water we wish to boil," explained 
Uncle Edward ; "but here the fuel and the ore go 
into the pot together. You see, this is not like 
any ordinary furnace you ever had anything to 
do with. There is n't even an ash-door at the 
bottom, because the ashes float on top of the iron 




that collects in the bottom of the furnace, and 
so the ashes are drained off from time to time in 
the shape of molten slag. If you could get ashes 
out of an ordinary furnace or a kitchen range 
like that, it would simplify housekeeping a lot. 
The earthy matter in the ore comes out in the 
slag, too. To make the ashes and dirt melt, a lot 
of limestone is put into the furnace with the ore 
and coke. The furnace is kept full all the time, 
but the charge is constantly settling as it burns, 
and the molten part trickles down to the bottom, 
and so more material has to be added at the top. 
The materials are added through a sort of air- 
lock, like those of the tunnels you went into last 
summer, because they have further use for the 
gases,, and don't want them to escape." 

"I wish we could see the inside of the fur- 
nace," remarked Will, wistfully. 

"You can, if you want to," spoke up the guide. 

"Yes," put in Uncle Edward; "there are win- 
dows in every blast-furnace." 

"Windows !" Will exclaimed. "Oh, you are 
joking !" 

"Yes, glass windows, only the glass is colored 
so that your eyes will not be injured by the daz- 
zling glare of the incandescent metal. They are 
in the twyers, behind the air-jets, where the 
glass will not melt." 

Uncle Edward pointed to a tiny peep-hole in 
the end of one of the twyer pipes. It was just 
like the eyepiece of a telescope. When I peered 
in, I could plainly see the seething mass in the 
interior, with pieces of coke dancing in the blast 
of the twyer. 

"They are about to 'flush the cinder,' " said 
the guide. 

"He means," explained Uncle Edward, "that 
they are going to drain off some of the slag." 

We saw a man pull a long-handled plug out of 
a hole in the side of the furnace, and out gushed 
a brilliantly glowing stream. 

"What do they do with it?" I asked. 

"Just watch it," said Uncle Edward. 

The stuff flowed along rather sluggishly down 
a trough banked with molders' sand. The 
trough ended rather abruptly at the brink of a 
pit, and there, from under it, gushed a wide flat 
stream of water. The instant the slag struck the 
water, there was a burst of steam, and it ex- 
ploded into a hail-storm of hot pellets. 

"I suppose they do that to cool the stuff 
quickly," I remarked. 

"Oh,, no; there is another object in view. 
They '11 scoop the granulated stuff out of the pit 
with a clam-shell bucket, and make Portland ce- 
ment out of it. They '11 crush it, mix it with 
lime, burn it, and powder it, and then it can be 

used for concrete work. They make money now 
out of stuff that used to cost them money to get 
rid of a few years ago. Why, for every ton of 
iron, they had half a ton of slag to dispose of, 
and you can imagine how pleased they were to 
find a use for the stuff." 

"It is a wonderful sight !" said Will, turning 
back and looking at the glowing stream. 

"Yes; but that 's nothing to the splendor of 
the iron itself, as it runs out of the furnace," 
declared Uncle Edward. "You can find out for 
us, can't you, guide, when they are going to tap 
one of them?" 

As the guide turned off to make inquiries, 
Uncle Edward remarked reminiscently : "Yes, 
they have made a lot of wonderful improvements 
in ore-smelting in recent years, and that means a 
pile of money saved. Why, it is only a few years 
ago that they used to let all the blast of hot gas 
go to waste out of the top of the furnace. Now 
they burn the gas in the stoves. The stoves are 
filled with bricks to store up the heat. When 
they are hot enough, the gas is diverted to an- 
other stove, while air is pumped through the 
honeycomb of white-hot bricks. In that way, the 
air is made as hot as molten iron before it is 
pumped into the blast-furnace. After a time, the 
bricks grow comparatively cold, and the air is 
turned off and the gas is turned on again. I said 
the bricks grow cold, but not so cold that you 
would care to put your hands on them. In fact, 
they are so hot that the gas bursts into flame as 
soon as it strikes them." 

"But," protested Will, "is n't the gas that 
comes out of a furnace all burned out?" 

"Ha, ha !" laughed Uncle Edward, "I thought 
you would ask about that. In other words, you 
want to know why, if there is anything left in 
the gas to burn, it did n't burn in the furnace? 
It 's a perfectly natural question ; and this is the 
•answer: the gas that comes from an ordinary 
fire is gorged with about all the oxygen it can 
carry; it is called 'carbon dioxid.' . But in a 
blast-furnace there is so much carbon present 
that there is not half enough oxygen to go 
round, and the gas is ready to devour more 
oxygen as soon as it strikes the air. This half- 
fed gas is called 'carbon monoxid,' and is very 
much like the stuff we burn in our gas-jets. In 
fact, they are now using this gas here to run 
two enormous gas-engine plants, because the 
furnaces produce far more gas than they can use 
in the stoves. One of these plants runs the pumps 
that force the air-blast through the stoves and 
furnaces, and the other plant produces enough 
electricity to run all the machinery in the 




Just then, our- guide came back with the news 
that a certain furnace was about to be tapped. 

When we reached the furnace, men were at 
work at the tap-hole, out of which the molten 
iron was to pour. The brick paving in front of 
the furnace had a trough in it lined with sand, 
just like the trough for the slag, which was to. 
guide the molten metal to the ladles that stood 
ready on cars below. The tap-hole was closed 
with a plug of clay, but this had been cut away 
until there was only a thin wall left that showed 
red from the heat within. At a cry of warning, 
every one stood aside except one man armed 
with a long bar, which he drove into the clay 
stopper. Out squirted the fiery metal pressed by 
tons of material overhead. In a moment, it had 
widened the breach through the clay to the full 
diameter of the tap-hole, and the dazzling white 
iron poured out in a torrent, while a veritable 
shower of sparks burst into the air and rained 
down upon us. We hastily backed out of range. 
Soon the stream of liquid fire found its way to 
the farthermost ladle and began to fill it. The 
heat was so intense that we could not go any- 
where near the stream, but one of the men with 
a long-handled ladle dipped up some of the liquid 
iron and poured it into a test mold. In a few 
minutes, it had cooled enough for him to take it 
out of the mold and break it in two. Then he 
took it over to an inspector, who gazed critically 
at the grain of the broken section to determine 
the character of the iron. 

Suddenly, there was a deafening roar. Will 
and I were panic-stricken at once. To tell the 
truth, I had come to the steel-works with the 
notion that it was a dangerous place at best, and 
I was really expecting trouble from the very 
start. Naturally I supposed that a horrible acci- 
dent had occurred. The noise was very rasping 
and penetrating. Of course, while it lasted. 
Uncle Edward could not explain what it was, 
because he could not possibly pit his voice 
against that thunder. But his tantalizing smile 
assured us that there was no danger until he had 
a chance to explain that it was the "snort- 
valve." "The iron was coming out of the furnace 
a little too fast, and so they turned the 'snort- 
valve' to shut off the air-blast from the twyers. 
The noise of that escaping air will give you 
some idea of the blast that is pumped into a fur- 

One after the other the ladles were filled, and 
then the train chugged off with them. We fol- 
lowed it over to a building where a crane picked 
up the ladles, one by one, and poured their con- 
tents into a big vessel so that they would be 
mixed with iron from other furnaces. 

"They call that a mixer," explained Uncle 
Edward. "It holds three hundred tons of molten 
iron— that 's three times the weight of a good- 
sized locomotive— and yet the pot is mounted to 
turn on an axis, so as to pour out metal into the 
ladles as needed. There goes one now !" 

One of the mixers was being tilted by some 


huge invisible hand, "just like a giant tea-pot," 
as Uncle Edward put it, "spouting a stream of 
white-hot tea. And that tea-cup which we see 
there," pointing to the huge ladle, "holds sixty 
tons ! Let 's go on and see them turn that iron 
into steel." 

I had never had a very clear idea of the dis- 
tinction between iron and steel, but now I 
learned that it is mainly the carbon that makes 
the difference. Cast-iron has more carbon in it 
than steel has, and steel, in turn, has more than 
wrought-iron. The ladle that we were following 
was on its way to the "open-hearth" furnaces, ,to 
have some of its carbon burned out. That open- 
hearth building was the largest building I had 
ever seen — nearly a quarter of a mile long, and 
close to two hundred feet wide. The furnaces 
were arranged in a row down the middle of the 
building. Outside they were not very -interesting, 
but a gleam of light that showed through a hole 




in each furnace indicated that there was some- 
thing doing inside. 

"They burn gas in these furnaces, not coke," 
explained Uncle Edward. "You see, if they 
brought any coke into contact with the iron, they 
would be simply adding more carbon to it. In 
order to make the fire very hot, the gas and the 
air that burns with it are heated before entering 
the furnace. On each side of the furnace there 
is a pair of stoves filled with brick. A stack 
sucks the burned gases out of the furnace into 
one pair of stoves, heating the bricks in it, while 
the air and gas are drawn into the furnace 
through the hot bricks in the other pair of stoves. 
Then a valve is turned reversing the current, so 
that the first two stoves do the heating, while the 
other two store up heat." 

"But if the air and the gas go into the furnace 
together, why don't they burn before they get to 
the furnace?" asked Will. 

"The gas and air run through separate stoves 
and separate passages until they enter the fur- 
nace— Hold on, there \" cried Uncle Edward, 
as he saw Will go to one of the peep-holes to 
look in. "Do you want to lose your eyes? Why, 
it is as bright as the sun in there." 

"I '11 get him a pair of glasses, sir," said the 
guide. He borrowed a pair of blue goggles from 
one of the men so that we could see the iron 
boiling into steel. 

"How long does it have to stay in there?" I in- 

"That depends somewhat upon the grade of 
steel that is to be made; that is, on the amount 
of carbon that is to be left in it. It takes any- 
where from eight to twelve hours. But there is 
a way of doing it in as many minutes. Guide, 
suppose you take us over to the Bessemer plant 
next, so that these youngsters can see cast-iron 
turned into steel in ten minutes." 

"But we have n't any Bessemer furnaces at 
these works," said the guide. "We only make 
open-hearth steel here." 

"Oh, that 's so; I forgot," exclaimed Uncle 
Edward. "We '11 have to go back to Chicago to 
see them. I suppose they have Bessemer fur- 
naces there?" 

"Yes, and they have an electric furnace, too, at 
the South Works." 

"Very well; we '11 go there to-morrow." 

Tapping an open-hearth furnace cannot be 
compared in splendor with the tapping of a blast- 
furnace, but there is something so fascinating 
about the sight of liquid steel, that we had to stop 
and gaze at the spectacle until we had seen a 
ladle filled to the brim and the slag drained off 
into a smaller ladle at the side. Then a giant 

traveling-crane picked up the ladle and carried it 
off to one end of the building. 

"Now they are going to cast the ingots," said 
Uncle Edward, pointing to some large boxlike 
molds about two feet square and eight feet high. 

We watched the crane-man manoeuver the 
ladle to position over them, and then a stream of 
molten metal poured out of the bottom of it into 
one of the open-mouthed molds. As each mold 
was filled, a cover was placed over it. The molds 
were made of cast-iron, and I noticed that they 
rested on little cars. These cars were coupled 
together to make a train, which was pulled out 
into the yard by a dinkey engine, as soon as all 
the molds had been filled. It looked as though 
the brightly glowing molds must surely topple 
over, as they swayed along the uneven track and 
swerved around the switches. They looked top- 
heavy, even though they were larger at the bot- 
tom than at the top. And that puzzled me, too, 
because they had been filled from the top, and I 
could n't figure out how in the world they were 
going to get the ingot out. 

"Very simple," explained Uncle Edward, in 
answer to my query. "The mold is just a box, 
open at both top and bottom. It merely rests on 
a bottom plate. A 'stripping-machine' pulls the 
mold off from the top, leaving the ingot resting 
on the bottom plate." 

We saw that operation a moment later. The 
covers had already been removed, and then two 
hooks moved down over a pair of handles on the 
mold, and, while a plunger pressed down upon 
the glowing top of the ingot, the hooks pulled the 
mold up and lifted it clear of the ingot. After 
the molds had all been removed, the train pulled 
out with its incandescent white-hot columns, 
looking more ominous than ever as they swayed 
over the tracks. 

"Next, the ingots go to the soaking-pits," said 
Uncle Edward, "where the inside, which is still 
liquid, has a chance to become solid; then they 
go to the 'blooming-mill,' where they are rolled 
down into 'blooms,' or smaller pieces, before 
going to the rail-mill to. be rolled into steel rails." 

"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the guide; "we 
make our rails right from the ingot here." 

That was news to Uncle Edward. "Is that 
so !" he exclaimed. "Take us over there then, 
please. I know you pride yourselves on the rails 
you put out here." 

That rail-mill was certainly a wonderful sight ! 
The enormous glowing ingots were carried on a 
transfer car to a sort of trough. The floor of 
the trough, or "table," as they call it, consisted 
of a series of rollers that were turning rapidly. 
Riding on them, the big clumsy ingot sailed along 


wri'ii jmi-'.n who do '!'I!in(;s 


until it bumped against a pair of large steel rolls. 

Immediately the rolls seized it and hauled it 

through, like clothes through a clothes-wringer. 

We could not see that it had been flattened 

down very much, but we noticed that deep 

corrugations had been cut into its upper surface. 

As it moved on, the rollers 

turned it over on its side 

before it was caught by the 

next pair or "stand" of rolls. 

It went through four stands 

in succession, turning over 

between each stand, until it 

had made a complete turn. 

Then it came to what is called 

a "three-high" mill, which ha.'; 

three rolls, one above the other. 

First the "bloom," as it was 

now called, went between the 

middle and bottom rolls ; but 

the rolls were a little larger in diameter, and it 
was a tighter squeeze getting through them. And 
so the bloom went back and forth, l;eing switchetl 
over to a tighter pass each time until it was 
squeezed down to about eight inches square and 
over fortv feet long. Then it was cut in two, 

INTERIOR \ll\\ ■'! K \ll -\m,l., .snow INC (IN THli KoKKU 

no sooner had it emerged, than it was raised 
bodily, the supporting roller "tables" on both 
sides of the mill being raised up simultaneously. 
The rollers of the tables were then reversed, 
causing the bloom to start back between the mid- 
dle and top rolls. The tables were now lowered, 
their rollers reversed, and the bloom sent through 
between the middle and bottom rolls as before ; 
but this time it was switched to one side, where 

IN I 1 klOR \ II. W 01 k \IL-MILL, 

md each bloom went through 
another set of rolls that 
gradually worked it down to 
the size and shape of a rail. 
It was fascinating to watch 
that snakelike bar over a 
hundred feet long, writhing 
as if alive. As it came back 
for its last sally through the 
rolls, a whistle was blown as 
a warning that the rolling 
was finished, and the rail 
was now on its way to the 
saws. There were five cir- 
cular saws that dropped 
down upon the glowing metal, 
5ind, amid a shower of sparks, 
sawed it into four ten-yard rails. After that, the 
rails were carried off on "run-out tables" to the 
"hotbeds" to cool. 

From the rail-mill we went to the plate-mill, 
and saw big slabs of steel rolled out into long 
thin sheets, but the process was so much like 
that of rolling rails, that I am not going to de- 
scribe it here. 

The sights we saw at Gary were so impressive 





that we thought there could be Httle more to see 
at South Chicago, except possibly the electric 
furnace ; but the Bessemer plant proved to be the 
most wonderful and spectacular thing yet. The 


Bessemer converter was a big barrel-shaped 
vessel, open at the top and with a lot of nozles in 
the bottom, connected with an air-blast. The 
vessel was mounted so that it could be rocked 
over to the horizontal position. Then a ladleful 
of molten iron was poured into the converter, the 
air-blast was turned on, and the ponderous vessel 
slowly turned back to its upright position. The 
scores of air-jets blowing through the metal set 
it to boiling violently. A column of fire, sparks, 
and white-hot gases poured out of the mouth of 
the furnace, and every now and then, splashes 
of molten metal were blown, by bursting bubbles, 
high into the air, and exploded into showers of 
sparks. I never saw fireworks to equal that spec- 
tacle. All the time there was a steady roar, as 
the air forced its way up through the molten 
metal. In about ten minutes, the operation was 
over, and the vessel, still blowing a stream of 
fire, turned slowly over and poured out the 
freshly made steel. 

As we were walking toward one of the open- 
hearth buildings, we were again startled by an 
explosion. A burst of flame shot out of the door, 
and almost at the same instant, four or five men 
leaped out of a window to the ground. We 
rushed forward to see what was the matter. 

"Oh, look! look!" cried Will. 

There was a runway along the outside of the 
building about twenty feet above the ground, and 
a lot of windows opening out to it. A man had 
leaped out of one of the windows to the runway, 
wild-eyed and greatly excited. His clothing was 
afire, and he stopped to beat out the blaze, when 
suddenly he began to rush along the runway 
again, and presently dodged back into the build- 

"Why, the fellow is crazy," exclaimed Uncle 
Edward; "the excitement has gone to his head." 

We dared not enter the building at that end, 
for a mass of molten steel lay in a pool on the 
floor; but we ran to the opposite end and crowded 
in with a number of others who had collected to 
see what had happened. 

There was the man who had dashed out upon 
the runway, climbing out of his crane-cab, his 
clothing still smoking. Hanging from one hook, 


with the tackle at the other side slacked away, 
was the ladle that had done all the mischief, still 
pouring a trickle of molten metal. 



62 7 

The men all crowded around ihc cranc-niaii 
when he came down. He was pretty cool, con- 
sidering the fact that his hair was singed and 
big patches of his clothing were burned away. 

"What happened?" he was asked. 


"Don't know. Something broke, and there was 
a spill. I jumped out of me cab to get out of 
the way of the explosion." 

"But why did you go back again?" queried 
Uncle Edward. 

"To stop the crane. I had to jump too quick, 
to turn off the power." 

"Uo you iiK'an to say you IhougliL of that?" 
"Sure! I ran along ahead of the crane until 
the first flare was over, and then went back in 
again and jumped aboard the crane as she come 
along. You see, there was men in the pit as 
might not have a chance to 
get out in time, and, besides, 
if I had n't ha' stopped her, 
she 'd ha' gone to smash and 
like as not 'a' busted a hole 
through the side of the build- 
ing. You see, I just had to 
stop her." 

An inspector arrived just 
then and began an investi- 
gation. Not a life had been 
lost. Except for the crane- 
man, no one had been in- 
jured. He was only slightly 
burned, and protested vigor- 
ously against going to the 
doctor. No property had 
been destroyed ; merely a la- 
dleful of metal was lost. 
The cause of the accident 
was a broken bearing on the 
winding drum of the crane. 
"But what made the ex- 
plosion ?" I asked. 

'"There is always an ex- 
plosion when hot metal spills 
on moist ground," replied 
the inspector. 

"The steel business is 
pretty dangerous," remarked 
Uncle Edward. 

"You must n't think that a 
thing like this happens every 
day," answered the inspec- 
tor. "Why, we have n't had 
a spill like that in years. 
No, the steel business is no 
longer the dangerous one it 
used to be. We are spending 
so much on safety precau- 
tions that our men are actu- 
ally safer here in these works 
than on the streets of New 
York or Chicago. In propor- 
tion to our numbers, we have fewer accidents 
than they have in the big cities." 

We learned later that the crane-man who had 
proved such a hero was rewarded by a banquet, 
and a raise of pay, which was particularly accept- 
able, because he had been planning to get mar- 
ried the following month. 


{To be continued.) 





The footstep fairies follow you 

Wherever you may walk. 
And when you tread the grasses down, 

They push back every stalk. 

They never let you see them work, 
Though you may watch for hours, 

But hide themselves behind your feet, 
And in among the flowers. 

Then, when you 've gone along your way, 
They tug with might and main, 

Till all the little blades of grass 
Are standing straight again. 

V I 

--. \ 



" ' rr s y\ uki;adi-i;lly i;ig iioi.e!'" 




"It 's a dreadfully big hole!'" and Harry gazed, 
for the third time, at the spot where some shift- 
ing trunk in the baggage-car had punched through 
canvas and planking of the long green canoe. 

"Well," observed the matter-of-fact Fred, "if 
she had n't been smashed pretty badly, we would 
n't have got her." 

"Hello, boys ! Where 'd you get the battle- 
ship?" and the red head of "Freckles" White 
appeared above the rear fence. H there was 
anything interesting in that particular neighbor- 
hood. Freckles was pretty certain to be among 
those present. 

"Cousin Will sent his canoe home from the 
Canoe Association meet," explained Fred, "and 
the express company punched a hole in the stern 
and cut a slit in the side. They 've pretty nearly 
paid for the boat, and Will gave her to us. Now, 
it 's our job to fix her, but it does look like some- 
thing of a bit of work." 

Anything that resembled a tough proposition 
was a direct challenge to Freckles, so he climbed 
over and studied the damage with close atten- 
tion, first from the outside and then from the 
interior. "We can do it," was his verdict, where- 
at the owners brightened perceptibly, only to 
relapse into gloom again at his query, "How 
much money have you now ?" 

"Forty-nine cents," replied the brothers discon- 
solately, after turning their pockets inside out. 

"Not enough," said Freckles, decisively. "It 
costs money to put a yacht in commission and 
run her, and, if you 're to do this, you '11 have to 
cut down on soda-water and ice-cream cones, 
and quit being first-nighters at the 'movies.' 

"\Vhen your father comes home to-night, tell 
him that for three dollars and a half we can make 
that boat look and be as good as new, and that if 
he will stake you to that amount, you will cut out 
the candy store and the picture shows, and spend 
your allowances on an outfit for camping and 
cruising. My ! but you fellows can have the time 
of your lives with that canoe, a tent, and some 
dishes. Come around to-morrow if you get the 
cash, and I '11 show you what to do with it." And 
Freckles crawled back over the fence. 

"Whoop ! Wow ! Whee !" and Freckles looked 
up from his weeding next morning to see a full- 
sized Cheshire cat grin, with Fred's countenance 
behind it, shining above the fence. 

"Father said that it was worth foitr dollars to 
get us into a real boy's game, let alone a cTiance 
to laugh at Cousin Will and the express com- 
pany, but that, if we don't make good, his con- 
fidence in you will be the worse for wear." 

Freckles produced a rather grimy bit of paper. 
"Take this list in one hand and your four-dollar 
bill in the other, go down-town, and bring back 
the stuff that I 've marked on it. By the time 




you 're back I '11 have finished with the two 
bushels of weeds that have come up over night, 
and be ready to help rebuild that dreadnought 
of yours. 

"Wait ! Come back ! You might have the 
same trouble that the writing teacher does in get- 
ting at the meaning of some of my work. I '11 
read the list over to you, just to make sure: 

I yard good quality China silk 27 inches wide . $.40 

I bottle of white shellac 25 

I pint of green canoe enamel . . . . . . .70 

I pint of spar varnish 60 

I dozen sheets of ^00 sandpaper . . . . . .10 

I two-inch flat varnish-brush .25 

I three-inch flat paint-brush 50 

I one-inch flat shellac-brush 25 

Copper tacks, very small 10 


You see that I was a little high on my estimate. 
Take a good look at the color of the canoe, and 
get the same shade of green or a darker one. If 
you try to use a lighter color, it will take too 
much enamel to make a good job. Now skip!" 

The purchases made, the boys gathered about 
the canoe where it lay on the lawn, ready to 
begin work. 

Freckles took charge of the operations. He 
had evidently planned his campaign beforehand, 
for he gave his orders without any hesitation or 

"The hole in the stern is above the water-line," 
he began. "It 's almost round, so, you see, it 
won't spread. 

"First we '11 shove the splintered pieces of the 
planking back into place, so fashion, and tack 
this thin piece of shingle on the inside, first coat- 
ing it with shellac on both sides to help it to stick 
and keep it from warping. Now, Fred, you sneak 
up-stairs and get your sister's manicure scissors 
— the little ones with curved points— and trim the 
threads from the outside canvas, where it is torn. 

"Now, while Fred 's doing that, we '11 cut three 

pieces of the China silk large enough to patch 

the hole, and lap over the edge an inch all around. 

Now we lay them on this board and cover one 

side with shellac, just as if it was a picture that 

you were going to paste in a scrap-book — the 

shellac is our paste. 

"All ready there, Fred? Good! No time to 
* ... 

lose on a thmg like this, so, quick, before it 

dries, let 's lay the first piece of silk over the hole 
and be careful to smooth out all wrinkles and air 
bubbles — start from the edge of the hole and 
work outward. It '11 dry in a few minutes, and 
then we can give it another outside coat of shel- 
lac, and, when this dries, put on a second and then 
a third patch, one over the other. This will make 

a water-tight job, and one over which the canoe 
enamel will lie so smoothly that you won't be 
able to see where the patches were. 

"There !" said Freckles, with some pride, as he 
straightened up and then squinted along the side 
of the canoe. "Not such a bad job, but not a 
hard one, either. The long cut is another mat- 
ter. It 's below water-line, and will open and 
get longer as the canvas stretches if we don't 
fasten it around the edges. Now here 's where our 
little copper tacks come in. One of you fellows 
hold a piece of wood against the inside of the 
boat, while I drive the tacks." 

Both Fred and Harry volunteered for this 
task, and Freckles drove home the tacks with 
skilful fingers. 

"Now that that 's done," he said, as he laid down 
the hammer, "we can put the silk patches on, just 
as we did before. When they get good and dry, 
we can smooth down the old enamel and the gun- 
wale and keel with the sandpaper, but we must n't 
bear on too hard, and we must keep away from 
the patches. Then we '11 haul her out from 
under these trees and leave her in the sun while 
we go to lunch. When we come back, the canvas 
will be warm enough to let the enamel flow on 
smooth and thin, instead of being all lumps. 

"Suppose, while we 're waiting, we get the 
loose bristles out of the paint and varnish 
brushes by rubbing them over a clean piece of 
rough board. There 's nothing meaner than a 
lot of them sticking in one's work to spoil the 
looks of it." 

By the time that the brushes were cleaned to 
Freckles's liking, the patches were dry. So the 
canoe was turned right side up and carefully 
braced with blocks of wood, and Freckles con- 
tinued in his capacity of foreman of the amateur 

"Harry, you take one gunwale, and Fred the 
other, while I tackle the deck pieces at each 
end. Sandpaper with the grain of the wood, or 
you '11 raise 'whiskers' which will spoil the var- 
nishing, later on. When the sandpaper clogs, put 
it to one side and use a fresh piece ; the clogged 
bits will do to smooth down the varnish, after it 's 

The three boys got through at about the same 
time, and Freckles gave his next orders: 

"Now let 's turn the boat over and get at the 
keel. We must make a good job there, and get 
it smooth, working out of the small dents and into 
the large ones. It will have to have three good 
coats, well smoothed down between each coat, 
as the keel gets the hardest usage. 

"Now, for the sides, work lengthwise with a 
long arm-mo-tion, putting your weight into the 




swing, and get it perfectly smooth, so that the 
enamel will lie on nicely. All the pains which 
you take in this part of the work will save 
trouble later on." 

For some time, nothing was heard but the 
scratching of the sandpaper, until, finally. Freckles 
announced, after a careful inspection, "She is 

"Yes, the color 's all right," said Freckles, "but 
keep on stirring, until the lumps are all gone. 
And remember that you must always stir any 
paint thoroughly before using it. 

"Now, commence along the keel and lay on the 
enamel fairly thin, and work it out lengthwise, 
nice and even. Take a strip about a foot wide, 


smooth enough now, and it 's almost lunch-time. 
Bring her over here in the sunshine. See you 
after lunch. Good-by." And Freckles was gone. 

"Stung ! Swindled ! Let 's go back and mas- 
sacre the fellow who sold us this enamel," cried 
Harry, who had opened the can. Luncheon was 
over, and the trio had returned to the task. 

"What 's the trouble ?" asked Freckles. 

"It 's about fourteen shades lighter than the 
color-card from which I picked it out, and you 
warned me against getting a lighter green." 

"Stir it well with a clean stick and see what 
happens," was Freckles's suggestion. 

"That 's funny," exclaimed Harry, who 
promptly followed this advice. "It 's getting 
darker. Why, it 's just the right color now !" 

and, when that is covered, go back to the end 
and start another strip below it. By the time that 
you 've painted the first strip, which will be under 
the bottom and out of sight, you will have caught 
the trick, and be able to do a better job along the 
gunwale, where it shows." 

"But the directions say not to work it out," 
said Fred, who had been studying the label. 

"We won't follow the directions in this case," 
said Freckles. "I did it that way once, and had 
to go all over it again, because it was too thick in 
one place and too thin in another. That 's why 
we fried the canoe in the sun, to get the surface 
hot enough to put the enamel on like varnish. 
Always follow directions the first time, but use 
your experience after that. 

"Here, let that fly alone ! You '11 make a 


uni)I':r thk ]!i,uk sky 


lovely mark prying him out of ihe wet enamel, 
while, if you let him stay and dry up with the 
paint, you can take off the remains with sand- 
paper when you smooth down the coat, and there 
will be no sign to tell that you have been running 
the most successful fly-trap in town." 

The boys worked steadily and silently for a 
little while, then Harry stood off, to admire the 
new complexion of the canoe. 

"Say, it looks fine ! Won't Cousin Will have 
enough fits to start a tailor shop?" 

"And we can hardly see where the patches 
are," was Fred's comment. 

"You won't see them at all, when it 's dry," 
promised Freckles. "When the enamel is safely 
hard, and I 'd wait a couple of days for that, put 
on the varnish— three coats on the keel and two 
on the gunwales, rubbing down between each 
coat with the used sandpaper. But first wipe 
it off clean, and be sure that each coat is dry and 
hard all the ivay through before you smooth it- 
better give each coat two days to dry— clear days 
I mean ; damp ones don't count for drying, and 
should never be used for painting or varnishing." 

"Will another coat of enamel be needed?" 
Fred inquired, gazing dubiously at the small 
quantity remaining. 

"No," was Freckles's reassuring decision; "but 
I 'd give the outside of the hull a good coat of 
varnish, about the middle of the season." 

"Say, Freckles," asked Harry, "what kind of 
paddles do we want ? I saw some pretty rock- 
maple single-blades the other day." 

"Cut 'em out !" was the emphatic reply. "What 
you fellows will need will be a pair of nine-and-a- 
half-foot pine double-blades with square ends, 
well coppered. Then, one of you can use the 
doubles, which is the real get there method for 
one-man power, or each of you may use one half 
as a single. It would be a good idea, when buy- 
ing the paddles, to get a pair of supplemental 
handles, which may be slipped onto the ends of 
the half lengths and prevent the ferrules from 
blistering your hands on a long hike. H you can 
afford it, I 'd advise getting two pairs of blades, 
right at the start. You will find that you can 
make much better time with them, and they are 
more comfortable to use when sitting on the bot- 
tom of the canoe, where you should sit most of 
the time, and always when it is the least bit 

"What are the seats for, then?" asked Harry. 

"To give you a change of position at times, 
and for use in absolutely calm weather," was the 
answer. "The careless use of seats is respon- 
sible for most capsizes when paddling, and has 
made what was intended for a convenience, when 

used at the proper time, a danger if you don't 
stop to realize that as low down as possible is the 
position to occupy in a canoe, when wind or 
waves commence to rise." 

Just then, Freckles's small sister appeared with 
the message that he was needed for an errand, 
and he reluctantly started for home. 

"It 's a good thing that Freckles gave us the 
right medicine about keeping off the seats," said 
Fred, who wore a pair of moccasins, and was, 
therefore, trying to use an Indian word when the 
chance offered. 

"Yep," was Harry's response. "If we had been 
anywhere but on the floor, those whitecaps would 
have rolled us over. Of course we can swim, but 
I don't care particularly about spending the rest 
of the afternoon in drying out." 

The canoe had been launched that morning, 
and the two boys were on their first short trip 
with her. 

Just at present they were sitting on a log which 
the winter storms had washed up on the beach, 
engaged in demolishing a generous lunch, while 
the craft on which they had toiled for a busy, 
happy week lay on the sand below them. 

They had paddled out with double-blades, and 
Harry, who occupied the stern, quickly discov- 
ered that it was easy for him to steer the course, 
while Fred kept up a regular stroke; also that 
meeting a wave bow on and with lessened speed 
was conducive to dryness. 

"Well, I feel pretty well dried out, right now," 
said Fred. "Wonder if we can ffnd a spring any- 
where around here?" 

"If we do, it will be somewhere along the 
little brook that empties yonder," was Harry's 
sage deduction. "Anyway, let 's explore a bit." 

So they followed along the tiny brooklet, until, 
a few hundred yards from its mouth, they saw a 
spring flowing into it. The water was ice-cold 
and refreshing, and, when their thirst was 
quenched, the beauties of the spot dawned upon 
them. Climbing the green slope from the spring 
to take a short cut to the beach, they found 
themselves in a meadow which ran down to a 
small bluff behind the beach. In the center of the 
meadow was a group of trees shading a spot about 
forty feet square and free from underbrush. 
Even to the unpractised eyes of the boys, the 
suitability of the place for a camp was plain. 

"Tell you what we '11 do," said Harry, struck 
with an idea, "to-morrow we '11 borrow some 
dishes, a tin pail, and some blankets, and come 
here and camp. There 's good fishing just off the 
beach ; you know we saw some people there when 
we came, and there 's plenty of live bait in the 




brook. Now that we have the canoe, we might 
as well be real Indians." 

"All right, but we 'd best ask Freckles to come 
along; he camped with his uncle last vacation, 
and knows all about it/' said cautious Fred. 

"But how are we to get Freckles, and us, and 
the grub, all into the canoe?" asked Harry. 

"That 's easy. You and I paddle over here, 
unload, and while I 'm catching bait, you go back 
for Freckles," was Fred's second suggestion. 

"That sounds good to me," admitted Harry. 

But it did not seem to sound good to Freckles 
that evening, when they invited him to join 
them, after a glowing description of the advan- 
tages of the spot, for he shook his head sagely. 

"So you fellows figure on three of us sleeping 
on a couple of blankets, under an overturned 
canoe, and taking chances that it does n't rain?" 
was his -comment. "I know just what would 
happen— you 'd start out full of enthusiasm, and 
come back full of colds, malaria, and disgust for 
camp life. It 's the people who have lived a civil- 
ized life and try to jump into an Indian's way of 
doing things without first getting hardened to it, 
who are responsible for most of the troubles that 

(To be coil. 

are laid to camping. Even soldiers, who are 
supposed to be tough, have the best of camp com- 
forts, and don't give 'em up unless the commis- 
sary train is delayed or a big battle makes it 
necessary to push on in light marching order." 

"Then you won't come?" asked Fred. 

"With that equipment? No. But I '11 tell you 
what I will do. If you boys are willing, I '11 chip 
in with you and help make and buy what will 
allow us to camp comfortably and have the big- 
gest summer of our lives. It won't cost much, 
divided among the three of us." 

"All right !" the canoe owners agreed. "In- 
stead of going into camp this week, we '11 stay 
home and get the camp materials." 

"We '11 commence right now," said Freckles, 
promptly. "Fred, run home and ask your mother 
if she will cut out a tent of heavy unbleached 
muslin and sew it for us if we provide the pat- 
terns and material. Scoot !" Fred scooted. 

"While we 're waiting the verdict," Freckles 
continued, "I '11 run up-stairs and dig up the 
paper patterns that we used for our tent last 
summer. It 's mean to bother your mother to 
help us out, but then— that cutting and sewing!" 





"Wake up !" said the Sunbeam that had come to 
arouse them; "hold up your heads, and wake up !"' 

"Oh, I can't hold up my head. I am waked up, 
but I cannot hold up my head ! Oh, please don't !" 

"My head I cannot hold up, either," said the 
next one. "I did n't sleep," moaned another; and 
another, "Oh, how sick I am !" "And / can't hold 
up my head — oh, dear !" 

"Why can't you hold up your head? Whose 
head is heavy, I should like to know ? Why did n't 
you sleep? Hoii/ are you sick?" demanded the 
Sunbeam. He was very severe too, as became 
one always up and doing on time ; and he searched 
his charges with the most penetrating glare you 
ever could imagine. No use trying to conceal 
anything from hint! 

Yet all these sharp questions brought only just 
one answer, spoken by every one at once, so 
dejectedly and desperately and emphatically that 
its sound was really quite startling, and made the 
Sunbeam wink. "I don't know ! My head is 
heavy !" 

So—! This was serious, evidently; no sham- 
ming here. Not that he had thought of such a 
thing really, even in the first instant ; only it was 
not very long since he had been on indoor duty. 

and his experiences there were still so fresh in 
his mind that he could hardly be criticized for 
remembering that there was such a thing. In- 
deed, no. 

"You don't know," he mused, "and all your 
heads are heavy. Well, well !" 

"Something happened yesterday," volunteered 
one, weakly. "Yes, when Rain was visiting," 
seconded her sister. 

"I think it 's measles," shuddered a third. 

"Or vaccination," suggested another. 

Of course the Sunbeam, traveling as he had, 
knew better than this last; but he saw that she 
was too weak and miserable to care if he did cor- 
rect her. So he refrained. "When Rain was 
visiting, eh ?" was all he said, "while I was away 
yesterday." And he looked very serious — as se- 
rious as it is possible, I suppose, for a fine, able- 
bodied Sunbeam ever to look. 

And small wonder ; for from this account he 
was almost sure, at once, that it was the darkest 
and most dreaded of the Torments that, taking 
advantage of his absence, had seized upon these 
innocents— the one that hides and rides, often, in 
the crystal chariots of Rain. So he shook his 
head and sighed heavily ; and then withdrew hur- 




riedly, determined to find out if possible, though 
he could do nothing, if what he feared were true. 
Indeed, his limitations weighed heavily upon his 
spirits at times like this. 

In the cloud he found Rain, and made the ac- 
cusation sternly. But Rain was sorrowful, too, 
when he heard. "You know as well as I that I 
cannot help it," said he, "free as I am to go and 
come all over the earth, and even into the earth, 
yet must I serve alike the good and the bad, the 
just and the unjust— even as you, my friend." 

Yes, the Sunbeam knew that. "And I observed, 
near this same place, only yesterday," went on 
Rain, with very natural reproach, "many of the 
other Torments, boasting about the service which 
you had rendered them." 

Of course the Sunbeam apologized, and made 
what amends he could at once, for having allowed 
his temper to get the better of him ; and while the 
two were talking, the best thing that could have 
occurred, did. The small sage ran through the 
flower garden, on an eager trip to the vegetables. 
But half-way he stopped, suddenly. 

"Something is the matter with the asters," he 
cried, dismay in his voice and on his face. "They 
are bending right over and dying. Oh— and come 
see the hollyhocks ! All speckled !" 

The big sage came in a hurry; and he said, 
"Bless my soul !" when he got there. For the 
asters were very choice plants, and great things 
were expected of them; and the hollyhocks were 
favorites of his. 

"Just a day too late," he said ruefully, as he 
bent over for closer inspection, "the rain did the 
mischief yesterday. We ought to have done some 
preventing the day before it came." 

This had a tragic ring to it. "But can't we do 
anything — now, Uncle Ned?" asked the other. 

"We '11 try. But it 's a sorry business, with the 
asters especially. Nothing for them but to out 
with the sick ones, altogether." 

Which was a third of the number, almost ! 
Right down at the ground the stems were rotted 
across or almost across ; and of course it was 
plain that such plants could never be made well 
and strong again. It was here that the fungi 
had entered the plant skin and destroyed the liv- 
ing tissue. And, of course, plants harboring these 
fungi colonies were a dreadful menace to others 
who had not developed the disease, and perhaps 
were not yet infected with it. 

This is what fungi always do, go right into the 
plant's tissue and build up their colonies there, 
and so either destroy the plant completely, or 
make it sickly and unsightly — "all speckled" as 
the hollyhocks had become, almost over night. 
And because fungi are actually in the tissue in- 

stead of on the plant's surface, nothing can be 
done to destroy them after their presence is re- 
vealed by the plant's sickening. The disease is 
established then ; and if it is one of the very 
malignant ones, the plant is doomed. 

All of the troublesome complaints which we call 
"scab," and "rust," and "black-rot," and "yellows," 
and "leaf-spot," and "mildew," and any number of 
names such as these, are diseases caused by these 
much-to-be-dreaded fungi of different kinds, that 
give an appearance suggesting these terms to the 
plant. And many of these diseases are more 
prevalent in wet seasons than in dry ones, because 
the spores of fungi— corresponding in a way to 
the seeds of plants— are not only carried onto the 
plants by rain, which picks them up in its passage 
through the air, but because the spores themselves 
are started into growth by moisture — very much 
as seeds are!— and also, possibly, because they 
more readily penetrate the plant skin when this is 

By all of which you will see that we cannot 
wait until a plant is sick of one of these diseases 
to give it medicine; we must doctor it first, before 
it gets sick. In other words, we must doctor it 
while it is well, in order to keep it well. 

All sick plants are not always sick of a fungous 
disease, however; for fungi, although the subtlest 
and most sinister enemy to plant life, are, after 
all, only one of the two great menaces which 
always threaten it. The other is that great army 
of tiny, active enemies which we call, collectively, 
insects— much less to be dreaded in one way than 
the fungous diseases, for insects work in the open 
mostly, where our eyes may discover them. Con- 
sequently we do not have to anticipate their 
depredations and doctor for them when they are 
not there. 

Yet there are two kinds of insects whose pres- 
ence may be totally unsuspected until they have 
done much injury, so we must always remember 
about these when anything in the garden shows 
signs of distress. One is the borer, which dwells 
within the stem or branch of his victim; the other 
is either a worm or a plant-louse form, which 
works beneath the earth, attacking the roots in- 
stead of the upper part of the plant. Some of you 
will remember learning about plant-lice last sum- 
mer, and how they suck the juices of the plant on 
which they elect to colonize. Of course the root- 
louse injures in just the same way, for he takes 
his food through a "lemonade straw" too, and is 
a juice consumer. So, too, is the scale insect, 
which fastens itself to the bark of trees and 
shrubs; but these we will not try to learn about 
just yet. 

Wilting is usually the warning of the presence 




of both borers and root-lice or maggots; so, when 
anything wilts unaccountably, and you can find 
nothing on its leaves or stems— or in its stems, 
which will have a paler color where the grub is 
concealed, if grub there be, than elsewhere along 
their length— you will pull up a specimen, please, 
and search carefully among its roots for worms 
(not angleworms of course; these do no harm to 
a plant), or for any kind of queer mite of an in- 
sect with a trunk or bill; and then for any kind of 
creature inside its roots. Borers you will find to 
be worms also, but they do not eat into the thing 
which they adopt for a home from the outside. 
Instead, they are hatched inside it, from the egg 
which has been hidden away there; and, conse- 
quently, there is no opening to the outside, to 
reveal their hiding-place. Ordinary worms, on 
the contrary, eat from the outside into and 
through the root or branch ; and are, therefore, 
easily detected. 

Happily there is not a great lot to be learned 
about plant doctoring, if we begin by learning 
three things very surely and positively and unfor- 
getably. Two of these things you already know 
by the time you have read thus far. The first is 
that there are both fungi and insects to be watched 
out for. The second is that fungous disease 
must be prevented because it cannot be cured. 
And here is the third : all the insects which 
bother the plant world are divided into just two 
kinds, according to the way they eat, and these 
two kinds are called "chewing" and "sucking," 
which exactly describes them, for the first have 
mouths to chew and eat up the plant, while the 
second have only the tubes, already described, to 
draw the juices from it. 

It would hardly seem, at first glance, that it 
can matter much how a bug or a worm feeds it- 
self — worms, by the way, always eat up the 
plant and never draw its juices— but that is 
where you are very much mistaken. It really 
matters more than anything else to the careful 
keeper of the garden. For what he is going to 
do to doctor his plants for it, depends entirely on 
just this little peculiarity. 

There are not many kinds of plant medicine, 
you see; for, after all, plant medicine is really 
just insect poison, as all that we need do is kill 
the Torment that is making the plant sick. Get 
rid of him, and the plant will get well of itself, 
if it can get well at all. But you will see at once 
that an insect that does not eat anything but 
plant juice, drawn from down under the plant 
skin and so not where it can be reached by 
poison, is a problem, when it comes to killing 
him off. How can we poison a creature whose 
food we cannot reach? It seems impossible. 

It would be, if there were no way save poison- 
ing his food; but, fortunately for our plants, we 
can get the same result by smearing him with 
certain solutions— very often with just common 
soap-suds, as you who remember Rosycoat and 
Greenjacket will recall. This is called the in- 
direct method, because the insects are not fed 
the "plant medicine," but are killed indirectly by 
means of it. The other kind of insect which eats 
its food the same as animals and people eat 
theirs, is dealt with by means of what is called 
the direct method; that is, the food itself is cov- 
ered with the "plant medicine," and so he eats 
it; and that is an end of him. 

The one thing which we must surely know 
before doctoring any plant, of course you will 
see for yourselves, is whether it is a chewing or 
a sucking creature with which we have to war. 
And the one sure way of finding out about this 
is to examine the plant and see whether there 
are holes chewed in its leaf — whether it is 
ragged and portions are gone— or whether all 
the substance of the leaf is there, but dry- looking 
and brown in places, and the leaves rolled up as 
a withered leaf will roll. The latter condition 
may be the symptom of fungous trouble, to be 
sure ; but you will very soon learn to tell the 
difference between this and plant-louse work, by 
the simple method of looking for the insect. On 
the under side of the leaf you will find him, and 
along the twigs and tips of stems; or perhaps you 
will see a million or more tiny powdery-looking 
things rise in the air or jump out from a branch 
when you touch it to examine it. These are not 
plant-lice, but they work in the same way, and 
commonly we call them leaf-hoppers, because 
they hop. If it is fungi that are responsible for 
the plant's trouble, however, there will be no 
sign of any kind of creeping or crawling thing 
on its leaves and branches. It will just look 
sick; and be sick, from within. 

The very best direct poison that I know of is 
so very poisonous that I am not even going to 
tell you what it is ; for only grown-up folks dare 
handle it at all. So if your plants should be so 
unfortunate as to become the dwelling-places of 
any of the chewing insects which it is used to 
destroy, some one quite grown up must prepare 
and apply it for you, very, very carefully. 

Kerosene emulsion is the best indirect, or con- 
tact, poison "to be used for San Jose and other 
scales, and for sucking insects generally, al- 
though it is stronger than aphids need, under 
ordinary conditions. Soap-suds I find sufficient 
for them usually. When you use kerosene emul- 
sion, you must be very careful, not because it is 
poisonous, but because it will burn up the leaves 




of a plant unless it is exactly right for the 
season and that particular plant. Buy the paste 
and dilute this in the proportion of i pound to 
10 gallons of water, which amounts to ij^ ounces 
to I gallon of water, with an ounce left over at 
the end, which will not matter. If you have no 
scales to weigh ounces with, call 3 table-spoon- 
fuls an ounce and a half. 
This strength is for summer use, when plants 

are in leaf; and you will not need to trouble 
about the stronger solutions just now. If you 
should have scale to give battle to, however, 
remember that i part of concentrated stock — 
which is a liquid that you can buy in place of 
the paste— to 8 parts of water is the safe winter 
strength, while i part of the same form of stock 
to 15 parts of water is as strong as it can be 
used in summer. 

(To l-e conthiued.) 



That 's a nice piece of cake on the tea-tray ! 

And Mama 'd have said "yes" had she stayed- 
But it is the last piece— and to take it 

Would make you, they say, an old maid ! 

Well, Papa and Mama both will love me ; 

And Towser would die for my sake ; 
And they 'd miss me so much if I married - 

I must eat that last piece of cake ! 

Sir Rigmarole was dark. ("Of course," methinks you say, "a knight 

Is apt to be; you '11 hardly ever hear of one that 's light.") 

He 'd tried a wheel to see if he could get a little lighter, 

But, though he 'd fallen off a lot, his clothes grew always tighter. 

The knight just now was thinking of the scenes that he had seen; 
Of the land of Over Yonder, and his visit to its queen 
(He rescued her pet walrus when the poor thing nearly drowned) 
And his battle with the Ghooghum ; and the treasure that he found. 



He thought of Ziz, the wizard (who lived a dreadful life), 
Whose spells made everybody dumb (except the wizard's wife) ; 
And of dainty Princess Dodo (both of whose eyes were blue), 
— And if he 'd had an uncle, he 'd have thought about him, too. 

Dodo had an orphan father (his given name was Gil), 

Who did not live in a castle, which did not stand on a hill. 

He was always writing poems, which were never known to rhyme, 

And was likely to recite them— if he was n't stopped in time. 

He N)cas 1 lively 

to recite them" 

He thought — but I digress too much in matters of this sort. 
Concerns like these do not concern this tale at all, in short. 
The question is. Sir Rigmarole, — what did our hero do? 
(This story 's rather curious, — and so, no doubt, are you!) 

Just one rod from the castle stoop, the pathway made a bend. 
And round this curve Sir Rigmarole his wandering way did wend. 
In doing so, he naturally disappeared from view, 
— And what befell him after that, / 've no idea. Have you? 

THE lightning express goes rusning tnrough 
With a scream, and a toot, 

and a great to-do ; 
But the slow old local just lumbers 

Like the sing-song verse of an old- 
time song. 

The lightning 
express is fun 
to see. 
But / like the local, it stops 
for me. 


Tommy, run down to the market-place 



■•'VOU don't know H(I\V M \N\ things VOLK CHILDUliN CAN DO WHKN ITIKV lin !' ' 



Author of "A Little Coolc Book for a Little Girl," " Margaret's Saturday Mornings," etc. 



One Sunday afternoon just as the clock struck 
three, the Blairs' telephone rang ; and after she 
had answered it, Mother Blair called Mildred, 
■who sat reading by the window. 

"My dear," she said, "do you remember hear- 
ing Father speak of his old friends the Went- 
worths, whom he used to know so well years ago ? 
Well, they have come east, and are in town for 
a day or two, and they want to come out and see 
us this very afternoon. Now I should love to 
ask them to stay to supper, but if I do, I shall 
have to stay with them and visit and can't help 
you at all ; and Norah is out. Do you suppose 
you three children could get the supper and serve 
it nicely all by yourselves?" 

"Why, of course, Mother Blair," said Mildred, 
reproachfully. "Of course we can ! You don't 
know how many things your children can do 
when they try ! Now what shall we have ? It 
ought to be something very good, because they 
have never been here before." 

"We were going to have canned salmon," said 
her mother, thoughtfully ; "we might scallop that, 

9 6+' 

and have potatoes with it, and perhaps muffins 
or biscuits." 

"Oh, have muffins. Mother ! I have seen Norah 
make them lots of times, and I 'm sure I could, 
too, if you give me the recipe." 

"Well, you may try," said her mother, "but I 
think you had better have some toast ready, too, 
in case they do not come out right. And what 
else can we have ? Preserves, I suppose ; but, 
Mildred, all the nice preserves are gone, because 
it is so late in the spring. But we might have lit- 
tle baked custards." 

"Yes, in the cunning little brown baking dishes ; 
those will be lovely ! And I '11 make some little 
cakes to eat with them ; Norah said there were 
just cookies for supper." 

"But do you really think you can do all that ? 
Don't you think the cookies will do?" 

"No, indeed!" said Mildred, "not for extra 
nice company ! But little cakes are no trouble to 
make. And is n't it fun to have company come 
when you don't expect it ! It 's so much nicer 
than to specially invite them !" 

Mother Blair laughed. "I hope you will al- 
ways think so," she said. And Mildred ran away 




to call Brownie to get her apron and come to 
the kitchen. 

"We will lay the table first, -even though it is 
so early," said their mother. "Brownie, bring 
me the pile of the best doilies in the sideboard 

"The Wheelers always use a regular big cloth 
for supper," Brownie said, as she came over with 
them to the table. 

"Many people do, but I think the table looks 
prettier at breakfast and luncheon and supper 
with the doilies. And then, too, if anybody hap- 
pens to spill anything—" 

"Jack spilled gravy yesterday, awfully," said 
Brownie, soberly. 

"Well, you see Norah had to wash only one 
little doily because of that; if we had had on a 
nice table-cloth, all of it would have had to go 
into the wash. But if we had no doilies. I should 
use a lunch cloth that would just cover the top of 
the table, and that would be pretty, too. Put one 
doily for each person. Brownie, and a large one 


in the middle for the fern dish, and little ones 
for the tumblers. Now for the silver." 

Mildred came with knives, forks, and spoons. 

"No knives, because there is no meat," said her 
mother; "but if we were going to use them, which 
side would you put them on ?" 

"Left," said Brownie, guessing. 

"Not unless you were left-handed," smiled 
her mother. "The rule is : put on the right side 
what you will use with the right hand, and on the 
left what you will use with the left hand. That 
is, if there are no knives, all the silver goes on 
the right, and the fork or spoon you are to use 
first goes the farthest away from the plate, the 
next one next to that, and so on; if you remem- 

ber that, you will never be puzzled as to which 
fork to use. Now the teaspoons— put those on 
the right, too ; and the dessert spoon or fork may 
go at the top, across the plate if you like, though 
I prefer it on the dessert plate itself. Put the 
napkin at the left, always ; and the tumbler goes 
at the top to the right, and the bread-and-butter 
plate and knife at the top too, toward the left. 
There ! Does n't that look pretty ?" 

Mildred had been getting out the best cups and 
saucers and arranging a small round tray in 
front of her mother's place, with cream and 
sugar, and the tray bowl, and a place left for the 
tea-pot ; the cups she put at the right, arranging 
them in twos — two cups on two saucers. 

"Now, Mildred, after you pass the salmon, you 
may put the dish right in front of Father ; and 
the potatoes may go on the table too, as Norah 
is n't here, though I like best to have them 
passed from the sideboard. The muffins may 
stand at the side of the table, half-way down. 
Now let us carry out all the dishes and begin to 

So Mildred took a pile of plates to heat, and 
Brownie carried a dish for the potatoes, and 
Mother Blair brought the little custard cups ; 
they arranged these on the kitchen table where 
they would not be in the way, and then Mother 
Blair told Mildred to see that the fire was all 
right. "Always remember to look at that first," 
she said. "It needs shaking down a little, and to 
have more coal on ; and pull out the dampers so 
the oven will heat." 

Mildred hunted for the dampers, but could not 
find any. "I don't believe there are any on this 
stove," she said, just as Jack came in to see what 
was going on. 

"No dampers! Is n't that just like a girl!" he 
exclaimed. "See, here they are, tucked under the 
edge of the stove. You pull them out— so— and 
then you shut the draft at the top, opposite the 
coal, and open the one at the bottom, so the air 
will blow right up through the fire and make it 
go like everything. And you have to turn the 
dampers in the pipe, too, to let the heat go up the 

"Good !" said his mother. "I did n't know you 
knew so much about stoves. Now suppose you 
shake the fire down and put the coal on — that 's 
a man's work." 

"All right," said Jack; "I don't mind things 
like that; but boys don't cook, you know." 

His mother put both hands over her ears. 
"Tack, if I hear you say that once more, I shall 
believe you are turning into a parrot ! And you 
are all wrong, too. and some day I am going to 
give you some special lessons myself. But to-day 




you may just tend the fire and bring us things 
from the refrigerator as we need them, to save 
time. Now, Mildred, we will begin with the cus- 
tards, because they must be nice and cold. 
Brownie, you bring the spoons and bowls and 
such things, and. Jack, you get the milk and 


I quart of milk. 

Yolks of four eggs. 

4 teaspoonfuls of sugar. 
J4 teaspoonful of vanilla. 

I pinch of salt. 
^ teaspoonful of grated nutmeg. 

Put the sugar in the milk ; beat the eggs light, and 
add those, with salt and vanilla. Pour into the cups, 
sprinkle with nutmeg, and arrange the cups in a shallow 
pan. Bake half an hour, or till, when you put the blade 
of a knife in one, it comes out clean. 

It took just a few moments to make these, and 
then came the next rule: 


Yz cup of butter. 

I cup of sugar. 

I cup of milk. 

1 egg. 

2 cups of flour. 

2 rounded teaspoonfuls of baking- 
yi cup of currants. 
I teaspoonful of vanilla. 

Wash the currants and rub them dry in a towel. Put 
the flour in a bowl ; take out a large table-spoonful and 
mix with the currants, and then mix the baking-powder 
with the rest of it. Rub the butter to a cream, add the 
sugar, then the milk, then the egg, beaten without sepa- 
rating, then the flour mixed with the baking-powder, 
then the flavoring, and, last, the currants. Grease some 




small tins, fill them half full, and bake in an oven not 
too hot. 

"You must always mix some flour with raisins 
or currants to keep them from sinking to the bot- 
tom of the cake ; but do not add any to the rule- 
just take a little out from what you are going to 
use in the cake. Now, Jack, please get me two 
cans of salmon from the pantry and open them; 
and we will need butter and milk from the re- 
frigerator, too. It 's nice to have a 'handy man' 
around to help us cook ! Now, Mildred, double 
this rule, because there will be so many at sup- 


I good-sized can of salmon, or one pint 

of cooked fish, 
I cup of white sauce. 
I cup of cracker crumbs. 

Butter a baking dish, put in a layer of fish, then one 

of crumbs 

sprinkle with a 




ittle salt and pepper, and 
dot the crumbs with butter ; 
then put on a layer of white 
sauce. Repeat till the dish 
is full, with the crumbs on 
top; dot with butter and 
brown well in the oven ; 
it will take about twenty 

rownie rolled the 
crackers for this, while 
Mildred made the white 
sauce by the rule she 
said was so easy it was 
exactly like 
learning ab c. 
" That is 
so queer," 
laughed her 
mother, " because cooks 
call it just that — the 
a b c of cooking! It 
is the rule you use 
more often than any 


I rounded table-spoonful of butter. 
I rounded table-spoonful of flour. 

1 cup of milk. 

Yz teaspoonful of salt. 

2 shakes of pepper. 

Melt the butter ; when it bubbles, put in the flour, 
stirring it well ; when this is smooth, slowly add the 
milk, salt, and pepper ; stir and cook till very smooth ; 
you can make it like thin cream by cooking only one 
minute, or like thick cream by cooking it two minutes. 

"Sometimes you want it thicker than others," 
said her mother, "so I just put that in to explain. 
To-day make it like thin cream. Now, Mildred, 
you cati put it all together while Jack brings in 
the cold boiled potatoes and Brownie cuts them 


Cut eight large boiled potatoes into bits the size of the 
end of your thumb. Put them in a saucepan and cover 
them with milk ; stand them on the back of the stove 
where they will cook slowly ; watch them so they will 
not burn. In another saucepan make white sauce as be- 
fore. When the potatoes have drunk up all the milk 
and are rather dry, drop them in the sauce ; do not stir 
them ; sprinkle with pepper. 

"Now for the muffins, for it is after five 
o'clock. Brownie, you find the muffin pans and 
make them very hot. Do you know how to grease 

"Yes, indeed !" said Brownie, proudly. "This 
is the way." She got a nice clean bit of paper, 
warmed the pans, and dropped a bit of butter in 
each, and then with the paper rubbed it all 


2 cups of flour. 
I cup of milk. 

1 rounded table-spoonful of btitter. 

2 eggs, beaten separately. 

I teaspoonful of baking-powder. 
Yz teaspoonful of salt. 
I teaspoonful of sugar. 

Beat the egg yolks first ; then add the milk ; melt the 
butter and put that in, then the flour, well mixed with 
the baking-powder, then the salt and sugar. Last, add 
the stiff whites of the eggs. Fill the pans half full. 

"Some things, like cake, cannot bear to have 
the oven door opened while they are baking," 
said Mother Blair; "but salmon does not mind if 
you open quickly ; so, Mildred, put these in as 
fast as you can ; they will take about twenty 
minutes to bake. I do believe that is all we have 
to make except the tea, and that takes only a mo- 
ment when everything else is ready. I will give 
you the recipe for it now, and after everybody 
is here and you have said 'How do you do?' to 
them, you can slip out and make this, and while 
it stands you can put the other things on the 


Fill the kettle with fresh, cold water and let it boil 
up hard. Scald out an earthen tea-kettle, and put in 
two rounded teaspoonfuls of tea for six people, or more, 
if you want it quite strong. Pour on six cups of boiling 




water and let the pot stand where it is warm for just 
two minutes. Scald out the pot you are going to send 
to the table, and strain the tea into that. Have a jug 
of hot water ready to send in with it. 

Just before the door-bell rang, Mildred went 
to the refrigerator to look at her custards and 
found them nice and cold. Then she looked care- 
fully in the oven through a tiny crack, and found 
the muffins were done and the salmon beautifully 
brown: so she took up the potatoes, and put them 
in the covered dish on the 
back of the stove where 
they would keep hot, and 
asked Brownie to lay the 
hot plates around the ta- 
ble, one for each person. 
Then she v^'ent into the 
parlor and said "How do 
you do?" to the guests, 
and after a moment 
slipped out again, and put 
everything on the side- 
board, made the tea, filled 
the glasses, and put butter 
on the bread-and-butter 
plates. Then Brownie 
asked everybody to come 
to supper. 

When they had all sat 
down, Mildred passed the 
dish of salmon, offering- 
it on the left side, of 
course, just as Nor ah al- 
ways did ; then she put 
the dish down before her 
father and passed the po- 
tatoes and muffins in the 
same way, while Mother 
Blair poured the tea and 
handed it around without rising from her seat. 
And then everybody began to eat, and to say, 
"Oh, how good this salmon is!" and "Did you 
ever taste such muffins?" and "Did you really, 
really make all these good things yourselves, 
children? We don't see how you ever did it!" 
And they ate' two helpings of everything, and 
Father Blair ate three. And when it was time 
to take the dishes off, there was not a speck of 
salmon left, nor a spoonfftl of potato, nor even 
a single muffin. 

Then Brownie quietly took the crumbs off as 
she had seen Norah do, brushing them onto a 
plate with a folded napkin ; and as she was doing 

this. Jack slipped out to the refrigerator and got 
the custards, all as cold as ice and brown on top, 
looking as pretty as could be in their cunning- 
cups ; each cup was set on a dessert plate and a 
.spoon laid by its side, and the fresh cakes were 
passed with them. 

Soon after supper the company went home, 
and then Mildred said : "I feel exactly like a toy 
balloon — so nice and light inside! Was n't that 
a good supper ? And did n't they like the things 


we had? And is n't it fun to have company! 
When I am grown up and have a house of my 
own, I shall have company every day in the 

"I shall make a point of coming every other 
day at least," said Father Blair. "I 'm so proud 
of my family to-night ! Those Wentworths may 
be staying- at the very best hotel in town, but I 
know they don't have such suppers there." 

"Don't you wish you could cook. Jack?" in- 
quired his mother, with a twinkle in her eye. 
And then everybody laughed, and said: "Dear 
me, what good times we Blairs do have to- 
gether !" 






It is less than eighty years ago since the princess 
Victoria was crowned queen, and yet the world 
is extraordinarily different now from then. Al- 
most all modern methods of travel, of living, of 
thought, have come in since that year, 1837. The 
structure of society has altered ; people look at 
things in a different manner. The early Victorian 
days and ours seem to have no relationship with 
each other. 

The reign of Victoria is as remarkable for its 
great figures as is that of Elizabeth. Soldiers and 
sailors, statesmen and poets and novelists, paint- 

ers and scientists of genius, distinguish the Vic- 
torian era. And some among these distinguished 
persons were women, such as George Eliot, the 
Bronte sisters, Christina Rossetti, and Mary God- 
win Shelley. 

Victoria was the first English sovereign to 
travel in a railway train, and the circumstances 
of this trip were rather funny. The queen only 
went from Windsor to Paddington, on the Great 
Western line. Before she started, her Master of 
the Horse, who looked after her usual journey- 
ings, went to the station to inspect the engine, 
much as though it had been a pair of chargers. 
Then her coachman insisted that it was his right 




to drive the queen, and room was made for him 
on the pilot-engine, which preceded the royal 
train. So he climbed aboard in all his fine re- 
galia of scarlet uniform, white gloves, and wig. 
But the engine spilled such a lot of soot over him, 
and turned him into so bedraggled an object, that 
he never again begged to direct the queen's rail- 
way trips. As for Victoria, she found the motion 
of the train so comfortable that she soon took a 
longer journey, much to every one's admiration 
and delight. 

Until she was twelve, the little princess was 
never told that she would probably be England's 
queen. She led a simple and healthy life as a 
child, traveling much with her mother, and with 
her uncle, Prince Leopold of Coburg, who later 
on became king of the Belgians. This Leopold 
was a good and wise man, and watched carefully 
over the princess's education and upbringing. 

A book that tells a lot about the childhood and 
young girlhood of Victoria, as well as of the later 
parts of her life, is by Eva M. Tappan, and is 
called "In the Days of Queen Victoria." It is 
written particularly for you young people, and I 
know you will find it entertaining. 

Most of the books that tell about the Victorian 
era were written by contemporaries. It is in the 
novels of men like Thackeray, Disraeli, Trollope, 
and Dickens that you will find wonderful pictures 
of the nineteenth century. For early Victorian 
days and ways, the two enchanting books by Mrs. 
Gaskell, "Cranford" and "Mary Barton," are the 
best of reading, and perfect reproductions of life 
in a small village and in the city of Manchester. 
A quiet, self-contained life, full of scrupulous 
duties carefully fulfilled, of gentle pleasures, of 
gossiping ladies, gallant gentlemen, and the most 
precise little girls imaginable. Homy pictures 
these, amusing and touching. 

Maria Edgeworth wrote before Queen Victoria 
came to the throne, yet her stories belong with 
the years of the queen's childhood, and reveal the 
kind of England to which she came. They are 
extremely moral, but they are also good reading, 
and some of them you will like immensely. Look 
through the two volumes, "The Parent's Assist- 
ant" and "Popular Tales." They are crowded 
with rustic scenes, with the occupations, longings, 
the training and ideals, and the daily way of liv- 
ing of men, women, and children— the children 
who were growing up to be the men and women 
of the long reign. 

An excellent story, vigorous, full of incident, 
and faithfully depicting the times and spirit, is 
Henry Kingsley's "Ravenshoe." This is a novel 
you should in no case miss reading. It is so gay 
and romantic, its characters are so attractive, so 

varied, and the sentiment so healthy and natural. 
It is set about the middle of Victoria's reign. 

A good deal of the history of England at this 
time is outside the country itself. In India, and 
in Australia and New Zealand, great things were 
happening, and this part of the story has been told 
by many writers. There is Henty, of course, with 
his "To Herat and Cabul" and "With Clive in 
India," both good stories, full of thrilling inci- 
dents. A splendid story of the siege of Delhi is 
by Clive R. Fenn, "For the Old Flag." And if 
3'ou can get Meadows Taylor's "Seeta," you will 
find most of the story of the Indian Mutiny force-- 
fully told. Edward Gilliat, too, known to every 
boy reader, in his fine book "Heroes of the In- 
dian Mutiny" (Lippincott), gives a stirring series 
of sketches of the bravery, and devotion, and 
courage, and the sufferings of the English during 
the dreadful period. 

The Maoris, as the natives of New Zealand are 
called, are probably the finest race of savages in 
the world. They made a stubborn resistance to 
the English, and in a book by H. B. Marriott Wat- 
son, called "The Web of the Spider," many of the 
events of the war are well told; one also gets an 
excellent impression of the country and the people. 

Before leaving India, I must not forget to tell 
you about Lionel J. Trotter's book, "The Bayard 
of India" (Everyman's Library). The man who 
won this title was Sir James Outram, and after 
you have read the story of his marvelous adven- 
tures and achievements, and become acquainted 
with the beauty and nobility of his character, you 
will not wonder at his being called after the 
greatest and gentlest of knights. 

I have not been able to find a good story of the 
whole Crimean War, though I feel certain there 
must be one. There is, to be sure, the very inter- 
esting story by Besant and Rice, "By Celia's Ar- 
bour," which is set during the period, and which 
has something to do with it. But it is mostly laid 
in Portsmouth. Then there is E. W. Hornung's 
"Denis Dent," that moves from the Ballarat gold- 
fields to England, and finally takes the reader 
through the battle of Inkerman. This was a ter- 
rible battle, wild and confused, finally won by the 
Allies, though the English alone lost nearly 
twenty thousand men. The story is very exciting. 

James Grant wrote what I hear is a good 
story of the famous Charge of the Light Brigade 
at Balaklava, "The Six Hundred," but I have 
not been able to get it. Perhaps some of you can 
do so, however. Grant was himself a soldier 
while a young man, and wrote several good 
stories on military matters, depicting the feeling 
of the army for the queen in his "Frank Hilton: 
or. The Queen's Own," very patriotically. 



Another book by Henry Kingsley is "Recollec- 
tions of Geoffry Hamlyn," a story of Australian 
bush life. You are sure to like it. A New South 
Wales story that deals with the convict system 
is Charles Reade's famous "It is Never Too 
Late to Mend." 

Then there is the boys' book, "The Squatter's 
Dream," by Rolf Boldrewood, another Austra- 
lian tale (MacMillan). It is crowded with ad- 
ventures, and gives an intimate notion of Aus- 
tralian perils and rewards. 

Most of you must know Dickens's immortal 
stories. He was thoroughly Victorian, deeply 
interested in the life about him, anxious to do 
what lay in his power to correct the many abuses 
he saw in political and social life, always heart- 
ily on the side of the poor. All his books, ex- 
cept the "Tale of Two Cities," tell of England 
and the English, in town and country; busy over 
their countless occupations, his characters are a 
huge gallery of Victoria's subjects, especially 
of the rougher class, of whom we get few 
glimpses in any other writer. Thackeray is 
more interested in giving us portraits of the mid- 
dle class Englishman and woman. In his "New- 
comes" you get as close to this class as though 
you had lived with them for years. 

I hope you won't be afraid to begin Thackeray 
because he looks rather thick. You will find him 
greatly worth your while, a big, tender, loving 
man under his sarcasm, a man desperately anx- 
ious to tell the truth. 

Then there 's Trollope. Few of you young- 
sters ever open one of his books to-day. Yet I 
can remember many hours of pleased delight I 
spent, tucked away in the hay-loft that was my 
favorite reading-room, with "Barchester Tow- 
ers," which is perhaps his best story. He is so 
real, so quaintly funny, his people are so friendly 
and likable, and the story itself is extremely in- 
teresting, even though it is so leisurely. But in 
Victoria's day, every one was leisurely, which 
makes part of tlieir charm for our rushing gen- 

Jane Austen is another inimitable writer of 
her period. Her "Sense and Sensibility" and 
"Pride and Prejudice" were prime favorites of 
mine, and are to this day ; I have read and re- 
read them, and always with keen enjoyment. 
They are absolutely true to the types they por- 
tray, to the life lived by most English people in 
the first years of the nineteenth century— she 
died before Victoria was born, but her charac- 
ters are the prototypes of the men and women 
of the following thirty years in rural England, 
where changes came slowly. 

The last years of Victoria's life saw the Boer 
War, but this campaign, so far as I know, has 
not yet been told by the story-writers. It is still 
too close at hand, I suppose. 

For political pictures of the long reign, you 
ought to read some of Disraeli's stories, such as 
his "Sybil," which introduces its reader to the 
social ranks that ruled England during mid-Vic- 
torian years. His books are all of them well 
written and full of incident, and particularly 
sharp and clever in the portraits of his contem- 
poraries, whether men or women. Disraeli's own 
life was a romantic adventure, as well as a life 
packed with hard work, for there never was a 
man more untiring or ambitious. 

So here we are at the end of the long story 
of England as the romance writers have told it. 
The changes have been extraordinary indeed, 
since the times of Harold and the invading Nor- 
mans, nine hundred years ago. An adventurous 
story, crowded with fighting, splendid with the 
steady advance of the people, the growth of lib- 
erty and self-respect, the enormous development 
of power, a power that now stretches out around 
the world, bringing a whole host of new duties, 
opportunities, and dangers. What started as a 
little group of wild islands inhabited by a savage 
race, easily conquered by the fierce Norman in- 
vaders, is now the mightiest of empires. 

Without one important gap, this great story 
has been told in the series of books I have rec- 
ommended to you. Perhaps I have missed some 
that would have been valuable additions, and I 
have included some that are more or less alike. 
But I knew you could not always find a special 
book, since some are difficult to come by, and so 
I gave you several titles wherever possible. 

I hope you have enjoyed the series, and I am 
sure if you have made a little collection of the 
books, you have a library that is not only differ- 
ent from most, but that has considerable value. 

The story of America has been even more 
completely told by the romancers. It is, of course, 
much shorter, and the materials are far more 
easily come by. With its picturesque beginnings, 
its splendid march across the west, its vivid 
and successful wars, the story is peculiarly suited 
to adventurous rendering. Many of our best 
authors have gone to our history for their in- 
spiration, and much of our finest literature is 
based on Revolutionary and Civil War episodes. 
Then there are the wild Indian stories, some of 
these even having been told by Indians them- 
selves, the humorous studies of New England 
characters, the tales of privateering on the high 
seas, of gold-hunting among the lofty mountains. 

When Teddy was a baby he had soft, silky, golden ringlets all over his little 
round head. As he grew, the curls grew, and when he was four years old they 
hung quite down to his shoulders. 

Mother loved those silky curls, but big Father said they were " girly." And, 
indeed, strangers often called out to Teddy: "Hello, little girl! What pretty 
curls you have !" 

Teddy did not like that, and he was still more unhappy when the boys at kin- 
dergarten called him " Sissy." He came home crying one day when they had 
asked him if he played with dolls. 

That afternoon Father took Teddy down-town in the big automobile, and came 
back with some one whom Mother thought at first was a strange small boy sit- 
ting up proudly beside him. But when the little lad jumped out and ran to her, 
crying, " Dear Muzzer ! I 'm a real boy now," she saw that it was Teddy with- 
out his curls ! 

They were gone, all cut off by the barber man's sharp shears. 

Mother cried a little at first and said, "Oh, I have lost my baby!" but when 
Father answered, "Yes, but you have a little man now!" she began to smile a 
little, and by and b)- she laughed. 

Then Father took something out of his pocket. It was a folded bit of paper. 
He gave it to Mother, and when she had opened it she found one of Teddy's 
golden curls all twisted up inside. 

"To remember the baby b)-," Father said, and turned away with a smile when 
she kissed the shining strands, 

lO f'49 




Mother was sure that she left that precious curl in her work-basket on the table 
by the open window when she went down to dinner, but when she looked for it 
that evening she could not find it. It was the first warm day of spring, and the 
wire window-screens were not yet in place, but nobody could believe that the 
soft breeze had blown the treasure away. The paper it had been wrapped in 
was in the basket, but no golden ringlet. It was very strange, and Mother was 

" Why did n't I wrap it up again and put it away safely?" she mourned. 
Days and weeks went by, and the riddle was not solved. 

One night late in May there was a wild storm. In the morning the sun shone 

gaily, and Teddy ran out on the lawn 
bright and early. He trotted down under 
the big maple in the branches of which 
Mr. and Mrs. Robin Redbreast had their 
little brown house. They had just been 
teaching their babies to use their tiny 
wings. He peered up among the leaves 
to see if the four little Robin Redbreasts 
were all safe after the stormy night. 
There was no nest there ! Teddy gazed 
around, and then, giving a little squeal, 
pounced upon something lying on the 
fresh grass at his feet. It was the bird- 
ies' little nest — quite empty! Carefully 
carrying the nest, he hurried in to tell 

Together they looked at the Red- 
breast family's pretty home. Outside 
it was all rough and brown, but inside it 
was well lined with something soft and 
silky and golden. 

Mother cried out in surprise when she 
saw this lining. 
' Hei^c is your ciirlf" And then Auntie 
Bess came running to look, and Father, and Hannah the cook, and Magro-ie the 
waitress, and James the coachman, and all laughed heartily when they found that 
it was Mr. Robin Redbreast who had taken the lock of Teddy's golden hair from 
Mother's basket. He had borrowed it (they were sure he only meant to borrow) 
to make a soft bed for his babies. 

" But I fink it was n't wQvy polite of him to take it without asking leave," Ted 

" It certainly was not, dear," "Mother said. "Just think how much anxiety he 
has caused us. It was not a nice thing for a little bird to do, but then, you 
know, Mr. Robin did not know any better." 

Teddy's face grew rosy, for he remembered that sometimes he took cookies 
from the jar without asking permission, and lumps of sugar from the bowl, too. 
And he was a big boy, not a bird, and knew better. Yes, he did. Perhaps poor 
Mr. Robin had seen him and thought, if a boy did such things, a bird could do 


See, see, Teddikins!" she said. 




them, too. Well, Teddy made up his mind that he would n't be so naughty any 
more. In the future he would show his bird neighbors, if they happened to be 
watching him, or listening to what he said, how to be polite and good. 


" Where are the bird babies now?" he inquired anxiously. " Were they hurt 
in the storm ?" 

" No, laddie," Father answered. " They had learned to fly and take care of 
themselves. They will not need the little nest any more." 

"I shall keep it always," Mother said, with a smile, as she kissed her little 
son's smooth head and remembered how curly it once was. 




Threading our slow way along the narrow di- 
vide of the Wallowa Mountains that runs between 
the branches of the Snake River in the northeast 
corner of Oregon, we had stopped for a moment 
to breathe our horses, when the guide (who had 
formerly been a sheep-camp-tender) and our 
mammal collector left us and rode on ahead. 

An hour later, I saw them round the breast of 
a peak far along on the trail and disappear. That 
night they brought into camp a "cony," or "little 
chief hare" — the first I had ever seen. 

It was only the year before that this same 
camp-tender, in passing a rock slide in the peaks 
of the pass, had heard and seen, for the first time, 
a peculiar little animal about the size and shape 
of a small guinea-pig, whistling among the rocks. 

It was to this high, bleak slide that he. had now 
taken our naturalist, in the hope of showing him 
the "mountain guinea-pig" ; and, sure enough, 
they brought one back with them, and showed me 
my first cony, one of the least-known of Ameri- 
can mammals. 

As for me, I was undone ! That I should have 
been so near and missed seeing the cony at home ! 
We had descended two thousand feet to the camp 
that night, with never the hope of another "cony- 
slide" on the rest of the trail. 

To ease my disappointment, while the others 
were busy about camp next morning, I slipped 
off alone on foot, and, following the trail, got 
back about ten o'clock to the rock slide where 
they had found the cony. A wilder, barrener, 
more desolate land of crags and peaks I never 
beheld. Eternal silence seemed to wrap it round. 
The slide was made up of broken pieces of rock, 
just as if the bricks from two immense chimneys 
had cracked off and rolled down into the valley 

of the roof between. Stunted vegetation grew 
about, with scraggly wild grass and a few snow- 
line flowers blooming bravely along the edges of 
the melting snowbanks which glistened in the 
morning sun about me. 

I crept around the sharp slope of the peak and 
down to the edge of the rock slide. "Any living 
thing in that long heap of broken rock!" I said 
to myself incredulously. "This barren, blasted 
pile of splintered peaks the home of an animal?" 
I was on the ridge-pole of the world ! All about 
me were peaks — lonely, solitary, mighty, ter- 
rible ! Such bleakness and desolation ! 

And here it was, they had told me, they got 
the cony. I could not believe it. Why should 
any animal live away up here on the very roof 
of creation ? For several feet each side of the 
steep, piled-up rock grew spears of thin, wiry 
grass about six inches high, and a few lonely 
flowers — pussy's paws, alpine phlox, beard- 
tongue— all of them flat to the sand. 

And here, above the stunted pines — here, in 
the "slide" rock where only mosses and a few flat 
plants can live and blossom in the snow — they 
told me dwelt their cony. 

I sat down on the edge of the slide, feeling 
that I had had my labor for my pains. 

We had been climbing these peaks in the 
hope of seeing one of the last small bands of 
mountain-sheep that made these fastnesses their 
home : but, much as I wished to see a wild moun- 
tain-sheep among the crags, I wished even more 
to see the little cony among the rocks. 

"As for the stork, the fir-trees are her house. 
The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats ; 
and the rocks for the conies." I had always won- 
dered about those conies— what creature, exactly, 
was meant, and when and how they live among 
the rocks. 

I knew, of course, that these little conies here 
in the slide (if, indeed, they could be here!) 
were not the conies of the mountain peaks of 
Palestine, for that cony is little hyrax, a relative 
of the elephant, while the cony of these peaks is 
pika, a member of the rabbit family. 

I sat for a while watching. Was this the 
place ? I must make sure before I settled down 
to waiting; for when, in all my life, would this 
chance be mine again ? 

Going quietly out to the middle of the slide, I 




examined the rocks closely, and found the per- 
fect print of a little bloody paw on one of them. 

The right place, surely ! Here is where they 
shot the specimen brought into camp. I went 
back to my seat, content now to wait, even while 
I knew that I was holding back the camp from 
its day's march. 

I had been watching for perhaps half an hour, 
when, from somewhere in the rock slide surely, 
though I could not tell where, there sounded a 
shrill, bleating whistle. 

I waited. Presently a little gray form crept 
over a stone, stopped and whistled, paused for a 
moment, then disappeared. It was my cony. If 
you can think of Molly Cottontail turned into the 
shape of a guinea-pig about eight inches long, 
with positively no tail at all, and with big, round, 
broad ears, and with all four legs of equal length, 
so that the creature walks instead of hops — if 
you can imagine such a rabbit, you will get a 
pretty clear picture of the cony (pika, or "little 
chief hare," or "calling-hare"). 

I kept as still as the stones. Presently the 
plaintive, bleating whistle again sounded from 
nowhere— behind me, beyond me, up the slide and 
down, I could not tell. The rocks were rough, 
rusty chunks two or three feet long, piled helter- 
skelter without form or order, so that any one 
spot in the slide looked precisely like every other 
spot. I could not tell just the piece of rock the 
cony had crossed, once my eyes were off it, 
nor into which of the cracks he disappeared. I 
could only sit still and wait till I caught him 
moving, so completely did his color blend with 
the rusty brown tone of the slide. 

All the while the shrill, piteous call kept com- 
ing from anywhere in the slide. But it was not 
the call of several voices, not a whole colony 
whistling. The conies live in colonies; but, judg- 
ing from the single small haycock which they had 
curing in the sun, I think there could not have 
been more than two or three pairs of them in this 
particular slide. Possibly there was only the 
single pair living here, one of which had been 
shot, for presently, when m}' eyes grew sharp 
enough to pick the little creature out against the 
rocks, I found that it was he alone who was doing 
all the calling, and that for some reason he was 
greatly disturbed. 

Now he would stop on a slab and whistle, then 
dive into some long passage under the stones, to 
reappear several feet or yards away. Here he 
would pause to listen, and, hearing nothing, 
would call again, waiting for an answer to his 
tremulous cry— for an answer which did not 

Under and over the stones, up and down the 

slide, now close to me, now on the extreme op- 
posite edge of the pile, he traveled, nervously. 
Up and down, in and out, he ran, calling, call- 
ing, calling, but getting no answer back. It was 
the only cony that showed itself, the only live one 
I have ever seen, but I followed this one with my 
eyes and with the field-glasses, as it went search- 
ing and crying over the steep rock slide, until 


long past noon- with the whole camp down the 
canon looking for me. 

They might have known where to look : out of 
the canon, back to the roof of the world on the 

Higher up than the mountain-sheep or the 
goat can live, where only the burrowing pocket- 
gopher or rare field-mice are ever found, dwells 
the cony. This particular slide was on one of the 
minor peaks, loftier ones towering all about. 
Just how much above sea-level it was, I do not 
know, but well above tree-line, up in the arctic- 
alpine cold in a world of perpetual snow, from 
ten to fourteen thousand feet above the sea. 

By perpetual snow, I mean that the snowbanks 
never melt in the shadowed ravines and on the 




bare north slopes. Here, where I was watching, 
the rock slide lay open to the sun, the scanty 
grass was green beyond the gully, and the squat 
alpine flowers were in bloom, the saxifrage and 
a solitary aster— April and October together- 
blossoming in the edges of the snow just as fast 
as the melting banks allowed them to show their 
heads. But any day the north wind might come 
down and whirl about the summits, and leave the 
flowers and the cony-slide covered deep beneath 
the drift. 

Spring, summer, and autumn are all one sea- 
son, all crowded together — piercing like a peak, 
for a few short weeks, the long, bleak, un- 
broken land of winter here at the top of the 
world. But during this brief period, the thin 
grass grows and the conies cut and cure enough 
of it to last them from the falling of the 
September snows until the drifts are once more 
melted and their rock slide warms in another 
summer's sun. The cony does not hibernate. 
He stays awake down in his catacombs. Think 
of being buried alive in pitch-black night with 
snow a hundred feet thick above you for nine 
out of twelve months of the year ! Yet here 
the conies are away up on the sides of the wild- 
est summits, living their lives, keeping their 
houses, rearing their children, visiting back and 
forth through their subways for all their long 
winter night, protected by the sheltering drifts, 
— fleecy blankets which lie so deep that they keep 
out the cold. 

As I looked about me, I cou4d not see enough 
grass to last a pair of conies for a winter. Right 
near me was one of their little haycocks, nearly 
cured and ready for storing in their barns be- 
neath the rocks. But this would not last long. 
It was already early August, and what haying 
they had to do must be done quickly, or winter 
would catch them hungry. Well-known natural- 
ists who have observed them, describe with what 
hurry and excitement the entire colony falls to 
taking in the hay when bad weather threatens to 
spoil it. 

Hardy little farmers ! Feeble little folk ! Why 
do you climb for a home with your tiny bare- 
soled feet above the aery of the eagle and the 
cave of the soaring condor? Why, bold little 
people, why not descend to the valleys where win- 
ter indeed comes, but does not stay alway ? or 
farther down, where the grass is green the year 
around, with never a need to cut and cure a win- 
ter's hay? 

I do not know why, — nor why upon the tossing 
waves the little petrel makes his home ; nor why, 

beneath the waves, "down to the dark, to the 
utter dark," on "the great gray level plains of 
ooze," the "blind white sea-snakes" make their 
homes; nor why, at the north, in the fearful far- 
oif frozen north, the little lemmings dwell ; nor 
why, nor why — 

But as I sat there above the clouds listening 
to the plaintive, trembling whistle of the little 
cony, and still hoping his mate was not dead, and 
wondering why he stayed there in the barren 
peak, and how he fared in the black, bitter win- 
ter, I said over to myself the lines of Kipling 
for an answer : 

" And God who clears the grounding berg. 
And steers the grinding floe, 
He hears the cry of the little kit-fox 
And the lemmings in the snow." l 

Dallas Lore Sharp. 


Among the very rare and out-of-the-way mam- 
mals obtained by Colonel Roosevelt on his African 
trip was a white-tailed mongoos — a little known 


species of that fearsome but cunning beast which, 
by reason of its appetite for poultry and its de- 
structiveness in other ways, our government is so 
anxious to exclude from the United States. 

Those who have read Kipling's story of brave 
little Rikki-Tikki-Tavi will remember that in 
India the mongoos is more kindly regarded be- 
cause of its fearlessness in attacking poisonous 
reptiles. Easily domesticated, it is kept in many 
houses to rid them of such intruders as well as 
of rats and mice. 

The photograph of this interesting creature 
which we reproduce was taken by Kermit Roose- 
velt.— Rose L. HONEYMAN. 

1 These lines are from an earlier edition than that of the collected verse recently brought out by Doubleday, Page 
& Co., where it reads "and the tain J across the snow." — D. L. S. 






Twenty years ago, if any one had been passing 
along one of the roads that run over Salisbury 

BEWARE or .' 


Plain in England, how he would have been puz- 
zled if he had seen such a sign-board as the one 
in the picture ! "Danger, beware of," that was 
plain English, surely, but what were these un- 

known things from the air — these aeroplanes — 
against which one was warned? To-day, how- 
ever, it is a different matter. The stranger is 
told that this great plain has been selected as 
the ground over which the English army tests 
and manceuvers its flying-machines, and then he 
goes quietly on his way, with a glance at the sky, 
perhaps, to see if any of the air-men are afloat, 
— for we have not yet grown indifferent to that 
wonderful sight,— but without giving a second 
look at this curious notice. 


It is claimed that in no other country in the world 
could there be presented such a spectacle as was 
enjoyed by the onlookers at a recent review of 
the French army. On this occasion, there was 
assembled upon the manoeuver field a flock of 
seventy-two military flying-machines. They were 
drawn up for inspection in even, far-flung lines, 
just as batteries of field-artillery might be 
ranged ; and, as the crowning feature of this an- 
nual review of the army of France, more than 
twenty of these modern air-birds, as they have 
been called, rose from the ground at a given 
signal, and circled over the vast parade-ground, 
just as a flock of pigeons or other feathered fliers 
might do. 

While the Germans have been devoting them- 
selves to the development of dirigible balloons, 
the French have devoted almost all their atten- 
tion to aeroplanes. Their sky scouts are, accord- 
ingly, of the same general type as those employed 
in ever-increasing numbers by the United States 
Army, but our sister republic possesses several 




times as many of these machines as does the 
United States, or any other nation, for that mat- 
ter. Tlie possession of so large a number of aero- 
planes is an advantage in that it admits of the 
training of a large number of military aviators 
— an important consideration when a country has 
frontiers, such as those of France, to be guarded. 


A WONDERLAND for children has been built, piece 
by piece, by a Pittsburgh mechanic who evidently 
is fond of the little people. Every detail of the 
tiny pleasure-resort operates by the electricity of 
a lighting current, and there are scores of de- 
vices to make a youngster happy. There is an 
electric trolley system encircling the "park," a 
merry-go-round, a roller-coaster, a Ferris wheel, 
a circular swing, and incandescent bulbs that 
illuminate the pavilions, the playhouse, and the 
amusement devices. On a roadway running 
around the park are a number of vehicles of all 
sizes and descriptions, forming a very busy 
highway full of automobiles, delivery wagons, 
and sight-seeing motor-cars. At Christmas time, 
an electrically lighted tree adorns one corner of 
this small Coney Island. This wonderful toy 
represents the work of years for the builder, 
George Haslam, who put in his spare time after 

the day's labor in constructing the toys and set- 
ting them in place ; but he is fully repaid, no 
doubt, when he sees the happy faces of the chil- 
dren who come to see the wheels go round. 

C. L. Edholm. 


Do you own a watch? If you do, you will be 
interested in what we are going to tell you about 
the porpoise. Your watch is meant to mark the 
hours, the minutes, and even the seconds, pro- 
vided these small fractions of time concern you, 
and the movements of the hands warn you of the 
fleeting moments, and thus help to make you 
punctual. In short, your watch takes time quite 

Now the playful porpoise is a spendthrift of 
time; and day after day and month after month, 
this small cousin of the whale just gambols 
through the water and frolics away its existence. 
It never gives time a single thought. Just the 
same, but for this sportive creature of the sea, 
our watches would have a sorry task in living up 
to their reputations. 

You know enough about machinery to realize 
that oil is needed to make it run smoothly. The 
finer the mechanism, the better the grade of oil 
req.uired for this service of lessening friction 

"EVERY di;tail of the tiny pleasuke-kesokt operates by eeectricitv. 




between moving parts. A good watcli won't rnn 
properly unless oiled with the most refined lubri- 
cant, and the oil must have qualities not found 
in the usual run of its relatives. A good-sized 

I I. . n 'i;r( >•.-,!■. A'l lloMls. 

Stick won't block a wagon wheel, but the thin- 
nest hair will halt a watch. You know that some 
lubricants are as thick as paste, while others are 
well-nigh like water. One will stay where it is 
placed, and the other will run or drip away. 

Now a watch needs an oil which will be so 
fluid that it will not clog the smallest wheel, and 
yet it must be good and stay just where the 
watchmaker places it. It must not get so thin 
when heated by the body that it will desert its 
post, nor must it thicken when -exposed to the 
cold. In short, it must always help the wheels 

arctic region. A chronometer that had lain four 
winters in the frozen North, with the tempera- 
ture reaching seventy-two degrees below zero, 
when re-wound, ran perfectly. It could not have 
done this had its sensitive mechanism 
jj"^ been lubricated with anything else 
•*• than the oil from the jaw of a por- 
.*1 i)oise. 

This oil is refined by letting it settle 
m the sunshine, and exposing it lo the 
- lempcratures of winter. This natural 

])urifying may go on for several years 
l)efore the oil is fit for the watch- 
maker. Even then, there are only a 
few men in the world who know 
enough about it to tell just when it is 
in the right condition. You can easily 
understand why it costs sometimes 
more than twenty dollars a gallon, but, 
fortunately, only a little of this oil is 
needed in a watch or clock. Not many 
years ago, a quarter of a million of 
clocks were oiled with badly refined 
oil, and before they left the manufac- 
turers, they stopped running. All of 
them had to be cleaned and relubri- 
caled at a pretty heavy cost in time and labor, and 
the makers made sure that only the best of por- 
poise-jaw oil was then used. 

Robert G. Skerrett. 


To keep the cattle that stray over the Arizona 
mesas from rubbing up against his mail-box and 
tearing it off, a rancher constructed a revolving 
mail-box by driving a short iron rod into the 

(" I- ") OH.-I'AN. 

to run smoothly and regularly, so that the watch 
can keep lime correctly. 

Watchmakers have tried all kinds of oil, and 
science has done its best to help in this matter : 
but Nature has given us just one lubricant fit for 
watches and chronometers — the chronometer, 
you know, is the precious timepiece of the navi- 
gator. This oil comes from a recess or "pan" in 
the jaw of the porpoise. This oil will do its duty 
in the tropics, and it will not thicken even in the 


post for a pivot. On this he set two four-foot 
lengths of light wood so that they would revolve 
like a turnstile. The box was secured to the end 





of one of these lengths, and a stone was wired 
to the opposite end to act as a balance. 

Now when the cattle start to scratch them- 
selves on the post, the mail-box simply moves 
around, offering no resistance to the pressure of 
the animal. 

L. M. Ediiolm. 


In the city of Thomasville, Georgia, is a water- 
oak that has unusually wide-spreading branches. 
In width it measures one hundred and ten feet 
from tip to tip of the foliage. Owing to the great 
age of the tree, it has been found necessary to 
support the branches, and for that purpose the 
tree-surgeons used about one hundred feet of 
strong chain, that puts much of the weight of 
the weaker limbs upon the stronger. 

The accompanying photograph was sent to St. 
Nicholas by Ethel Rowan Fasquelle, who was 
visiting in Georgia and became much interested 
in this huge tree. 


A CLOCK that resembles a perpetual-motion de- 
vice operates by the weight of a number of steel 
balls that rest upon one side of a wheel surround- 
ing the face. As they reach the lowest point, 
they drop into a runway and slide back and 
forth until they are picked up by the elevator at 

the left, which carries them to the top of the 
clock and releases them to repeat the perform- 
ance. Although the dropping of the weights 


regulates the clock, it requires springs to keep it 
going, so it cannot be classed with the perpetual- 
motion machines. 





KOTE: So many questions are received tliat ive can under- 
take to answer in these pages only those of unusnal or general 
interest. Otiier tetters, coiitaijiing return postage, niill l>e 
answered personally. — EDITOR. 


Bronxvii.i.f., N. V. 
Di'.AR St. Nicholas: In "Because We Want to Know" 
of the November St. Nicholas, Marguerite Barnett spoke 
of having seen a rainbow in the night. Perhaps it wouhl 
interest her to know that at Quogue, Long Island, on the 
evening of Septenil)er 2 1, 1907, at about quarter of seven, 
I saw a rainbow caused by the moon and tlie rain. A full 
moon was rising in the east, and a thunder-storm was com- 
ing up from the west. The moon shone through a light 
sliower preceding the storm, and made a distinct rainbow 
against the black clouds in the west. This rainbow was 
very light in color, in fact almost white. It lasted about 
five minutes. 

Very sincerely yours, 

Alice L. Jones. 

Moon rainbows are due to precisely the same 
causes that produce sun rainbows, but we do not 
notice them as often because usually they are too 
faint to catch our attention. 

There is often a bright primary rainbow, and a 
larger, fainter, secondary rainbow. These are 
both due to the fact that the sunlight or the moon- 
light enters into the round drops of rain and is 
reflected back to the observer from the inside 
surface of the drop. Therefore, when our face 
is turned toward the rainbow, our back is turned 
toward the sun or the moon. There are many 
other kinds of bows to be seen in the heavens ; 
some are formed by snowflakes and even by round 
drops that are too small to form rainbows. Have 
any of our readers seen glories about the moon, 
or solar or lunar halos, or the beautiful pink spot 
in the west after sunset, v/hich is a reminder of 
the fatuous red sunsets in 1884 after the great 
eruption of Krakatoa? — C. A. 

a queer pile 

Sheboygan Falls, Wis. 
Dear St. Nicholas: I inclose a picture I took in the 
woods near here. It is a pile over a foot high, and seems 
to consist entirely of the scales from pine-cones. It is 
built on the decayed roots of an old tree, and near the bot- 
tom are five or six holes. One shows in the center in the 
picture. I suppose it must be the home of some squirrel, 
and would like to know if they often build homes in like 
manner, as this is the only one of its kind I have ever seen. 
Yours truly, 

B. Leavens. 

From my western notes I find "the Douglass 
red squirrel carries his cones to a long distance 
and shucks them in great piles." But knowing- 
thai this squirrel was not found in Wisconsin, I 
sent the letter and photograph on to Dr. C. H. 
Merriam, who replied that "the mound of cone 
scales shown in the picture is undoubtedly the 
work of the common red squirrel, Sciiinis hud- 
soniciis." I hardly dared to say it was the red 
squirrel, though reasonably sure of it. 


The holes were doubtless made by mice. 

Dallas Lore Sharp. 

salt freezes ice-cream and melts ice 

Toledo, O. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Will you please tell me why salt 
will freeze ice-cream, then also melt ice (as when sprinkled 
on the sidewalk) ? 

Your interested reader, 

Pauline Wisner. 

"Why will salt freeze ice-cream?" 

It is because the salt makes the ice melt that 
cold is produced to freeze the ice-cream. If you 
stir up a lot of ice with pure water and put in a 
thermometer, the temperature will go down to 
precisely the freezing-point of water — 7,2° Fahr- 
enheit—which is the same as the melting-point of 
ice; but if you stir up ice with very salt water, 
the temperature will fall to the freezing-point of 
the salt water, after a part of the ice has melted, 
and this temperature, with the strongest brine, is 
in the neighborhood of zero. The salt causes 
more ice to melt than would melt in pure water, 
and this melting absorbs much heat, or, in other 
words, it produces much cold. Cold water will 
dissolve only about one third of its weight of 
salt, so that a brine stronger than this cannot be 
made. Therefore a good mixture to use is three 
parts by weight of crushed ice and one part of 
salt.-H. L. W. 

Some of our ambitious young folk still need to reiniml 
themselves of those interesting Rules and Regulations 
printed on the last of the League pages, in every number 
of St. Nicholas. 

It is a sad thing, for instance (as happened this month), 
when a clever young contributor sends us such a jolly good 
story that the Editor fairly chortles over it, only to find, 
when he comes to send it to the printer, that it contains 
over 500 words ! For the League rules e.vpressly state, 
you remember, that the limit is 350 words for prose contri- 
butions! It is a doubly sad thing, you see, because the 
young author has deprived herself of the joy of a silver 
badge, to which the story itself was justly entitled, and the 
Editor is deprived of the joy of sharing the delightful little 
narrative with all the members of the League, who would 
have welcomed it with hearty appreciation. But rules are 
rules, and in justice to all they must be observed. 

And it would be just as well to read through every one 
of these rules, while you are about it, for with each com- 

petition there are still a few names destined for the Roll of 
the Careless, because their contributions lack the indorse- 
ment of parent or teacher, which is, /// i?// ctrsrs. necssarv. 

It is a rich and goodly budget of prose, verse, and pic- 
ture that our loyal young Leaguers have conjured up for 
our benefit this month. On the serious side, there are 
several real gems which you will not fail to discover for 
yourselves (including the opening Springtide verses on 
the opposite page, the final stanza of which fairly sings 
itself into the memory), .^nd then, too, a plentiful sup- 
ply of jollity leavens the whole exhibit. It would be 
strange, indeed, if some of the family traditions called forth 
by the title " Mother's Best Story" were not spiced with 
liveliness and fun ; and many of the young artists found 
that the two words, " Something Wrong," fairly bristled 
with humorous ideas and suggestions. 

So there is not only good reading, but good fun and 
merriment in the League pages this time, — as well befits 
the '■ .Merrie .Month of iMay." 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

PROSE. Gold badge, Lois Hopkins (age 15), Massachusetts. 

Silver badges, Helen Goodell (age 14), Illinois; Margaret B. Boynton (age 15), New Yorlc; Valerie Torpadie (age 

16), New York ; Robert Henry Reid, Jr. (age 15), California. 

VERSE. (}old badges, Lucile H. Quarry (age 16), Michigan; Nell Adams (age 15), .\rkansas. 

Silver badges, Julia McDonald Davis (age 13), West Virginia; Mildred E. Hudson (age 15), Oregon; Lois C. Myers 

(age 13), New Jersey. 

DRAWINGS. Gold badge, Loena King (age 15), Te.xas. 

Silver badges, Ruth C. Robinson (age 14), !S"ew Vork ; Ardery De Fonds (age 15), Missouri; Natalie Van Vleck 

(age 12), New York. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Gold badge, Margaret Kew (age 17), California. 

Silver badges, Russel Sholes (age 15), New York; Uriing Valentine (age 12), New Jersey; Emily Rice Burton (age 

14), Connecticut; Margaret A. Biddle (age 15), Oreg<jn ; Harry L. Snyder (age 13), West Virginia. 

PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold badge, Margaret Laughlin (age 15), Illinois. 

Silver badges, Gladys Blakely (age 15), Oklahoma; Charles Scribner (age 14), New Jersey; Wilella Waldorf (age 15), 


- »-ii '-:.-:.'. -3i«i«« 


UV UlvLIXt; V.'M.EN ri.NE, At,E 12. (.sII.VliK \iADVA--.) 





liV I.l'CII.f; H. QUARUV (ACE l6) 

{Gold Badge. Silver Badyc icon March, J914) 
A MELODY of the springtime ! 

A tune of the April sky ! 
A music like vocal sunshine. 

As a flash of blue skims by. 

Blue are the sky and the river. 

And the music the Lord hath made 
Is held in the throat of a songster 

That gleams with the same bright shade. 

And we know that spring is coming, 

When we see the bird of blue, 
And hear his song in the orchard — 

A melody old, yet new. 

For it seems that the bird is a spirit 
Whose summons sweet will bring- 
Over the river the dawning. 
And over the hills the spring ! 

"a winter WOK'LD." by ESIIIEU K. HAKKINGTON, age I4. 



(Silver Badge) 

We snuggled closely to Mother's side and pleaded : "Just 
one story before bed. Mother, please." Glancing at our 
eager faces, aglow with excited anticipation, she con- 
sented and began : 

"Many years ago, when I was six years old. I lived 
on a big farm. I had a little fur coat and a gay scarlet 
hood, but, sad to say, I could n't tie a bow-knot. My 
efforts were all in \ain, and when I was about to give 
up, your grandmother reminded me, 'If at first you don't 
succeed, try, try again — remember this, dear.' These 
were pretty big words for a little girl, but they at least 
had a pleasant sound. 

"It was a bright, snowy morning among the old New 
England hills. After breakfast, I bundled into my fur 
coat and hood, and joined my playmates in their snow 
frolic. For some time, we toiled industriously, making 
a snow-man, and I was about to try on his nose when 
my hood came untied. What could I do ? I was a mile 
from home, and my friends could n't help me. Sud- 
denly it flashed over me — the magic words ! Would 
they work ? Feverishly I began : 

" 'If a' first you don't succeed, try, try again. A loop 
on this side ; a loop on other side ; poke him through, 
and — ' The attempt failed. Again I tried, more slowly : 

" ' I f — a' — first — you — don 't — succeed — try — try — a — ■ 
gain. A loop on this side ; a loop on other side ; poke 
him through, and here we have a bow !' Sure enough, 
under my chin was a truly bow. I had won my first 
\ictory, but the little verse has helped me to win many 
more since." 



(Gold Badge. Silver Badge won September. igi2) 
Oh, don't you remember last summer, my dear. 

Our camp by the old millstream ; 
That freedom has spoiled me for school work this year — 

It seems like a terrible dream, 
And after a while I will wake from my sleep. 

And see the old tent in the shade ; 
The clothes and the dishes all piled in a heap, 

The table that wobbled and swayed. 

Oh, don't you remember the "chuggers," my love. 

And the burs that grew up on the cliff ; 
The many mosquitos that hovered above, 

The black snake that frightened me stiff. 
So well I remember the hot, dusty road 

That we tramped in our bathing-suits wet ; 
The leaky old boat that we patiently towed. 

The fish that we never did get ! 



{Gold Badge. Silver Badge zvon March, igii) 
One day, my mother got a letter from her cousin who 
lived in the country, asking her to come and visit the 
farm. As Mother had always li\ed in a city and did n't 
know much about 
the country, she 
was delighted. 

She arrix ed at 
the farm a few 
days later, and was 
met by her cousin. 
who was very glad 
to see her. This 
cousin was full of 
fun, and always 
playing pranks on 
people, so that night 
she asked Mother 
if she would like to 
get up early the 
next morning and 
let the hens out. as 
it was such fun to 
watch them, and see 
how glad they were 
to get out into the 
air after lieing shut 
up all night. Mother 
thought it would be 
fine sport : so, at 
four o'clock the next 
morning, Mother 
was wakened and 

told to be \ery quiet in dressing, so as not to wake any- 
body up. Mother's hostess had already told the man not 
to let the hens out. as she and her cousin would do it. 

They dressed themselves quickly, and, taking their 
shoes in their hands, crept down-stairs. 


■\ WINIER world" (in SOUTHFRN 



BADGE WON MAR., 1913.) 




When they had got out of doors and put on their 
shoes, Mother's cousin said : "Now run and open the 
door and let them out" ; so Mother went and opened 
the door. 

There was a great fluttering and flapping of wings, 
and a tremendous cackling, and poor Mother had half a 
hundred chickens flying at her head. That was the first 
and last time she ever got up at daylight to let the 
hens out. 

"a hkading fur mav." by li>1':na king, agk 15 
(gold badge. silver badge won feb., 1914.) 



I cannot find thee, e'en when most adoring. 
Before thy shrine 1 bend in lowliest prayer. 

Beyond the hounds of thought my thought upsoaring, 
From farthest quest comes back, thou art not there. 


T CANNOT find thee, e'en when most adoring," 
Four thousand years ago was sung this song. 

A Brahman priest, with longing "thought upsoaring," 
Sought for his God through ways obscure and long. 

Had he had wealth and those whose love is treasure ? 

Had he been famed, and worthy honest pride. 
Having great learning and all means of pleasure. 

And o'er the earth had traveled far and wide ? 

Then, had he found these blessings not perfections, — 
Not the true en4 of all ; and did he fear 

He could not reach the "void" and "vast dominions" 
Of the great God ? — that God who was so near ! 

Despairing priest, when thou art bent in prayer. 
Go not on "farthest quest" to regions dim ; 

Thy heart is God's true shrine, and He is there. 
Oh, thou composer of this ancient hymn ! 

(/i true tale) 


(Sili'er Badge) 
My mother has told me a great many stories about that 
delightful time when she "was a little girl," so I have 
a large number from which to choose. There is the 
Thanksgiving story, the sled story, and the story about 
her pony ; but of them all, I think I like the hail-storm 
story best. 

This happened when my mother was about fifteen 
years old. She then lived in the country, with her in- 
valid mother and one brother. One afternoon in May, 
she was using the sewing-machine by a north window 

with small, old-fashioned panes, when suddenly the sky 
grew very dark, and large hailstones began to fall. Be- 
fore she realized it, they had broken the window before 
which she was sitting, and were racing across the room, 
striking against the door at the opposite side. My 
mother ran into my grandmother's room and wheeled 
her in her invalid chair out into a little dark entry 
without windows, shutting the doors on either side. In 
the meantime, my uncle had snatched up a large mold- 
ing-board from the pantry, and was holding it up at the 
north window to keep out the hail. 

The storm lasted only a few minutes, and when it was 
over, a huge pile of hailstones, at least two feel deep, 
was found under the window, where they had rolled off 
the watershed roof. Some of them were as large as 
hen's eggs. But the part of the story that always inter- 
ested me the most was that, when the storm had passed, 
my mother was so sorry that she had no ice-cream ready 
to freeze, with so much nicely chopped ice going to 
waste on the ground ! 



"Once upon a time," began Mother, sitting in a low 
rocker by the fire with Peggy and Billy one on each side 
of her, "when I was a little girl about eleven, my mother 
wanted some preserves for supper, so she told me to go 
down and bring some up. I started down the cellar 
steps, and walked toward the closet where the peaches 
were kept. I had always hated to go down in our cellar, 
because it was so dark and grtiesome. Well, I had just 
put the key in the door, when I heard a voice exclaim- 
ing, 'Well, I never !' apparently coming from this very 
closet. I was so terribly frightened I could n't even 
move, and when I tried to scream, my tongue stuck in 
my mouth. You can 
imagine how terrified I 
was. At last, when I 
could move, I listened 
intently. Yes,. I could 
hear soft rustlings. 
When I heard that, I 
dashed as quickly as 
possible to Mother, but 
could scarcely tell her, I 
was so excited. When 
she, at last, understood 
me, she armed herself 
with a small revolver 
which we always kept in 
the house, and gave me 
an ax. We stole softly 
down and stood beside 
the door. Mother her- 
self heard the noise. 
Suddenly we burst open 
the door. Mother aiming 
her weapon and calling 
out bravely, 'Hands up !' 
The closet was dark, so 
we had a lantern. Sud- 
denly, 'Well, I never ! 
Bless my buttons !' came 

in screeching tones. Then how we laughed when out from 
a corner walked a parrot ! We were puzzling our brains 
to discover how in the world he could have gotten in, 
when we spied an open window in the house next door, 
which explained it. 

"It was our neighbor's parrot, and he had flown out 
of their window and into our preserve closet." 








'^- ■^«SS^:5 







""lff^T 1. tl 

ijf^'f^*"^ •-'• 












(Sil'c'cr Badge ) 
Midnight in ALiy ! The world steeped in a misty liglit ! 
An ancient mansion, faced with moonlit pillars white, 
Lies silent in a garden of forgotten flowers : 

Dreaming, deserted. 
No more the stately halls are filled by a glad throng, 
Ladies and knights. The harp, once thrilled by constant 

LVged by the fingers of brocaded belles, stands now 

Lonely and soundless. 

But suddenly the golden chords are throbbing low. 

Tuned to the melody of a quaint dance ; and slow, 

So soft that it can scarce be heard, but wondrous sweet. 

Answering, a voice ! 
A bygone song, sung with a lilting note and glad. 
Steals through the air (but, hidden 'neath its joy, a sad 
Minor refrain, in sorrow for the long-lost days) 

And softly dies. 

What was the sound? Was it the wind that cried aloud? 
A breeze that touched the strings? Or soul of lady 

Returning to the silent house where once she dwelt, 

To sing, departing 
To return no more? The sound has fled, and all is still. 
A pillared mansion, throned in state upon the hill, 
Lies silent in a garden of forgotten flowers ; 
Dreaming, deserted. 





Mother tells this story : When she and her brother, 
Robert, were small, their favorite (but rather naughty) 
game was "Missionary and Heathen." 

Uncle Robert would sit in the lid of the clothes- 
hamper, and, pretending he was a missionary in a boat, 
would push himself over to Mother, who was encamped 

BIDDl.E, AGE 15. 


on the footstool, which they pretended was a cannibal 
island, and she was one of the savages. 

He would stand criulinusly in the lid of the clothes- 
hamper and anx- 
iously inriuire of 
Mother, "Heathen, 
want a Bible ?" And 
Mother would an- 
swer, "Whack ! 
No !" (The word 
"whack" was their 
idea of the heathen 

The "missionary" 
would then ask, 
"Heathen, want a 
pair of shoes ?" And 
again the "heathen" 
would answer, 

"Whack! No!" 

Then L'ncle Robert 
would ask, "Hea- 
then, want a School 
paper?" And Moth- 
er would again re- 
ply, "Whack! No!" 
Then Uncle Robert 
would cautiously 
ask, "Heathen, want a jug of whisky?" And Motht 
would emphatically answer, "Whack ! Yes !" 



(Silver Badge) 
"Once," began their mother, complying with a request 
from her children for a story — "once, when I was a lit- 
tle girl about eight years old, and when we lived in the 
country, I ran away. 

"I don't remember just why, but I do remember that 
it was raining, and I had been naughty, and got the 
idea that Mother did n't like me. 

"So I slipped out of the back door and started up the 
road toward the brook. Just as I came in sight of it, 
the rain came down in torrents. As I had no umbrella, 
I crawled under the bridge, which happened to be much 
longer than the brook was wide, to wait till the rain 

"I had not been there long, before I was joined by a 
boy of about my own age, who, like myself, had been 
caught out in the rain. 

"We talked about different things, and I said I was 
running away. To my surprise, he said he was, too. So 
we decided to run away together. 

"When the rain stopped, we started up the road, talk- 
ing gaily about the adventures we would ha\e. 

"Just at this point, I saw my mother hurrying along 
after me. I ran as fast as I could, but I was soon 
caught, and your father—" 

"Who?" cried the children. 

"Your father (for the boy I met was none other than 
he) dodged into the bushes and disappeared. 

"When Mother got me home, I was punished so effec- 
tually that I determined to stay there in future. 

"As for j'our father, I learned, when I met him years 
later, that, upon my capture, he, after thinking the mat- 
ter over very carefully, decided to return home, too." 

Whereupon the children unanimously agreed that that 
was "Mother's liest story." 






(Silver Badge) 
A SUNBURNED sailor stood upon the coast of Labrador 
At twilight, gazing at the surf which beat the rocky 

And at the glowing sunset whose wondrous, aureate 

Illumed the tossing ocean, — the wilderness of dreams. 
The rover listened sadly ; he had often heard the song 
Of Neptune, as before the gale his good ship fled along. 
Through strange, wild realms he 'd traveled, from Suez 

to ice-bound Nome ; 
Yet the music of the billows was always "Home, sweet 


In many climes, in peace and war, he spent his carefree 

days : 
Far in the frozen Arctic, in India's golden bays. 
Amid the pirate waters of the darkest continent. 
By lonely coral islands, on treasure-seeking bent. 
Along the mighty Amazon, within the jungle shades, 
And through the sultry tropics to Florida's everglades. 
And, like the tireless albatross whose crest is flecked 

with foam. 
To the brave mariner the vast, blue sea was home, sweet 


When tempests threatened ruin and silvery spray dashed 

The sailor climbed the masthead, laughed at the frowning 

And with his merry comrades battled with the stormy 

For he loved the tempest's passions, and somber mystery. 
To him the boundless ocean was the reeling sea of Life, 
Whose mighty undercurrents were adventure, hope, and 

And dear to him its melody ; wherever he might roam. 
The wind and blue waves welcomed him with gladsome 

"Home, sweet home." 

"a heading for may." nv Virginia p. bradfield, age 16. 


Mother Nature sat in her cheery sitting-room, in the 

center of the earth, with all the little seedlings and 

plants (who were housed for the winter) around her. 

"Do you know what it 's like on the earth now?" she 



asked. "Well, as you don't, I '11 tell you. It 's covered 
with a soft, cold, white frost, two and three feet deep — " 

"How awful !" exclaimed a tender rose-bush. 

Then Mother Nature continued : "After a long time, 
the sun will get hotter, and warm rains will come and 
melt the snow. Then 
you '11 begin to push 
your way through 
the earth ; after 
a while will come 
the eventful night 
when you first come 
into the open. What 
a difference ! The 
stars shine brightly, 
the breezes blow 
softly, and all is 
calm ; then the sun 
comes ; he sheds 
his radiance every- 
where, and all is 

"Pooh ! that 's no 
sort of story," said 
an old tree. 

"Yes, yes, my dear, 
but you liked it when 
you were little." 

This is what Mother Nature tells the little seeds every 
winter, and they always welcome it as her best story. 

"something wrong." by ELIZABETH HULL, AGE 13. 



{Silver Badge) 
On the road whose aim was the little country school- 
house, there grew a tree whose spreading branches cast 
a cooling shade over the dusty highway. But better 
than the tree's shade, at least to the children, were the 
delicious black cherries which hung on it. Before and 
after school, they climbed it and feasted among its 
branches — and one of them was Mother. 

One day, after having been expressly warned against 
tree-climbing because of the splendor of a new dress. 
Mother passed by on the way to school. The shade was 
very grateful, and she rested a moment. That moment 
was her undoing, for the tempter, passing by and seeing 
an idle little girl, flew into her ear and whispered : "Go 
on and climb ! You never fell or tore your dress be- 
fore !" The shining juicy cherries hung tantalizingly 
on the boughs, mutely inviting her to ascend. Caution 
was thrown to the winds. She yielded, and was soon 
sampling the luscious fruit. But, alas ! there was a 
sudden crack, and Mother, instead of sitting on a 
branch vigorously eating, was hanging on its stub by 
the hem of her dress, swinging to and fro like a pen- 
dulum. No hero appeared on the scene to rescue the 
lady in distress. The cloth was very tenacious at first, 
but the strain finally told on it, for, with a bump. 
Mother fell to the ground. Happily, no broken bones 
resulted, but what seemed worse than any bruise, was a 




rip of prodigious size in the skirt, quite destroj'ing its 
pristine beauty. This was, however, remedied by the 
judicious arrangement of pins, and nothing being seen 
at the time, nothing v/as said. But finally the pins were 
discovered, and Mother received a punishment whose 
vigor certainly made up for lost time. 


There are places out on the lake at eve 

Where you watch the sun sink behind the hill ; 

And if you 've been grieving, you cease to grieve, 
Because everything is still. 

And you watch the bright sky change to blue, 

And the purple steal in where the gold must leave. 

And the beauty creeps into you. 

There are times when you drive in the country wide, 
When you see in the heat of the blazing sun 

The man and his horse work side by side, 

And he sings, for the joy of the work he 's done. 

And the work he has yet to do. 

And a ray of joy in the wheat you 've spied, 

And you 've said : "I '11 be happy, too." 

"something wrong." by Frederick w. agnew, age i6. 


"Arthur, you really must give Rex his bath this morn- 
ing. He is a dreadfully dirty dog," Mrs. Smith said to 
her son, one Sunday morning at breakfast. 

"Very well. Mother," Arthur answered ; "I '11 do it 
directly after breakfast." 

So after breakfast, Arthur got the bath ready, and 

called Rex ; but 
there was no an- 
swer. He looked 
in all the down- 
stairs rooms, and 
then on the sec- 
ond story ; but no 
Rex was to be 
found. At last, 
Arthur gave it up, 
and decided to 
wait for another 
chance. A little 
later, he went to 
his room in the 
third story, and 
the first thing he 
saw was the tip of 
a dog's tail stick- 
ing out from un- 
der the bed. Sure 
enough, there was 
Rex, the great pointer, crouched under the bed, looking 
out of the corner of his eye. He had outwitted his mas- 
ter and escaped his bath for that time. And let us hope 
that the next time, his mistress was wise enough not to 
speak about Rex's bath when he was within hearing. 

(A song of joy) 


There are places out in the deep, deep wood. 
Where the moss-covered logs are intercrossed. 

Where you feel as if you were understood. 
And the sounds of the world are lost. 

Where the catbird comes out, and sings, and sings, 
Till the bad thoughts go, and leave the good ; 

And you think of brighter things. 

Jc^ L 

"something wrong." by katalie van 
vleck, age 12. (silver badge.) 



{Silver Badge) 
It is an old, old melody ; 

I heard it in my youth, 
When I was but a little babe. 

Without a single tooth. 

It is_ an old, old melody ; 

I heard it as a man. 
And often at the singers 

I 've thrown a frying-pan. 

It is an old, old melody. 
And one you surely know ; 

But what you don't remember, 
The picture here will show. 





No. I, A list of those whose work would have been used had space 

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


Elizabeth Cobb 
Lily Caddoo 
Gladys M. Smith 
Eleanor E. Osborne 
Tudor Gardner 
Gertrude Harder 
Eunice Attebery 
Loren H. Milliman 
Dorothy A. Smith 
Harriet D. Price 
Prospera Dezzani 
Elizabeth F. Bradbury 
Theo. E. Wright 
Frances E. Thomson 
Griffith Harsh 
Katherine G. Batts 
Dorothy Towne 
Eleanor Schermerhorn 
George R. Leighton 

T,illa G. Carmichael 
Marion L. Rogers 
Susan C. Duffield 
Adelaide H. Noll 
Eleanor A. Janeway 
Charlotte L. Hall 
Josephine S. Wilson 
Millard Getty 
Catherine Oppel 
Mab N. Barber, Jr. 
Gertrude Johann 
Louise M. Skinner 
Helen E. Westfall 
Helen A. Rader 
Dorothy Reynolds 
Ruth Schmidt 
Mildred Fish 
Charlotte Covert 
Maria L. Thompson 
Eunice Cole 
M. Elizabeth Wells 

Ruth B. Brewsjer 
Catharine E. Cook 
Hermas Stephenson 
Earl D. HoUinshead 
Rose Kadishevitz 
Alfred Valentine 
Lois D. Cole 
Virginia Wilder 
Gretchen L. Tuthill 
Doris G. Tipton 
Ruth C. Harris 
Betty Humphreys 
Fannie W. Butterfield 
Elmaza Fletcher 
Mildred Lawson 
Frances Neville 
Eliza A. Peterson 
Emmy-Lou Schwartz 
Clarice M. French 
Katharine Beals 
Edith N. Coit 




Marguerite Sisson 
Carolyn Berg 
John E. Moody- 
Agnes Janeway 
F. Alma Dougherty 
Elise Houghton 
Phyllis Fletcher 
Henry M. Justi, Jr. 
Elizabeth Bade 
Persis T. Rogers 
Gladys Holden 
Edith M. Levy 

E. Theodore Nelson 
Emily P. Call 
E. H. Chapin 
Charlotte F. Kennedy 
Marion Monroe 
Jessie Niblo 
Lilian Anderson 
Lucile Smith 
Pincus Polinsky 
Thomas Struggles 
Sam Kirkland 
Marian Pierson 

Hughes Beeler 
Adeline de V. Kendall 
Clarence L. Wynd 
Marie L. Rupp 
Susie Busch 
Theodore M. Lay 


J. Fessler Haller 
Gustav Diechmann 
Ruth A. Jeremiah 

"something wrong." by MARIAN H, CHASE, AGE I3. 


Emily T. Burke 
Isabel Davis 
Eleanor May Bell 
Marion McCabe 
Mary E. Gorham 
Marion AL Casey 
Florence W. Towle 
Helen D. Hill 
Emily Delafield 
Eleanor Johnson 
Christina Phelps 
Helen L. Carroll 
Loury A. Biggers 
Margaret A. Norris 
Mignon H. Eliot 
B. Cresswell 
Catherine E. Cook 
Sarah F. Borock 
Bessie Blocker 
Louise Eaton 
Marjorie Seligman 
Mary Dendy 
Dorothy Levy 
Elsa Rogow 
Gladys H. Meldrum 
Hope L Stelzle 
Emanuel Farbstein 
Charlotte Chace 
Alice Weil 
Isidore Helfand 
Walter B. Lister 
Mary B. Thayer 
Eleanor Mishnum 


Venette Milne Willard 
Lucy F. Rogers 
James Thomas 
Marvis H. Carter 
Anna Mammano 
Marie C. Bouniol 
Harlan Hubbard 
Kenneth C. Davis 
Marguerite T. Arnold 
Margaret F. Foster 
Ruth Seymour 
Genevieve K. Hamlin 
Welthea B. Thoday 
Doris Pineo 
Mary P. Reeves 
Margaret K. Turnbull 
Elinor G. Smith 
Philip Stringer 
Alma Kehoe 
Frances Eliot 


Beatrice Beard 
Margery Andrews 
Paulyne F. May 
Louise S. May 
Emma Stuyvesant 
Dorothy W. Crook 
Gregory Cooper 
Woodworth Wright 
Helen R. Davis 
Helen Benedict 
Henrietta M. Archer 
Ruth Steckler 
Lida Raymond 
Augusta L. Burke 
Sara Eastburn 
Muriel Ashcroft 
Winifred F. Bostwick 
Ruthana Anderson 
Katharine Thompson 
Vinton Liddell 
Alice Warren 
Ethel Neuman 
Helen G. Barnard 


Columbia Maxwell 
Mary Dickson 
Ruth Yoerger 
Margaret Lautz 
Eugenia A. Lee 
Margaret A. Fitzgerald 
Sylvia F. Wilcox 
Martin Biddle 
Barbara Knight 
F. Brice Johnson 
Irving A. Leonard 
Sue Golding 
Helen F. Neilson 
H. W. Larkin 
Miriam A. Johnson 
Nathalie C. Gookrn 
Marion Dale 
Helen G. Scott 
Margaret Metzger 
Josephine Root 
Mabel H. Child 
Esther J. Lowell 
Winifred JellifTe 


Dorothy Parker 
Ernest E. Jacobs 
Catharine Tarr 
Jane F. Magee 

Alpheus B. Stickney 
Sherwood Buckstaff 
Margaret Thayer 
Jean F. Benswanger 
E. Barrett Brady 
Elizabeth HufJ 
Winifred Capron 
Kathryn S. Ferris 
Beulah Lloyd 
Philip T. Clark 
Gladys Dingledine 
J. Elizabeth Thompson 
Henry S. Johnson 
Wyllys P. Ames 
Joseph Steber 
Marie R. Erscher 




AGE 12. 

Bessie Radlofsky 
Alfred Curjel 
Janet Brouse 
Armand Donaldson 
Bernard Caudip 
EIoiseM. Peckham 
Marian Gardner 
Virginia Donham 
Joe Earnest 
Mignon K. Eliot 
Catharine D. Oxholm 
Emery L. Mallett 
Grace Perkins 
Winton G. George 

Dorothy E. Urick 
Charles A. Stickney, Jr. 
J. Roy Elliot 
Edith P. Stickney 
Alvin E. Blomqiiist 
Caroline E. Ingham 
T. B. Sweeney, Jr. 
'Chalmers L. Gemmill 
Margaret P. Spaulding 


Pauline Coburn 
H. R. Hitchcock 
Agnes Nearing 
Doris Libby 
Ferner Nuhn 
Marquis Ewing 
John Perez 

Helen L. Rockwell 
1'eresa Winsor 
Ruth Tyler 
Fred Floyd, Jr. 
Karl Piez 
Ethel T. Boas 
Frank Chesnut 
Anna Stonebraker 
Mary Davidson 


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 contributior, 
printed is of unusual merit. 

Competition No. 175 will close May 24 (for for- 
eign members May 30). Prize announcements will 
be made and the selected contributions published in St. 
Nicholas for September. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, "When Woods Are Green." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, "A Dog Story." 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted ; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, " IV'ly Favorite Photograph." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, "An Object of Interest," or a Heading for Sep- 

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: P^'ize, 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. 


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 he 
convinced beyond donbt — and ninst 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 
Address: The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Square, New York. 


San Francisco, Cal. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have just started taking you, and 
I like you very much. I have a dog, named Tim. He is 
an Irish terrier, and came home to-night limping badly. 
He had been in a fight, of course, and was all bitten 
up. He comes to school with me every day. He lies 
under my desk and goes to sleep. He is brown all over, 
and has soft, velvet ears. 

In summer, we go down to Los Altos, about forty 
miles from here. We have a fine place down there, and 
we have a great deal of fun. We have a lake there, 
and go swimming all the time. There was very little 
rain this year, and all the creeks were dry. 

Last summer, I went to a place where they raised 
fish, just trout. They had flumes with the fish in them. 
In one flume there were some very small fish, only about 
an inch long, and they were baby ones. In the next 
flume were some a little bigger, and so on, until the 
biggest ones were about ten inches long. They changed 
the water for them every day, as they were right on a 
creek. In some large glass jars there were some very 
large trout. Some were speckled, and some had rain- 
bows on them. The speckled ones were called Eastern 
Brooks, and the rainbow ones were called Rainbow Trout. 
We bought some fish there. There were thousands of 
them. The men threw some meat in the flume, and all 
the fish darted after it. The men then put down screens 
about a foot and a half square and dipped them up. 

That day, we found a nice little spot by the creek, 
and we had lunch. The fish were fine. After we fin- 
ished lunch, we all played games. 

This year there was no water in the creek, and the 
fish farm lost all its fish. It had forty thousand. 

Everett Griffin (age 13). 

Toronto, Canada. 
Dear St. Nichoeas : You have been a welcome visitor 
to our home for ten years. At first, I am afraid I was 
rather too young to appreciate you, but my elder sister 
did instead. 

On the day of the arrival of St. Nicholas in our 
home, there is always a scramble to decide who is to 
read it first. In rainy weather, or when we have n't 
anything else to read, we all fall back on our bound St. 
Nicholases. I have read a great many of the serial 
stories several times. I am especially fond of those 
written by Ralph Henry Barbour. 

Your stamp pages are also very interesting to me, as 
I am an enthusiastic stamp-collector. 

Your interested reader, 

Elizabeth H. Chant (age 14). 

were told, and got our pie, which was worth "stacking 
'em up" for. After dinner, my brother took my mother 
up the mountain to see the mines. I stayed at the house 
with his friend. Later, Mother and my brother came 
back. They did not have to take the horses down to 
the stable, which was a long way down the street, but 
just put the reins over the pommel of the saddle, and 
the horses went themselves. If you accidentally left 
the reins hanging in front of the horse, you would find 
it standing there, no matter how long you were gone. 
The next morning we left for Salt Lake City, and from 
there started home. 

Your interested reader, 

Florence Brugger. 

Concord, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for about five 
years, and then I was too young to read you. But the 
first thing I ever learned to read was "For Very Little 
Folk," and ever since, I have read you six or seven 
times before the new one comes. 

I have a pony forty-two inches high, and an Airedale 
pup who chews up all my shoes. 

I am eleven years old, and have a little brother three 
and a half. 

Your interested reader, 

Catherine Adams. 

Bloomington, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking you for two 
years, and I am going to take you again next year. I 
just love to read you, and I love the day you come. 

I have a little dog, named Jip. He can sit up, speak, 
and jump through my arms and "sing" with me. It is 
funny to see him ; sometimes he will just bark, but 
every now and then, he will hold up his chin and give 
the queerest little howl you ever heard. 
Your interested reader, 

Mary Duke Wight (age 8). 

Chicago, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have been taking your St. Nich- 
olas three years, and I hope that I always will be able 
to take it. I also hope that the Editors and contrib- 
utors may live many, many years, to gladden the hearts 
and improve the minds of all the children who read 
your dear St. Nicholas. 

Your little friend, 

Evalyn Cook (age 13). 

Columbus, Neb. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I was very interested when I 
noticed the article on Bingham in the November num- 
ber, because I have had some interesting experiences 
there. My mother and I went up from Salt Lake City 
on the railroad described. When we arrived, we were 
taken up to the hotel. My brother was a mining en- 
gineer there, and had a small house with another friend 
next to the hotel. In the parlor of the hotel we found 
a baby grand piano and a large set of mission furni- 
ture. How they were ever able to get the grand piano 
up there was more than I could understand, but it was 
there. We had dinner there at the hotel. After the 
first course, a maid stood at the door and called out, 
"Stack 'em up or you don't get no pie !" We did as we 

Gore Bay, Ontario. 
Dear St. Nicholas : For the last year, I have been an 
interested St. Nicholas reader; although I am a true 
Canadian, I am interested in American magazines, espe- 
cially St. Nicholas. 

My home is on the Manitoulin Island, which is situ- 
ated in Georgian Bay. 

Gore Bay is a delightful summer resort, but in the 
winter is rather slow. 1913 is the first year there has 
been a railroad on the island, so you can imagine what 
we felt like before it came, as there was a week, spring 
and fall, when we had no mail or communication with 
the world outside Manitoulin. 

There are beautiful drives on the island, and partridge 
are plentiful here. I often go out shooting with my 



father and 

Nicholas ; 
every week 

To The St 
a club of 

mother. I love reading, and so I love St. 
but, as I often say, I wish it would come 

Your interested reader, 

Helena Hurst (age 12). 

Rupert, Idaho. 
, Nicholas : I am sending you the picture of 
little girls here in their -costumes for the 
scene of that charming fairy play you gave 

OLAS when it was first issued, and Mama herself was a 
subscriber when she was small. 

I am nearly thirteen years old, and my sister, also a 
member of the League, is a year and a half older than 
I am. 

During the war. Mama worked in the hospital. I 
used to go with her quite often and distribute tobacco 
and candy among the wounded. The men asked Mama 
to get them different little things, and every morning we 
had a long list of orders for them : candies, sausages, 
cheese, raisins, brushes and 
combs for mustaches, and a 
roasted lamb's head! {That 
capped the climax!) 

The men were all very brave 
and patient, but it was sad to 
see the badly wounded who could 
not recover. 

The population has bravely 
gone to work again, and one 
would hardly know there had 
been war, except that, occasion- 
ally, in the streets one sees 
amputated men limping along 

I have a little baby sister 
twenty months old who loves to 
look at your pictures ; no doubt 
when she is big enough, she will 
take you also. 

Your interested reader, 
Marguerite Hadji Mischef. 


us in your magazine for April, 1913. They gave the play 
"The Sleeping Beauty" early in September, and found 
it so successful that they repeated it a month later. The 
two performances brought them about thirty dollars. 

People were unanimous in pronouncing it a beautiful 

The fairies were all in white, with wings and star- 
tipped wands. 

The play, as this club gave it, opened with a song and 
drill by all the fairies but Winter ; we also inserted a 
winter song, sung from behind the scenes, as Winter 
sat sewing at the beginning of Act HI, and a lullaby at 
the close of the same act, while Winter and the Sleeping 
Beauty made a pretty tableau. At the close of Act IV 
also, the three fairies again gave a little song, "The 
Shining Prince," with a simple wand-drill. 

The girls greatly enjoyed giving the play. This one 
was very lovely, without question. 
Very sincerely, 

Ethel Templin. 

Summit, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have never written to you before. 
We live in a big house here in New Jersey. 
We had a lot of chickens, but quite a lot of them 
have been eaten by cats. 

The people next door have twelve cats. 
We have taken St. Nicholas ever since 1906, and I 
like it very much. 

Your sincere reader, 

John Underwood (age 8). 

Sofia, Bulgaria. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Often when I read the Letter-box, 
I see letters from all over the world, but only once have 
I seen one from Bulgaria, and not written by a Bul- 
garian at that. That is why I am writing to you. 

We only live in Bulgaria in the summer, which we 
spend in Teham Koria, seventy kilometers from Sofia. 
This year we could not go there on account of the war. 

Of all the serials I have read I like "The Lucky Six- 
pence" and "Beatrice of Denewood" best, though I en- 
joyed "Captain Chub," "Tom, Dick, and Harriet," and 
"Harry's Island" very much. "The Lass of the Silver 
Sword" and "The League of the Signet-Ring" were also 
very nice. 

You are a very old friend of the family, on our 
mother's side, for her older sister took the St. Nich- 

North Abington, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken- you almost five 
years. The first year I took you, I was rummaging in 
some drawers and came upon you. I looked you all 
through, and then put you back. You were a Christmas 
present. When I finished reading that number through, 
I could not live without you. 

I am very much interested in all the serials and short 
stories. I have no favorites ; they are all lovely. 
Your interested reader, 

Helen B. Bennett (age 11). 

Rahway, N. J. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I love to read your stories, they 
are so interesting. I can hardly wait for you to come 
each month. 

I have only been taking you since January. You 
were a Christmas present to me from Mother and 
Father. They did n't tell me that I was going to have 
you for a year, and when you came, I jumped up and 
down, I was so happy. 

I have n't any brothers or sisters, so you see I would 
be quite lonesome without you. 

Your loving reader, 

Ruth Muriel Kemble (age 11). 




Hark ! Hark ! While the robin sings, 
Leaves, twigs, and worms she brings 
To feed the young, to build the nest 
In which her birdies go to rest. 

Gerald Houghton Taber (age 8). 

Worcester, Mass. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I have taken you for three years, 
and like you very much. 

"Miss Santa Claus of the Pullman" and "The Run- 
away" are my favorite stories ; but they are all lovely. 
Every one in our family likes you, from Grandma down 
to my brother Jack. He is too young to read the stories, 
but he looks at the pictures. 

Your interested reader, Barbara Denholm. 

Dear St. Nicholas : I want to write you about some 
black foxes I saw last summer. I was staying at my 
grandmother's, at Tignish, Prince Edward Island. The 
ranch belonged to some friends of ours, and one after- 
noon we were invited up there to see four little baby 
foxes that had been brought up by a cat. 

As soon as the little foxes were born, they were taken 
away from the mother fox and given to the cat, who 
had a family of kittens. 

The little foxes were very cunning, soft, fuzzy, gray 
things about the size of kittens. They were now able to 
eat meat. Each little fox had a white tip to its tail, by 
which tips they could be told apart. The mother was 

a superb fox with splendid fur, though she was very 
wild. The father fox was much tamer, but he did not 
have such good fur. 

Both the father and the mother fox were just losing 
their first coat, and the second coat was coming in in 
long, black, glossy hairs, differing much from the baby 
foxes' fur, which was a soft gray wool. 

All the foxes were kept in a large inclosure, and 
fenced off from each other by smaller walls of chicken 
wire. The mother had a large place to run in, and a 
"den" in which to sleep. The father fox had a smaller 
inclosure, and the four baby foxes had a smaller in- 
closure still. 

To prevent the foxes being stolen, the owners of 
ranches have to either stay in their ranches all the time 
themselves, or hire some one to stay there instead, for 
the little baby foxes, even at that age, cost eight hun- 
dred dollars apiece. So you can see that fox-ranching 
is no easy thing of itself, and, besides, there is always 
the possibility of something happening to the foxes. 
Your loving reader, 

Mae M. Bradford. 

Webster Groves, Mo. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a little boy nine years old. 
My father is an Armenian, and that is why my name is 
Dikran. I am named after a great Armenian king, 
Dikran II. He was a great warrior, and fought with 
Cyrus the Great, and so I am proud to be named after 
him. I like to read the Letter-box. 

Your little friend, Dikran Seropyan. 



The path of least resistance is the easiest one to take ; — 
My father told me that, and so it can't be a mistake. 
And where that pleasant pathway lies I '11 very frankly state — 
It leads from anywhere you are to Mother's pantry straight ! 


'I hear the kettle humming 
That lovely Campbell tunc: 
So clear the way! I'm coming 
With a great big spoon!" 

resist it. 

Neither can 
y^ou. No matter 
whether you are 
young or old, grave or 
gay, robust or dehcate, \ 
you just can't help enjoying 

Campbell's Tomato 

Its delicious fragrance wakes up your appetite even 
before you taste it. And its pure, wholesome flavor makes 
you feel that it is doing you good as fast as you eat it. And 
that is true. For it is nourishing in itself, and it helps you 
to digest all other nourishing food. 

Ask "Mother" to have it prepared as a Cream-of- 
tomato today. The label tells how. You'll say there 
never was another tomato soup to compare with it. 

21 kinds — 10c a can 






Chicken-Gumbo (Okra) 

Clam Bouillon 

Clam Chowder 



Pepper Pot 



Mock Turtle 




Mutton Broth 


Ox Tail 



IC);< ^azi-f'Ad. :}:ip\ 




WitlboMt Amy Extra Price 

Among oat lovers, all the world over, Quaker Oats is known as a rarity. Even Scotch -connoisseurs send 
here for it. 

Because Quaker Oats is always made from big, plump, luscious grains. A bushel of choice oats yields but 
ten pounds of Quaker. 

These picked-out grains may have twice the flavor of puny, half-grown grains. And that flavor — kept intact 
by our process — has won the world to Quaker. 

Now there are millions, of every race and clime, who insist on this Quaker flavor. The demand has grown 
to a thousand million dishes yearly. 

And now our mammoth output lets us give you this rarity without any e.xtra price. 

Flakes Made from Queen Grains Only 

If you think Quaker Oats im- 
portant to the welfare of children, 
this flavor is also important. It 
is flavor that wins them, and 
keeps them, and causes them to 
eat an abundance of Quaker. 

And each dish means energy 
and vim. Each supplies a wealth 
of the elements needed for brains 
and nerves. 

Don't let children grow away 
from this food of foods. And 

Now a 
25c Size 

Now we put up a large package 
for 25 cents. It lasts nearly three 
times as long as the 10-centsize. 
And by saving in packing it 
offers you 

10% More 
For Your Money 

don't, if your vitality is taxed, 
grow away yourself. 

As a vim-producer, as a food 
for growth, all the ages have 
found nothing to compare with 

That is the reason for Quaker. 
Its flakes are big and inviting. 
Its flavor makes this dish de- 

You make a mistake when 
you don't get this Quaker 

10c and 2Sc per Package, Except in Far West and South 

Tt^e Quaker QdXs Company 






Do You Want One? 

The pidtures in this year's Jell-O 
Book are all by Rose Cecil O'Neill, 
the famous arti^ and author, whose 
"Kewpies" (delightful little 
imps, whose frolics always 
bring good to somebody) have 
found a firmer place m 
the affecftions of children 
than even Palmer Cox's "Brownies" had 
a few years ago. Rose O'Neill's Jell-O 
children are almo^ as well known as 
the Kewpies are or the Jell-O girl herself is. 
The pidtures are delightful, but no more 
so than the recipes for making some of the 
mo^ famous Jell-O desserts in the easy 
Jell-O way, or the recipes for making brand-new Jell-O dishes 
ju^ as easily. 
One of the old and one of the new recipes are given here, so that you may 
see ju^ what to exped in the beautiful new book. 

Peach Delight. 

Dissolve one package of Peach or Orange Jell-O in 
one pint of boiling water, or one-half 
pint boiling water and one-half pint 
juice from peaches. Pour a little of 
the Jell-O into the mould, lay in 
sliced or canned peaches, add a little 
more Jell-O, let it harden, then add another layer of 
peaches and more Jell-O until mould is full. Set away 
to harden. Serve with whipped cream. 

Mrs. Rorer's Bavarian Cream. 

(Observe the simplicity of this recipe, and the low 
coft of the dessert as compared with 
the usual Bavarian Cream recipes.) 

Dissolve one package of Orange 

Jell-O in one pint of boiling water. 

Add half a cupful of sugar and Sand 

aside until it begins to harden. Then fold in one pint 

of whipped cream and turn into the mould. Serve very 

cold. — Contributed by Sarah T^son Rarer. 

Twelve million copies of the Jell-O Book are printed, and twelve million homes 
— nearly two-thirds of all in America — will each receive one of 

If you have not already received a copy of 
the book, and will write and tell us so, one 
will be sent promptly, free of co^, to you. 


'■A little more" Therc arc seven pure fruit 
flavors of Jell-O: Strawberry, 
Raspberry, Lemon, Orange, 
Cherry, Peach, Chocolate. 

10c. each, per package, at 
grocers' or general ^ores. 


Le Roy, N. Y., and Bridgeburg, Can. 

The name Jell-0 is on every package 

in big red letters. If it isn't 

there, it isn't jELL-0. 




Kodak and Bromiie cntnlorn'c free 
at your dealers, or by mail. 

Rochester, N. Y., Tbe Kodak City. 




Sugar Wafers 

THE.SIL incomparable sweets are the most universally 
popular of all dessert confections. Whether served 
at dinner, afternoon tea or any social gathering, Nabisco 
Sugar Wafers are equally delightful and appropriate. In 
ten-cent tins ; also in twenty-five-cent tins. 


Another dessert delight. Wafers of pleasing size and 
form with a bountiful confectionery filling. Another 
help to the hostess. In ten-cent tins. 








Wear Holeproof Hose Yourself — Get 
them for the Children 

Buysix pairs of Holeproof Stockings or Socks 
this month for yourself, your husband and for 
the children. They'll last without holes for 
six months or longer. 

If any of the six pairs fail within six months 
we will replace them with new hose free. 

Thus you can depend on having good hose 
all simuner and fall, without the trouble and 
bother of darning. Think of the convenience. 

These hose will stand the roughest play that 
the most active children engage in. 

They will not wear out within six months. 
Yet they are trim, neat and stylish. For we 
guarantee the thinnest Holeproofs — as sheer 
as any hose on the market — just the same 
as the heavier weights. 

The genuine Holeproofs are sold in your town. Write for 
dealers' names. We sliip direct where no dealer is near, charges 
prepaid on receipt of remittance. Write for 
free book which tells all about Holeproofs. 
Holeproof Hosiery Co. 
Milwaukee, Wis. 
Holeproof Hosiery Co. of Canada, Ltd., 

London, Canada 

Holeproof Hosiery Co., 10 Church Alley, 

Liverpool, England 


$L50 per box and up for six pairs of men's ; 
$2.00 per box and up tor six pairs of wonietis 
or 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 pairsof men's silk Holeproof socks ; $S.oo 
per box for three pairs of women's silk Hole- 
proof stockings. Boxes of silk guaranteed 
tliree monllis. 

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. (561) 



Look at These 
Tempting Grains 

These toasted, steam-exploded grains — crisp, 
brown, inviting — puffed to eight times normal 

Shaped as they grew, but changed, by this 
strange process, into thin-walled, airy bubbles. 

The very sight of Puffed Grains is enticing. 

One wants to taste them. Then these fragile 
morsels, with their almond flavor, reveal an 
unforgetable delight. The taste is like toasted 

Mark Their History 

Then think that each grain was puffed in this 
way by a hundred million steam explosions. 

Inside of each granule a trifle of moisture 
was turned to super-heated steam. This was 
done in huge guns, then the guns were shot. 
And every food granule was thus blasted to 

Not to create these myriad cells, Not to 
make grains which fairly melt in the mouth. 
But to make every atom digestible. That never 
was done before. And that is the sole ob- 
ject of this curious process invented by Prof. 

Beyond all their fascinations lies the fact 
that these are the best-cooked cereal foods ever 

Puffed Wheat, 10c 
Puffed Rice, 15c 

Except in 



Note the facts which make these foods 

They are whole grains made wholly digest- 
ible. One mav eat them any hour without tax 
on the stomach. 

.Served with sugar and cream, or mixed with 
fruit, they have delicious crispness and a nut-like 

Served in bowls of milk, like bread or crack- 
ers, they are dainty wafers, toasted, porous, thin. 

And they are used like nut meats in a dozen 
ways — in candy making, in frosting cake and as 
garnish to ice cream. Or, crisped in butter, 
children eat them dry like peanuts. 

Every day, in some way, let your folks enjoy 
one of these two delightful foods. 

Tl^e Quaker Qdis G>inpany 

Sole Makers 





"Wnich nand will you take? ' 

It really doesn't matter, you see. They 
are both ■e^^A^ . Mother doesn't want 
either o£ the children to be disappointed, 
and she does want to be sure that they 
have only candy that is pure and fresh. 



Besides these masterpieces of flavor 
there are nearly fifty other kinds of ^^»^ 
to suit every candy taste. 

■e^^ candies are sold by «^!^ sales agents 
(leading druggists everywhere) in United States 
and Canada. I( there should be no sales agent 
near you, please write us. 


The Book Man has received a very interest- 
ing letter from a Piainfield, N. J., reader, 
which says in part : 

"I have a good many volumes of St. Nich- 
olas. My Grandfather took it for my mother 
when she was a little girl. When she went to 
college he continued taking it because he said 
it was the best magazine that came into the 
house. When my mother was married she 
took it for herself and then for me." 

That makes a splendid row of bound vol- 
umes, does n't it ? Other young folk who have 
nearly complete sets of St. Nicholas can se- 
cure the missing volumes, if in print, by writ- 
ing to The Book Man and sending two dollars 
for each volume (six months to a volume). 

Do you have your St. Nicholas bound 
every year? 

Now, have n't most of you readers of The 
Book Man read "Master Skylark" — and loved 
it? Because it was a serial in St. Nicholas 
in 1896-97, and the advertising pages of St. 
Nicholas have talked a great deal about it 
ever since, and because here is a Cambridge, 
Mass., twelve-year-old, who writes : 

"I have just read a book that I wish you 
would tell St. Nicholas readers about, for I 
don't think many children know about it and 
it is very nice. It is called 'Master Skylark' 
and I think I should include it in my list of 
favorites. It is a book about the reign of 
Elizabeth, and the hero is kidnapped by one 
of 'the Lord Admiral's players.' He is a 
charming little boy, and his adventures are 
exciting, and in some places this book is sad. 
The edition I read is published by The Cen- 
tury Co., and illustrated by R. Birch, very 
well— just the way I imagine the characters. 
'Will' Shakespeare, 'rare Ben Jonson,' 'Tom' 
Heywood, 'Tommy' Webster, and many other 
famous men are in this story— and their con- 
trasts brought out. Please tell St. Nicholas 
readers about it, for they should n't miss it." 

The Book Man indorses all this, and still 
thinks, for all his grown-up years, that "Mas- 
ter Skylark" is one of the most charming 
stories ever written. 



THE BOOK MAN— Continued 

A delightful play has been made of the 
book. The dramatization was made three 
years ago by Miss Anna M. Lutkenhaus, a 
teacher in Public School No. 15, Manhattan, 
and director of the school's Dramatic Club ; 
but it was published, in convenient pamphlet 
form, only in time for general and very suc- 
cessful use in the different public schools' 
celebration of the three hundred and fiftieth 
anniversary of Shakspere's birth. 

The dramatization is most cleverly and 
charmingly done, it is in eleven scenes, and 
requires forty-five minutes for production. 
Give it in your school or church. Copies may 
be secured from The Century Co., Union 
Square, N. Y., at ten cents each. 


There is a very beautiful new book, the 
Arthur Rackham Book of Pictures, which 
means delight to every one in the family who 
ever cares at all for pictures. Sir Arthur 
Quiller-Couch, who wrote the charming in- 
troduction, calls it 

"The wayward visions that beset every true 
artist's mind, while he bends over the day's 

"The elusive dreams of an artist such as the 
goblin in Hans Andersen saw and adored for 
the moment as he peered down the chimney 
into the student's garret over the huckster's 
shop; the dreams of an artist who has taught 
English children of our time to see that 
"All things by immortal power. 
Near or far, 

To each other linked are, 
That thou canst not stir a flower 
Without troubling of a star." 
The book gathers together in unusually at- 
tractive and beautiful form forty-four pic- 
tures—of children, of familiar figures from 
fairy tales and classical mythology, of many 
grotesque and fantastic figures— all reproduc- 
tions in color from water-color, oil, and pastel 
originals, by the artist who, beyond any living 
artist, perhaps, has the gift of imagination. 

Pa Hern 

'Tlie Cromwell Pallcrn 
Kere illustrated is much 
admired bij those who 
incline toward a desidn of 
simplicity and strength. 
In addition to silver plate 
pf the very highest quality, a choice 
tirom a wide variety of artistic desi_^ns 
is offered. Sold By leading dealers. 

Ask for Sliver thai bears the 
trade mark 1847 Rogers Bros. 

Send for illu.slrated catalog S -5 " 


Successor to Meridcn Briiannia Co 


i^Ew York Chicago San FRAiscirico Hamilton, GwiVda 

"BfieWor/ds Lar^i Makers of SierLm^ Silver and'Plaie 



Frances Duncan's 
Gardencraft for Children 

This is the Gardencraft Country House with the plant- 
as-you-please garden in suburban size ($3.50) 

If your ideas are larger there is the 

Country Estate for $10.00 

A beautiful old-fashioned house, with 
lawns and tennis-court, rose-garden 
and sundial, old-fashioned garden with 
hollyhocks, larkspurs — -everything 
you'd like; place includes greenhouse, 
garage, gardener's cottage, poultry 
yard w^ith pedigree fowls, Plymouth 
Rocks, Wyandottes, etc. Terraces 
and fences in perfect order. The gar- 
dens and grounds to be arranged as 
the owner likes. 

You can learn to be a landscape gar- 
dener if you have the Gardencraft 
Toys. There are sets from 50 cents up. 

Your parents will buy Jjardencraft 
for you because it is 

Endorsed by Montessori 

Send for Catalogue 

Gardencraft Toy Company 

Craftsman Building 

I 6 East 39th Street 

New York 


is for 3-in-One — the perfect bicycle oil. It oils the bearings 
exactly right and makes them run about 100 times easier. 
3-in-One won't collect dii-t, gum and hurt your wheels hke 
inferior greasy oils. 3-in-One cleans and polishes all metal 
parts, and absolutely prevents rust. 

Always iise li-in-One on every part of your gun, just 
hke any sportsman. Every gunner will tell you it's the 
only oil on earth. Try 3-in-One also on your ice and roller 
skates, fishing reel, golf clubs, scroll saw, camera, pi-int 
ing press, magic lantern and every tool in your tool chest. 
A few drops of .3-in-One will preserve and keep pliable 
your catcher's gloves ; also prevent rust on your mask. 

UD U p Write this very day for a generous free sam- 

riVLiCi pig an(j tijg iielpful 3-in-One Dictionary. 

Both free to live boys. Get yours noiv! 

3-in-One is sold at all drug, grocery and general stores, 
in 3-size bottles : 10c, 2.3c, 50c. Also in Handy Oil Cans, 
3^ oz. , 25c. 

Three-in-One Oil Co. 

42 QM. Broadway, New York City 

Boysl Girls! Equip your Bicycles with 

The-^SRM^ Duplex 

Coaster Brake 

You'll get much more fun out of 
cycling. You'll be able to take 
longer trips than ever before. 

You can coast at will and thus 
save your energy. 
You stop your wheel gradu- 
ally or instantly if need be. 
"Corhm Control Means Safety Assured" 
Sold and equipped by bicycle and 
hardware dealers everywhere 

Write for new 1914 Catalog 

The American Hardware 
Corporation, Successors 
New Britain 


Polly and 
Peter Ponds 

have gone away to school. 
Their letters will appear in this 
magazine each month. 

Dear Peter: 

I suppose you have been 
wondering why you did n't 
get this letter last Monday. 
The reason was, there 
was n't any. You know, 
when I don't have any 
time to spare I am just full 
of interesting things to 
write, and when I have lots 
of time it 's awfully hard 
to begin. 

Well, I have lots of time 
now. I am up on my di- 
van by the window, and 
have been here for a couple 
of days, just doing nothing. 
Now don't begin to be envious, and say, " Oh, you good-for-nothing loafer!" and think that nobody 
works but Peter. It's pretty comfortable here with the warm breeze coming in and the sun 
shining and the Httle birds singing, except those mean English sparrows who do nothing but quar- 
rel all the time. But it 's rather tough to see the girls playing tennis and basket-ball and all, and not 
be able to be in it. 

Ijust really might as well 'fess up. 1 sprained my ankle. And I did it climbing a tree. It was 
the darlingest apple tree and just full of beautiful blossoms, and we girls were all picking flowers to 
decorate the chapel, and Betty Sloane said, "Polly, I dare you to climb up and get that very pinkest 
bunch!" So I took the dare, and just as I got hold of the blossoms the branch broke and down I 
came. I know you ' II laugh and say , ' 'Ah ha ! Thought you could climb like a boy, did n't you ? ' ' 
That was just what Miss Minchin said, only she said I was a very careless girl. But / wasn't 
careless : the tree was careless. More than that, it was treacherous : it betrayed my confidence. 

Well, they all said, "Now you 've done it, Polly ! You won't be out for two weeks!" But I 
told them just to keep that ankle soaked with 


all the time, and, do you know, Peter, it hardly hurt a bit after the first hour or so, and the doctor 
says I can walk on it tomorrow. Isn't that fine? And I 'm really enjoying my little vacation, 
because I don't have to study. 

Anyway, I got the apple blossoms. Your affectionate sister, Polly. 


131 Hudson Street - - New York 

— Talcum Powder — Toilet Soap — Pond's Extract. 


S^. Nicholas Advertising Competition, No. I4g. 

Time to send in answers is up May 20. Frize-unnners annouitced in the July mimber. 

While there is a disposition on the part of the 
Judges to give to all talents a fair chance in 
the competitions, it has now and then hap- 
pened that for a time the writers are to the 
fore, and that at another the young artists 
seem to be favored. In looking over the more 
recent competitions it seems that the artists 
have been a little overlooked, though past 
contests show that they are as eager to do ad- 
vertising work as the writers. 

Now the artists, as our advertising pages 
show, have a large shai'e in making the St. 
Nicholas advertising effective and attractive. 
We are, consequently, going to make this com- 
petition for our budding young Raphaels and 

Above are the letters "ST N" and we do 
not need to tell you what these stand for. 
They are to be copied. A good way to start 
is to take a piece of paper and blacken 3 square 
inches of it with a soft lead pencil. Then place 
this, black side down, on your answer paper; 
put the page from St. Nicholas over it and 
trace the lines as they appear in full size, as 
printed here. The idea is to make them part 
of the lines of an advertising illustration about 
some well-known thing advertised in magazines, 
which is or should be advertised in St. Nich- 
olas. You may add as many other lines as 
you choose, to make your picture. You should 
also add sufficient text to tell what your picture 
is about. 

Following is an example of what is meant. 
•We hope you can do much better than this. Of 
course you may turn your tracing in any direc- 
tion you like, but the given letters must be 
brought into your drawing in the order in 
which they stand— not each separately, since 
that would be too easy for artists so ingen- 

-^ rHaTchletr ^r ttc KStnA/ex^on. ^ 

Do not make your drawings larger than about 
ten inches either way, and do not send in more 
than one drawing. The prizes will be awarded 
to the makers of the best drawings that keep 
to the condition of bringing in the given lines, 
and yet are good and effective for advertising 

The merits of the text given with the picture 
will not be taken into account except in decid- 
ing between pictures that may seem equal in 
merit otherwise. 

As usual, there will be One First Prize, $5.00, to 
the sender of the best drawing, as above explained. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each, to the next two in 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each, to the next three. 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each, to the next ten. 

Note: Prize-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. Prospective contestants need not be 
subscribers to ST. NICHOLAS in order to compete 
for the prizes offered. There is no age limit, and 
no indorsement of originality is required. 

2. In the u])per left-hand corner of your letter give 
name, age, address, and the number of this competition 


3. Submit answers by May 20, 1914. 

4. Use 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. 149, 
St. Nicholas Magazine, Union Square, New York. 

(See also page 22.) 





— the time when you want to be outdoors and do all sorts of 
things for having a good time. Also, Spring-time is TOY- 
time, so come if you can and see the wonderful collection of 
Toys, Games, Sporting Goods, and Noveltifs which we 
have gathered together from all over the world, for gladden- 
ing the hearts of "St. Nicholas" boys and girls, , 
and for making their spring-time play and recre- ^-■:" 
ation most enjoyable. y 

Baseball Outfits— Bicycles, Tricycles, and Velocipedes- f. !'. 
Dolls. Doll Carriages, and Outfits— Cameras— Golf Goods — ■■.„■''■ 
Gymnasium Outfits — Paint Boxes, and. Manual Training \^- 
Outfits — Skates — and a thousand other delightful toys, '•' 
games, novelties, etc. 

If you live too far away to come personally, write 
for our Spring Catalog — which is full of pictures 
of things you will enjoy. 


Nte*''"*- TfieHomeo/IOT5 

Report on Advertising Competition No. 147 

The country is saved ! The judges are now perfectly 
contented because they know the future of this great 
land is in safe hands. Of all the competitions which 
our St. Nicholas friends have answered, revealing the 
true character of the readers of this mighty magazine. 
No, 147 holds first place — ^but there, we are getting 
ahead of the story and putting the cart before the 
horse, as the old saying goes. 

First, as to the list of words. A goodly number sub- 
mitted correct lists, but far more did not. Are you one 
of the 90% who failed to write "THE" where it was 
given in the firm name, who omitted apostrophes, or 
put them in where not given, who did not find all 
of the twenty answers ? or are you one of those who 
went a little too far and supplied from your knowledge 
the name of the manufacturer instead of taking the ad- 
vertisement as the basis of your answer ? 

It was, however, the sort of stories and articles which 
you asked to see in St. Nicholas which interested us 
most. We made a list of them, and it would surprise 
you to see how many interesting things there are in the 
world to think about. How Asphalt is obtained, the 
Origin of St. Nicholas, the Peanut Plant, Radium, 
Coining and Minting of Money, were some of the things 

And how glad the judges were to find that there were 
a great many more requests for instructive articles than 
for stories, although even the latter, when requested, 
were founded on interesting facts. Stories about camp- 
ing seemed to be the favorite, with athletic stories a 
close second. Then articles about birds in third place, 
while flower articles and Boy Scout stories tied for 

Altogether, the judges had a fine time judging this 


competition, and they finished their task with a very 
fine feeling over the result of your work. 

Many of you will do well to watch St. Nicholas 
closely for the next year or two, because it will take 
every bit of that time to prepare and publish from time 
to time what you have suggested. 

The first and second prize winners wrote, respectively, 
on "The Children of Mexico," "Photography for 
Amateurs," and " Current Events." 

Here is a list of the prize winners : 

One First Prize, $^.oo: 

Dorothy E. Hubbard, age 15, New York. 
Two Second Prizes, $j.oo each: 

Patrina M. Colls, age 16, New York. 

Helen M. Wilcox, age 17, Connecticut. 
Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each: 

Harold Kirby, age 14, New York. 

Rosalie L. Smith, age 15, New York. 

Gertrude Bryant, age 14, New Jersey. 
Teti Fourth Prizes, Si. 00 each : 

Hoyt Insco Williams, age 9, New York. 

Alice C. Smith, age 16, Connecticut. 

Annie D. Egbert, age 13, New York. 

Winifred B. Marcell, age 17, New Jersey. 

Edith N. Coit, age 17, New Jersey. 

Gertrude Bendheim, age 14, New York. 

Maud Ludington, age 14, New York. 

Eunice M. Koesel, age 18, California. 

Madelaine Ray Brown, age 15, Rhode Island. 

Mary E. Broderick, age 15, New York. 
Honorable Mention : 

Edmund N. Robinson, Massachusetts. 

Dorothy Emogene Jones, Michigan. 

Dorothy Burr, Pennsylvania. 

Edith Petty Shearn, New York. 

Doris M. Wood, Canada. (See also pa^e so) 






With considerable dl^ty 

25 Heroes of History 
Set to Music 

GOTTSCHALK have written a won- 
derful Jingle Book called 


The airs are catchy; the tunes are easy ; 
the words are history : and the book is 
brand new. 

Why don't you give a historical Mother 
Goose Comic Opera party ? Dress up 
like tl:e pictures in the book. 

3 East 43d St. New York 


is "comfy" and happy in 
Kleinert's Baby Pants. Fit 
over the diaper, keep Baby dry 
and protect the garments. 




Singfle Texture, 25c. 

Double Texture, 50c. 

Special Offer, 30 Days 

This perfect Motor with Switch and " Motor Hints " mailed anywhere in 
U. S. or Canada on receipt of $1.10. Every boy and grown-up should have 
the new VOLTAMP Catalog— just the book for the experimenter. Wire- 
less, Telegraphs, Telephones, Motors, Dynamos, Trausfcniners, Rectifiers, 
Miniature Railways and Parts, Raw Materials and hundreds of others. Sent 
only for 6c in stamps or coin. Largest Electrical Mail Order House in U. S. 

Nichol Bldg. Baltimore. Md. 


Get the Rubens shirt for baby. That is the shirt with- 
out buttons, without open laps — the 
shirt which tits snugly and which 
never gets tight. The warm ibirt 
that ' s needed in winter and summer — 
the shirt that's double-thick in front. 
Sizes foranyagefrom birth. Made 
in cotton, wool and silk. Also in 
merino (half wool). Also in silk and 
wool. Prices '25 cents up. 

Sold by dry-goods 

stores, or sold direct l~ " ~ ^ 

where dealers can't B ^^ 
supply. Ask us for pie- I JfX j7 
turcs, sizes and prices. < xCc.6*-«-6cX> 
Rubens & Marble, Inc. ' R'lr u s Pii-ou™ 

354 W. Madison St. »- 

Chicago ''<'< t^is Label 





EXTRAORDINARY OFFER z^oj'^y^ (°"? months) 

^ — --J- — "free trial on this finest of 

bicycles— the *'l?an^©r." We willshipittoyouon approval, freight 
prepaid, without a cent deposit in advance. This offer is genuine. 
y^RlTE TODAlf *°*^ ^^^ ^^^ catalog showing our full line 
. — . of bicycles for men and women, boys and 

grirls at prices never before equaled tor like quality. It is a cyclopedia 
of bicvcles, sundries and useful bicycle information. It's free. 

TIRESg COAST£"iJ?-S/7AKE rear wheels, inner tubes, lamps, 
cyclometers, equipment and parts for all bicycles at half usual prices. 
A limited number of second hand bicycles taken in trade by our retail 
Btores will be clo^^ed out at once, at $3 to $8 each. 

I9IDER AGENTS wanted in each town and district to ride and 
exhibit a sample 1914 model J?dnfer furnished by us. 

it Cos ts you No thing to learn what we offer you and how we 
can do it. You will be astonished and convinced. Do not buy a 
bicycle, tires or sundries until you get our catalog and new low prices 
and marvelous offers. Write today. 



For School, College or Society. 

We make the " rig"ht 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 CUSS PIN CO., 680 Central Building. Rochester, N. Y. 

Boys! Here Is $10 to $25 
A Week 
For You 

You can earn 
this in your spare 
time and during 
vacation, selling 
one minute pho- 
tos. No experi- 
ence needed. 
Great fun, pleas- 
ant work and big 

The ''Mandel-ette'' 

A one minute camera— takiiiL^ and finishing post card photos in a 
minute's time. No plates, tilms or dark room. Greatest camera inven- 
tion of our age. Think of it! You take, finish and get paid for a 
picture in one minute, right on the spot. 

8y2C Profit On Each Sale 

Everybody buys. You can sell loads of pictures at picnics, fairs, 
carnivals, in parks, at parades and ball grounds— everywhere. The 
" Mandel-ette" weighs about 24 ounces. Size about 4 x 4^x6 inches. 
Makes 2^x3^ inch pictures. Loads in daylight— 16 or 50 cards at 
a time. Universal focus lens produces sharp pictures at all distances. 
Combined " 3-in-i " developer eliminates all other solutions. Pictures 
develop in less than a minute — can't over-develop. Plain instruc- 
tions enable you to make pictures the very hour your outfit arrives. 

/«V*><» Rr%rklr ^'"'^'^ '^'"' ^^'^^ book. It tells all about our 

M rCC OOOK wonderful picture-taking process^its sim- 
plicity and the great possibilities of big profils for you. 


A189 Ferrotype BIdg. Dept. A189, Public Bank BIdg. 

Chicago. III. " 89-91 Delancey St., New York, N. Y. 





Children's ankles that "turn in" 
are strengthened and straight- 
ened by wearing the 



A special Coward construction 
steadies the ankle muscles, 
supports a weak arch and pre- 
vents "flat foot" conditions. 

Coward Arch Support Shoe and Cow- 
ard Extension Heel have heen made 
by James S. Coward, in his Custom 
Department, for over thirty-three years. 

Mail Orders Filled — Send for Catalogue 



264-274 Greenwich St., New York City 

(near warren street) 






WE illustrate this month the new Panama stamp, 
commemorative of the anniversary of the dis- 
covery of the Pacific. The 
stamp is very beautiful in de- 
sign, and is printed in two 
shades of green. The central 
oval shows Balboa — "Silent, . . . 
upon a peak in Darien." 

Swiftly upon the heels of the 
issue of Egypt comes a new 
series about as interesting. 
These stamps are the new is- 
sue of Turkey. We illustrate 
the two-, four-, six-, ten-, and 
twenty-para values. For a sec- 
ond time Turkey has departed 
from the traditional Toghra, and although we have 
always believed that the Mohammedan religion dis- 
approved of pictures, here is a long list of them upon 

USIitrlUly reduced) 

the stamps of the foremost Mohammedan nation. The 
stamps are quite large in size, rectangular in shape. 

both horizontal and uprJKht 


designs being used. 
While not so beauti- 
ful as the Egyptian 
stamps, this series is 
extremely interesting 
and well-printed. The 
stamps are in pleas- 
ing colors, some of 
them bi-colored, and 
run in value from 
two paras to 200 pi- 
asters. A piaster is 
worth not quite five 
of our cents. The 
following is a brief 
description of the set : 
two-para, mauve. 

Obelisk of the Hip- 
podrome ; four-para, 
sepia. Column of 


Constantine ; five-para, purple brown. Tower of Le- 
ander ; six-para, blue, the Seven Towers ; ten-para, 
green, the Faranak ; twenty-para, red, Castle of 
Europe ; one-piaster, blue. Mosque of the Sultan 
Ahmed; i ^-piaster, rose, center in black. Monu- 
ment to the Martyrs of Liberty; iJ4 -piaster, gray, 
center brownish red. Bathing Fountain of Suleiman ; 
two-piaster, green, black center, Turkish War Ves- 

sel ; 2 J4 -piaster, orange, green center, Candilli on 
the Bosporus ; five-piaster, lilac. Government Build- 
ings, War Department, at Constantinople ; ten-pias- 
ter, chestnut brown. Sweet Waters of Europe (the 
prettiest stamp in the series) ; twenty-five-piaster, 
dull green, Suleiman Mosque ; fifty-piaster, rose, the 
Bosporus; loo-piaster, indigo, Sultan Ahmed's Foun- 
tain, and 2oo-piaster, green, center black. Portrait 
of Sultan Mohammed V. 


tfjl J DO not know which country issues the largest 
Ji 1 variety of stamps. In the United States we have 
in current use certainly over fifty stamps, if we 
count all the adhesives, Panama Expositign, parcel 
post, dues of both kinds, special delivery, registra- 
tion, envelops, and savings-bank officials. The coun- 
try or place where most stamps can be used would 
undoubtedly be some of the Turkish or Levantine 
cities. Here probably over a hundred varieties of 
stamps are in daily use, because not only are the 
regular Turkish stamps available, but also a long 
series of Austrian, French, Italian, English, Ger- 
man, and Russian surcharges. ^ The question of 
"wove" and "laid" paper comes to us frequently. 
Hold several sheets of paper to the light and look 
for differences. Such as appear uniform in texture 
throughout the entire sheet are wove paper, while 
those which show parallel lines of lighter structure 
are laid paper. Do not confuse this, however, with 
any letters or designs which may appear here and 
there as light lines in the texture ; such are only 
the water-marks. In laid paper the lighter lines ap- 
pear regularly all through the paper ; they may be nar- 
row lines close together, or wide and not so close, 
but they run uniformly throughout the entire sheet. 
In order to determine absolutely whether a stamp 
is on wove or laid paper, immerse face downward 
in your benzene cup, just as though you were looking- 
for the water-mark. If the stamp is on laid paper, 
the "lines" will become visible. ^ Scott's North 
Borneo Nos. 86 and 88, and more frequently Nos. 
87 and 89, puzzle a good many. In the lower left 
corner of No. 86 is the word "Postal" ; while in the 
same space in No. 88 are the words "Postage &." In 
No. 89, on the background below the natives, in small 
letters are the words "Postage & Revenue." These 
words do not appear at all upon No. 87. f^ Stamps 
perforated with little holes (usually the initials of 
some large firm, and so punctured as a guard against 
theft) are not considered so valuable as those not so 
mutilated. Scott's Catalogue quotes the perforated 
ones at one half the price of perfect copies. ^ It does 
not pay to save the "common" stamps en masse, but 
it does pay to study the so-called common stamps. It 
"pays" in two ways. In the first place, such study 
often enables one to add not only scarce shades but 
often minor varieties to one's collection. The "cap" 
two's, and the various triangle types are examples 
of minor varieties. But of more importance than 
this, the study of your common stamps teaches you 
to observe closely, teaches you to distinguish differ- 
ences, to notice shades and varieties ; this training 
will be of great value to you in your grown-up life. 
The possession of such training wUl surely "pay." 

gvxvyvy.^^^.? ?yz^y?^;???g;^^^ 


f Continued on page zg) 




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. 


127 Madison Avenue New York City 

A r\iir«#**»m«nf ^^ have taken over theoffice formerly 

/\IinOUllCcIIl6IlL occupied by the well-known stamp 
dealer, L. W. Charlat. Our motto : Popular prices — courteous 
attention. H. Voltz & Co., 81 Nassau St., N. Y. C. 

below Scott's when you 
buy on my premium plan. 


CT A IV/I pC I Half Cent Each \ You will find many varieties 
■^ * /^IVll iJ ^ One Cent Each j to increase and improve 
your collection in these. 

^^nn*! /^/^ITC* 40-page magazine catalogue — Lowest 
V^.'^ 1 /\l-iVrVl U E. clubbing rates — Send 2c. postage for 
this, and save money when you buy or renew your magazines. 


FREE ! 107 Foreigrn 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. 

\/ccT or^r-viTX watermark detector 

V do 1 r V-FV-rV-L 1 and 50 different Stamps, only 10c. 
Burt McCann, 515 New York Life Bldg., Minneapolis, Minn. 

FOREIGN STAMPS FREE f=oreign\"ncU.d- 
ing China and Venezuela, to all who apply for our high grade 
approval selections. Send two cent sta7Hp for retitrn postage. 
The Edgewood Stamp Co., Dept. S, Milford, Conn. 


50% Approvals 

Kankakee Stamp Co., Kankakee, III. 

Mention this magazine 


Special bargain sets, 5c. each 

With our 
net approvals 

Palm Stamp Co. 

10 Brazil 
10 Cuba 

10 China 

10 Dutch Indies 

Los Angeles, Cal. 

PIMP stamps sold cheap. 50% and more allowed from Scott's 
ni'I-' prices. International Stamp Co., Covington, O. 

DANDY PACKET STAMPS free for name, address ' collec- 
tors, 2c. postage. Send to-day. U.T.K. Stamp Co., U^ir--. N. Y. 


■ ^ ferent Foreign Countries, including Bolivia, Crete, Guat- 
emala, Gold Coast, Hong-Kong, Mauritius. Monaco, Persia, 
Reunion, Tunis, Uruguay, etc., for only t3 ceiUs — a gemdne 
bargain. With each order we send our phamplet which tells all 
about "HowtoMakea Collection of Stamps Properly." 
Queen City Stamp & Coin Co., 604 Race St., Cincinnati, O. 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India 
^^^^j. with Catalogue Free. Postage 2 cents. If possible send 
y^^^^Sffii names and addresses of two stamp collectors. Special 
ml jMl offers, all different, contain no two alike. SO Spain, 
WkWMI llc.:40 Japan, 5c.; 100 U. S.,20c.; 10 Paraguay, 7c:; 17 
\i&S&/ Mexico, l(lc.;20Turkey, 7c.;10Persia, 7c.;3Sudan,5c.; 
^«SS^ luChile, 3c.;50 Italy, 19c.; 200 Foreign, lOc; 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. 

OMI V '^'^" postpaid. A Gem packet from 

WlNI-i I Gem StampShop, 19 MilkStreet, Boston, Mass. 


Fine large selections by coun- 
tries. 50% discount. Quality 
B. L. Voorhees, La Grange, III. 

$1.00 buys three sheets of fine foreign stamps, mounted and 
marked to sell for $3.00. 10c. buys sheet to sell for 25c. 

Jos. Collins, 64 W. Northwood, Columbus, O. 


Our book "How to Become a Stamp Dealer "tells you how to 
start business for yourself. Buying at wholesale. Selling among 
your friends. We send the book and 500 mixed 
stamps to make packets, approval sheets, etc., 
50 world wide stamps, 50 South American stamps, 
50 Auslialasian stamps, 25 stamps to sell at 2, 3, 
4 and 5c. each, 1000 stamp hinges, 10 approval 
sheets, 2 approval books, 3 mill, scales, stamp 
album, 1 sign " Rare Stamps For Sale." The lot retails for about 
S2.00. We send it with the book for only 50c. and 5c. for postage. 
E. G. Staats, Dept. X, La Crosse, Wis. 




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. 

r^« xTntt »./^lli»».f Pos^^Se stamps? We have many fine 
UO you collect foreign stamps to send you on approval 
— ask for some. Good references or a guarantee required. 
H. W. Protzman & Son, 1031 28th St., Milwaukee, Wis. 

Prize Stamp Packet 10c, 

The Hobby Co., Box 403 
• Springfield, Ohio 

STAMP ALBUM with 538 Genuine Stamps, incl. 
Rhodesia, Congo (tiger), China (dragon), Tasmania 
(landscape), Jamaica (waterfalls), etc., 10c. 100 diff. 
lap.. N. Zld., etc.. 5c. Big list; coupons, etc., 

HussMAN Stamp Co., St. Louis, Mo. 

1 1 » \/I7 you ever noticed how many cheap stamps there are 
rl A. V 1-. that you never see on approval sheets? Ask us to 
show you some at one-half catalog. Reference, please. 

The Stamp Counter, Box 644, Amityville, N. Y. 

PFNNANTSl^'^^ 9x24 lOc. eacli. 
rJClMNAlN lO\ Size 12x30 25c. each. 
Sewed felt letters. Any City, State or College. Felt ties with 
school initials 25c. Hats 35c. Cat. free. Agents wanted. 

Western Mail Supply Co., Dept. X, La Crosse, Wis. 


For the names of two collectors and 2c. postage. 20 different 
foreign coins, 25c. Toledo Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio, U.S.A. 

In ■] All diff. foreign stamps incl. China, Egypt, ChiU, Peru, 
^ 1 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. 


r IvCIli Girls trying our 60% Approvals. 

Boys and 
Frisco'Stamp Co., Box 878, St. Louis, Missouri. 


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. 

( Continued on page sg. ) 


Helpful gusgestions 

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, grow^ing 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 vsrhen possible. We try to carry only the most reliable advertisements and believe you can 
count on courteous and reliable service from the dealers shown belovsr. gy NICHOLAS PET DEPARTMENT 


r. Dodson's 
About Birds 

Tells how you can win native birds- 
wrens, bluebirds, purple martins, tree 
swallows, etc., — to live in your garden. 
Learn all about the successful Dodson 
Bird Houses. 

Dodson Pnrple Martin Hotise. 
26 rooms and attic. Price %\2M)\ with all 
copper roof, $15.00. 

Dodson Bluebird House. 
Solid oak, cypress shingles, copper cop- 
ing:. Price $5.00. 

Dodson Chickadee or Nuthatch House. 
$1.50; all copper roof, $2.00. 

Double Chickadee or Nidhatch House. 
$2.50; all copper roof, $3.50. 

Flicker Houses, $2,50 to $5.00; Tree Sivallotv Ho2ise, $3.00; 

Flycatcher House, #3.00 ; either one with all copper roof ,j?>4.00, 


Catches as inany as 75 to 100 sfiarrcnvs aday. Aidouiatic. 
Strong, electrically ivelded ivire — adjustable needle joints at 
tivo funnel mouths. Help us get rid of this ejteiny of our 
7iative birds. Price $3.00. All price'^ are f.o.b. Chicago. 

Solid oak, cypress 
shingles, copper 
copinsj-. Price $5.00 

IFrite to day for \Tr Dodwn s free illitstrated book about ) 

Joseph H. Dodson, 707 Security Bldg. 
Chicago, 111. 

Mr Dodson is a Director of the 
Illinois Audubon Society. 


Soft fluffy balls of silky gray hair with beautiful bushy tails; 
affectionate, playful, and truly aristocratic. 


Ready to come to you 

All are registered thoroughbreds, their mothera champion- 
ship prize winner. Only 3 kittens left. 


Breeders of 



Beautiful and intelligent little 

Tses for children constantly on hand 

and for sale. Send 5 cents in stamps for 

handsomely illustrated pony catalogue to 

617 Eighth St., Monmouth, III. 

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 guardians. 

ROYAL FARMS, Little SUver, N. J. 

"O'Linda's IJoy " at stud. Dept. F. 

A New Dog Cake 


For dainty feeders, invalids, puppies, toys, etc. 
W rile for sample and send 2 c. stampfor"'Dog Culture" 



Every boy and girl should know about 
the Black Short Haired Cattery 

The Largest Cattery 
in America 

Send for Catalogue and Illustrated Price 
Lists of all Pet Stock 


CATS New York Office— 154 West 57th Street DOGS 


Here is a picture of Rover and his twin 
sister. They are wee Scotch collie pups, 
gfentle and loving: but full of life. Last 
night Rover 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 


Sunnybrae Collie Kennels, Bloomington* lU. 

Forest and Stream 

Edited by 

William George Beecroft 

The weekly journal of outdoor life, hunting, 
fishing, archery, natural history, taxidermy, 
canoeing. The "How To and Where To" of 
each sport. The American Gentleman's 
Journal. $3.00 a year or on trial to ST. 
Nicholas readers $1 .00 for six months. 

22 Thames Street, New York 



^t ^ici^olajs i^tt ?^epartment— contmueD 

Scottish Terriers 

Offered as companions. Not 

given to fighting or roaming. 

Best for children's pets. 


Brookline, Mass. 

My SNOW WHITE DOGS are becom- 
ing more popular every day — WHY? 

Because they are very beautiful, most intelligent of all dogs, 
perfect disposition, natural trick dogs, ideal children's pets 
that are kind, playful and full of "PEPP." 

I also breed ENGLISH BULLS of the highest quality from 
the very best imported stock. Puppies are my specialty. 
I have n't any of the five-dollar kind. 

BROCKW^AVS KENNELS. Baldwin. Kansas. 


I Do You Know the Judging | 
I Points of the Dog? | 

i Booklet giving all the information and 1 

s points of the dog, ten cents, postpaid s 

I THE C. S. R. CO., P. 0. Box 1028, New York City | 


Lovable Children 

The healthier and happier your children are the^ 

'better men and women they will become. A Shetland^ 

rpony for a playfellow brings them health, teaches them' 

'self reliance and self control and makes them manly. Se- 

^ cure a pony from the Belle Meade Farm and you can bel 

I quite sure it will beaaturdy. reliable little fellow, playful as \ 

a kitten but full of good sense and quite unafraid of 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- j 
lutelysafe.manyof them prizej 
winners. We always guaran-, 
l^tee satisfaction. Write for^ 
illustrated catalogue. 

Belle Meade Farrn^ 

Markham, Va. 
Box 9 

Pony Hints 

Ponies always bring abundant health, depend- 
able usefulness and unequaled pleasure, but 
your pony — the one best suited for your special 
needs — must be chosen with knowledge and 
care. Write me just what you want, and the 
price. Your future playmate iswaidng for you. 

No. Ferrisburg Vermont 

STAMP PAGE— Continued 

Argentine stamps catalogued by Scott as No. 71 
and No. yy certainly look very much alike, as illus- 
trated in their book. There are, however, very 
marked differences which appear when the stamps 
are placed side by side. The words "cinco centavos" 
are very much smaller in the second type. So also 
is the head of Rivadavia. If you have only one 
stamp, it can be definitely determined in several ways. 
The portrait is surrounded by a circle of small 
pearls, which in the first type are all white, but in 
the second have a small carmine dot in the center 
of each pearl. Again, in the first, or large head, 
type, only the collar of the coat shows ; that is, the 
line of the coat-collar comes straight to the frame of 
the stamp without an angle. In the second type, on 
the left side the outline of the coat turns to the left, 
so as to show both collar and shoulder. ^ Argen- 
tine stamps catalogued No. 69 and No. 89 are very 
puzzling to the beginner. There is, however, an 
easy way to distinguish them, once it has been 
pointed out. Just before the "R" of Republica, and 
just after the final "a" of Argentina, is an ornamen- 
tal curve or scroll. Note the space between this 
curve and the letter "C" of correos, or "s" of tele- 
graphos. In Scott's No. 69 there is quite a space 
between these, but in No. 89 the scroll and letter are 
very close together. ^ For the difference between 
Rhodesia No. 26 and No. 50, notice the scroll under 
the central coat of arms. This scroll bears the 
words Justice, Commerce, Freedom. In No. 26, the 
ends of this scroll or ribbon pass beyond the feet of 
the upstanding beasts supporting the shield, and 
touch the outer frame. In No. 50, the ends of the 
ribbon terminate in a little twist between the two 
feet of either beast. 


Continued from page 27 

STAMPS 105 China, Egypt,etc., stamp dictionary and list 3000 |B| 
bargains 2c. Agts., 50%. Bollard & Co., Sta. A, Boston. lal 


D.^VIVVA./^ll'<liJ iQ 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. 

^f a mr»c \ ^^' Foreign Missionary stamps, only 7c. 
OtampS . eign, no 2 alike, incl. Mexico, Japan, 

100 for- 
etc, 5c. 
100 diff. U. S. fine, 30c. 1000 fine mixed, 20c. Agents wanted, 
50%. List free I I Buy Stamps. L. B. Dover, St. Louis, Mo. 

With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N.Y. 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio. 

FINE HAVTI SET, 1904, I, 2, 5, 10, 20, SOc. PDcr 
THE CATALOG VALUE of this SET is 48c. rKtC 

If you send 10c. for 10 weeks' subscription to Mykeel's Stamp 

Weekly, Boston, Mass., the beststamppaper in the whole world. 

All the news, stamp stories and bargains galore. 

6 tJios, 25c. a?id Choice of These Prejjiiums : 

,05 diff. Foreign 60 diff. Japan 101 diff. U. S. 

50 diff. Asia Book on U. S. Stamps 25 Canada 

20 diff. Persia 20 diff. animals 20 New Zealand 




Camp Penn 

Valcour Island, Lake Champlain 

8 th Season 

There are several unusual features about Camp 
Penn, and these nnay cause you to think that it may 
be the " different" kind of camp for which you are 

First. Camp Penn is a REAL, woodsy camp, and 
not a summer school in disguise. Our boys have 
an actual camp life from the minute they arrive. 
Even the younger chaps feel almost as much on 
their own resources as though they were in the 
Canada Rockies ! 

Second. We have a very large tract of woods 
and clearing, and a three-mile shore line. Each little 
group of three or four boys, w^ith a stimulating care- 
taker, is given its ovk^n camp site — a littleapart from 
the others, and there they set up their own camp. 
They take proper pride in doing everything for them- 
selves, from putting up their tent — our tents are 
quite large — to building all the camp furniture they 
want. Our boys become very self-reliant. 

Third. All the fine possibilities of a real camp, 
and of woods, water, and mountains, are used to 
the utmost, not only for pleasure, but for the building 
of stronger muscles and for real character-building. 

We think our w^hole system quite extraordinary. 
Tt has certainly been very successful, and we feel 
that our booklet might make interesting reading for 
you — provided that your boy is a clean, sturdy lad, 
with a real boy's natural love for the Great Outdoors ! 

W. Mermaid Lane, St. Martin's, Phila., Pa. 

Thompson - Baldasseroni School of 

TraVdi ^^^ Girls. Uth Year. Eight months' travel and 
study abroad. Usual courses. American home 
comforts. October sailing. 

Mrs. W. W. Scott, Sec'y. Dover, N. H. 


Summer Camp for Boys and Young Men. Permanent Camp; 
wholesome surroundings ; careful oversight by college men. Re- 
gion unsurpassed for canoeing, fishing, observation of nature and 
for wild animal photography. A conservative camp for particu- 
lar patrons. For booklet E, references, etc., address 

W. L. WISE, Ph.B., Bordentown, New Jersey 

Nationll Park 


^^ /^Washington, D. C. (Suburbs)^^^ 

^^ Junior College. All High Scbool ^V^ 
r courses and 2 years of College work. ^V 

Wide range of Vocational, Academic and 

Cultural studiea Attention to special talents 

and individual tastes, ilusic. Art, Homeniaking. 

Opi'n-air life near Niitioiial CnpitaL Illustrated book 

on request. Address Box 178 Forest Glen, Md^ 

Connecticut, New Haven. 

CAMP SUNNYSIDE L"un'l;^/or^it„';'&' 

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. 

New- York, Ossining-on-Hudson. 
WTcimntrin Moll Ossining A department of Ossining 
rtampiOn J-iail school School.for girls U and under. 
Separate home accommodating 2iJ, in charge of house mother. Care- 
fully graded instruction, individual care and attention. Open air 
study hall, ample playgrounds andchildren's gardens. For booklet 
address Principals: Clara C. Fuller, Martha J. Naramore. 

Do You Like to Fish? 

The 1914 Summer Outing for Boys under fifteen provides 
eight weeks of work and play in Maritime Canada — 
overnight from Bo.ston. Real fishing, real sailitig, real 
lumber-eamp life, real work for which you are paid, 
planned for a Umited and congenial group and something 
different from the usual camp. Kindly state your age 
and school in applying for a prospectus. 

K. S. Wells, Morristown School, Morristown, N. J. 


Can be learned quickly, easily, and pleasantly at spare mo- 
ments, in your own home. You hear the living- voice of a 
itive professor pronounce each word and phrase. In a sur- 

prising'ly short time you can speak a new lant^ruflge by the 


combined with 

Disc or Cylinder Records. Can be used on your own 

talking niacliine. Send for Particulars and Booklet. 

The Lan£:iiaij:e-Phone Method 

979 Putnam Building. 2 West 45th Street. N. Y. 

A Binder for your St. Nicholas 

With your Own Name on Front Cover 

where you can easily get them, and makes a 
book you will be iiroud to leud your friends. 

$1.00 Postpaid 

nyHe to St. Nicholas or to 


ST. Nicholas offers the advertisers of schools "100 
par-cent" value circulation. In each home to 
which it goes there is at least one child — and one 
young girl told us that, like the famous poem, "We 
are seven" — and all read and enjoy ST. NICHOLAS. 

To educate these children and young people 
properly becomes a matter of serious consideration 
to the parents — and who does not know the vjreight 
of a child's preference. 






Fathers - 

Why not buy your chil- 
dren a Corona typewriter 
and let them use it in 
their school work, and 

help you with your 
writing at home? 
Incidentally, you'll 
have a machine in 
your own home 
which you can use 
if necessary. 

The use of a 
Corona typewriter 
will increase the 
self-reliance, and 
further the general 
education of your 
boy, or girl. 

The Corona is by no means a toy — it is a complete, high- 
grade writing machine, yet it weighs only 6 pounds; in carry- 
ing case, 8% pounds. It is the lightest and most compact 
standard typewriter on the market, and will ^ave its cost in a 
short time. It is essentially the typewriter for personal use, 
and can be operated by any boy or girl, man or woman. 

Corona CataloET No. 24 tells all about it, and a copy 
may be had upon request. Ask ior it by nmnber. 


New York Office, 1493 Broadway 
Aeencies in principal cities oi the world 



Original and unequaled. 

Wood or tin rollers. "Improved* 

requires no tacks. Inventor's 

signature on g^enuine: 

V ITSgI* ISSf <k Like hungry wolvea 
I *^ *»■! iHSllC any time Of the year 
it yon use Magic-Fish-Lnre. Best 
"^^fish bait ever discovered. Keeps you busy 
pulling them out. Write to-day and get a 
box to help introduoe it. Agents wanted. 
dFif. Gregory, Dept. 74 St. liOuis, Iffle 

L!I|S| T|E|R! HN!E 

Use it every day 

FOR growing girls and boys, Listerine is 
the best mouth-wash that can be prepared. 
Adults should also use it freely. It not 
only imparts a sense of cleanliness, but aids 
in keeping the teeth and gums healthy. 
Listerine is non-poisonous and most effective 
as an antiseptic for all cuts, burns, scalds, etc. 

A II Druggists Sell Listerine 



Makes nights in camp cheerful; can overhaul guns and tackle 
or read. Worn on cap or belt. Both hands free for gun or 
knife. Casts bright circle on trail and prevents stumbling. 
Great for coon or possum. A fine lure for 
fish or frogs. Ideal for casting, gigging, 
spearing, boating or canoeing. Handy for 
repairing tire punctures at night. Projects 
light of over 14-candle power 150 feet. Burns 
Acetylene Gas. Weight, 5 oz. Height, 3^ 
inches. No oil, soot or glass. Absolutely 
safe and simple. Catalogue free and instruc- 
tive booklet, "Knots and How to Tie Them," 
mailed on request. 

A t all dealers or by mail Prepaid $ f.OO 

JOHN SIMMONS CO., 4 Franklin St., N. Y. C. 



Always find a compass useful as 
well as a good thing to have fun 
with, whether at home or on a 
hike. Our 


is world-famous for its accuracy. 
It is guaranteed and has a jeweled 
needle— heavy and tempered steel point 
—silvered metal dial — screw stop and white 
metal non-tarnishing case. It is the only Guaranteed 
Jeweled compass at the price. 

Most dealers sell the Leerfau)/ Compass. Goto your dealer 
first. If he does not have them, or will not order for you, send 
us his name and address with $1.00 and we will send you one. 

Descriptive matter mailed on request. 

Taylor InstrumenlCompanies * 106 Ames St., Rochester, N.Y. 
There's a Tycoa Thermometer for Every Purpose 



This little 

would look 
like this 


kept in a 









/^/'^^yt^Cp-^xzyt/ ^-Gp. 


Impurities can't get in— freshness can't get out— of the new 
''SEAL OF PURITY." It protects every package of this 
deUcious aid to teeth, breath, appetite and digestion. 


for 85 cents — at most dealers. 
Each box contains twenty 5 cent packages. 

Chew it after every meal 

Look for the spear 




OYS, you can hit the mark every time with a KING 
Air Rifle. It shoots straight and true — just like a 
regular gun. Every boy knows the famous KING 
1000-shot Lever Action Repeater — the "thousand-shootin' 
air gun." You can now get the KING Lever Action 
Repeater, in the same high quality, in just the size and 
weight that' s easiest for you to handle. 

The KING is the air-rifle that has years of success back of 

it. Chances are that dad used a KING when he was a boy. 

j ' KING Air Rifles are on sale in most good hardware, 

toy and sporting-goods stores. If you can't find them in 

your town, don't take a substitute. Write us for catalog, select 

the gun you want, and we'll ship it on receipt of price. 



Pacific Coast Office: 717 Market Street, San Francisco, California 
Phil B. Bekeart Co., Managers 

Sand & Hulfish, Southern Representatives 
11 Hansa Haus, Baltimore, McL 



A naval officer I know canceled 

a lot of engagements last week in order to de- 
vote the time to his dentist. 

" I am going on a long cruise," he said, " and I know the 
value of good teeth. Good teeth mean good health afloat 
or ashore, and a man can't do his work well unless he has 
good teeth." 

In the army and the navy and in all great industrial spheres the value 
of good teeth is being recognized. Statistics prove that sound, clean 
teeth preserve health and promote business efficiency. 
The twice-a-year visit to the dentist and the twice-a-day use of Colgate's 
Ribbon Dental Cream (the efficient, deliciously flavored dentifrice) in- 
sure sound, clean teeth, better health and better looks. 

ybu too should use 



▼haoc ha«ik 





jTltat YellowsfoneParl(X'kMvk(i6. 

_ in 187?atKlvisli€d by Hundreds of 

Thous3ndsoi^<ii\^\\z^ st^Wseers since 

f lienas not only the Lar^esi and Oldest 

fj of all QWvNaimalPark hui iiisabsolniely 



intlie heart of thePartoearly a ^/e and a ^^//above sea 
. level and swarming with salmon trouiis the maior note of 


n U If W' H.. fc. I€ Iv^^^'" ;l^#|^Vli i V >lif%l iBWnT 

^ CARDINEn CATC WAV the oH^iiial Pcii4i entrance. 

A. M. CLELAN.D, Gt.^ L '■ PASfl? . AGll, 











^gxj O, THOSE Muddies were a sight 
,^WJl for dirtiness and grime, and so of 
^^*J course their hearts were black and 
^^^^ full of "thoughts" of crime. For 
dirtiness goes hand in hand with wicked- 
ness to hurt you, while cleanliness and 
IVORY SOAP go hand in hand with 
VIRTUE. Of course our little heroes had 
ne'er seen a mussy Muddie whose dirti- 
ness and gruesome yells were murderous 
and bloody. 


But still, upon the other hand, the 
Muddies ne'er had seen some children 
and a dog and cat so scandalously clean. 
So naturally that Muddie band stopped in 
their charge to see if anything so sweet 
and clean could really truly be. Now it is 
said with truth that they who hesitate 
are lost, and this the dirty Muddies 
learned at their own naughty cost. For 
Bob and Betty, also Gnif, and Snip and 
Pussy too, charged down upon the 
Muddie Men as heroes always do. They 
tied the Muddies 'round the waists with 
yards and yards of rope, and without 
ceremony scrubbed them all with IVORY 

And then they dragged the Muddie 
Men upon their IVORY SHIP and made 

Tlxt^r Scr\xb"bed 

it teeter in the sea and toss about and dip. 
They scrubbed and washed the Muddie 
Men and chased them all around and even 
dropped them overboard till they were 
nearly drowned. But being nearly 
drowned in suds of IVORY SOAP is sure 
to be a very pleasant way of growing 
sweet and pure. And never in their lives 
before had these fierce Muddie Men felt 
such a sense of purity and cleanliness as 
when our little heroes rescued them and 
dried them all with towels 'mid joyous 
shouts and loud meows and most tri- 
umphant howls. 

So then upon their bended knees they 
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[The entire contents of this Magazine are covered by the general copyright, and articles must not be reprinted without special permissionj 


Frontispiece. "The Frog I'rince." I'ainted by Arthur Rackham. (See page 764.) Page 
Cherry-time. Verse '. Marion MaUette Tliornton 673 


The Boy of Cadore. Story •. Katherine Dunlap Gather 674 

Illustrated by Maurice Lincoln liower. 

The Greater Victory. Story H. Carson Davies 679 

Illustrated by Robert McCaig. 

An Ingenious OlScer. Verse George 0. Butlei . . 688 

Illustrated by the Author. 

The Game I Love. Serial Francis Oulmet . 689 

Illustrations from photographs. 

Stories of Friendly Giants. I. The Wigwam Giants. Serial ^ Eunice Fuller ) 694 

Illustrated by Pamela C. Smith. } Seymour Barnard ( 

June-time Jingles. Verse CUnton Scollard 699 

The Runaway. Serial Story .Allen French 700 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

Base-ball: The Game and ItS Players. Serial Billy Evans 708 

Illustrations from photograph.s. 

Joy. Verse C. H 713 

The Lucky Stone. Serial Story Abbie Farwell Brown 713 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

With Men WhoiDo Things. Serial A. Russell Bond 718 

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Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer. 

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Little Jo. Verse Anna Fletcher 742 

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The Home. Verse Gladys Hyatt Sinclair 743 

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Illustrated by Harrison Cady. 

The Toy Pussy-cat. Verse Margaret G. Hays 747 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Nature and Science for Young Folks, illustrated 748 

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

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles. Illustrated 756 

The Letter-Box. illustrated 764 

Nature-study and Teacher. Verse Blanche Elizabeth Wade. ..... .766 

The Riddle-Box 767 

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T^EAR St. Nicholas Reader: It is really unnec- 
-'-^ essary to tell old St. Nicholas readers what is 
going to be in the next number. They are sure that a 
wealth of stories, pictures, and articles awaits them 
every month. 

What this page is for is mostly to explain to 7te7s.i 
readers that however much they may enjoy the present 
number, there is more to follow at least as good. 

The July St. Nicholas contains a rattling good 
Fourth of July story. "The Flag and Mickey O'Shea" 
might be the title of it, but it is not. Don't fail to 
make the acquaintance of Mickey. 

Another good instalment of "The Runaway" will 
.appear in the July St. Nicholas. The mysteries of 
the story begin to unravel, but are soon tied up again 
in. a hard knot. 

Readers of St. Nicholas wilL be sorry to find the 
words "To be concluded" at the end of this month's 
instalment of "The Lucky Stone." St. Nicholas 
has received a great number of letters •from boys and 
girls telling how much they like this story, which will 
close in the July number. All good stories, sooner or 
later, come to an end, and the regular St. Nicholas 
reader is fortunate in being able to look forward to 
having "The Lucky Stone " tucked away safely in the 
bound volumes of St. Nicholas where he or she can 
get at it conveniently. I am told also that the story 
will appear in book form this fall. 

It is said that in the public libraries the demand for 
fairy stories is greater than the supply. This is one 
reason why librarians are able to make such effective 
use of St. Nicholas, nearly every number of which 
contains at least one beautifully illustrated fairy tale. 
For example, "The Friendly Giants," who are intro- 
duced to St. Nicholas in this present number, will 
appear again in July St. Nicholas. The author. 
Miss Fuller, will then tell the story of Thor's attempt 
to get the better of the Friendly Giants and of the 
difficulties he met. 

"The Princess and the Pirate," also in the July 
number, might be called a semi-fairy story. It is a de- 
lightful yarn, and the characters in it are a pirate, a 
painter, a porter, a poet, a prince, and a princess. 

Did you know that Paul Revere, beside being a pa- 
triot and a man capable of taking a long, hard gallop 
in the night time and rousing the country-side (as we 
all learned from the gallant ballad "Paul Revere's 
Ride"), was several other things besides, including a 
goldsmith and an engraver? An article on Paul Re- 
vere appears in the July St. Nicholas. It is fully 
illustrated with pictures that include one of himself, his 
copperplate views of the city of Boston, his home in 
Boston, now a national monument, and summer home 
and copperplate factory adjoining. 

Grace Tabor will have another article on "Garden 
Making" of practical value to every young gardener. 

"The Housekeeping Adventures of the Junior 
Blairs" gives some very good strawberry recipes that 
ought to be welcome about July i, when St. Nicholas 

The instalment of "With Men Who Do Things" in 
July will tell of the sinking of a section of steel tunnel 
in the Plarlem River. It is hard to read these articles 

without either regretting that you are not a civil engi- 
neer or hoping some day to be one. 

Francis Ouimet, the youthful golf champion, con- 
tinues his serial on "The Game I Love." The July 
instalment contains a portrait of Hilton, the golf player, 
and three pictures of Ouimet himself on the links at 

Billy Evans, the peerless umpire, has chosen a very 
interesting title for his July article. It is on "Out- 
guessing the Opposition." Every one who knows 
base-ball appreciates how important it is to anticipate 
what the opponents intend to do. Many a game has 
been won by this kind of correct guessing. 

The " Under the Blue Sky" Series, by E. T. Keyser, 
continues with an article full of clearly written details, 
telling how to make and rig sails for a canoe. Mr. 
Keyser has a fund of experience, from which he draws, 
for these articles. He tells in the July number not only 
how to rig a canoe, but how to prevent it from sliding 
to leeward when under way. 

St. Nicholas is _j'o?/r(??f;z magazine. It has been 
successfully edited for generation, after generation of 
children since its foundation in 1870, but you surely do 
not begrudge the fact that your elders read it. Here is 
part of a letter from an art connoisseur which shows 
how much enjoyment grr^wn-ups get out of St. Nich- 
olas : 

" I am a subscriber to St. Nicholas Magazine 
wherein I was first introduced to the genius of Arthur 
Rackham. Since then I have purchased your splendid 
publication of his ' Book of Pictures ' to be still further 
engrossed in his work. I also have his 'Mid-Summer 
Night's Dream,' and am now so ardent an enthusiast 
of his art that I am making a collection of selected prints 
to go with my other collections of DUrer wood-cuts, 
Japanese wood-cuts and color prints, mounted on 
especial mats." 

There will be another beautiful Rackham painting 
for the frontispiece of the July St. Nicholas, repro- 
duced in full colors. Its title is " Marjorie and Mar- 

As usual the July St. Nicholas is richly illustrated. 
The cover has a picture in full colors of a boy and girl 
in a canoe. Then comes the Rackham painting in full 
colors, and throughout the number are all sorts of pic- 
tures which alone would make the magazine interesting 
even if there were no text at all. 

Among the humorous illustrations are those by 
George O. Butler for a poem also by George O. Butler, 
who has been contributing to St. Nicholas some of 
the most amusing poems and pictures that have ever 
appeared in the magazine. 

The departments of July St. Nicholas are as fas- 
cinating as ever — St. Nicholas League, Nature and 
Science for Young Folks, Letter-box, The Riddle-box, 
St. Nicholas Stamp Page, Books and Reading, and 
The Book Man. I believe that there is hardly a reader 
of St. Nicholas that is not interested in every single 
one of these departments. 



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Vol. XLI 

JUNP:, 1914 

Copyright, 1914, by The Centuky Co. All rights reserved. 



No. 8 

A TINY black-haired maiden 

Her tiny garden walked, 
And to the bare, brown branches 

Most earnestly she talked : 
"Oh, Honorable Branches ! 

Behold me very sad, 
Because within my garden 

No blossoms make me glad. 
I 'm only little Iris, 

A maiden of Japan, 
But oh, Most Noble Branches ! 

Pray help me if you can." 

The moon rose soft o'er Fuji, 

The wee maid sought her bed ; 
A mat and wooden pillow 

Beneath her dreaming head ; 
Her dainty blue kimono. 

All broidered down with gold, 
Drawn close about her shoidders, 

To keep her from the cold. 

The sun rose bright on Fuji, 

And through the paper wall 
The little maid came, smiling, 

In answer to his call : 
Out in the rosy morning 

She to her garden flew. 
And, lo ! her sweetest dreaming 

Before her eyes was true ! 

For while the little Iris 
Slept in her bamboo room, 

The Honorable Branches 

Burst thick with cherry-bloom ! 



The boy's eyes were dark as the hearts of the 
daisies he carried, and they gazed wistfully after 
the horseman who was dashing along the white 

"Think of it, Catarina !" he exclaimed. "He 
rides to the wonderful city." 

Catarina looked at her brother as if she did 
not understand. There were many towns along 
the road that ribboned away to the south, each 
of which seemed large indeed to the mountain 
girl, yet she had never thought of them as won- 

"The wonderful city?" she repeated. "Where 
is that, Tiziano?" 

"Why, don't 3-ou know ?" he asked in surprise. 
"As if it could be other than Venice, the great 
city of St. Mark !" 

But the name did not thrill black-eyed Cata- 
rina. Older than her brother, and far less of a 
dreamer, she had heard that dreadful things hap- 
pened in the city, and that sometimes people went 
hungry there. In the mountains there was food 
enough and to spare, and though no one was rich 
and lived in palaces with tapestried walls and 
gorgeous furnishings, neither were there any 
very poor. So she shrugged her shoulders and 
replied : "Oh, Venice ! I don't know why you 
call that wonderful. Graziano, the weaver, has 
been there many times, and he thinks it not half 
as nice as our own Cadore. There are no moun- 
tains there, or meadows where wild flowers 
grow. Are you tired of the Dolomites, Ti- 

"Ah, no!" came the earnest reply. "But the 
artists live in the city, and if I could go there, 
I might study with Bellini, and paint some of the 
things that are in my heart." 

Catarina was just a practical village girl, who 
thought that if one had enough to eat and wear, 
he ought to be satisfied. So her voice was chid- 
ing and a bit impatient as she answered. 

"You talk so much about painting, and seeing 
things no one else sees, that the villagers say 
unless you get over your dreaming ways, you will 
grow up to be of no account. That is why 
Father thinks of apprenticing you to Luigi, the 
cobbler. For he can teach you his trade, which 
would be far better than always thinking about 
Venice. For, Tiziano, there are other things in 
the world beside painting." 

Tiziano shook his head, but did not reply. 
Nothing else mattered half so much to him, and 
many a night, when the rest of the family were 
sleeping, he lay in his bed wondering how he 
could persuade his father to let him go away to 
study. It was well known that he spent many 
hours drawing on boards, stones, and anything 
he could find, and that the village priest, the good 
padrone, had praised his work. But little was 
thought of that. Other youths of Cadore had 
sketched as well and amourited to nothing. So 
why should he be sent to the city just because he 
could copy a mountain or a bit of woodland ? 
For he could not make them understand that 
color was what seemed to burn in his soul, be- 
cause that he could not express with charcoal. 

A whistle came from down the road, and Cata- 
rina saw her brother Francesco beckoning them 
to hurry. 

"They must be ready to begin weaving the 
garlands!" she exclaimed. 

So they broke into a run toward the village 

It was the glowing, fragrant June time of the 
Italian highlands, when the hillsides and mead- 
ows of the fertile Dolomite valleys were masses 
of many colored bloom, and next day the Fes- 
tival of Flowers was to take place. They had 
spent the afternoon blossom hunting, and now, 
when sunset was crimsoning the peaks, were 
homeward bound with their spoils, to aid in pre- 
paring for the revelry. 







In a few minutes, the}' joined tlie other young 
people at the inn, and began making garlands, 
and planning games and frolics as they worked. 
Pieve di Cadore was very far from the world in 
those days of little travel, and when the time of 
a festival was at hand, the villagers were as 
light-hearted as the gay Venetians at carnival 
time. Songs and merry jests went round, and 
bits of gossip were told to eager listeners. 

"Have you heard that Salvator, the miller's 
son, is going to Venice to study the art of carv- 
ing?" asked a girl whose tongue kept pace with 
her hands. "Since his father has become rich, 
he has given up the idea of having him follow 
his own trade, and thinks it more elegant to be- 
come a sculptor. At first, Salvator did n't fancy 
it, but when told that an artist may get to be the 
favorite of a great lord or even of the doge him- 
self, he was much pleased. Won't it be splendid 
if he becomes a noted man and lives in a fine 
house? Then we can say, 'Why, he is one of 
our Cadorini !" " 

Sebastiano, whose uncle was a lawyer's clerk 
in Bergamo, and who knew more of city ways 
than the other village youths, remarked: "I did 
n't know he had the love of carving. It takes 
something beside a rich father to make an ar- 

The talkative girl tossed her head. 

"That may be !" she retorted. "But no money, 
no masters ; and without them, pray, how can 
one do anything?" 

"So I tell Tiziano when he talks about going 
to the city to study painting," Catarina broke in. 
"Father is not rich, and it would be better for 
him to think about learning cobbling with Luigi." 

Peals of laughter followed the announceinent, 
and some one called out, "Tiziano ! Why, he 
has n't had even a drawing-master. He builds 
the tower of his castle before he makes the 

Tiziano's face turned very red. He had no 
teacher, it was true. But he believed he could 
prove he was worth one if given a chance. 

"Oh, if I only had some paints !" he thought. 
"Maybe they would stop calling me a dreamer, 
for I am sure I could make a picture, and then 
perhaps I could go." 

But pigments were rare and costly, and 
though his father was a well-to-do mountaineer, 
he had no gold to waste in buying colors for a 
lad who had never been taught to use them, and 
of course would spoil them. 

The next morning, the boy noticed stains on 
the stone walk made by fliowers crushed there 
the day before. They were bright and fresh as 
if painted, and it put an idea into his head. He 

did not speak of it, however, although it was on 
his mind so much that, when the gaily decked 
villagers danced on the green, he did not see 
them, but, as soon as a chance came, he crept 
from the revelers and went out into the mead- 

Catarina saw him go, and wondered what took 
him from the merriment. Her curiosity was 
greater than her desire for fun, so she followed, 
and overtook him just as he reached a hillside 
aglow with blossoms. 

"What are you doing, Tiziano?" she called. 

The boy looked up as if doubtful whether to 
tell or not. But he knew his sister loved him 
even though she did criticize his dreaming, and 
that she would keep his secret. 

"I am going to paint a picture," he answered. 

For a minute she stood and stared. Then, 
thinking he was teasing, she retorted: "Of course 
you are, without any paints !'' 

But his earnest face told he was not joking. 

"I shall use blossoms," he continued, with a 
wonderful light in his eyes. "See, all the colors 
are here, and I have found that they will stain. 
I saw where they did it on the stone walk." 

Catarina was not a dreamer like her brother, 
and never saw pictures where others found only 
a bit of color, but she believed that what he pro- 
posed to do was not impossible, for she too had 
noticed the stains on the stone. And she began 
to think that he must be a very bright lad, for 
no ordinary one would have thought of it, and 
that perhaps his wanting to go to Venice was 
not a wild idea after all. If it was a splendid 
thing for Salvator, the miller's son, to become a 
sculptor, would it not be more splendid for Ti- 
ziano to paint pictures, and might not Cadore be 
proud of him too ? She had heard the padrone 
say that no undertaking that fills the heart is 
impossible to one who has patience and courage 
and persistence, and that help always comes to 
those who try to help themselves. So she decided 
to help Tiziano, even though it was only in the 
keeping of his secret, and the gathering of ma- 
terials for the work. 

So into the fragrant patches they went and 
began collecting blossoms of every hue — reds, 
pinks, blues, and purples such as sunset painted 
on the mountains, and warm yellows and laven- 
ders that the boy saw in the pictures of his 
fancy. Then they hurried to an old stone house 
that stood on land owned by their father. It was 
a vacant house, seldom visited by the family, and 
never by the villagers, and there, where he would 
be safe from molestation, he was to paint the 
picture that they hoped would be the means of 
taking him to Venice. 




Catarina wanted to stay and watch the work, 
but Tiziano objected. 

"I don't want even you to see it until it is fin- 
ished, because at first it will not seem like a pic- 

So she went away and left him outlining with 
a bit of charcoal on the wall. 

For many days afterward, whenever he could 
steal away without being noticed, he worked with 

who was destined to win glory for Italy. Little 
did the villagers dream, as Catarina skipped over 
the meadows, that the blossoms she gathered 
were being put to an immortal use. 

One evening, when the sun was dipping be- 
hind the peaks and the merry voices of shepherds 
homeward bound with their flocks sounded down 
from the heights, Tiziano stepped to the door of 
the house and called to his sister outside. 


his flower paints. Catarina went over the mead- 
ows on feet that seemed to be winged, always 
watching that none of the villagers saw her put 
the blossoms in at the window near which her 
brother worked. So, while each petal made only 
a tiny stain, and the boy painted with the rapidity 
of one inspired, he not once needed to stop for 

Little by little the picture grew beneath the 
magic of his touch, and he and Catarina kept 
the secret well. Only the flocks pasturing on the 
fragrant uplands went near the deserted house, 
so no one knew that a boy was at work there 

"It is finished, Catarina, and is the very best 
that I can do !" 

She, went dancing in, filled with joy that the 
task was done ; but when she stood in front of 
the picture, the merriment went out of her face, 
and she spoke in tones of reverence : 

"Oh, Tiziano, a madonna !"' 

"Yes," he agreed. "A madonna and child, 
with a boy like me offering a gift. It is what was 
in my heart, Catarina." 

For some miiuites, she stood there forgetting 
everything else in the beauty of the fresco. 
Then, thinking of what it would mean to her 



brother when the villagers knew he had done 
such a wonderful thing, she started out to spread 
the news. 

"Come and see !" she called to Luigi, the cob- 
bler, as she hurried past the door where he was 
sorting his leather. "Tiziano has painted a ma- 
donna on the walls of the old stone house." 

Word travels fast when it goes by the tongues 
of villagers, and soon a group of folk moved 
toward the building where the lad waited. His 
father, coming down from a day's hunting in the 
mountains, saw them go, and followed, wonder- 
ing what was the matter. But by the time he 
reached the place, such a crowd had gathered 
that he could not see the fresco. 

Murmurs of "How did he do it !"' "Where did 
he get his paints?" rose on all sides, and every 
one was so excited that the father could not find 
out why they were there. Then he heard Tizi- 
ano's voice: "I did it with flowers from the hill- 
sides. Catarina gathered them while I worked." 

Exclamations of amazement followed, and the 
village priest, the good padrone, spoke reverently : 

"With the juices of flowers ! II Divino 
Tiziano !" 

Antonio Vecelli looked about him as if dazed, 
for he could not believe what he heard. 

"Am I mad," he asked a villager who was 
standing close by, "or did the padrone call my 
Tiziano 'the divine'?" 

to be a dreamer, for 
works do marvelous 

"No," came the answer. "You are not mad." 
And when they told him the story, and the 

crowd stepped back that he might see, he, too, 

thought it a wonderful thing. 

Whether or not Salvator, the miller's son, went 
to the city to study sculpture, no one knows. But 
Tiziano did go, and the boy of Cadore became the 
marvel of Venice. There, guided by the master 
hand of Bellini, he began plying the brushes that 
were busy for almost eighty years, painting pic- 
tures whose glorious coloring has never been 
equaled, and proving to the mountain folk that 
it is n't bad, after all, 
dreams comljined with 

That was back in the olden days, before Co- 
lumbus sailed westward. But if the father, who 
thought he had gone mad when the village priest 
spoke his boy's name as reverently as he would 
a saint's, could come again to the valley of flow- 
ers in the Italian highlands, he would hear the 
selfsame words that were used that twilight time 
in speaking of his lad. 

"Ecco !" the villagers say, as they point to a 
noble statue that looks out toward the meadows in 
which Catarina gathered blossoms for her brother, 
"II Divino Tiziano. — See, the divine Titian!" 

And by that name the world knows him to this 
very day. 



It was evening at 
High Wold, and that 
particular and much- 
prized interval which 
came directly after 
dinner and before the 
study-hour at eight 
o'clock. The big gym- 
T / nasium looked like 
some gay flower-bed, 
with the girls in their pretty light frocks scat- 
tered over the floor. A few couples were danc- 
ing to the music afforded by the one at the piano ; 
a few were strolling up and down, while here and 
there little groups stood in corners chatting. 

On one of these, the largest and most animated, 
the eyes of Anna Forester were fixed as she sat 
alone in a recess. The eyes were rather wistful, 
and there was a sort of lassitude in her aspect 
that might have been taken for indifference ; but 
a close observer would sooia have seen that the 
apparent indifference was assumed in order to 
hide the depression wMch lay beneath it. Anna 
had been more than two months at High Wold, 
and yet felt "out of things" and dejected. 

What was wrong? She was a good student, 
and had seen her name in red letters on the 
monthly bulletin ; she was sufficiently good-look- 
ing ; her manners were courteous ; but there was, 
nevertheless, no disguising the fact that she did 
not "get on." While the girls respected her for 
her standing in class, there was no free-and-easy 
comradeship between her and them, as there was 
among the rest ; much less had she, so far, 
inspired any schoolmate with the enthusiastic 
admiration and affection that were so lavishly 
bestowed, school-girl- fashion, on those who hap- 
pened to appeal to one another. Again and again 
she would feel, not that she was treated un- 
kindly, but that she did not count. And why? 

The trouble, if she could have seen it, lay in 
herself, and was largely the result of unusual 
conditions acting on her particular temperament. 
Naturally shy and reserved, these drawbacks had 

been accentuated by a delicate childhood involv- 
ing much care and individual attention on the 
part of the aunt who had brought her up, and 
who, while devoting herself to Anna's physical 
and intellectual development, had not sufficiently 
considered the importance of companionship for 
her niece. Therefore when, at sixteen, and now 
strong and well, she had come to High Wold, she 
came knowing little or nothing of girls of her 
own age and their ways together; her diffidence 
made her hold aloof, and expect all advances to 
come from the other side, and her shyness made 
her response to such as were offered seem to lack 
the readiness and warmth to which the girls were 
accustomed in their intercourse with one another. 
And when they naturally interpreted her atti- 
tude as a desire to be left to herself, and acted 
accordingly, she yielded to a little morbid sensi- 
tiveness and brooded, instead of bracing herself 
to find out where the misunderstanding lay. 

Her aunt, with the kindest intention but with 
mistaken judgment, had arranged for her to room 
alone, as she always had at home, and so she had 
missed the enlightenment that she might have 
gained through the close intercourse and daily 
give-and-take of life with a room-mate; and the 
self-consciousness and self-engrossment which 
resulted from all these things built a barrier be- 
tween her and her fellow-students. 

Now, as she sat, self-isolated, watching the 
eager talk in that group on which her eyes were 
fixed, her foolish heart was sore and resentful, 
yet she could not make up her mind to go and 
join in it uninvited. 

She knew what they were talking about, the 
most desperately interesting and exciting topic 
of the hour, the great basket-ball match with 
Maiden Moor, their one hitherto-unconquered 
rival. The team would be picked in a few days, 
and who, zvho were to be the lucky girls to fight 
this all-important battle? That was the question 
in everybody's mind, — especially since the line-up 
practice that very afternoon, when the play be- 
tween several of the first squad had been so bril- 





liant and so close. One or two, of course, stood 
out above the rest. Hester Rutherford's guard- 
ing was of inconceivable quickness and strength. 
And the unfailing shot, almost superhuman in its 
certainty, of the senior forward would place her, 
beyond a doubt, with Hester on the team ; but 
among the other candidates there was a suffi- 
ciently close competition to make the probable 
decision a most exciting subject of speculation 
and debate. The rivalry was perfectly good- 
humored, for the sporting spirit of the school was 
sound enough for the girls to honestly wish the 
best players to go. What glory for High Wold 
if they could only capture that flag! And they 
really had a chance this year ; the coach had told 
them so, and even Miss Cartwright, their princi- 
pal, who had been a first-rate player herself in 
her college days, and was not wont to prophesy 
smooth things, had said this afternoon : "If you 
keep your heads and play as well as you did 
to-day, you have a fighting chance of beating 
Maiden Moor." And her hearers' hearts had 
throbbed with exultation. 

Oh, to do it, after all the many encounters out 
of which High Wold had come defeated ; to see 
that white-and-silver flag on the wall of the gym- 
nasium at last ! 

Anna had felt the enthusiasm surging in her 
breast with the rest of them, but still it had not 
enabled her to fling aside her self-consciousness 
and join the chattering, guessing circle; she sat 
alone, naturally giving the impression to any one 
who had the leisure to notice her that she was 
not greatly interested in the matter. 

Suddenly a girl detached herself from the 
group and strolled in her direction. 

Anna watched her keenly without seeming to. 
Was she really coming to speak to her? She al- 
most held her breath, for this was none other 
than Violet Markham, the "Faultless Forward," 
as the girls delighted to call her; the invincible 
shot, the idol of the team, and secretly adored by 
Anna. They were both in the fourth form, but 
Violet had been three years at High Wold, and 
was so popular that she was always surrounded ; 
and Anna, a recent comer and one slow to make 
her way, had hitherto only worshiped from afar. 

Now, however, it became evident that Violet 
was making for her, and presently she dropped 
into a chair at her side with a smile and a lift of 
her pretty eyebrows. "All alone?" she said; 
"tired? Or are you too superior to be interested 
in the team?" 

"S-s-superior ?" repeated Anna, stammering 
in the vehemence of surprised denial ; "superior ? 
Why, I — I — I 'm just cra.zy about it!" 

"You are, you funny creature? You don't look 

like it, sitting 'way ofi^ here by yourself; nobody 
could guess you cared a snap for basket-ball. Why 
did n't you come over with the rest of us? Did 
n't you know what we were talking about?" 

"Of course I knew; I 'm dying to hear who 
will be chosen. I 'd give anything in the world 
to see our team beat Maiden Moor. Do tell me 
who has the best chance." 

Violet looked at her curiously ; there could be 
no mistake as to the genuineness of her enthusi- 
asm ; her cheeks were burning, and her eyes- 
had they actually tears in them? 

"You are the oddest girl!" she said; "I believe 
you do care, but why on earth do you pretend 
not to? I know lots of the girls think you are 
too learned to take any interest in the sports." 

"Too learnedf" echoed Anna, in unfeigned 
astonishment; "why, I 'd give every mark I 've 
ever got since I came, to be on the team, or to 
h.ave one finger in helping win this game ; I 'm 
mad that Aunt Lucy would n't let me go in for 
basket-ball. And they think I 'm too learned?" 
She laughed incredulously. Could girls really 
think such absurd things as that ? 

"That 's what they think, honest Injun," an- 
swered Violet; "and if I had n't happened to 
just catch sight of your face once or twice 
this afternoon, I 'd be thinking so myself, still. 
You looked so frightfully excited that I won- 
dered what was up ; I could hardly believe it 
was the play, so I came over to find out. And 
you really are as keen on it as all that ? But then, 
why did n't you come over and talk about it?" 

Anna gave a little gasp, but the moment had 
come for her to speak, and speak she must. 

"I begin to believe I 'm stupid," she said, 
flushing; "but I — I 'm horribly shy; it 's awfully 
foolish, — I don't suppose you can even guess what 
it feels like?— but I 've lived all my life with 
grown-up people, and, somehow, I — well — I don't 
know how to get on with the girls ; I always feel 
as if they did n't want me." The last words came 
with a rush. 

"Well, are n't you a silly !" said Violet, good- 
naturedly, slipping her hand through the other's 
arm; "who 'd have thought it? We 'd all be in a 
bad way if we waited to be invited, my dear. 
What you 've got to do is to show you are inter- 
ested. Don't wait to be asked." 

"But I never seem able to do anything worth 
while. Every day I think I '11 begin to get on 
better, and every night I seem farther off than 
ever. Nobody wants anything that I can do." 

"Did you ever really try to find out? You are 
so clever, there must be scores of things; offer 
to do them; you '11 find no end of opportunities if 
you are on the lookout for them." 




"The girls won't think I am 'butting in'?" 

"No, indeed, you goosie," a Httle impatiently, 
"of course they won't; just try and see. Most of 
us are n't shy, that 's a fact— it must be a 
wretched feeling— but just you stand up and get 
the better of it, once for all, that stupid notion 
of not being wanted ; it sounds like story-book 
stuff; I 'd no idea that real, live girls ever felt 
that way, and I 'm sure the others have n't. If 
you are not wanted, it '11 be your own fault ; I 
tell you that; so don't ever be so foolish again !" 

"I won't, I won't, if you really think that!" 
cried Anna, so relieved that she could have 
hugged her companion, and did even give the 
friendly hand Violet held out a hearty squeeze. 
"I dare say I shall bungle at first," she went on, 
in a more natural tone now that the ice had been 
broken ; "it takes me so long to make up my mind 
to speak that, by the time I have, my chance has 
usually gone by." 

"It 's no end of a pity that we can't shake you 
and Milly Wayne up together; she is such a for- 
ward, meddlesome little bantam, putting her fin- 
ger into every one's pie. Do you think, if you 
were to room with her, you could manage to get 
the proportions right between you?" 

At this suggestion, Anna's reserve broke down 
entirely, and her "Mercy, 110 !" was so spontane- 
ous and fervent, that Violet laughed merrily. 

"All right, you '11 do !" she said; "you will soon 
get hold of the trick of speaking in time, and 
mark my words, you can be as popular as any 
one, if you choose." 

"But all this time," cried Anna, "you have 
never told me about the team. Who will be 
chosen ? You and Hester, of course, but how 
about the others ?" 

"Yes, I suppose Hester and I will go, bar acci- 
dents ; and Betty Blake will play center ; then 
Grizel Cochrane may be the other guard, though 
some say Lillie Fairfax is stronger." 

"And the other forward?" 

"Well, it 's almost an even draw between Kitty 
Woodhouse and Ida Cary; they both play a stun- 
ning game. I prophesy it will be Kitty, with Ida 
for first sub. I suppose it will be settled after 
the practice on Wednesday. Oh, dear, there 's 
the bell, we must go ! I 've a dreadful lot to do. 
By-by; remember, now, and be sensible." 

The girls streamed down-stairs ; the younger 
ones to the study hall, where they did their prepa- 
ration under supervision; the older ones to their 
own rooms, and silence reigned at High Wold ; 
but Anna seated herself at her little table and 
attacked her Latin prose composition with a 
lighter heart than she had felt since the day she 
came to boardino--school. 

Next morning, at the eleven-o'clock recess, 
mindful of Violet's advice, she joined some of 
the girls who were strolling up and down the 
frosty drive, and, the first effort over, found it 
distinctly more amusing than solitude and injured 
feelings. Before the bell rang, she had under- 
taken to execute a needed poster, and if a little 
surprise was mingled with the effusion with which 
her offer was received, she knew she alone was 
responsible. Her sky was beginning to clear. 

She did not see much of Violet during the 
next day or so ; the latter was busy every spare 
minute shooting goals in the gymnasium, and 
practising a very special and particular throw 
with which she purposed to confound her ene- 
mies if they should put her in a corner. But on 
Tuesday night after study-hour, Anna, not see- 
ing her anywhere around, took courage, and 
went and knocked on her door. 

"Come !" was the response, in a tone the re- 
verse of inviting, and Anna's confidence failed 
her a little. However, she rallied herself and 
opened the door, and beheld Violet sitting at her 
table with a pile of books before her, and a look 
of deep gloom upon her charming face. 

"Oh, I 'm disturbing you — I won't come in; I 
thought you would have finished !" 

"Finished !" repeated Violet, with an irritable 
edge to her voice, "I shall never have finished. 
I 'm frightfully behind in everything. I 've had 
so much practising to do in the gym that was 
really necessary, and the class work is all extra 
hard this week. Of course it would be. I believe 
the teachers like to see how difficult they can 
make things. You 'd think, when there was any- 
thing on that involved the standing of the school 
to such an extent as this match — you know, 
nobody beat Maiden Moor last season; think 
what it would mean for High Wold— the teach- 
ers would feel a pride in it, and have a little in- 
dulgence, instead of pouncing on trivial mistakes, 
and taking marks away on the slightest excuse 1" 

"What 's wrong?" asked Anna, in a soothing 
tone. Violet was evidently greatly disturbed. 
"Can't I help you ? I 've finished my work." 

"Of course, and I might have done mine, too, 
though I don't pretend to work as fast as you, 
and the algebra is awfully hard ; but I felt it was 
due to the school to make as sure of my baskets 
as possible ; you don't know how some of 'our 
friends, the enemy,' can shoot — they are perfect 
fiends ; the tunc I have liad to give to practising !" 

"That 's just what you would do," said Anna, 
with no intention of flattering, but full of admi- 
ration of Violet's high standard of play and fine 
school spirit. "And, of course, that means dou- 
bly hard work, both ways." 




"Yes, but it means time, too, and how in the 
world am I to get the time to do everything? 
The team is to be picked to-morrow, and if all 
my work is n't done, I sha'n't be allowed to play." 

"Not play?" repeated Anna, confounded at the 
bare idea of such a calamity; "why, that 's im- 
possible ! You have got to play; 3^ou must!" 

"Don't you know it is the horrid rule that no 
one may play who has been blacklisted three 
times? And my name has been up twice already." 

"But — well, the school simply can't spare you," 
repeated Anna, unable to face such a disaster. 

"I do think an exception ought to be made this 
once, for a thing that might not happen again in 
years !" Violet's tone was injured and mournful. 

'Can't you ask Miss Cartwright to give you 
special permission?" 

"She would n't; she 's very strict about our not, 
letting athletics interfere with our work. I know 
exactly what she would say." 

"Well, then," said Anna, with prompt common 
sense, "why are we wasting all this time talking? 
Let 's get to work ! What have n't you done ?" 

"I was just finishing my Latin, but I have n't 
touched my mathematics yet— two papers, horrid 
stuff; it always takes me twice as long as any 
other lesson — I can't possibly get through before 
the bell rings, and if they are not handed in to- 
morrow morning, my fate is sealed ; I shall be off 
the team for Maiden Moor." 

"Oh, nonsense!" The shy and tentative Anna 
of a few minutes earlier had vanished completely. 
"You '11 get done. Why, yesterday's algebra was 
easy, it won't take you any time ; to-day 's is 
harder, but if you set right at it, I know you can 
finish. Look here, suppose you do the rest of 
your Latin first, then let 's do to-day's algebra, 
and if the bell goes before you have done, get up 
and finish it to-morrow before breakfast. Wait 
a moment. I '11 get mine, and help you out with 
what you have n't time to do." 

She was gone before Violet could summon up 
the resolution to protest. 

Did n't Anna know that it was against the 
rules for one girl to do another's work for her? 
she wondered. It was quite possible, as Anna was 
rooming alone, and had hitherto kept so much 
aloof that the matter easily might never have 
come up, as far as she was concerned. But Vio- 
let knew very well ; oh, yes, she knew. Yet, after 
all, this was an exceptional case, and for such a 
very public-spirited reason. If she were put off 
the team, Ida Cary would take her place, and, 
without vanity, she knew she was the better 
player ; quicker, and more sure of the baskets ; 
and it meant so much to High Wold to win ! 
Surelv the interest of the school should come first ? 

She had just reached this point when Anna 
returned with the algebra papers, radiant at the 
thought of being useful to her friend, and, more- 
over, indirectly of service to the school. 

"Put up my sign, will you, while I finish this," 
said Violet, indicating the little card with "Busy" 
printed upon it, and determined to give the mat- 
ter no further consideration. 

Anna pinned the little card outside the door, 
and then, having secured freedom from interrup- 
tion, came back to the table where Violet was 
scribbling away at her Latin prose. This written, 
the girls turned to the algebra. Violet abhorred 
anything in the way of figures, and knew that, if 
left to herself, the paper would never be finished 
before the bell rang. "I could do it, of course," 
she said to herself, "if I had longer; it is n't as if 
it were really dishonest" ; but she did not let her- 
self dwell upon this point. 

With Anna's clear-headed help, the first paper 
was done before the clock warned them to pre- 
pare for bed. Then, with a hasty good-night, 
Anna went off to her own room, leaving the other 
paper behind ; and by nine o'clock next morning, 
Violet's completed work was handed in, and the 
black-list was cheated of its prey. 

The team for the great game was picked after 
the final line-up that evening, and the following 
names were posted. 

Center: Betty Blake (captain). Forwards 
Violet Markham and Kitty Woodhouse. Guards 
Hester Rutherford and Grizel Cochrane. Subs 
Ida Cary, Dolly Bingham, Olive Weir, and Lillie 
Fairfax; and eager girls, reading the list, were 
unanimous in their approval. 

Saturday dawned clear, cool, and brilliant, and 
a crowd of expectant and excited girls drove off 
in the early hours for Maiden Moor, fifteen miles 
away. The issue of the event was too important 
and too uncertain for pronounced joviality at 
present, especially as the day before Kitty Wood- 
house had developed so severe a cold that the 
authorities had no choice but to consign her to 
the infirmary, despite her bitter tears ; and Ida 
Cary was taking her place, which was a solemn 
matter, for Kitty was indubitably the better 
player. But the school had confidence in its team, 
notwithstanding, and they were, on the whole, 
cheerful. Even if they were beaten, it could not 
be by a really bad score, they thought. 

The crisp, frosty air, the deep blue of the sky, 
the gleams of vivid red here and there as they 
passed great clumps of swamp holly with its bril- 
liant berries, were all invigorating and inspirit- 
ing; above all. Miss Cartwright was with them, 
with her cheery, sympathetic presence; yes, the 




auspices for the day were favorable, and when 
the beautiful graystone buildings of Maiden Moor 
became visible in the distance, they were as eager 
for the fray as a company of little war-horses, 
scenting battle. 

The game was called for noon, and, as the 
clock struck, the two teams 
met upon the floor. 

The girls were good to 
look at, in their pretty gym- 
nasium suits, with their 
clear, bright complexions, 
erect carriage, and easy 
movements ; types of the 
healthy, well-developed, open- 
air girl who has come into 
being in these days. In ad- 
dition to the two schools, 
spectators from outside lined 
the walls and filled the gal- 
lery, for this meeting be- 
tween two notable teams had 
created considerable interest 
in the neighborhood. 

The officials took up their 
positions, and after a few 
preliminary points of detail 
had been settled, the captains 
shook hands, the whistle 
sounded, and the fight was 

Swift, strong, and sure 
from the" start, it was plain 
this was going to be no snap 
victory for either side. The 
first goal was thrown fairly 
soon by Maiden Moor, after 
which, for more than five 
minutes, neither side could 
get in a try. Up and down 
the ball traveled, from end to 
end of the gymnasium, mani- 
festing remarkable team- 
work, and some rapid, pretty 
passing on the part of the 
players. The guarding was 
strong and alert, and effec- 
tually balked the attempts 
of the nimble forwards to 
shoot. Presently, however, 
the home team threw a sec- 
ond goal, and up on the board went the score 

But High Wold was not rattled ; the visitors 
were finding their way about on the floor, and 
as their supporters broke into one of the favorite 
school-songs, Violet eluded her powerful guard 

and put in her first basket: a long, clean, beauti- 
ful throw that elicited hearty applause from the 

Again an interlude of close, quick play; pass- 
ing and catching that rejoiced the hearts of the 
coaches and all connoisseurs of the game ; then, 


with a leap, Ida caught the ball and put it neatly 
in, bringing the score even. 

The excitement grew as the minutes passed 
and the play was more and more hotly contested. 
So admirable was the guarding of ^laiden Moor 
that \"io!et had no chance of making the throw 




on which she had spent so much time : her shoot- 
ing was well enough known for the rival captain 
to have placed her strongest "man" against her. 

A couple of fouls were called, but without 
altering the score ; the end of the first half was 
drawing near, and the home team was on its met- 
tle; amid ringing cheers its captain put in a skil- 
ful goal from the center just before the cry of 
"Time !" and the board recorded 6-4. 

"Well done, Team ! you are giving them a tus- 
sle ; don't lose your heads, and we '11 beat them 
yet !" said the High Wold coach, as he walked to 
the door of the gymnasium with the girls on their 
way to the dressing-room ; "but, remember, the 
real fight is coming in the second half. What 's 
wrong, Miss Cary ?" he asked, looking at Ida, 
who had suddenly turned pale. 

"Nothing. My ankle is hurting a little, I must 
have twisted it ; it '11 be all right directly," she 
answered eagerly. But on examination the foot 
was found to be swelling, and Ida was inexorably 
ruled out. 

Groans rose from the team. "Did one ever 
know such luck !" "Just when we needed all the 
strength we could muster!" "Hush, girls, hush; 
don't make a noise about it !" "Dolly, you 've got 
to go in." "Do your little best, Dolly !" "Violet, 
it 's up to you — play for your life !" "You know 
I will, but that new guard of theirs is a perfect 
giant; the stiffest player I ever came up against. 
Hurry up, girls ; are you ready, Dolly ?" 

The girls' training showed in their condition ; 
they had been playing hard, but there was no sign 
of exhaustion or overstrain among them, and 
when the interlude was at an end, they prepared 
to renew the struggle as fit as though the first 
half had been no more than a preliminary skir- 
mish limbering up for the main action. 

Their sporting spirit, too, was equal to their 
physical fitness, and, despite the maiming of their 
team, their courage was undaunted. 

Meanwhile, the captain of Maiden Moor had 
been exhorting her men. "We 're going to have 
a harder time beating them than ever before," 
she said; "I had no idea they would be so strong; 
they may weaken a little this half, but we can't 
count on it. We shall just have to fight, every 
minute, if we don't want them to get away with 
our flag !" 

Again the whistle sounded ; the ball flew from 
the center and passed with incredible swiftness 
back and forth in a tense and breathless silence. 
Up in the gallery, Anna Forester watched with 
all her soul in her eyes. How plain it was that 
High Wold needed every skilful player she pos- 
sessed to uphold her honor in such a struggle. 
Kitty ill, Ida disabled, what would have hap- 

pened if Violet had not been on the team? The 
thought was constantly in the back of her mind, 
while she strained to watch every movement of 
the lithe forms running, darting, leaping on the 

Cheers broke from the backers of Maiden Moor 
as again the home team evaded their opponents 
and got the basket, and the inexorable board 
showed 8-4. The High Wold contingent drew a 
deep breath. Was the day to go against them, 
after all? 

Anna, pressing her hands hard against the rail 
of the gallery, whispered: "Play up, Violet! Oh, 
play up !" 

Then it was, at that moment, that something 
happened to Dolly Bingham ; Dolly, who had not 
even been first sub, hard-pressed by her guard, 
seemed suddenly to awake, as, with phenomenal 
skill, she caught and threw the ball backward 
over her head, clean through the basket. So un- 
expected, so spectacular was the throw, that a 
thrill ran through the watching crowd before a 
storm of applause greeted the achievement of this 
little "dark horse." 

From that instant she played like one inspired. 
The danger to their cause, the compelling im- 
pulse to fill Ida's place with credit, the convic- 
tion that the victory must come to High Wold, 
nerved her to feats which amazed the beholders. 
Again, again, and yet again did the hall ring as 
the little, slight sub sent up the score by leaps 
and bounds. She dodged, she passed, she caught, 
she jumped, in a way that bewildered her foes 
and sent her friends into ecstasies of enthusiasm. 
"Bravo, Dolly!" "She 's a witch!" "Did you 
EVER!" "Keep it up, Dolly— keep it up!" 

Maiden Moor was playing with stubborn deter- 
mination, but it became evident that she was play- 
ing a losing game ; she had met with more than 
her match at last. The ball was being kept almost 
wholly at one end of the gymnasium now; the 
High Wold team were playing like one man, 
Dolly still doing most of the scoring, but with a 
fine throw to the credit of Betty Blake. One 
last desperate goal was achieved by Maiden 
Moor; but the board showed 18-10 when time 
was called and the match was over. High Wold 
had captured the white-and-silver flag! 

The defeated team, like the good little sports 
they were, seized the victorious captain and car- 
ried her in triumph round the hall, cheering lust- 
ily; for, though they were beaten, they could 
appreciate good play. 

Perhaps never, among all the triumphs of her 
later years, when school-days were a thing of 
the past, did Betty Blake feel quite the same 
thrill of rapture as when, hoisted upon the shoul- 




ders of the Maiden Moor girls, and acclaimed as 
captain of the conquering team, she caught the 
beaming eye of her principal full upon her. It 
was no unworthy thrill, either, for self had very 

(see PAGE 684.) 

little place in it. It was not a personal triumph ; 
the team, not Betty Blake, had won, and the 
glory was for the school : High Wold had de- 
feated Maiden Moor. They tasted one of the big 
things of life: participation in a well-fought, 
fairly won battle, the satisfaction of common 
achievement, the noble joy of feeling themselves 
vital parts of a great whole— their school. 

Meanwhile, the two coaches were shaking 
hands and congratulating one another on the play 
of their respective teams. 

"The best girls' game I ever saw," said the 
Maiden Moor man. "If we 
had to be defeated, I could 
n't wish it to have been by 
better players. You have some 
wonders on your team." 

"I 'm feeling pretty proud 
of them, I own," admitted the 
other ; "and one of them 
sprang a surprise on all of 
us. I had no notion she had 
it in her; like a little steel 
wand, she was. Well, sir, 
the fact that for once we 
have got the better of Maiden 
Moor marks this as a red- 
letter day for us. You 've 
beaten us so often that you 
can afford us one victory." 

"Fairly won, sir; you have 
the better team this year. 
And it won't hurt Maiden 
Moor to realize that she has 
n't quite conquered the earth 
yet. This will give us a 
touch of the spur, and we 
shall have a fine fight again 
• j£ next season. Now come and get some- 

thing to eat." 

The celebration that night at High Wold is 
a matter of history, and is talked of still with 
bated breath when the alumnae come back, 
"and fight their battles o'er again." 

Dinner was spread in the gymnasium, and 
flowers, and lights, and decorations made a 
festive and brilliant setting for the happy 
faces that gathered at the long tables. Be- 
tween the courses school-songs were sung, 
and the rafters rang to the cheers that 
greeted every name on the victorious team ; 
the coach, the score, the assisting officials, 
and the valiant opponents. Dolly Bingham 
was the heroine of th'e hour, and was vocif- 
erously accorded three times three all to her- 
self, to her overwhelming joy. And loud 
and long they cheered their principal, who had en- 
couraged them year by year, and had always stood 
for as high a standard in sport as in study. 

Then came a little pause before the traditional 
concluding .ceremonies, the culminating point of 
all their celebrations— the passing of the loving- 
cup, and the hanging of the newly won flag in its 
place of honor on the wall of the gymnasium. 




Miss Cartwright rose at the head of the main 
table. "Girls," she said, "I have only a few 
words to say to you to-night. You have won 
the victory that you have waited long and worked 
well for, and we are all immensely proud of our 
team. It was a game worth winning, played 
throughout fairly, squarely, finely ; without dis- 
putes, with no undue roughness, and no hard 
feeling; and though we saw some very brilliant 
individual play, it was kept subordinate to the 
work of the team as a whole, just as it should be. 
The temper and self-control on both sides could 
not have been better. If you had lost the flag 
instead of winning it, I should still have been 
proud of my girls ; as it is, you have won it in the 
way I have always hoped it would be won, and, 
what is best of all, I believe the spirit of the team 
reflects the spirit of the school as a whole ; I 
have no better wish for the future of High Wold 
than that this should always be so." She lifted 
the silver cup and touched it with her lips : "To 
High Wold!" she said, and passed it to the cap- 
tain on her right. 

The girls rose en masse. This, after all, was 
the best moment of the day. If a pang shot 
through the heart of one of the team, no one else 
was conscious of it, and no one noticed the color 
in the cheeks of Violet Markham deepen to crim- 
son, pale, and then flush again. No one guessed 
that the deciding moment of a battle as real as 
the one that had been fought that day against 
Maiden Moor had been reached. The conflict 
was sharp and hard. During the long drive home, 
as the dusk slid into dark, and little pauses in the 
joyous chatter around had occurred now and 
then, the thought of something not quite straight, 
not entirely aboveboard in connection with the 
game, had intruded itself persistently. It had 
been at the back of her consciousness all day, 
ready to start into the foreground directly the 
immediate excitement of the game was removed ; 
and she had been debating with herself, off and 
on, ever since. 

She would have to own up, of course; but she 
had thought perhaps it would be best to say noth- 
ing to-night, just when everybody was trium- 
phant and happy, and full of enthusiasm for the 
team. That would be a mistake. After all, the 
victory was fairly theirs — it would have been 
theirs if she had not gone; Maiden Moor would 
never have put their strongest guard against a 
little sub like Dolly ; she would wait, and later 
tell— perhaps the captain — or Miss Cartwright— 
only— she would keep silent to-night. 

But now the principal's words stirred her to 
her depths, and in a minute she knew what she 
had to do. She saw in a flash how she had failed 

in both sporting and school spirit, though she had 
yielded to the temptation to cheat (yes, that was 
what it really amounted to— to cheat! — and she 
a soldier's daughter), using school spirit as her 
pretext. How would she be feeling now if Dolly 
had not played up so miraculously, and if she, 
Violet, had shot the goals by which their score 
had outstripped that of the vanquished team? 
Why, in that case the game would not have been 
fairly theirs. She knew that the recognition of 
this had been in her mind when, in the dressing- 
room at Maiden Moor, she had caught Dolly in 
her arms and whispered feverishly : "You are an 
angel, Dolly— Dolly, you are a blessed angel! 
How did you— ever— do it?" 

She saw it all, now, as clear as daylight. 

"To High Wold !" she heard the girl next her 
saying, as she turned to Violet with the cup. 

Violet took it, and, to the surprise of every 
one, set it deliberately before her on the table, 
still keeping her hand upon it. Her heart was 
beating as if it would choke her, but with a great 
effort she managed to control her voice after the 
first little gasp as she faced her principal. 

Many a time at celebrations and school meet- 
ings, Violet had addressed the room; she was re- 
garded as a good speaker, and the training she 
had gained stood her in good stead now ; but 
never had she been listened to with the breath- 
less silence upon which her few halting words 
fell this night of the school's greatest victory. 

"Miss Cartwright, and girls, there is something 
I have to say. I ought to have said it yesterday. 
I had no real right to play on the team to-day — I 
should have been blacklisted again if— if I had 
not let another girl help me with my lessons. I 
thought it was so important that I should play— 
and I took so much time to practise that I got 
behind with my work. I felt as if it would be 
wrong to fail the team, and— and— " Her voice 
trembled, but she nerved herself to finish — she 
was a soldier's daughter— "I can't say how 
thankful, thankful I was for Dolly's splendid 
play. The team would have won if I had not 
gone ; that is my one comfort. High Wold really 
won— and fairly." 

There was a stir round the table, but Miss 
Cartwright stilled it with a gesture; she saw 
that Violet had not quite finished. 

"There is one thing more ; I want to say that 
the girl who helped me was not to blame in any 
way; it was entirely my fault. I don't think she 
knew she was breaking rules. It was nobody's 
fault but mine." 

As if this day's surprises were never to cease, 
before Miss Cartwright could reply, Anna Fores- 
ter,— shy, silent, easily embarrassed Anna,— from 




her place far down llie talile, spoke out clearly 
and unhesitatingly: "'Yes, I did know. I did n't 
think of it at first when I offered; I did n't think 
of anything except that it was absolutely neces- 
sary for Violet to play in the match. But when 
I went to get my papers, I remembered hearing 
that we were not allowed to help one another ; 
and I did it all the same. Violet had been good 
to me, and I was glad of a chance to do some- 
thing for her ; and it seemed like having a little 
bit of a hand in helping win the game, too. I see 
it was wrong, now — not straight— but it was niy 
fault; she would never have asked me to help 
her, and there was so little time left. I was 
afraid she would refuse, and I believe she would 
have, if there had been longer for her to think 
about it. I just hustled her to get the work done 
before the bell rang." 

If the basket-ball decked with roses in the center 
of the table had suddenly exploded, it could hardly 
have created a greater sensation at that moment. 
Could this possibly be the same girl who had 
been so shy and silent among them all ever since 
October? Again that rustle and murmur, while 
Violet still stood with cheeks flushing and paling, 
her fingers clasped round the loving-cup. 

Then Miss Cartwright, in a voice moved be- 
yond its wont, and a look in her fine gray eyes 
that some of the girls found a little difficult of 
interpretation, so strangely were regret, sympa- 
thy, and gladness blended in it, said : 

"Girls, deeply as I regret that any shadow 
should be cast even for a minute over our happy 
celebration to-night, no words can say how greatly 
I rejoice that neither of the two comrades who 
knowingly broke one of the strictest of our school 
rules has been willing to let the day close with 
her fault unacknowledged. 

"Their confession, made at such a time and in 
such a spirit, goes far toward atoning for the 
fault itself: for we must all, I am 
sure, realize how strong the tempta- 
tion was, and how great an effort 
has been needed to speak 
out to us all, as they did 
just now. 
We must 
that we 

have been present at a 
second victory— one hard- 
er to fight and really more 
glorious, believe me, girls, to 
win, than the battle against 

Maiden Moor. The Athletic Association will, of 
course, deal with the matter of Violet's penalty, 
and Anna must be ready, as I am sure she will, to 
bear the consequences of her action, generous 
though its motive was. We cannot forego dis- 
cipline ; the rules of the school must be kept; 
but, having said that, I will also say that if I had 
to choose between the two, I would rather my 
girls should have the courage and strength to 
frankly own up under very difficult circum- 
stances, and take the consequences of a wrong 
act, than even to see them win such a beautifully 
played game as to-day's. It is of far more last- 
ing importance to the school. So now, Violet, 
let us resume the proceedings," and she smiled 
down the table ; "I am very, very glad you spoke." 
Violet raised her eyes and met those of Miss 
Cartwright fearlessly as she lifted the cup and 
drank. "To High Wold !" she said with trem- 
bling lips, and passed it to her neighbor. 

And then they crowned Betty Blake, the captain, 
and Dolly Bingham, and Violet, and Anna with 
chaplets of bay-leaves, and next, with renewed 
cheers and a brand-new song composed for the 
occasion, hung the long-coveted flag in its des- 
tined place. 

Prayers were read in the study-hall that night, 
while the tables were cleared and removed ; bed- 
time was postponed for an hour or so, and despite 
the early morning start, the excitements of the 
day, and the two long drives through the frosty 
air, the girls danced and sang as if there were no 
such thing as sleep or fatigue in the world. 

When, at length, the lights winked their pre- 
monitory warning and the music stopped, the 
girls paraded the gymnasium, saluting the flag 
of Maiden Moor as they passed where it hung on 
the wall before they trooped to the door. 

But of all that crowd of happy faces, perhaps 
the most noticeably radiant was that of Anna 
Forester, as she came down the hall, the center 
of a merry group of girls, her voice sounding as 
High Wold certainly had never heard it before: 

n't it been the greatest 
And Miss Cartwright, 
the troop 
d isperse, 
saidto her- 
self : "Can that really 
be my self-conscious, dif- 
ficult, unsociable Anna? 
Verily, it has been a day of 
victory !" 

cy^n jTj 



Artistic old Officer Brovc^n 
Had painted Fsuow uf> !/ andS ~S^oWj)OWl^ 

And Ke could not decide, 
cJust whicn sign to provide 

Asawarnmgto speeders througktown 


KJvi a nillside his slow village lety; 
So the Omcer, that verj^ day; 
At the Alp A end ox to^wn 
Placed the signhoard N>^^^QWj)oW>/^' 

^ At the /oji^ej- tsyoyv^pl/ ^marks the way! 


Francis Ouimet 

cJfat tonal ^^ff Cfiampiori^^ 




In the matter of trying to imitate the style and 
methods of players who have made their mark in 
golf, discretion must be used. Many golfers would 
never amount to much as drivers if they followed, 
exactly, the style of J. J. McDermott, the bril- 
liant Atlantic City professional and former na- 
tional open title-holder. They might devote a 
great deal of time and effort trying to master his 
long, flat swing, only to find in the long run either 
that they could not hit the ball on the nose, so to 
speak, or else that they could not hit it accurately. 
On the other hand, they might choose to fashion 
their style after that of Alex Smith, also a for- 
mer national open champion, whose comparatively 
short swing has an added attraction from the 
very fact that it looks so simple. Yet they might 
fail to take into account the exceedingly power- 
ful forearm that the Wykagyl professional has, 
and which makes it possible for him to get a 
power into the short stroke which few could hope 
to duplicate. 

Different players have their individual pecu- 
liarities, and the more a new-comer in the golfing 
ranks watches the leading exponents of the game, 
the more readily he recognizes these peculiarities, 
and abstains from incorporating them in his own 
game. For my own part, in my earlier experi- 
ences at golf, I took particular pains to watch 
such players as Mr. John G. Anderson, Mr. 
Arthur G. Lockwood, and other Massachusetts 
amateurs who had achieved distinction on the 
links, before I ever thought of being able to 
compete with them on even terms. I noticed that 
Mr. Anderson had a habit of sort of gathering 
himself together and rising on his toes 'during his 
upswing. As he hits a powerful blow, I deduced 
that this rising on the toes and then coming down 
with the downward swing, had a good deal to do 
with the results achieved, so I experimented a 

little on that line. The experiment with me was 
not a success. The secret of Mr. Anderson's 
sticcess and my failure, of course, is that he rises 
on his toes and descends all in perfect rhythm 
with his stroke, and I do not. . The upward and 
downward movement of the body in my case 
throws me off my timing of the shot. It did not 
take me long to discover that, whatever advan- 
tage Mr. Anderson might derive from that pecu- 
liarity, it would not do at all for me. 

It is a great pleasure for me to watch a player 
like Charles E. ("Chick") Evans, Jr., of Chicago, 
a former interscholastic champion, who, for half 
a dozen years or so, has been rated among the 
leaders of amateur golf in the United States, and 
who, perhaps, would have been national amateur 
champion before this, if he could putt with as 
much success as he can play other shots. His 
style is so easy and graceful, that to watch him 
is to get the impression that golf is an easy game 
to master. Watching him, and a number of 
others I might name, shows in a striking way the 
difference between the good player and the bad. 
One goes about his task laboriously, in a sort of 
I-pray-I-hit-it attitude ; the other steps up to the 
ball with a confidence born of success, as if to 
hit the ball in the middle were just a perfunctory 
matter, after all. Confidence is half the battle, 
anyway, though over-cOnfidence is the worst 
enemy a golfer ever had. Doubtless that is true 
of most games. 

herreshoff's long drive 

Mr. Frederick Herreshoff, runner-up to Mr. 
H. H. Hilton for the national amateur champion- 
ship in 191 1, is another golfer whom I like to see 
in action, particularly when he is having one of 
his good days with wooden clubs. Edward Ray, 
I know, is rated as a wonderful driver, and I 
have seen him hit some long ones ; I have seen 
others who are renowned for the long hitting, 





but I have yet to see another wooden shot which, 
to my mind, quite comes up to one that I saw 
Mr. Herreshoff make at The Country Club, Brook- 
line, Massachusetts, in the National Amateur 
championship tournament of 1910. The ninth 
hole, as then played, I think was about 500 yards 
in length. Mr. Herreshoff made so long a drive 
that he used a jigger for his second shot, despite 
the fact that the putting-green is on an elevation 
considerably above the point from which he 
played his second shot. The jigger, I will explain 
for those who do not know its uses, is a club for 
shots a little too long for the mashy, and, at the 
same time, requiring a little loft to the ball. In 
the hands of a golfer like Mr. Herreshoff, I sup- 
pose it is good, ordinarily, for 165 yards. The 
disappointing thing in this instance was that, 
after his remarkable drive, Mr. Herreshoff was 
a wee bit off the line with his second shot, and 
not quite far enough, so that his ball went into a 
trap to the right of, and just below, the green. 

Mr. Herreshoff is one of those players who get 
their wrists into shots in a most effective manner. 

For my own part, I never have tried to achieve 
distinction as a long hitter. To be successful in 
open competition, a golfer necessarily must be 
able to hold his own fairly well in the matter of 
distance ; but I have found it possible to do this 
to a reasonable degree by trying to cultivate a 
smooth stroke and timing it well. Being of good 
height, almost six feet, and having a moderately 
full swing, my club gets a good sweep in its 
course toward the ball, so that the point I strive 

for is to have the club head moving at its maxi- 
mum of speed at the moment of impact with the 
ball. I know I could get greater distance than I 
do ordinarily, for now and then I do try to hit as 
hard and as far as I can, with additional yards 
resulting. These efforts, however, are made 
when there is nothing at stake, and are merely a 
bit of experimenting. To make such extra ef- 
forts the rule, rather than the exception, would 
be the old story of sacrificing accuracy for dis- 
tance. The minute a golfer begins doing that in 
competition he is "lost," or such is my belief. 


The 1910 Amateur championship at The Coun- 
try Club, Brookline, where I saw Mr. Herreshoff 
make the drive above mentioned, was the first 
national event I ever entered, my age at the time 
being seventeen years. I did not qualify, but my 
failure did not make me feel very badly, consider- 
ing all the circumstances. My total of 169 in the 
qualifying rounds was only one stroke worse 
than the top qualifying figure ; and among those 
who, like myself, failed to get in the match play 
were such noted golfers as Mr. Robert A. Gard- 
ner, then the national amateur champion, and 
Mr. H. Chandler Egan, a former champion. 

Furthermore, I played under circumstances 
that were a handicap in themselves. The cham- 
pionship field was inordinately large, and I was 
among the late starters for the first round, get- 
ting away from the first tee at 2 :44 o'clock in 

rhotog-rnphs, copyright by lliulerwood lV- Underwood. 




Copyright by Underwood tt Underwood. 

Copyright by Brown Bros. 

the afternoon. This would have been ample time 
to get around before dark, had it not been for an 
extraordinary congestion at the third tee. Some 
one of the earlier starters was exceedingly slow, 
not to mention the time taken to search for a ball, 
and other little things that helped to cause delay 
and hold the players back. When my partner 
and I arrived at the third tee, there were ten 
pairs then waiting for an opportunity to play 
that hole, and there was nothing to do but wait. 
An hour and ten minutes of waiting at one tee 
in a championship is not conducive to best ef- 
forts ; at any rate, it was not in my case. 

While waiting at this tee, I remember hav- 
ing watched Mr. W. C. Chick take eight for 
the sixth hole, and, while mentally sympathizing 
with him, I did not dream that I would get a 
similar figure for my own card, when I finally did 
play the third hole, for I had started most satis- 
factorily with four for the first hole, and the 
same figure for the second. When it came my 
turn to drive from the third tee, I drove into a 
trap, lost a stroke getting out, put my third in 
the woods, was back on the fair green in four, 
on the green in five, and then took three putts for 
an eight. But from that point, I was forty-four 
strokes for the first nine holes. By this time, the 
afternoon was pretty well gone, and my partner 
and I had to stop playing at the fourteenth, be- 
cause of darkness. As my card showed even 
fours for the first five holes of the inward half, 
I was beginning to feel better, and had I been 
able to complete the round that day, I think I 
might have been around in seventy-nine or eighty. 

Along with several other pairs who were 
caught in the same dilemma, I had to go out the 
following morning to play the remaining four 
holes, and the best I could get for them was a 
total of nineteen strokes, whereas I would do 
those same holes ordinarily in sixteen strokes, at 
most. My score of eighty-three for the first 
round was not bad, however, and a similar round 
the second day would have put me in the match 


But I had made one serious mistake, as I learned 
in the course of the second round. My sup- 
position had been that, after playing the last 
four holes of the first round on the morning of 
the second day, I would have ample time to go 
home to breakfast and then return for the second 
round, my home being in close proximity to the 
grounds. What actually happened was that, after 
completing the four holes of the first round, I was 
told to report immediately at the first tee for my 
second round, in which I was to have the plea- 
sure of being partnered by the present president 
of the United States Golf Association, Mr. Rob- 
ert C. Watson. For the first nine holes I had 
reason to feel satisfied, doing them in forty-one 
strokes, with every prospect of doing even better 
in the scoring for the last nine, which are less 
difficult. But by this time the pangs of hunger 
had taken a firm hold, and I could feel myself 
weakening physically, which was the result both 
of my failure to get breakfast, and the strain of 
a week of hard practising. The consequence was 




that I made a poor finish, took forty-five for the 
last nine, eighty-six for the round, and had one 
hundred and sixty-nine for my thirty-six-hole 
total, or just out of the match-play running. The 
moral is, to be properly prepared for competition. 


About that "week of hard practising" I would 
like to add a little. My experiences of practis- 
ing for the championship of 1910 taught me a 
good lesson, which is, that practising may easily 
be overdone. My idea of practising for that 
event was to get in at least thirty-six holes a day 
for the week prior to the championship. This 
was based partly on the idea that, with so much 
play, the game could be brought to such a point 
of mechanical precision that it would be second 
nature to hit the ball properly. The thought of 
"going stale" from so much play never occurred 
to me. Probably one reason was that I never had 
had a feeling of physical staleness in any sport 
up to that time. I always had been keen for 
golf, from the time of becoming interested in the 
game, and could not imagine a state of feeling 
that would mean even the slightest repugnance 
for play. 

That is, perhaps, an error natural to youth and 
inexperience. It was not for me to know that a 
growing youth of seventeen years is not likely 
to have such a robust constitution that he can 
stand thirty-six holes of golf a day for a week, 
not to mention fairly steady play for weeks in 
advance of that, and still be on edge for a cham- 
pionship tournament. 

It really was not only the Saturday previous 
to the championship (which began Monday) that 
I knew this feeling of staleness. It did not come 
on all at once, by any 'neans, and I did not realize 
even then what was the trouble, for on the day 
that I first noticed that I was not so keen for 
play as usual, I made a particularly good score. 
That day I was playing in company with Mr. H. 
H. Wilder, Mr. R. R. Freeman, and Mr. W. R. 
Tuckerman. This round was more or less of a 
tryout for places on the Massachusetts State 
team, and I was fortunate enough to get in the 
best round, a seventy-six. Incidentally, I might 
add that this performance did not land me the 
coveted place on the State team, for Mr. Tucker- 
man reached the semi-finals of the championship 
the succeeding week, which gave him precedence. 
That year I did play one match for the State 
team, however. It was in the match against 
Rhode Island, when the Massachusetts team 
found itself one man shy on the day set for play, 
which also was at The Country Club. Somebody 

discovered that I was in the vicinity, looked me 
up, and I played with a set of borrowed clubs— 
also won my match. 

To revert to the physical strain of too much 
practice, I found that on Saturday of the prac- 
tice week my hands were sore, and that I was 
playing with unwonted effort, though not get- 
ting any better results than when hitting the ball 
with normal ease. It was my first lesson in the 
knowledge that when the game becomes a task, 
rather than a pleasure, something is wrong 

My advice to any golfer preparing for a cham- 
pionship is, therefore, not to overdo the practice 
end. To my mind, the wise thing is to play thirty- 
six holes a day for perhaps two days a week in 
advance of the championship. Then spend a 
morning in practising shots with the irons, the 
mashy, and putting, followed by a round of the 
course in the afternoon. This might be done for 
two or three days, with special attention given 
to the club which perhaps is not getting satis- 
factory results. One round of golf, without spe- 
cial exertion, the day before the tournament, 
after such a program, ought to put the player in 
good shape for the real competition. As for the 
superstition of some golfers that a particularly 
fine round in practice means so much less chance 
of duplicating it in tournament play, I hold a 
different view, which is, that an especially good 
round gives an inspiration to equal it when the 
real test comes. I always feel after such a round 
that, if I can do it once, there is no reason why I 
cannot again. 


Elimination from the championship, in the 
qualifying round, had its compensations. It gave 
me the opportunity to watch the championship 
play for the remainder of the week, to see in 
action those golfers of whom I had heard so 
much. That in itself was a treat. Some of the 
matches, moreover, gave me some new ideas 
about golf as played in competition by men in the 
foremost ranks. For one thing, it was rather 
startling, if such a word can apply, to see a golfer 
like Mr. Herreshoff literally "swamped" in his 
match with Mr. Evans. Mr. Herreshoff had 
made the lowest score of the entire field in the 
qualifying round, yet here was the same man 
unable to put up anything but the most feeble 
opposition to the young Chicago golfer. Such a 
match only goes to show that the best of golfers 
occasionally have their bad days, days on which 
they find it seemingly impossible to play satis- 
factorily. That is a good thing to bear in mind 




— no match is lost before it is played. When a 
golfer possessed of such ability as has Mr. Her- 
reshoff can be defeated eleven up and nine to 
play, it simply shows that golf is a game of un- 
certainties, after all; that, in fact, is one of its 
great charms. 

In that same championship, the uncertainties 
of the game were shown in another match, and 
again Mr. Evans was one of the factors, though 
this time on the losing side. He had been playing 
in form which made him a distinctive favorite 
for the title, and, in the semi-final round, he came 
to the sixteenth hole two up on Mr. VV. C. 
Fownes, Jr., of Pittsburgh. The sixteenth is a 
short hole, just a mashy pitch. Mr. Evans 
reached the edge of the green with his tee shot, 
whereas Mr. Fownes made a poor effort, and put 
his ball in a sand-trap. 

The match appeared to be over, then and there. 
But a match in golf never is over until one 
player has a lead of more holes than there are 
holes to play, a fact which was demonstrated 
anew in this match. Mr. Fownes played out of 
the trap, and holed a long putt for a three, while 
Mr. Evans, using his mid-iron instead of his put- 
ter from the edge of the green, was well past the 
hole on his second shot, and failed to get the putt 
coming back. Hence, instead of winning the hole 
and the match, as he seemed bound to do, he lost 
the hole. Then, as so often happens when a man 
apparently has a match absolutely in hand and 
loses an opening to clinch it, Mr. Evans lost the 
seventeenth, likewise the home hole, and, with the 
loss of the eighteenth, he also lost the match. 
Instead of winning the match and the champion- 
ship, as nearly everybody figured he would, he 
only got to the semi-finals. It is true that Mr. 
Fownes made a wonderful recovery at the six- 
teenth, to get his three ; he played a remarkable 
shot at the seventeenth, too ; but a man is apt to 
to do that after recovering from an almost hope- 
less situation. 


It was in that championship that I was aston- 
ished to see such a great golfer as Mr. Evans 
using his mid-iron instead of his putter most of 
the time on the greens. He vi^as then following 
the same practice that was true of his play in the 
middle west, notwithstanding that the putter is 
a much superior club for greens such as are 
found at The Country Club. He could not be 
expected, of course, to come east and learn to 
get the best results from the putter in such a 
short time as he had for practice. 

To see him use the mid-iron on the greens, and 
then practically lose his semi-final round match, 
and possibly the title, because he could not lay a 
mid-iron approach-putt dead at the sixteenth, 
helped me to form one resolution for which I 
since have been thankful. That was to use my 
putter from any point on the green, provided 
there was no special reason for doing otherwise. 
Of course, there are circumstances when the mid- 
iron is better for an approach-putt than the put- 
ter, as, for example, when there is a little piece 
of dirt on or in front of the ball, casual water. 

CuI.)ruhtl)^ I ii.ii.iw.iu(UV I Htl(in.r(.<l 

or uneven surface to go over. But under nor- 
mal conditions, nowadays, I would rather use my 
putter and take three putts, than take a mid-iron 
or another club. By adhering to that policy, I 
think I have gained more confidence in my putt- 
ing, and confidence is a wonderful asset in this 
branch of the game. 

Watching the good players in that champion- 
ship gave me one distinct ambition, which was to 
try to steady my game down to a point where I 
would not play four holes well, say, and then 
have two or three poor ones before getting an- 
other three- or four-hole streak of satisfactory 
play. The steadily good game is better than the 
combination of brilliant and erratic. It is some- 
thing like the hare and the tortoise. 

{To be continued.) 




Somehow or other, the giants seem to have got a bad name. No sooner is the word "giant" mentioned 
than some one is sure to shrug his shoulders and speak in a meaning tone of "Jack and the Beanstalk." 
Now, this is not only unkind, but, on the giants' part, quite undeserved. For, as everybody who is 
intimate with them knows, there are very few of the Beanstalk variety. 

No self-respecting giant would any more think of threatening a little boy, or of grinding up people's 
bones to make flour, than would a good fairy godmother. Giants' dispositions 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. 

The trouble is that many of the stories were written by people who did not really know the giants at all, 
but were so afraid of them as to suppose that giants must be cruel just because they are big. Every one 
else has taken it for granted that the giants were big enough to take care of themselves, and so nobody 
has bothered to look into the facts of the case. Mr. Andrew Lang has given us a whole rainbow of 
books about the fairies, but no one seems ever to have written down the whole history of the giants. 
This is a pity, particularly since a great many people have had a chance to know the giants intimately. 
For, in the old days, the giants used to live all over the world — in Greece, and Ireland, and Norway, 
and even here in our own country. And since they have moved back into a land of their own, they have 
sometimes come into other countries on a visit, and a brave Englishman once went to visit them. 

The history of the giants is as simple as their good-natured lives. All the giants came originally from 
one big giant family. And wherever they went, they kept the same giant ways, and enjoyed playing 
the same big, clumsy jokes on each other. 


Children, by this story we 
Learn how kind the red men be ; 
Though the things related of them 
Made it difficult to love them. 
Here we see that, as with white men. 
Some are amiable, polite men ; 
No one wicked and defiant 
Could have been a wigwam giant. 

Seymour Barnard 

Once upon a time, in the not-so-very-long-ago, 
an Indian had his wigwam on the shore of a 
cold north sea. The Indian's name was Pulo- 
wech, and he had a wife and ten children. But 
for all his big family, Pulowech might have lived 
there as snugly and happily as you please, had it 
not been for the unkind fact that, in that north 
country, it is very hard to get enough to eat. 
Pulowech found it hard indeed, for no sooner was 
the tenth child fed, than the first one was hungry 
again ; and the bigger and hungrier the children 
got, the less food there seemed to be. 

This spring it was worse than ever. Not even 
a bear had shown its furry nose within sight of 
the wigwam. As for the crops, there was hardly 
a green shoot in all the field Pulowech's wife had 
planted. There was nothing left to do but to fish. 
And fish Pulowech did. Every morning long 
before sunrise, his canoe was a far gray spot on 
the horizon. But alas for Pulowech's hard work ! 
the more he set his nets, the fewer fish he seemed 

to catch ; and he might trail his line in the water 
all day without so much as a nibble. 

Finally, in despair one day Pulowech and his 
wife got into their canoe, and set out for the far 
fishing-grounds, beyond any part of the sea where 
they had before been. They paddled and paddled 
until they could no longer see their wigwam or 
any land at all. Time after time they stopped and 
let down their lines, but that day again there 
seemed to be no fish in the sea. The squaw's arm 
grew tired, but still they kept on, hoping to find 
some magic spot where the fish would come 
crowding about the canoe, eager to be caught. 

Suddenly, up from the sea and down from the 
sky and around them from every side, swept 
clouds of fog. In long, quick pufifs it came, as if 
the whole world had begun very quietly to steam. 
The air was full of it, and as for the sea, it 
seemed to have vanished in an instant. Pulowech 
could see the shine of the little waves as he 
dipped his paddle, but beyond was only grayness. 
He began to paddle faster, first in one direction, 
then in another; but no matter which way he 
turned, the fog seemed to pursue them. There 
was no end to it at all. 

By this time, Pulowech was quite lost. He 
could not make the smallest guess where his wig- 
wam lay or how to go to get back there. There 
was nothing to do but to paddle fiercely on, 
deeper and deeper into the fog'. As for Pulo- 




wech's poor, tired wife, she began to cry, which 
made things very Httle better. 

All at once she stopped paddling. "Listen !"' 
she cried. "Thunder !" 

Pulowech stopped too. Over the sea came 
long, continuous roars. There was no pause in 
them, and they grew louder and louder, as if the 
thunder were coming straight 
— straight — straight at them 
through the fog. There was 
something very strange about 
it too. The nearer, the more 
deafening it became, the 
more alwe it seemed, the 
more it sounded as though 
it were thundering in words. 
There was another noise too, 
regular, but not so loud, as 
though a thousand paddles 
at once were cutting steadily 
through the water. Then 
the fog grew dark ahead. 
Right upon them loomed the 
thundering monster. Pulo- 
wech and his wife shouted 
with all their voices. The 
great shape stopped. There 
above them in the fog tow- 
ered a tremendous canoe as 
high as a cliff, and filled with 
men who seemed to touch 
the sky. 

The giants looked at Pulo- 
wech and laughed, — a roar 
that shook the waves and 
made the little canoe bob up 
and down as on a stormy 
sea. "Ho ! Ho !" cried one 
at last. "And where are you 
going, my little brother?" 

Pulowech took his hands 
from his ears. "I wish I 
knew," he answered bravely. 
"We are lost in the fog." 

At that the giants laughed 
ten times harder than ever. 
"Lost in the fog !" they 
cried, and wiped their eyes, 
as if it were the best joke 
in the world. 

"Well, well, well," said the leader at last, "if 
that is the case, why don't you come home with 
us? You will be well treated. That I can promise 
you, for my father is the chief. And in spite of 
your great size, my friends, I warrant there will 
be plenty of room." 

With that, two of the giants put the ends of 

their paddles under the Indians' canoe and lifted 
it into their own, as easily as if it had been a 
chip. Then very carefully they handed it around, 
from giant to giant, as pleased over the little folk 
as boys would be who had found a flying-squirrel. 
As for Pulowech and his wife, if they shook with 
fear before, now they sat in the bottom of their 


canoe still and speechless at such gentleness from 
beings so immense. 

The giants again took up their paddles as big as 
trees. With a single stroke, they sent the canoe 
a clean hundred yards through the water. As for 
the fog, their eyes seemed to bore straight through 
it, as though it had been so much air. 




Then swiftly, with a tremendous grating, the 
canoe stopped. They had beached it upon a wide 
sandy shore. One of the giants jumped out, and, 
taking Pulowech's canoe in his hand, ran shout- 
ing up the bank. There ahead rose three wig- 
wams as high as mountains. And from the larg- 
est came the chief to meet them, a giant taller 
than all the rest. 

"Well, well, my son !" he cried, "what have you 


"Oh, Father, only see," called the young giant, 
in gasps that shook the trees. "See— a little 
brother! — We found him— on the water — lost in 
the fog !" 

And at this shouting came giants running from 
all sides, to see what the noise might be about. 
They crowded about the chief's son and peered 
into the small canoe until the poor Indians, find- 
ing themselves surrounded by great eyes like so 
many suns, sank down in terror. 

"Noo, then," cried the chief in anger, "you 
have scared the little people!" And taking the 
Indians, canoe and all, he gently carried them to 
his own wigwam. 

Inside sat a pleasant-faced woman, no bigger 
than a good-sized hill. "Look, wife," said the 
chief. "See what I have brought you !" 

The giantess was delighted. Very deftly she 
picked the Indians up with her thumb and fore- 
finger without crushing out their breath. She 
laid them in the hollow of her hand as in a cradle, 
and rocked them to and fro, softly thundering a 
lullaby, while with the end of her little finger she 
tenderly stroked their hair. 

As for the chief, he hung up the Indians' canoe 
where it could not be stepped on. Then he bent 
down to the Indians and told them in a confi- 
dential whisper that could hardly have been 
heard a hundred miles away, that he was their 
friend, and that his name was Oscoon. 

"And now, wife," he cried, "our little people 
must be hungry ! Is there enough in the house 
for them to eat ?" 

The good woman gave a housewifely chuckle, 
like the dry roar of a forest fire, and looked into 
a great steaming pot. In the bottom were a dozen 
or more whales. But remembering the small size 
of her guests, she picked out but one little one 
about forty feet long, and put it before them in 
a wooden bowl. The poor Indians did their 
best, but by the time they had made a little hole 
in the whale's side, they were fast asleep from so 
much food. 

Then it was that the giants were troubled, for 
they had no place to put the little people for the 
night. For there was no part of the wigwam 
where a giant might not step on them or roll 
over them in the dark. Finally, the giantess had 
a happy idea. She took down the Indians' own 
canoe and put some little skins in the bottom. 
Then very gently she laid Pulowech in one end 
and his wife in the other, tucked them snugly in, 
and swung the canoe up again at the top of the 

Days went by, and the giants delighted in noth- 
ing so much as in their little people. For hours at 
a time Oscoon would sit quite still while his small 
guests ran about his hand or explored the long 
gullies between his fingers. As for the giantess, 
she never left the wigwam without bringing them 
great handfuls of apples, which were to her, to be 
sure, no bigger than so many currants. But when 
the giants went hunting, then it was that Pulo- 
wech and his wife feasted. For always they 
brought back two or three moose swinging in 
their hands like rabbits, and two or three dozen 
caribou hanging on their belts, as an Indian would 
carry a string of squirrels. 

So it happened that Pulowech and his wife 
lived among the giants as happy and as care-free 
as two children. From the first morning when 
they awoke, high in their canoe-cradle, they 
seemed to have forgotten everything ; not only the 
fog and terror of the day before, but all their 
past life as well. They had no memory of their 
home, nor even of their hungry children waiting 
for them in the wigwam beside the sea. It seemed 
to them that they had always lived in this warm, 
happy Giantland where deer swarmed in the for- 
ests and fish in the sea. 

Every day they ate a little out of their whale, 




and every night they went peacefully to sleep in 
their high canoe. When they were neither eating 

»nor sleeping, they romped about like children. 
They slid down the back of Oscoon's hand as 
down a hillock; they played hide-and-seek in one 
of his moccasins; and they ran about in the wig- 
wam till the good giantess would have to put 
them in one of her big baskets for fear they might 
be stepped on. 
Mg But good times do not last forever, even in 
" Giantland. One day, Oscoon picked up his In- 
dians with a grave face. "My little people," said 
he, "to-day the great Chenoo, the dreadful ice- 
giant of the North, is coming to fight us. It will 
be a hard battle, but, most of all, I fear for you. 
For no one less than a giant could hear the 
^, Chenoo's war scream and live. We will wrap you 
■ up the best we can, and no matter what happens, 
do not uncover your ears until I come for you." 
The Indians promised that they would do as he 
said, and entered into all the plans for the battle 
, as gleefully as though it had been a new game. 
lH They tore little pieces of fur from a rabbit skin 
and stuffed them so tightly into their ears that 
they could scarcely hear Oscoon when he whis- 
pered to them. Then the giantess bound up their 
heads with many strips of deerskin, and, laying 
them in their canoe, fairly smothered them with 
fold after fold of wrappings. When she had fin- 
ished, Oscoon took them, canoe and all, and put 
them in the bottom of a great stone pot. Beside 
them he laid a ton or so of deer meat and nine 
or ten bushels of apples, so that they should have 
enough to eat in case the battle lasted over night. 
Then over the pot he spread a robe made of 
thousands of bearskins, which covered all the top. 
After that, though Oscoon shouted with all his 
voice, the Indians could not hear a sound. It was 
dark in the pot, and, under all their coverings, 
rather warm. And so, since they could neither 
move nor hear each other if they spoke, they very 
sensibly fell asleep. 

After a very long time, Pulowech opened his 
eyes. Everywhere was blackness. For a moment, 
he thought that he must have gone blind. Then 
faintly, far above somewhere, he made out a tiny 
crack of light, and he remembered : they were in 
the stone pot, and the light was creeping in at the 
edge of the bearskin. He touched his wife. She 
stirred and rubbed her eyes. And there in the 
dark they shouted at each other,— and the still- 
ness was unbroken. Pulowech started up, and 
sank suddenly back again, pulled down by the 
weight of his coverings. Then angrily he tried to 
pull them off, and could not so much as lift one of 
them. For they were made of hundreds of skins. 
There was nothing for it but to lie still. 

A slow, familiar, hungry pain seized Pulowech. 
Greedily he remembered the apples and the deer 
meat, and put out his hand. There they were, 
close beside him. He clutched great handfuls of 
them, and ate eagerly. He touched his wife and 
made her understand too. For some time, they 
forgot the dark and even the silence. But gradu- 
ally, as Pulowech began to care less and less 
about eating, his head seemed to feel extraordi- 
narily hot and uncomfortable. His hands fumbled 
the wrappings and twitched at the knots. If only 
he could get one of them off, it might be more 

Then he remembered his promise to Oscoon. 
But surely, he thought, the battle must be over 
by now. And even if it were not, what differ- 
ence v/ould one deerskin, more or less, make in 
hearing the ice-giant's scream ? Oscoon was too 

Nevertheless the promise held him. He took 
down his hands and lay for some time quite still. 
A dreadful terror came over him : suppose the 
battle zuas over, and Oscoon had forgotten them. 
Worse still, suppose Oscoon should never come at 
all; suppose he had been killed ! Then they might 
die there, for even if they could get free of their 
coverings, they could never climb up the steep 
walls of the stone pot. 

Pulowech's wife moved. She began to pull 
fiercely at the bandages about her ears. It was 
too much for Pulowech. He put up his hands 
again and tore wildly at the deerskin strips. If 
Oscoon was dead, he decided, then they must talk 
together; they must plan some way of escape. 
They must not be found there helpless by the 
dreadful Chenoo. 

Suddenly something swifter, keener, shriller 
than the sharpest spear seemed to pierce through 
Pulowech. His hands dropped limp. His breath 
went. His whole body seemed divided, and his 
ears shattered by the wild, high, cruel sound of it. 
It was the Chenoo's war scream. Again it came, 
lower and less intense, shooting through Pulo- 
wech's numb body like pain let loose ; and then a 
third time, faint and far away, no longer cutting, 
but chill as the wind from icebergs. 

When Pulowech came to himself, he was star- 
tled by the light all about him. Then dimly he 
made out the great face of the giantess bending 
over him. He was no longer in the pot. He was 
lying beside his wife in the hollow of the giantess's 
hand, and she was rubbing them vigorously with 
her little finger. 

"There, there, my little people," she said. 
"You 're all safe, so you are. And the wicked 
Chenoo shall never scream again to hurt you. For 
he is dead, so he is. Killed, by my Oscoon and 




our sons. There, there, my little people, open 
your eyes." 

Pulowech blinked, and looked around the wig- 
wam. All about sat the giants, binding up their 
cuts, and picking out the pine-trees that were 
stuck in their legs like splinters. For the fight 
had been in a forest, and the poor giants were 
bothered with the trees, as men would be with 

All at once the door-flap moved, and Oscoon's 
youngest son fell down in the doorway, quite 
dead. Now, in some families this would have 
caused a commotion. But the giants went on 
talking of the battle as if nothing unusual had 
happened. Finally Oscoon, who was smoking his 
pipe in a corner, looked over at his boy upon the 

"Well, my son," he said, "why are you lying 

"It is because I am dead. Father," answered the 
young giant. "The Chenoo has killed me." 

"If that is all," said Oscoon, quietly, "get up at 
once. It is supper-time." 

The young giant opened his eyes and sat up. 
He did not seem to be any the worse for having 
been dead. And at supper, certainly, he ate none 
the less for it. 

So the days passed as before. The giants never 
tired of petting their small guests. Every day 
the young giants would bring them new treasures, 
and every day Oscoon would contrive some new 
game for them. The youngest giant, who was 
quick with his hands, caught some small live 
deer, which the giantess kept for them in a bas- 
ket, as a boy might keep pet mice. 

But in spite of these new diversions, Pulowech's 
wife became less and less lively. She did not play 
as she used to, and she would sit quietly for hours 
at a time as if she were trying to think out some- 
thing that troubled her. Finally, a thoughtfulness 
settled over Pulowech as well. They gave up 
hide-and-seek entirely. Instead, they talked and 
talked together, sometimes far into the night. 
Little by little they seemed to be remembering 
something, and the more they remembered, the 
more worried they grew. 

The giantess became anxious. The little people 
got on more and more slowly with their whale, 
and as for the deer meat, they no longer seemed 
to care for it at all. The giantess racked her 
brains for some way to tempt them. So with long 
patience she made for Oscoon a tiny net which 
would catch the sharks that wriggled through his 
whale net like minnows. And when he caught 
some, she broiled three fine ones for dinner. But 
the Indians, who had been so pleased with new 
dishes before, seemed hardly to notice the change. 

At last one day, when Oscoon had taken them 
to the beach, he spoke to them. "My Httle peo- 
ple," he said, "it worries me to see you so quiet 
and sad. Tell me what troubles you. For we 
will cheerfully do anything that will make you 
happy again." 

"Oh, dear Oscoon I" cried Pulowech, "we 
could not be happier than in your wigwam. It is 
something that we partly remember that makes us 
sad. Ever since we heard the ice-giant's scream, 
it has seemed to us that we have not always been 
in this Giantland. Once we seem to have lived 
in a different country, where we were cold, and 
often hungry. But there our wigwam was, and 
our children. It is they that worry us. For we 
do not know what they can do without us. They 
must be hungry—" Pulowech caught his breath, 
and his poor wife began to sob. 

Now Oscoon was a good giant if there ever was 
one, and it grieved his big heart through and 
through to see his small friends so unhappy. "Oh, 
my little people," he cried, heaving a little him- 
self, "I would rather give you anything than to 
have you leave us. But you must go back to your 
children— right away." And with that he sneezed 
so violently that the rocks were jounced around 
in their places, and the Indians had to cling tight 
to his thumb for fear of falling off. Then they 
all laughed, — which made them feel so much bet- 
ter that everybody's sobs got swallowed. 

And so, grasping his little people, Oscoon ran 
leaping back to the wigwam, calling the giantess 
at the top of his big lungs. "Oh, wife ! Wife !" 
he bellowed, "our little people have a voyage to 
take. We must give them the little dog, and some 
food to take along with them." 

When the giantess heard about the children at 
home, she kissed her little Indians very hard in- 
deed, and then she set all the young giants at 
work piling up furs and dried meat for them to 
take home to their wigwam. And so, as they 
all worked with a will, in about two minutes 
and a half, there were enough furs and meat 
stacked up to sink three or four hundred canoes 
the size of Pulowech's. When Oscoon saw that, 
he took the Indians' canoe down from the top of 
the wigwam, and filled it as full as it could hold. 
Then he set Pulowech in the stern, and his wife 
in the bow, and, holding the canoe high over his 
head, roared out to the whole camp that they were 
ready to start. 

So they set out, Oscoon ahead, carrying his lit- 
tle people in their canoe in one hand, and in the 
other a tiny, sharp-nOsed gray dog. All the giants 
followed in a great procession, leaping up and 
down and singing, as though it were a very gala 
occasion indeed. When they came to the shore. 




Oscoon gently slipped the canoe into the water, 
and gave Pulowech the little gray dog. 

"Paddle," he said, "just as the little dog points. 
He will take you home." 

The little dog ran to the middle of the canoe, 
and stood with his paws resting on the edge. He 
barked, and. pointed with his nose straight out to 
sea. Pulowech dipped his paddle, but he could 
scarcely see to steer for the tears in his eyes. 

"Good-by !" shouted the giants. 

"Good-by !" called the Indians. 

And Oscoon cried out, last of all : "Do not for- 
get us, little people ! Come back to visit us, and 
send your children. Sometime we will send the 
little dog for you." 

The Indians paddled, and the little dog pointed. 
They seemed to glide over the smooth sea at a 
wonderful rate. In a few minutes, they were out 
of sight of the giants, who stood on the beach, 
still waving and shouting good-by. In no time 
at all, it seemed, they came straight to their own 
home. There stood their wigwam just as it was 
the day they left it; and as the canoe grazed the 
shore, their own children came running to meet 
them, rosy and well. 

The little dog jumped out of the canoe, barking 
and wagging his tail. He ran about on the sand, 
and licked the children's hands. Then he turned 
and trotted home again over the top of the sea, 
as if it had been made of hard ice. Pulowech 
caught up his two youngest children, and set them 
on his shoulders. And so, carrying the giants' 
gifts, they came into their own wigwam. 

After that, whenever Pulowech set his nets, 
they came up bursting with fish. When he went 
hunting, his arrows brought down all the deer 
he could possibly need. 

As for the children, they grew so tall and 
hearty that the old wigwam would not begin to 
hold them, and they had to build a new one— the 
biggest in all the country. 

So Pulowech knew that the giants had not for- 
gotten him. And his heart was glad when a year 
and a day after they had come home, the little dog 
came again trotting over the water. The children 
ran to meet him, and he bounded up to them and 
licked their hands, just as he had done when he 
first saw them. 

Pulowech smiled to himself, for he knew quite 
well why the little dog was there. Then he 
launched one of his canoes (for now he had 
many), and calling his two oldest children, told 
them to get in. The little dog jumped in too, 'and 
pointed with his nose the way they were to go. 
The children paddled safely over a sea that was 
as smooth as glass, and so they, too, went to 

In three months, the little dog brought them 
back again, with their canoe full of furs and meat 
enough to keep them all warm and happy for 
years to come. 

So every year the little dog came, barking and 
wagging his tail, and every year two of Pulo- 
wech's family went to visit the giants. And none 
of them was ever cold or hungry again, — of that 
you may be sure. 

From a Micmac legend. 




Upon a morning sunny, 

Thus said a big brown bee : 

T '11 show you the Isles of Honey, 
If you '11 just come with me !" 


I HAVE a dog that loves to bark 
From peep of dawn till deep of dark. 
And when the shadows closer creep, 
He dreams of barking in his sleep ! 


I KNOW a bird that likes to mew 

Just like a pussy-cat ; 
Now tell me what you 're going to do 

With any bird like that ! 


My pussy's fur lies on her back 

All soft and smooth and sleek and black; 

But when she sees a dog go b}', 

Oh, my! — oh, my! — oh, my!- oh, my! 



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

Chapter XVIII 


When Mr. Lee entered the breakfast-room, he 
found an indulgent family waiting for him. A 
guest who has just saved the lives of two mem- 
bers of the household can very well be excused 
if he is late for breakfast. And he was only 
fashionably late. It was a pleasant character- 
istic that he had the air of fashion. His clothes 
and his automobile were not only of the very 
best quality, but seemed naturally to belong to 
him. His carriage and his glance were self- 
possessed yet unassuming, frank but not too 

"He looks you in the eye," thought Pelham, 
"as if you and he had a joke together." 

And Mr. Lee apologized delightfully for being 
late, and was not particular about his breakfast, 
except that he was hungry. Mrs. Dodd smiled to 
herself as she poured his coffee. 

"You said you had to be busy to-day, Mr. 
Dodd?" inquired Mr. Lee. 

"I am sorry to say that both Bob and I must 
be," answered Mr. Dodd. "Some retailers are 
coming to place their fall orders, and I must 
spend the whole da}?^ with them." 

Mr. Lee smiled at Bob. "I shall have to show 
you my machine some other day." 

"But if you want to make a beginning of 
studying our processes/' said Mr. Dodd, "Pel- 
ham can take you over the buildings." 

"Good !" exclaimed Mr. Lee. "But, Pelham, 
sha'n't I be taking your time?" 

Pelham beamed at him. "I should love to 
show you round." 

"We all work in the mills," said Bob. "On a 
first trip, Pelham can show you as much as any 

"And perhaps afterward," added Mr. Lee, 
"you two boys will take a ride with me." 

Even Brian grinned at that. Harriet felt a bit 
out of it, but Mr. Lee turned to her : "And then 
this afternoon, when it 's cool, maybe you can 
persuade your mother to let me take both of you 
out with me." 

"Mother," cried Harriet, clasping her hands, 
"may I ride in front?" 

Mrs. Dodd laughed as she gave permission. 

Pelham took Mr. Lee over the buildings, show- 
ing every process, from the first to the last. Mr. 

Lee's interest was keen; his eye lighted, and he 
paused often to study details. Everything that 
Pelham told him he understood in a flash, and he 
asked more questions than the boy could answer. 
In every room, too, he held a kind of reception, 
the men leaving their machines to shake his 
hand and thank him for saving the "young 
leddy." When the last process of the manufac- 
ture had been shown, he turned to Pelham with 
something like a 'sigh. 

"Ah, I should have had a technical education!" 

"You went to college, sir?" asked the boy. 

Mr. Lee twinkled as he shook his head. "I 
was not allowed to stay. — There is nothing more 
to show me?" 

"Only the office," said Pelham. 

"Where you keep the books?" asked Mr. Lee, 
smiling at him. 

"Well," acknowledged Pelham, "the book- 
keeper 's not yet well from an operation, so he 
scarcely works half-time. I used to help out, 
but Rodman does that now." 

Mr. Lee was walking toward the door over 
which was the office sign. "And who is Rod- 
man?" he asked. "A cousin, perhaps." 

"He 's an odd case," explained Pelham. "He 
's just about my age, though we can't tell exactly, 
because he does n't know his age." 

"Ah!" said Mr. Lee. "A foundling?" 

"In a sense," said Pelham. "He turned up here 
weeks ago, injured. He has lost his memory." 

"Well, well !" exclaimed Mr. Lee, pausing at 
the door. "And may I see him, and the office?" 

"Certainly," said Pelham. He opened it for 
the other to pass in, then followed him. 

The office was a large room, airy and bright, 
with windows opening on the pond. The visitor 
looked about with pleasure. "Comfortable here." 

Then Rodman, slipping down from his high 
stool, came out from behind his desk. "Good 
morning, sir." 

Pelham, behind Mr. Lee, could not see his 
face, but he noticed his start. And he heard the 
change in his voice to sudden and deep feeling: 

"You here !" 

Rodman stood rigid, his look steady, in fact, 
stony and expressionless. "Beg pardon, sir?" 

Two strides, and Mr. Lee stood over the boy, 
holding him by the shoulders. Pelham could 
now see neither face, but he saw that the clasp 
was gentle. "So here 's where you 've been !" 



Rodman drew away, and turned to Pelham. 
"If you 'II explain about me — " He went back 
to his desk and clambered on his stool. 

"Explain?" cried Mr. Lee, staring at him. 
But then he turned to Pelham. The boy led him 
to the window. 

"I told you, sir," he reminded in a low voice. 
"He 's lost his memory, that 's all. Otherwise 
he 's perfectly well." 

"Lost his memory !" cried Lee. "That 's quite 
impossible. Why—" He checked himself, and 
stood watching Rodman. 

Rodman did not take his eyes from the book 
before him. "If you can tell me anything about 
myself, sir, I think I ought to hear it." 

Mr. Lee did not answer. For a long time he 
studied the boy. Pelham, fairly quivering with 
excitement, at last could wait no longer. "Oh, 
sir, can't you tell us something?" 

Mr. Lee asked, "How long has he been here 
with you?" 

"Five weeks next Saturday," answered Rod- 
man for himself. 

"And you were injured?" 

"I hurt my head in a fall, sir, but I am quite 
well now, except for — for this." 

"Five weeks," said Mr. Lee, thoughtfully. 
Then he shook his head. "I must be mistaken." 

"Oh !" cried Pelham, immensely disappointed. 

"Yes," said Mr. Lee. "I 've thought it out 
now. It 's less than five weeks since I saw the 
boy I was thinking of. But the resemblance is 
very close." 

"I would give anything— anything— !" ex- 
claimed Pelham. 

Rodman turned to him. "I am rather re- 
lieved," he said. "I have a feeling that when I 
hear from my people the news will be disagree- 
able." He spoke to Mr. Lee. "You are quite 
sure, sir?" 

"Quite sure," answered Mr. Lee, "especially 
now that I see you again in full face." He 
turned away. "Sorry I — I disturbed you." 

"It 's all right, sir," answered Rodman, 
quietly. "I think, though, it would be rather dis- 
agreeable to me if this were talked about. You 
can see that it 's troublesome to have to answer 
questions. If you both — " 

"I won't say a word!' promised Pelham, 

"Nor I," added Mr. Lee. He went toward the 
door. "You '11 excuse me, I hope." 

"Of course," replied Rodman, again coming 
down from his chair. "You must n't think of it 
again, Mr. Lee." 

Pelham was relieved to find himself outside. 
He was very sorry for Rodman, who, in spite of 

his self-command, must have been very much 
upset. And at Mr. Lee's next words Pelham was 
sorry for him. 

"Never blundered like that before," grumbled 
Mr. Lee, half to himself. "I 've a pretty good 
memory for faces, usually. Most unusual situa- 
tion, too. Makes me feel small. And I 'm sorry 
for the boy." 

"He 's a good fellow, sir," Pelham assured 
him. "He won't mind." 

With a sudden smile, Mr. Lee cast off his inood. 
He clapped Pelham on the shoulder. "Much 
obliged, my boy, for showing me about. Now 
shall we find Brian, and have our ride?" 

In the automobile they shot back to the house, 
where Brian was impatiently waiting on the 
piazza. He ran down the steps. "Pelham, I must 
sit by Mr. Lee !" 

Pelham gave him his seat, and clambered in 
behind. There he sat while the powerful car 
moved slowly down the driveway and stopped at 
the gate. 

"Which way?" asked Mr. Lee. 

"When we go anywhere here," offered Pelham, 
"we generally go to Winton." 

"Oh, Pelham !" cried Brian, much amused. "A 
car like this will get there in half an hour !" He 
turned to Mr. Lee. "Take us to Springfield," he 

Mr. Lee turned the car to the right. "I know 
the way," he said. "I came by Springfield yester- 
day." He looked down at Brian. "Tired of the 
country, eh ?" 

"The country 's all right," answered Brian, 
"but the little towns that these people go to for 
amusement make me tired. Now when I want 
to see a town I want to see a town. Springfield 
for me !" 

Mr. Lee laughed as he quickened the speed. 

Pelham was quite satisfied to sit in the back 
seat. Though so big a boy, he had never ridden 
in an automobile more than a few hundred yards. 
And Springfield, he knew, was twenty miles 
away. He was glad at the prospect before him. 
Even Brian's scorn of his habits did not rankle. 
"I am a country boy," he acknowledged to him- 
self. "But now I '11 see something new." A 
second quickening of the speed, as they passed 
beyond the town, made him draw in his breath 
with anticipation. This was what he had heard of. 

Pelham, as his parents knew, was something of 
an idealist. Bob's strong practical sense they 
delighted in, but in Pelham's quick imagination 
they perceived a higher quality. "They '11 make 
a good pair when I 've handed the business over 
to them," said Mr. Dodd. "Bob will keep things 
from going wrong, Pelham from standing still." 




Now, with this new sensation stmiulating him, 
Pelham sat in silence, wondering at such an ac- 
compHshment of man, and casting his thoughts 
forward to still greater achievements in which 
he, perhaps, might have a share. His ears were 
deaf to Brian's complacent chatter. 

The twenty miles to Springfield were thus en- 
joyment and a dream to Pelham. He did not 
come to himself until they were trundling slowly 
through the city's streets. Then his ordinary 
keenness returned to him, and he looked about 
with interest on the various sights and sounds. 
Mr. Lee took them to the city square, and showed 
them the still incomplete group of municipal 

"We 've got better than that in New York," 
said Brian, critically. 

"My dear boy," answered Mr. Lee, quietly, 
"you may have something different, but nothing 
finer of its kind." 

"Oh, well !" said Brian, shrugging. "Who 
cares for such things, anyway? Come, let 's find 
a hotel. I '11 invite you both to dinner." 

Mr. Lee, looking at him quizzically, smiled be- 
fore he turned away. 

Pelham had come entirely out of his abstraction 
now. With a iittle satisfaction he saw the smile, 
and felt that he liked Mr. Lee the better for it. 
But Brian, he thought to himself, was having the 
time of his life. His voice had flowed in a steady 
stream during the ride; Pelham had a vague re- 
membrance of hearing of limousines, tours, ac- 
cidents, polo, Newport, Europe. Brian had run 
through the list of his interests, while Mr. Lee 
had listened almost in silence. Now the man let 
Brian choose the hotel, and, when they had left 
the automobile, its owner still followed obediently 
in Brian's wake. 

"The men's cafe," decided Brian. "We '11 like 
it better there." At the door he beckoned to the 
head-waiter, chose his table, and asked for the 
menu, all with perfect self-possession. 

"He 's enjoying himself," thought Pelham, 
watching. "He 's lived the hotel life, and he 
prefers it." For himself, the big rooms, ♦he 
striking furnishings, and the ebb and flow of peo- 
ple, all would grow tiresome with familiarity. 

Pelham looked at Mr. Lee to see if he were still 
studying Brian. No, he seemed abstracted; and 
if he followed Brian's lead, accepted his sug- 
gestions as to dinner, and still sat silent before 
the food came, it was because he was rather think- 
ing of his own affairs than amused at the antics 
of a boy. 

But after a while, he roused himself from his 
mechanical answers and abstracted replies, and 
fixed his attention on Brian. He gestured at the 

busy dining-room. "Brian, I see you like this 
sort of thing." 

"I 'm used to it," answered Brian, promptly. 
"At home I go to the restaurants and cafes a good 
deal, after the theater. When we 're traveling, 
of course we use them all the time." 

"While as for our good Pelham here," said Mr. 
Lee, "or that young fellow Rodman— by the way, 
I wish you 'd tell me about that boy. I 'm inter- 
ested in his case. It seems very sad." 

The question was addressed to either of the 
boys, but Brian took it on himself to answer. "It 's 
sad or not, according as you look at it. Now I 
consider there 's more to it than appears." 

"What do you mean?" asked Mr. Lee, directly. 

Brian waved his hand. "Let me tell you from 
the beginning. Pelham and I were driving home 
on the Winton road, when I missed a wallet of 
mine. We went back to look for it, and found 
this bellow in the road, looking at something that 
he held in his hand. Supposing it to be my wallet, 
I asked for it; but he dodged away from us into 
the woods, and did n't show up again until that 
afternoon, when he fell down a cliff in the pas- 
tures. Luckily for him, Harriet saw the fall, and 
called a fellow named Nate, who lives near by. 
The boy was badly knocked up, had a fever, and 
was in bed for a fortnight. When he came to, it 
seems he 'd lost his memory — so they said. Now 
he 's working in the mill." 

Pelham, listening, bit his lip at the abrupt end- 
ing. Of course Brian would say nothing of Har- 
riet's return from Winton. Mr. Lee thought for 
z moment. 

"What did the boy hold in his hand? Did you 

Brian answered slowly. His attention was sud- 
denly absorbed in his food. "I 'm not entirely 

"You said it was a wallet," put in Pelham. "I 
surely thought it was." 

"You saw it, then ?" asked Mr. Lee. 

"Yes," answered Pelham. "I know it was a 

"Yours, then?" asked Mr. Lee of Brian. 

Brian hesitated, and Pelham spoke up quickly : 
"We hope it was n't, sir. We—" Here he 
thought of Brian's feeling toward Rodman, and 
corrected himself,— "I think him entirely honest. 
If he could remember, I believe he 'd explain it 
properly. But, you see, he 's forgotten; and, 
what 's more, when he was picked up, no wallet 
was found in his clothes." 

"The place was searched?" asked Mr. Lee, 

"Where he fell?" inquired Pelham, somewhat 
blankly. "No, I don't think it was." 




"But," said Mr. Lee to Brian, "you did n't seem 
to think that the boy had lost his memory." 

Brian was a little confused; nevertheless he 
answered, "As a matter of fact, I never have." 

"I don't think you 're quite fair about it," said 
Pelham, stoutly. "Is n't it only that you don't 
like him?" 

"Well, I don't like him, and that 's a fact," ad- 
mitted Brian. "I don't want to be mean— maybe 
I 'm unfair to him. Still, there 's something about 
him — " He finished with the wave of his hand 
which with him stood in place of argument. 

"But there 's nothing that you 've really got to 
show," remarked Mr. Lee, shrewdly, "that goes 
to prove that the boy is pretending?" 

"Nothing definite," replied Brian. 

"But you believe in him?" Mr. Lee asked Pelham. 

"Why, Mr. Lee," argued Pelham, "what reason 
can a fellow have for such a pretense ? It would 
be more bother than it 's worth. Besides, he 's 
not tricky. He 's straight, if ever a fellow was !" 

Mr. Lee, as Pelham afterward remembered, 
turned away, and sat silent so long that Pelham 
thought he had dropped the subject. At length 
he asked, "And the doctor agrees to all this ?" 

"I don't know that the boy has ever been really 
examined," admitted Pelham. "We 've all of us 
taken for granted, perhaps, that if he said he 
could n't remember, why, he could n't remember. 
But the doctor certainly agreed with the rest." 

"Well, well," remarked Mr. Lee, as if satisfied, 
"it 's a mighty interesting case. We read of 
these things, but we seldom run across them. And 
now we 'd better be thinking of starting for 
home, if I 'm to take Mrs. Dodd and Miss Harriet 
out for a ride before supper. Brian, of course 
I 'm paying for this." 

"Of course not !" cried Brian, flushing. "Really, 
Mr. Lee, I meant my invitation." 

His pride seemed quite touched, and Mr. Lee 
withdrew. "As you please," he said. 

The waiter came with the bill, and Brian, look- 
ing at it, felt in his pocket. "Not so much," he 
remarked. Pelham did his best to keep from 
staring. Where was Brian to get the money to 
pay for such a dinner? He felt as if his eyes 
must be popping wheri Brian drew from his 
pocket a roll of bills every bit as large as the one 
he had lost. With the air of being used to han- 
dling money, Brian peeled off some bills, and 
handed them to the waiter. "Keep the change," 
he said, and rose. 

Pelham did not care that Brian, on returning to 
the automobile, again took the seat by Mr. Lee's 
side. On the way home he said very little. He 
felt somewhat contemptuous of his cousin, and 
somewhat hurt. The contempt was at Brian's 

appeal to his mother for more money, the hurt — 
no, after all, he did not object to Brian's secrecy. 
If he had been so small as to send for more 
money, of course he would not tell of it. 

Chapter XIX 


Mr. Lee, with a backward word now and then 
to Mrs. Dodd, was taking pleasure in occasional 
glances at Harriet's face. She sat by his side, 
flushed with the pleasure of the ride, her eyes 
fixed on the road, and entirely unconscious of his 
observation. To him the girl was beautiful. Har- 
riet was not pretty in the common sense, but her 
features were fine, and she promised, to the eye 
of understanding, a noble womanhood. Mr. Lee 
scarcely understood all her possibilities, yet as he 
looked at her he had glimpses of something very 
rare. The color in her cheeks, the light in her 
eyes, the awe, rather than mere delight, in this 
new experience, that spoke in all her features, 
struck him deeply. Yet Mr. Lee had a purpose in 
mind, and it could not be set aside for the enjoy- 
ment of watching a girl. When at last they were 
again approaching the town, he roused her. 

"They tell me it was you. Miss Harriet, that 
found this boy Rodman after he fell." 

She drew a long breath as she came back to 
herself. "Oh, this has been wonderful ! — Yes, we 
girls found him, or, rather, we were right there." 

"You saw it?" inquired Lee. 

"No," explained Harriet. "He fell on the cliff, 
but the trees were between us." 

"Alarming, I should say," remarked Mr. Lee. 

"It was very startling," agreed Harriet. "If 
Nate had n't lived near at hand, I don't know 
what we should have done." 

"Where does he live, anyway?" asked Mr. Lee. 

"I can show you from here," said Harriet, 
eagerly, "if you '11 just slow down.— There, do 
you see that open pasture on the hillside facing 
us, on the other side of the town? Beyond it the 
brown face of the cliffs shows in places above the 
trees. Then there to the left, a little below, you 
see the roof of a house, and just a bit of its white 
face? Well, that is Nate's." 

Mr. Lee had stopped the car entirely. "H-m ! 
And where on the cliffs did the boy fall?" 

"About a mile to the right of Nate's." 

"The boy just slipped and fell, and struck on 
the bare ground?" 

"Oh, no," corrected Harriet. "A big rock gave 
way under him, and he fell with it. Luckily he 
was n't under it. Other rocks fell too, and he 
must have fallen upon a little tree, for it was 
quite broken down." 




Mr. Lee seemed satisfied. "And this man 
Nate? I suppose he 's the sort of a man you are 
willing to trust the boy with?" He started the 

"Oh, yes!" Harriet began explaining about 
Nate, and had scarcely finished singing his 
praises when they reached the house. 

Mr. Lee was delightfully jovial that night. He 
challenged Mrs. Dodd to a game of cribbage, 
changed the invitation to include the family, and 
finally involved them all, even Mr. Dodd, in an 
uproarious game of seven-handed euchre. When 
the younger ones had gone to bed, he stayed for 
a talk with Bob and the parents. 

But in the morning he was the first to stir. The 
clock had scarcely ceased striking five when he 
was out of bed, and in less than fifteen minutes 
he had let himself quietly out of the house. He 
sat in a piazza chair to put on his shoes, then 
strode off down the driveway, turning his back 
on the stable where was his automobile. He took 
the road for Winton, turned at the first cross- 
roads, then swung briskly up the hill until he 
caught sight of the roof of Nate's house. 

It lay to the left of the road, and Mr. Lee studied 
the land to the right. In this dry weather there 
was scarcely any dew, and choosing a spot where 
the bushes were sparse, he leaped the fence with- 
out fear for his clothes. Across the fence there 
were woods, but they were thin, and promised to 
be thinner higher up. Through them he pressed 
his way until he came to a stone wall, across 
which lay the broad pasture known to all blue- 
berry pickers. Mr. Lee climbed the wall, and 
briskly continued his ascent. 

The sun was well above the horizon now, and 
was warm on his back. But time was passing. 
He took off his coat and never stopped in his 
climb. Before long he saw in front the fringe of 
trees that masked the cliffs; then eagerly he 
climbed still faster. He reached the cliffs at their 

Pushing into the bushes, he began to follow the 
base of the cliffs, studying not only the ground 
before him, but also the face of the rocks. The 
cliffs were not high, twenty feet at the most ; but 
the thickets at their feet were often close, and he 
had to go slowly. Occasionally he looked at his 
watch, frowning at the passage of time. Once or 
twice he paused and studied a space with care, 
but each time, shaking his head, he continued 
his search. At length, however, he stopped 

"Here it is !" 

At the foot of the cliff lay two great stones, 
with other smaller ones near by. Close at hand 
was a sapling of which the top had been entirely 

broken down. Although ferns had sprung up 
beside the stones, partially masking them, and 
although the broken sapling had sent forth new 
shoots, there was no mistaking the fact that the 
fall and the injury were recent. Had there been 
any doubt, a glance at the cliff would have fur- 
nished other proof. On its weatherworn surface 
appeared fresh scars, showing whence the fallen 
rocks had slipped. 

Throwing down his jacket, Mr. Lee began to 
look about him. First he walked carefully about 
the place, looking minutely on the ground. Then 
he began systematically to hunt. Every clump of 
grass was searched; tufts of fern were uprooted 
and cast aside ; he thrust his way into bushes and 
explored their depths. Shaking his head, he 
widened the area of his search until at last he 
came out into the open pasture. There for a 
while he tramped about, looking on the ground, 
and always unsuccessfully returning to the cliff. 
Then for a while he stood thinking, until with 
hope he cast his eye on the two great fallen rocks. 
The smaller ones he had already turned over. 
The big ones were as large as it was likely that 
a man would be able to move, but with surprising 
energy he assaulted them. He turned over first 
one and then the other, but he found nothing 
where they had lain. Now, shaking his head, he 
climbed up the cliff as far as he could go, but 
with the evident expectation of finding nothing. 
Empty-handed he came down again, gave a last 
searching look about him, and once more looked 
at his watch. Starting, he snatched up his jacket 
and hurried down the hill. 

At a rapid pace he swung into the town, and 
passed up the Dodds' driveway at exactly seven 
o'clock. A maid, just putting up the living-room 
shades, saw him and let him in. As he went up 
the stairs he met no one, but splashes from the 
bath-room seemed to indicate that some of the 
family were just out of bed. He reached his 
room unseen, and studying his costume decided 
that he needed fresh shoes and a good wash be- 
fore he could show himself. 

After breakfast, Mr. Dodd asked him his plans 
for the day. "Bob and I shall be busy in the 
office until eleven," explained Mr. Dodd. "After 
that we shall be at your disposal." 

"Then shortly after eleven I will call at the 
mill," said Mr. Lee, smiling. "In the meantime, 
Mr.- Dodd, I wonder if there is anything improper 
in my inspecting your annex here on the hill." 
Mr. Dodd looked puzzled, and Mr. Lee explained. 
"I mean the little dye-house of the man named 

"Certainly not," said Mr. Dodd, heartily, "if 
only you don't put it that way to him. Nate is no 




employee of mine, you understand. All his work 
is independent. He buys his material of me, or of 
others through me, he dyes them according to his 
fancy, and I sell his goods apart from my own. 
He and I bargain as man to man, and he has 
nothing to do with the mills. 
So if you will keep in mind 
that he is a true Yankee, very 
proud of his independence, 
you and he will get on." 

In the midst of the clack- 
ing and thumping of his jig- 
ger, therefore, Nate was in- 
terrupted by the sudden sight 
of a shadow on his floor. He 
looked up, and saw Mr. Lee 
in the doorway. "Come in," 
he said, stopping the machine. 

Mr. Lee came into the 
workroom. "My name is 
Lee," he said. "Mr. Doddtold 
me that perhaps you would 
let me see how you work." 

"Surely," answered Nate, 
offeringhishand. "Why, Rod- 
man 's told me all about you. 
Goin' inter the business your- 
self, I understand. Certainly 
I '11 show you how I work, 
only — " and Nate smiled slyly 
at his guest — "only there 's 
more to dyein' than jes' pass- 
in' a cloth through amixture." 

"I know," answered Lee, 
smiling himself. "I know 
that the mixture itself is the 
thing, and that you 'd rather 
not tell much about that." 

"Sho, Mr. Lee, what 's the 
use o' talkin' ?" cried Nate. 
"I ain't got no secrets that I 
ain't willin' to tell when a 
man comes to me as you do, 
meanin' really to go into the 
business. I like to make a 
kind o' mystery o' my re- 
ceipts with the boys an' the 
workmen ; they think the bet- 
ter o' me for it. But between 
you an' me now, I '11 tell you 
as I once told Mr. Dodd. It 
is n't so much the receipts 

themselves, as the know-how o' puttin' 'em to- 
gether. An' more 'n that, there ain't never been 
no measured quantities to 'em. You know about 
the old-style cook. She says, 'Yes, o' course I '11 
tell you how to make a batter puddin'. Get a lit- 

tle butter, an' a pinch o' salt an' cinnamon, an' 
jes' enough flour— !' Now, Mr. Lee, I can't tell 
you no nearer than that jes' how much o' one 
thing an' another I put into my mixtures." 

Mr. Lee was laughing. "I understand, Mr. " 


"Jes' plain Nate. No one calls me nothin' else. 
Moreover, Mr. Lee, you can't get no mill work- 
man to study over his mixtures as I do, — no, nor 
you won't find no employer to pay him for his 
time when he 's doin' it. You would n't do it 




yourself. Rememberin' all that, let me tell you 
whatever I can." 

For more than an hour the two stood over 
Nate's crude jigger, while the dyer talked of his 
art. Both men were deeply absorbed. Question 
after question was asked by Mr. Lee when once 
Nate had finished his explanation, and detail after 
detail Nate explained with great fullness. 

"Nate," said the visitor at the end, "any man 
who is going into this business as a manufacturer, 
no matter how big or how small a plant he in- 
tends to have, ought to come first and talk with 

Nate smiled with gratification. "It does me 
good to hear you say so," he said. "I '11 be glad to 
feel, sir, that suthin' I may have said will make a 
little difference to your year's profits." 

"It will,'' replied Mr. Lee. "Or if it does n't, 
it will be my fault." He turned to the door. "I 
am due at the mill in less than half an hour, and 
so I ought to be going." 

They had shaken hands at the door, and Mr. 
Lee was starting to go, when abruptly he turned 
back. "By the way, I am interested in the story 
of that boy Rodman. You 've been very good to 

"No more than he deserves," answered Nate. 

"Too bad, is n't it ?" asked the visitor ; "that 
story about the lost wallet?" 

Nate flushed. "So it 's got to your ears so 
soon ! Mr. Lee, nothin' makes me so mad as that 
story. Why, there ain't nothin' in it so far "s Rod- 
man 's concerned." 

"You looked through his clothes?" inquired Mr. 

"I did," answered Nate. "There was n't nothin' 
in 'em except a knife an' a pocket-handkerchief. 
The other boy jes' lost his wallet, an' there 's 
nothin' more to it." 

Mr. Lee shook hands with him again. "I '11 re- 
member to deny the story whenever I meet it." 

"An' wherever you meet it, too," suggested 
Nate. "Good-by, Mr. Lee, an' much obliged to 

Mr. Lee was busy with the two Dodds for the 
rest of the day. They agreed, when they talked 
him over later, that he was the keenest visitor 
that they had yet had. He seemed to understand 
much instinctively, and their explanations needed 
always to be of the briefest. It was not till the 
end of the day that he referred to his visit to 
Nate. Mr. Dodd was much interested in his ac- 
count of it. 

"Nate is quite right, Mr. Lee," he said. 
"Neither you nor I could get a millful of workers 
to follow his methods. Nor would the results pay 
us if we could. No, it takes a solitary genius. 

working for the love of it, as Nate does, to get 
such results as his. There 's such a demand for 
his product that I sell it at almost any price I 
please— Nate never bothers himself about that. 
But I never met another man of the kind." 

"Odd stick," remarked Mr. Lee. "He 's been 
very good to that boy Rodman. — By the way, I 
suppose one can believe what Nate says, about 
the lad's having no wallet?" 

"You 're a stranger, Mr. Lee," returned Mr. 
Dodd, seriously, "or you would n't ask such a 
question. Nate 's shrewd, and does n't tell all he 
knows ; but when he says a thing, no one in this 
town would disbelieve it." 

"I thought so," said Mr. Lee. "But, Mr. Dodd, 
I 'd like to make a proposal to you. The case of 
this boy has interested me. What should you say 
to my taking him with me to the city when I go, 
to put him under good doctors." 

Mr. Dodd looked at him quietly. "How would 
he be better off?" he asked. 

"He would find his people." 

"What are his people doing to find him?" asked 
Mr. Dodd. "The police of New York and Bos- 
ton, and the constables of every town hereabout as 
far as Springfield, know all about the boy. If 
there had been the slightest attempt made to trace 
him, I should have been informed. No, Mr. Lee, 
when his people begin to worry about him, I will 
worry about his people. In the meanwhile I have 
taken medical advice, not merely of our local 
doctor, who is pretty clever, but also from ex- 
perts, men that I know personally. They agree 
that the quickest way for him to come to himself 
is to keep in good health and free from worry. 
In the last twenty-four hours he has appeared 
rather pale, I have noticed, but I don't see that 
he could be better off." 

"Doubtless you are right," said Mr. Lee. 

"I am glad you think so, but," finished Mr. 
Dodd, "really I don't see that more can be done 
for him just now." 

Mr. Lee nodded, and said no more. For two 
days he did not mention Rodman, nor did he go 
near the office in which the boy worked. He went 
in and out of the mill buildings, however, and 
discussed with the Dodds every detail of their 
business, even to their system of paying their 

"I should think you are inconveniently situated 
for getting money," he remarked to Bob on Fri- 
day evening. "You don't trust such a package of 
bills to the mail-carrier? For example, who 
brings it to-morrow?" 

"Mail hours are inconvenient," explained Bob. 
"I carry it myself. Jog over, and jog back." 

"I can save you time if you '11 let me take you," 




"You may drive the machine, 

suggested Mr. Lee. 
too, if you Hke." 

"Good man !" cried Bob. 

Not till toward Saturday noon did Mr. Lee go 
near the office. Rodman had finished a piece of 

come back early in the afternoon for the making 
up of the pay-roll. "I '11 soon be working full 
time again now," he said, at the door. 

"But there '11 be no room for me after that," 
answered Rodman, with a wry face. 

Mr. Hollins laughed. 

"There '11 be work for you 
in the office for a long time 
to come," he declared. "Be- 
sides, your arm is growing" 
strong again. It won't be 
long before you will want 
more active work." xA.nd so 
he had gone. 

Left to himself, Rodman 
had worked for a while on 
the stint which Mr. Hollins 
had left for him. Mr. Dodd 
and Bob had come in and 
out, busy with their own 
work, but for the most part 
the office was deserted by all 
but him. 

Now notice how a boy, 
used perhaps to deciding. for 
himself, and carrying quite a 
burden of responsibility, but 
nevertheless only a boy, can 
on a sudden impulse make a 
false step. 

Mr. Lee came into the of- 
fice. He walked quickly, as 
was his habit; he seemed sat- 
isfied at finding Rodman ; and 
then, having shut the door, 
he looked about the room to 
see if any one else was there. 

"Where is Mr. Dodd?" he 

"Somewhere in the mill," 
answered Rodman. 

"And young Mr. Dodd ?"' 

"I think he went to the 

Mr. Lee stood still as if 
thinking, his eyes fixed on 
the boy so long that at last 
Rodman grew restless. His 
desk was not far from the 
big safe, which stood open. 
Slipping from his seat, Rod- 
man went to the safe, swung 
work with the bookkeeper. Mr. Hollins, slowly to the heavy door, shot the bolts, and with a spin 
growing stronger after his operation, had ex- of the knob broke the combination. And then, 
pressed his satisfaction at the help the boy gave at the sudden light that flashed from the visitor's 
him. Now he had limped away, promising to eyes, he knew his mistake. 

{To be continued.) 




Umpire in the j^mencan League 

llillll l l li illll il lll i lilllll 

The Unknown Recruit 
and The Fojg^ Manager 

How two fojy managers by very 

different methods develop star 

plgyers from the raw material 

'Ihe tall tactician ot the \thletics, one of the greatest leaders in the 
game His methods differ from those employed by most managers. 
He never protests the work of the umpires, directs his team from the 
cover of the bench, and gets results where others fail. Is noted for 
his liking for college players, and his ability to discover players in the 


He scores every game his team plays. His score 
card covers every minute detail of the contest. 

He holds a daily conference with his players, and 
points out mistakes of the previous day. Often, 
he maps out plans for the afternoon's game in 

He conducts his campaign entirely from the 
bench, and retreats to the club-house as the last 
man is retired. 

He always has three or four of his brainiest and 
seasoned players acting as lieutenants ; and 
courts their advice in mapping out campaigns 
on the ball-field. Such players are usually re- 
ferred to as "Mack's board of strategy." 

His voice is never heard in protest on the field. 
He has never been ejected from the bench by 
an umpire ; and has yet to be fined or suspended 
for breaking any of the laws laid down by 
President Johnson of the American League. 

He has no set rules governing the actions of his 
seasoned players when they are at bat. He lets 
them use their own judgment if he knows they 
are "quick thinkers." He may give a player 
orders, but he does not expect them to be car- 
ried out if conditions should make them appear 

He never openly calls down a recruit in angry 
tones for a mistake, but quietly corrects him 
when they are alone. 


The famous leader of the New York *' Giants," who firmly believes that 
a manager should reign absolutely supreme. McGraw rules with an 
iron hand, gives orders for every move his players make, and always 
shoulders the blame when a scheme fails to work. Several times he has 
landed a pennant for New York when his team was generally regarded 
as second-division timber. 

He favors developing young players who show 
promise by keeping them on the bench for sev- 
eral years. He used that system in molding 
most of his present-day stars. 

He places his men entirely on their honor 
throughout the season. 

"Where does he get them?" 

That is a common question every time "Con- 
nie Mack" (which is the well-known, abbrevi- 
ated name of Cornelius McGillicuddy, the famous 
leader of the Athletics) springs some youthful 
sensation on the base-ball world. 

No manager in the history of base-ball has 
ever had such wonderful success at developing 
stars out of players practically unknown to the 
base-ball fans until introduced by the wily Mack. 
Perhaps a good answer to the query would be : 
"They just naturally come." 

Several years ago, a very good friend of mine 
acted as base-ball coach for one of the larger 
universities. He also acted as scout for a Major 
League team during the summer, when his ser- 
vices as a teacher of base-ball were not required 
by the university. During the spring, I paid my 
friend a visit of a few days, and, of course, spent 
much of my time watching him drill his "Rah ! 
Rah !" boys in the art of playing the national 
pastime properly. 

After watching the boys toss the ball around 
for ten or fifteen minutes on my first visit, my 




attention was directed to a big, husky fellow who 
was warming up. His easy, graceful delivery 
reminded me somewhat of the style used by the 
great Walter Johnson, and I watched him closely. 
In about five minutes he was properly warmed 
up, and began "cutting loose." I made my way 
over and took a position that would enable me to 
look over his stock in trade. He had all the ear- 
marks of a Big Leaguer. 

Walking back to where the coach was busy 
drilling some of his newest recruits, I asked the 
name of the big fellow. "He is the varsity first- 
string pitcher," was the response. "What do you 
think of him?" 

"Think of him?" I replied. "You don't have 
to think about that chap. He is there with the 
goods. All I hope is that some club in the Ameri- 
can League lands him, for he is certain to be a 

"There 's no chance for any club to get him, 
but should he play ball, it will be with an y\meri- 
can League team," answered the coach. 

"Of course with 
the team you are 
scouting for?" 

"I should say 
not," replied the 
coach. "The club 
I represent is one 
club he won't play 
for. For some rea- 
son he does n't like 
the owner of the 
club I am scouting 
for, and he refuses 
to listen to my plea 
in that connec- 

"What team does 
he intend signing 
with ?" I asked. 

"Connie Mack's 
is the only team 
that gets the slight- 
est consideration. 
If he ever plays 
the professional 
game, it will be ,, JO"'^^^ ''^^'■-'««- 

■ 1 -|.^ . q^. 1 he clever second baseman — now of 
Wltn Mack. inere the Boston "Braves"— and ex-manager 
is n't much chance "fthe Chicago "Cubs "who is the direct 
opposite of Connie Mack, tvers is al- 
though, for he is ways in evidence, believes in baiting the 
. , umpires, urges his players to do likewise, 
a very wealthy a,-,(J is indeed lucky when not on the siis- 
chan ind T under- P^"ded list for having overstepped the 
r^' ^ limit. 

stand he is to 

marry very shortly a young lady who does n't 
look on the professional side of base-ball with 
favor. He '11 never be a Big Leaguer." 

As I pondered over what the coach had said 
about his star pitcher, I partially solved the an- 
swer to the question I had heard over and over 
again, "Where does he get them?" I wondered 
why this young man had such a preference for 
the Athletics, and why he was satisfied that the 
Philadelphia club was the only one he really 
cared to. play for. I determined to try to find out, 
if only to satisfy my own curiosity. After the 
work-out was over, and the players had donned 
street attire, I was introduced to the varsity 
pitcher by the coach, and gradually I worked 
around to the point where I could pointedly ask 
him why he considered only the Philadelphia 
club. He replied: 

"The real reason for my favoring Manager 
Mack is because I know Manager Mack favors 
collegians. I think the college player has a better 
chance under Mack than he has under any other 
manager. If I took up professional base-ball as 
a business, I should want to succeed ; to be a star. 
I think my chance for success would be greatly 
enhanced under Mack's direction. College 
players who join his club are a success, in 
the majority of cases. Every college fel- 
low I have ever met speaks well of 
Mack and the treatment that he 
accords his players. I never met 
^ Mr. Mack, but have had some cor- 
respondence with him, and if I 
ever play professional ball, it will 
be on his team." 
That was several years ago. Unfortunately 
for Mack, the player never joined the profes- 
sional ranks. His failure to do so undoubtedly 
resulted in a loss to the American League of a 
phenomenal pitcher. He still pitches, but merely 
for the fun he gets out of it. Last summer, I saw 
him pitch a game against a strong semi-profes- 
sional team, and he simply toyed with them, strik- 
ing out fifteen men. It was reported that Mack 
tried to induce him to join his team last summer, 
when the Athletics' staff was wobbling, but failed. 
This simply goes to show where Mack really 
does get some of his stars, and it also explains 
why some of these stars are with the Mackmen. 
For a number of years. Manager Mack was the 
only leader who regarded the college player with 
favor. The great success he has had with them 
has won over practically every other leader to 
that type of athlete. Now college players are 
warmly welcomed on all the clubs, and receive 
every consideration possible. 

Connie Mack is truly the "somewhat-different" 
type of manager. He "gets results" in his own 
peculiar way, and he surely does get results ! He 
makes stars out of unknowns, and makes them in 




a hurry if necessity demands quick action. He 
prefers developing men by letting them warm the 
bench, rather than sending them to the Minor 
Leagues. This is a custom contrary to that of 
most managers. Mack's reasons for this system 
follow : 

"If you were going to send a boy to college, 
and had the proper means, the wise course would 
be to select one of the leading institutions of 
learning," argues Mack. "Such colleges have 
the best professors and the best equipment. The 
surroundings are usually the best, and environ- 
ment plays a big part in a fellow's career, 
whether in base-ball or other business. I liken 
the Big Leagues to the better institutions of 
learning. I liken the wise managers and star 
players to the leading college instructors. I 
think a player with the ability to succeed has a 
much better chance to develop sitting on the 
bench surrounded by the stars of the game and 
constantly observing the best there is in base- 
ball, than he has if sent to some Minor League, 
and started in the wrong direction. The mere 
coming in contact with stars, rubbing elbows 
with them, gives the player a polish that cannot 
possibly be attained in the minors." 

There is no clenying the fact that there is a 
lot of logic in Mack's line of reasoning. He in- 
sists that much of the success of his twirlers is 
due to pitching pointers given them by the stars 
of his staff, Bender, Coombs, and Plank. He 
claims that Ira Thomas is of great aid in ac- 
quainting his young catchers with the weakness 
of the several batters, and the finer points of the 
back-stopping game. Mclnnis, the wonderful 
first baseman of Mack's team, gladly gives the 
veteran Harry Davis credit for much of his 
knowledge as to how first base should be played. 
Any infielder coached by those two famous stars, 
Collins and Barry, is certainly a lucky chap. It 
is certain that no young player could ever get 
such high-class instruction in the minors. And 
to top it all off, there are the words of wisdom 
from the great manager. Mack's methods have 
surely proven a great success — for Mack. 

Harmony is perhaps the biggest cog in the suc- 
cess of the Mack machine. The Philadelphia 
Athletics are one big, happy family. Mack would 
sacrifice the best player on his team if he proved 
to be a jarring note. He has allowed several 
crack youngsters to slip through his fingers sim- 
ply because they did not behave as Mack thought 
youngsters should, and because he feared one bad 
performer might lead a number of good ones 
astray. Just to illustrate what consideration 
Mack has for his men, when the question of the 
habits of a player is raised, I will cite an incident 

of a number of years ago. Mack had a chance to 
get a catcher who was a star, but who, because of 
his habits, was about to drift to the minors. Dur- 
ing one of his daily conferences with his playe* s, 
he put the question straight to them : 

"Boys, I have a chance to get a great catcher 
for practically nothing. All the other clubs have 
waived on him because of his reputation. If he 
could be made to brace up, he would strengthen 
our club greatly. It is up to you, boys, as to 
whether or not I get him." 

"Let us get the player, and you place the re- 
sponsibility for his conduct in our hands," said 
one of the players. A total abstainer was made 
the room-mate of the star catcher, and every 
member of the team made it a point to keep the 
big fellow in the straight and narrow path. In a 
month the catcher was an entirely different fel- 
low. In the club to which he formerly belonged 
he had been shunned to a great extent by the 
majority of the players. With the Athletics, he 
found conditions exactly the reverse. Every 
player was making it a point to impress on him 
what a good fellow he was, and how much his 
catching meant to the team's success. The 
catcher took far better than the average care of 
himself, and for years was one of the team's 
mainstays behind the bat. 

Some managers make it a point to openly criti- 
cize a player for a mistake, especially if the 
player has made a glaring error that indirectly 
reflects on the managerial ability of the man in 
charge. Youngsters, as- a rule, make more mis- 
takes than veterans, and naturally many of the 
"call-downs" fall on the heads of the recruits. 
Perhaps any person who has ever attended a ball 
game can remember having^heard a remark like 
this, from some fellow-spectator : 

"I '11 wager the manager is giving it to him for 
that blunder !" 

Such a rebuke, if delivered in the open, shifts 
attention from the manager to the player. It is 
very questionable, however, if such things help 
to develop the man who made the error. Mack 
is one who firmly believes that all these meth- 
ods retard the player's progress, and very 
often destroy the ability and consequently the 
value of the player in question. In connection 
with Mack's ideas along these lines, let me recall 
an incident of a game in Detroit several years 

At the time, the Athletics and the "Tigers" 
were fighting for the pennant. The game was a 
very slow one. One of Mack's outfielders, then 
very much of a youngster, but now rated as one 
of the best in the business, made the mistake that 
cost the game. Although he had often been told 




how to play for a certain hitter on the Detroit 
team, on this occasion he shifted to the opposite 
side from the one he should have taken. As a 
result he muffed a fly ball, after a hard run, that 
would have been an easy out had he played prop- 
erly for the batter. As the inning closed, I walked 
over to the Philadelphia bench to get a drink. 
While I was there the player who made the error 
arrived at the bench. Before he had a chance 
to utter a word, Mack said : 

"No outfielder could have got that ball. Noth- 
ing but your speed enabled you to get your hands 
on it. At that you would have held it, had not 
that high wind been blowing." 

All of this was true, but Mack said nothing to 
the player about being away out of his position. 
The next day he told him about it, when the two 
met in the hotel lobby. And never since has that 
outfielder made a mistake in position when play- 
ing for that Detroit batsman. 

Mack instructs his men along the lines em- 
ployed by college coaches. A daily conference is 

held by the Mack- 
men throughout 
the season. When 
on the road the 
meeting is held in 
Manager Mack's 
room at the hotel ; 
when at home, in 
the players' dress- 
ing-room at the 
ball park. There 
the players go over 
the game of the 
day previous, point 
out mistakes that 
were made, and 
the faults that 
cropped out. Often 
plays that proved 
successful, but 

could have been 
made differently 
and with a much 
better chance of 
success, are dis- 

Frequently plans 
for the afternoon's 
battle are mapped 
out in advance as 
far as it is possible 
to anticipate base- 
ball conditions. The weak points in the offense 
and defense are pointed out by Manager Mack, 
and the players are urged to take advantage of 

Junes has won a unique distinction in 
tlie ranks of the star managers, for, at 
the very height of his career, he quit 
base-ball. The real reason for this action 
has never been made known. At the 
time of his retirement, he could have 
commanded a salary of $12,000 or more. 
His greatest work was in 1906, when, with 
a team known as the " Hitless Wonders," 
he won a pennant and a World's Cham- 
pionship for the Chicago "White Sox." 

any openings. Players are instructed definitely 
as to how to play for certain batters who invaria- 
bly hit the ball in one direction. That accounts 
for the way outfielders shift some twenty or 
thirty yards for certain batters. Suggestions are 
always welcomed from any player on the team, 

His wonderful success with 
the Chicago " Cubs," one of the 
greatest teams ever developed, 
won for him the title of " Peer- 
less Leader," which he richly 
deserved. Last year, Chance 
had his first experience with a 
loser. Taking charge of the 
New York Americans, a team 
with little good material, he bat- 
tled all summer to get out of the 
lastposition. Hemanagedtoget 
the Yankees out of last place on 
the final day of the season. 


Stahl has had a unique career. 
After having retired for several 
years, he was brought back to 
lead the Boston *' Red Sox "and 
play first base. In his first year, 
the season of 1912, his team won 
the American League pennant 
and the World's Championship. 
July of the next year found him 
resigning his position as leader 
of the club that had been the 
great surprise of the previous 
season. 'I'ruly fame is fleeting 
in the base-ball world. 

and very often one of the recruits will offer the 
best advice of the confab. Thus Manager Mack 
has every member of his club constantly working 
for its best interests, because he knows that any 
suggestions are always welcome. 

In 1909, George Mullin, then the star of the 
Detroit pitching staff, was the sensation of the 
American League. Scarcely a game passed in 
which he worked that Mullin did not do some- 
thing out of the ordinary. That year he led the 
American League in pitching, and was the star 
of the Detroit team in the World's Series with 

When the Detroit club reached Philadelphia 
that year, Mullin had ten straight victories to his 
credit. It was presumed that Jennings would 
start him in the first game against the Athletics, 
and in all probability send him back in the last 
game of the series. The question that concerned 
the Athletics was how to stop Mullin, and it was 
the cause of much study on the part of every 
member of the team. 

At one of the conferences, held several days 
prior to the arrival of the Tigers, Mullin came 
up for discussion. Strangely enough, the discus- 
sion had little to do with Mullin's pitching, but 
concerned his batting. During his career as a 




Big Leaguer, Mullin has always been regarded as 
a dangerous hitter. He made a healthy swing at 
the ball, picked out the good ones, and was al- 
ways liable to break up a game with a long drive. 
Mullin took almost as much pride in his batting 
as he did in his pitching. It was around his bat- 
ting ability that the crafty Mackmen spun a web 
meant to reduce his pitching effectiveness. 

One of the Ath- 
letic players said 
that he had always 
observed that Mul- 
lin was more ef- 
fective in the box 
when he was meet- 
ing with success 
at bat ; and argued 
that if the Ath- 
letics could stop 
Mullin's hitting, 
his pitching would 
be sure to suffer. 
Most of the othcr 
Athletic players 
agreed with their 
team-mate, that 
base-hits were al- 
most as sweet to 
Mullin as victory 
itself. That point 
having been set- 
tled, it was up to 
Manager Mack to 
select the pitcher 
who was most ef- 
fective against 
Mullin, to oppose 
him. Mack, upon 
looking over his 
trusty score cards, 
discovered that Bender always troubled Mullin 
when at bat, and confided to the Lidian that he 
was the pitcher who would oppose Mullin. When 
the Tigers trotted onto the field for the first game 
of the important series, Mack watched the Detroit 
pitchers closely. \Vhen it appeared certain to 
him that Mullin would work, he sent Bender out 
to warm up. The Indian happened to l)c in 
superb form that day, and probal)ly would have 
beaten any pitcher. It is enough to say that he 
kept Mullin from doing any hitting whatever, and 
the Tigers left the field defeated — the first time 
that season such a thing had happened with Mul- 
lin doing the pitching. 

Manager McGraw, of the New York "Giants," 
equally famous as a base-ball leader, is almost 

O'Day, the veteran umpire, and Roger 
Bresnahan.of the Chicago "Cubs," talking 
over their troubles. Bresnahan tried the 
managerial game at St. Louis, while O'Day 
was manager of the Cincinnati club in 
1912. Bresnahan is back at the catching 
gaine, while O'Day has charge of the 
Chicago " Cubs " this season. 

the direct opposite of Mack. McGraw has few 
college men on his team. Perhaps he has nothing 
against the collegian, but simply has not been 
fortunate enough to pick up any good raw ma- 
terial from the college nines. At the art of trad- 
ing, McGraw is a regular David Harum. At any 
time his club is wavering, he seems able to go out 
and put through a deal that will strengthen it in 
the very position where it has seemed weakest. 
McGraw forgets the past, plays in the present, 
l3ut is constantly looking into the future. 

The theory on which the McGraw school of 
base-ball is run is that the manager must be ab- 
solute in his leadership. He must never consult 
with his players. Mathewson is perhaps the only 
New Yorker who is taken into McGraw's con- 
fidence. He reasons that the manager should 
assume the entire responsibility, and shoulder all 
the blame. McGraw never censures a player for 
making an error, but let one of the players "pull 
a 'bone,' " as the saying goes, and he never for- 
gets it. Indeed, he makes it a point to mention it 
at stated intervals. 

McGraw teaches his men not to let the loss of 
a single game, or a bunch of games, upset them. 
He impresses on them the fact that a team is 
built to last a season, not to go to pieces when it 
meets a few reverses. The percentage of vic- 
tories at the finish, not the outcome of this or 
that game, definitely decides the pennant winner. 
He seldom puts a certain pitcher in to win a cer- 
tain game, but rather works the men in regular 
order. Mack, on the other hand, shifts his pitch- 
ers to suit his opinions. In some particular series, 
he will work a pitcher twice, and then perhaps not 
use him again for five or six days. 

That McGraw believes the manager should 
reign supreme was forcibly impressed on me 
during the series between the Boston "Red Sox" 
and the New York Giants for the World's Cham- 
pionship in 1912. It was late in the game, and 
the Giants appeared to have a chance to win. If 
I am not mistaken, with one out, Catcher Meyers 
had reached third base on a drive to the left-field 
wall. Boston was a run ahead at the time, and a 
hit would have tied the game. I was umpiring on 
the bases in that game, and was standing almost 
directly behind the bag, so as to be in a good 
position to judge a snap-throw from the catcher 
or pitcher, and also to observe if the runner held 
the base in case a fly ball was hit and he made 
an attempt to score. 

As the next batter approached the plate, I 
heard McGraw say in a tone that made it plain 
he wanted his orders obeyed : 

"If a fly ball is hit to the outfield, I want you 
to make an attempt to score. Go through with 




the play at any cost." The batter did hit a fly 
ball, which Speaker captured. It would scarcely 
be correct to say it was a fly to the outfield, for 
Speaker captured it a very short distance back 
of second base. Speaker is known to have a 
strong throwing arm, and to be very accurate. 
It looked foolish for Meyers to try to score, but 
he made a break for the plate as Speaker grabbed 
the ball. When half-way in, Meyers saw the 
throw would beat him by twenty feet, and he 
turned and made a dash back toward third. If 
Cady had handled the ball cleanly, it is very ques- 
tionable if Meyers would have been able to get 
back. It so happened that Cady fumbled the ball, 
and had so much trouble recovering it, that 
Meyers might have scored if he had gone 
through, as McGraw had advised. 

McGraw was furious at the outcome of the play. 

"I thought I told you to go through with the 
play at any cost," said he to Meyers in an angry 

"I did n't think I had a chance," answered 

"You 're not supposed to think when I 'm 
coaching!" replied McGraw. ' 

"I would have looked like a joke had I gone 
through with the play and Cady had handled the 
ball cleanly." 

"Nobody would have said a word to you. / 
would have been roasted, since I was the 
coacher," responded McGraw. Then the third 
out was made, and I missed the rest of what 
McGraw had to say as the catcher walked to the 
bench to don his mask and protector. 

Mack and McGraw are both great, but entirely 
different. Take your choice. 

( To be continued. ) 


All the yellow sunshine days 

That I have known, that I have known. 
Are just a lovely golden haze 

That 's all my own, my own. 

And every pleasant loving thing 

That I have heard, that I have heard, 
. Within my heart will sing and sing, 

Just like a happy bird. C. H. 



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

Chapter X 


The day which was to have taken Maggie back 
to the city came and went, and she still remained 
in Bonnyburn. Letters were sent home telling 
of her grave illness, and of the kind hands into 
which she had fallen ; letters also went to Mr. 
Graham, who was much more concerned than 
was 'Tilda. He wanted to go straight to Bonny- 
burn and help take care of Maggie ; but Dr. Fos- 
ter and present duties at the Settlement forbade. 

"However," he declared, in a letter to Miss 
Penfold, "I shall myself come up to fetch Mag- 
gie home when she is well— the dear little thing !" 

When she was well ! At one time, it seemed as 
if that day was never to be. Maggie was very 
ill indeed. She had ceased to be herself, and was 
like a strange little being under a spell. Some- 

times she fancied herself back in the tenement 
with 'Tilda, and her words of fear and unhappi- 
ness betrayed more of her sad life than she had 
ever confided to any one, even to Mr. Graham. 
The white presence by her bed listened with 
tears in her eyes. She had not guessed how hard 
life was for some little souls. At other times, 
Maggie told about the fairies who had helped 
her, who were helping her now. They visited the 
tenement and made her hard bed soft. They 
turned her crusts and water into delicious cool 
drinks and dainty mouthfuls,— such as the nurse 
brought her nowadays. The fairies laid a sooth- 
ing spell upon her when she was sore and bruised 
because of unkindly hands, and they made her 
ugly room beautiful and bright; see how beauti- 
ful and bright it was now ! Oh, the fairies ! How 
kind they were ! If Maggie could do something 
for them ! She must give them her lucky stone ! 




Often Maggie talked about Mr. Graham and 
how good he was, and of the Settlement and all 
it had done for her. Allegra listened. She thought 
she should like to know this Saint George who 
fought dragons so bravely. Maggie prattled, too, 
of Bob and Bess and the farm. But most of all 
she talked about the wonderful adventures in the 
Park, and of the mysterious Princess who needed 
help. It gave Allegra a pang to see her fever- 
ishly rubbing the little gold ring, hanging so 
loosely on the thin finger, and whispering feebly: 

"Open, Gate, I pray, 
And let me in to-day! " 

It seemed so likely that a gate was going to open 
for Maggie into a park where little children 
were never called trespassers. 

It was at these times that the soft hand laid on 
Maggie's would often quiet her restless spirit 
and bring the peace of sleep. 

Then there came a day when Maggie turned 
the corner and began to mend. One morning, 
when Miss Miggs had gone to her breakfast, Al- 
legra looked up from the letter she was reading 
and found two great eyes fixed upon her. 

"Where am I?" asked Maggie. Allegra laid 
down the letter, which was from Mr. Graham, 
inquiring about his little friend, and, going to' the 
bed, said smilingly : "Good morning, Maggie !" 

"Good morning," answered Maggie, still eying 
her wonderingly. They looked at one another in 
silence for some seconds. Allegra was saying 
over and over to herself: "She is going to get 
well ! She is going to get well !" 

"Where am I ?" asked Maggie again, glancing 
around the pretty room. 

"You are in Bonnyburn, dear," said Allegra, 
almost afraid to speak. 

"In Bonnyburn ! Then it may be real. I 
thought I was at home, and that all this niceness 
was part of the story I made up." 

"No," said Allegra, "it is real, Maggie. But 
you must not talk any more now. Close your 
eyes and go to sleep." 

"I will," said Maggie, looking at Allegra ador- 
ingly for a moment before she obeyed. 

Not long after this, when Maggie was stronger, 
came questions which could no longer be put off. 
"This may be Bonnyburn," said Maggie. "But it 
is n't the Timmins's house?" Allegra answered 
cautiously : 

"No. It is the house in the Park." 

"The palace!" Maggie's eyes shone. "I sus- 
pected it. And how did I get here?" 

"You came in a carriage drawn by two white 
ponies, just like Cinderella .'" laughed Allegra. 
But Maggie saw nothing to laugh at. 

"White ponies !" she cried. "Oh, I hope Bob 
saw them. He wanted to so much." 

"Yes, he saw you go," answered Allegra. 

"Oh, I wish Bob and Bess were here too !" ex- 
claimed Maggie. "How Bess would like this 
lovely room !" 

"They will come to sec you as soon as you are 
a little stronger," promised her attendant. "They 
come to the Park to inquire for you every day." 

"Oh !" cried Maggie, delighted. "Then the 
Princess has forgiven them? — And me too?" 
She looked wistful. 

"You are all forgiven !" declared Allegra, add- 
ing, under her breath, "if there was anything to 

"How good the Princess is !" murmured Mag- 
gie, "to let me stay in her lovely house. I wish 
Mr. Graham knew. She is kind, like him." 

"Bless your heart ! He knows. And when you 
are well and strong again, which will be very 
soon, you shall play in the Park whenever you 

Maggie was gazing at Allegra with puzzled 
eyes. "I wish I knew something," said she. "I 
think I must have been dreaming. I thought the 
Fairy Princess came here. I thought she came 
close to me, and told me that I had broken the 

"Your Princess did come, Maggie," said Alle- 
gra, softly, as she bent over the bed. "And it is 
true ! You have broken the spell that bound her. 
She is her true self once more, thanks to you." 

"Was it the lucky stone did it?" asked Maggie, 

Allegra nodded. "Indeed, I think so, dear," 
she said. 

"Then I am glad I gave it to her, if it did make 
me sick," cried Maggie. 

"I don't think that," said Allegra, cautiously. 
Maggie went on speaking: 

"I should like to see her," she gazed earnestly 
at the face above her, "but, somehow, I don't care 
so much about that as I did, for, anyway, I can 
look at you. I love to look at you !" 

Allegra blushed at the compliment, and found 
nothing to say. 

"I remember your face in my dream, too," 
said Maggie, musingly, "and it was always get- 
ting mixed up with the kind fairy's. Sometimes 
I thought you were the Princess herself." 

Allegra turned away her face. "You have seen 
her," she said, "though you did not know it at 
the time. Do you remember the old woman with 
the black cat?" 

"Was that she?" asked Maggie, eagerly. 

"That was one of her disguises," said Allegra. 
"And the old man who guided you to the lake 




was a second. And the boy in green with the red 
feather was a third." 

"And the voice behind the screen, that was Hke 
your voice, only not so kind," added Maggie; 
"who was that?" 

"They were all the same person," said Allegra. 

the nurse, noting the other's strained position as 
she bent over the bed. She moved Maggie deftly 
without waking her. 

"I was afraid of disturbing her," said Allegra, 
straightening herself painfully. "What a dear 
little thing she is !" 


"She was always disguised. But now, thanks to 
you, she is herself again, and can answer to a 
happy name, as she was born to do." 

"What 's your name ?" asked Maggie, suddenly. 

"Allegra," was the smiling answer. 

"Allegra ! That sounds like a fairy with gauzy 
wings and a wand and a crown," murmured Mag- 
gie, drowsily. "You are my real fairy." She 
laid her cheek on Allegra's hand which held hers, 
and soon dropped asleep. But Allegra stood mo- 
tionless with her hand under the child's cheek 
until Miss Miggs came back, half an hour later. 

"My ! You must be tired, Miss Allegra," said 

Miss Miggs stared after her as she left the 
room. "Well, I never saw such a change in any 
one in my life !" she said, under her breath. "It 's 
like one of those fairy stories Maggie tells the 
Timmins youngsters." 

Miss Miggs was an excellent nurse, and her 
little patient had the best of care. It was aston- 
ishing how fast Maggie improved, and in helping 
her to get well, Miss Miggs's spirits rose to their 
usual height, as they had not done in the past 
easy weeks. 

One morning, Maggie was sitting in the long 
chair on the piazza, propped up with pink silk 




cushions. Caesar lay half asleep close by. On 
the perch near at hand, Old Nick, the parrot, sat 
preening his feathers, making caustic remarks 
to himself now and then. Maggie was never tired 
of watching the quaint bird and listening to his 
conversation, when he deigned to talk with her. 
For nowadays they were very good friends, in 
spite of their first misunderstanding. 

Allegra came out and kissed her. 

"What is the program for to-day?" she asked. 

"I walked all around the piazza yesterday," 
said Maggie, proudly. "And Doctor Foster says 
I may go down into the garden to-day. Oh, I 
wish I could go now !" 

"You can go now," said Allegra, unexpectedly. 
"Here is some one who will carry you as easily 
as he would a flower-pot. Here, Michael, I want 
you a minute." 

A bulky form that had been moving behind 
some bushes close by now appeared, bowing and 
scraping in the path before them. 

"Oh," cried Maggie, shrinking a little, "it 's 
the ogre !" 

"Nonsense, Maggie !" said Allegra, laughing, 
but flushing at the remembrance of a hateful 
day ; "Michael is no ogre. He is my good gar- 
dener, and he would n't hurt you for anything." 

"Then he 's changed," murmured Maggie, "like 
everything else in this enchanted Park— even Old 

"We are all changed, Maggie," smiled Alle- 
gra. "The spell is broken, I think. Here, Mi- 
chael ; I want you to carry Maggie down into the 
garden where the sun-dial is." 

"All right. Miss," said Michael, showing jag- 
ged teeth in a smile that tried to be affable. But 
Maggie held back. 

"I 'd rather wait till I can walk, please," she 

"I '11 take ye as aisy as nothin' at all. Missy," 
said Michael, bowing. "Ye 're only a wisp of a 
colleen. I 'm sorry ye had the faiver, that I am. 
Did I scare ye that bad the day in the gardin, is 
it? I 've been sore fashed to remimber it, that 
I have." 

"You did scare me," said Maggie, truthfully, 
"but I suppose you were doing your duty." 

"Ye 'd no call to be there at all," said Michael, 
firmly, wagging his head. "Them was my or- 
ders ; no one was to come in but her," he nodded 
toward Allegra. "But now everything- 's changed. 
Ladies has the right to change their minds, ye 
know." He bowed deprecatingly toward his mis- 

"They have indeed!" said she, laughing. "Now, 
Michael, you carry Maggie down to the garden, 
and if you see any other children there, don't you 

drive them away. There are n't to )e any more 
ogres in the Park, you know." 

"Yes, Miss." Michael took Maggie gently in 
his arms and carried her down the path to the 
garden where she had had her great fright. Cae- 
sar kept close at his heels. Miss Miggs followed 
with a chair and cushions, and they fixed Mag- 
gie comfortably in a shady corner. Then Mi- 
chael went back to fetch Old Nick to join the 
company, for the bird was complaining loudly at 
being deserted. 

"Here we are ! Here we are !" he squawked 
delightedly, when he was set near Maggie's el- 
bow. "Now for some fun !" 

"How I wish Bob and Bess could see me here 
now !" said Maggie. "It seems an awful long 
time since we were all here — trespassing." 

" 'Sh, Maggie ! Don't say that horrid word !" 
cried Allegra, laying her hand on Maggie's lips. 
"I am never going to have that word used on the 
place again. You said it so often when you were 
very ill, dear, that I shall never hear it without a 

"So that is changed too," said Maggie, won- 
deringly. "How strange it all is !" 

Suddenly, the parrot began to shift uneasily on 
his perch, and then he burst into loud shrieks as 
Maggie had heard him do once before. Caesar 
rose to his feet, and looked intently before him. 

"Help ! Thieves ! Murder ! Go away ! Go 
away !" shrieked the parrot. 

"Be still, Nick !" cried Allegra, flapping her 
garden hat at the bird. "What does he see? 
Ah! I thought they would be coming!" 

Up the path toward them came running two 
figures which the parrot had recognized first- 
Bob and Bess, dressed in their Sunday clothes. 
Caesar ran to meet them, wagging his tail. 

"Oh, Bess ! Oh, Bob ! How glad I am to see 
you!" cried Maggie, clapping her hands. And 
the children seemed every bit as glad as she. 
Allegra shook each of them cordially by the hand, 
and Miss Miggs nodded pleasantly as if they 
were old acquaintances. When Maggie looked 
surprised at this, Allegra explained: 

"Oh, yes, we are old friends, are n't we?" The 
children nodded, grinning. "You see," she turned 
to Maggie, "while you were ill, these two had 
to have somewhere to play, apart from the other 
children ; so they came here, and I used to see 
them often, and tell them about you." 

"We 've been all over the Park," volunteered 
Bob, "and we know the way 'round everywhere. 
And we 've seen the ponies !" 

"Maggie is going to ride with the ponies to- 
morrow, if the doctor is willing," said Allegra. 
"Would you like to go too?" 




"0-o-oh !" trilled three pairs of lips ecstati- 

"Very well. Now we are going away to leave 
you children together, so you can talk for a little 
while," said Allegra. "But don't you tire Mag- 
gie too much." With that Allegra smiled at them, 
and withdrew, taking Miss Miggs with her. 

"Is n't she lovely !" sighed Maggie, looking 
after her. "Oh, she has been so good to me — 
you don't know !" 

"I guess we do know ! And she 's been good 
to us, too," said Bess, eying Maggie half bash- 
fully ; it was so long since they had seen her, and 
she looked so different, paler and thinner, and 
dressed in pretty white clothes. 

"She lets us play here whenever we want to," 
said Bob, "and she gives us candy and lots of 
stuff. I think it was she who did all those nice 
things before,— do you remember, Maggie?" 

"Course I remember !" said Maggie. "You 
don't think I 'd forget that! But— do you think," 
she hesitated— "do you really believe she— can be 
the same as the Princess? I have been puzzHng 
a lot about it, and I wonder—" 

"There is n't any other Princess," declared 
Bob. "Miss Allegra is the whole thing ! She can 
do anything she likes." 

"Then she has changed," said Maggie. "For 
once she could n't have what she wanted most. 
She said so." 

"Maybe she does n't want it now," suggested 
Bess. "Anyhow, there are n't any more 'Tres- 
passing' signs in the Park, and she says she is 
going to let everybody come here whenever they 
like, after you get well." 

"Oh, how nice ! How pleased Mr. Graham 
would be !" cried Maggie. "He was always wish- 
ing that there were more parks for every one to 
play in.- Oh, I wish he would come to see me, 
and then I should be perfectly happy." 

"He 's coming," said Bess, unexpectedly. 
"Mother said so. She had a letter yesterday." 
■ "Oh, when is he coming?" asked Maggie, 

"I dunno. After you get well enough to go 
home, I guess. But that won't be for a long 

"Oh, I wish he were here this minute ! I want 
to see him so much, and tell him all about every- 
thing.— I know a secret !" said Maggie, mysteri- 

"What is it?" begged the other two. 

"Miss Allegra says I can tell you if you prom- 
ise not to tell any one else,— not a single soul." 
The children promised. "Well, we are going to 
have a party here in the Park ! A great big party 

for all the children in the town, when I am quite 
strong again and they are n't afraid to come 

"What kind of a party?" queried Bob, warily. 
"I don't like the kind where you sit in a room 
and play silly games." 

"This one won't be that kind,"' said Maggie. 
"This party will be outdoors, and there will be 
funny things happening, the way they did when 
we came here those first days, do you remember? 
We three are to help make the party. And Miss 
Allegra says there will be a surprise that not 
even I am to know. Won't it be fun !" 

"Things to eat ?" suggested Bob, cautiously, 
before committing himself. 

"You bet !" replied Maggie, relapsing into the 
diction seldom heard within the Park walls. "All 
the things we like best to eat. We are to plan 
that part of it ourselves, and choose just what 
we want." 

"Gee ! I '11 begin to make a list as soon as I go 
home !" cried Bob. 

At that moment, Miss Miggs appeared, and an- 
nounced that Maggie had had excitement enough 
for one morning. So the children said good-by 
reluctantly, and ran home to think of the white 
ponies and the party that was to be. 

Maggie continued to improve ; and presently 
the day was set for the grand party which was 
to celebrate her recovery. The three children 
went out with Allegra to deliver the invitations. 
They went in the automobile, and they stopped 
at every house in the village where there lived a 
boy or girl, and at some places far outside the 
village. For Allegra said they were to invite all 
the children who went to school with Bob and 
Bess. There were forty of them, and those who 
had no other way of coming to the party, which 
was to be in the evening, were promised that the 
automobile should call to fetch them, and take 
them home again when everything was over. So 
nobody had any excuse for refusing to come ; 
and, indeed, it would have been hard to keep 
those boys and girls away, when they heard that 
the party was to be in the mysterious Park, and 
that Bob and Bess, with their little friend Mag- 
gie, were to be host and hostesses. 

This is the way the invitations read : 

You are invited to attend the party given by Bob and Bess 
Timmins for their friend Maggie Price, at the Park, Bonny- 
burn, next Wednesday evening, promptly at half-past sev- 
en o'clock. Please bring a wrap to sit on, as the party will 
be out of doors. And do not be surprised at whatever hap- 
pens. For Maggie Price believes in the fairies ! 

What did it all mean? There was great ex- 
citement in Bonnyburn over that invitation. 

{ To he conclutied. ) 



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

Chapter IX 

in the locomotive cab of the 
"starlight limited" 

I KNEW a man once who could sleep to order. If 
he had, say, ten minutes to spare, he would lean 
back in his arm-chair, take his watch in his hand, 
and immediately begin to snore. Exactly ten 
minutes later, to the dot, he would sit up with a 
start, rub his eyes, put his watch back into his 
pocket without once looking at it, and go about 
his business. What subtle, sleep-inducing influ- 
ence that timepiece had over him I never could 
understand. It was uncanny, and yet I 'd have 
given anything for a watch so hypnotic or a brain 
so easily quieted. 

I had been tossing restlessly, in my berth on 
the "Starlight Limited," ever since six o'clock, 
and here it was after eleven ! I simply could not 
get to sleep, although I had gone to bed before 
sundown so as to put in six good hours of slum- 
ber before reaching Pittsburgh, and then— ! It 
was the anticipation of the joy awaiting me there 
that had banished sleep from my eyes. 

Uncle Edward had arranged a treat that tran- 
scended my wildest dreams — a ride in the loco- 
motive of a crack express-train. Will was 
enjoying that treat as the train whirled across 
Ohio, and from Pittsburgh to Harrisburg I was 
to have my turn — a wild night ride through the 
Alleghany Mountains in the locomotive cab of 
the "Starlight Limited." There was something 
catchy about that phrase. It seemed to rhyme 
with the throbbing roar of the train. "The loco- 
motive cab of the 'Starlight Limited,' " the train 
seemed to say, over and over again, until it grew 
very monotonous. Suddenly I was awakened by 
a swarthy porter. "Pittsburgh !" he shouted. 

I had been asleep after all. The train was pull- 
ing into the station. I had gone to bed fully 
clothed so that I should not lose any time dress- 
ing. The instant the train stopped, I jumped 
off and ran forward. Will met me half-way, his 
face so grimy with soot and coal-dust that I 
scarcely recognized him. 

"My, but it was great !" he exclaimed, as he 
pulled off his suit of overalls and handed them to 
me. "I wish I were going on over the mountains with 
you ; but you won't make the speed we did. Why, 
at one place we ran five miles in three minutes 
and a quarter ! Over ninety-two miles an hour !" 

Copyright, 1913, by A. Russell Bond. 7: 

I had n't time to hear all Will had to say. As 
soon as I had slipped on the overalls, I snatched 
the automobile goggles he handed me to keep the 
cinders out of my eyes, and made off. 

When I reached the front of the train. Will's 
engine was gone, but presently I made out the 
huge bulk of a fresh locomotive, looming up out 
of the darkness. Slowly it backed down to the 
train, bumped gently against it, and then halted, 
panting impatiently for the signal to start. The 
engineer jumped out, torch in one hand and oil- 
can in the other. 

"Excuse me, sir," I interrupted, "but are you 
the engineer of this train?" 

"Yep," he answered; "I suppose you 're the 
visitor we 're expecting. I '11 be with you di- 
rectly. I want to look over my engine a bit." 

I followed him around while he added a drop 
of oil here and there. Then he straightened 
up, and patted the locomotive affectionately. 

"She 's a daisy !" he said. "Finest engine in 
the world, / say. Latest thing out of the shops. 
You 're lucky to have a chance to ride on her." 

I agreed with him. 

"Now, sir. Where 's your letter of introduc- 
tion, please." 

I handed him the precious document. 

"All right !" he said, glancing at it hurriedly. 
"Jump on." I followed up the steps to the cab. 

"You can sit over on the fireman's side," he 
continued. "I can't be bothered with you. Jack, 
here 's somebody to keep you company. Let me 
see, what 's your name? Oh, yes, 'Jim.' This is 
Mr. John Douglass, better known as 'Big Jack.' " 

Big Jack, the fireman, gave me a hand-shake 
that I thought would break every bone in my 
hand. He motioned me to a seat on the left side 
of the cab, and I sat down, staring wonderingly 
at the strange gage-cocks, dials, levers, and com- 
plex apparatus before me. 

"Is n't she a beauty !" exclaimed Big Jack. 

"Yes," I answered doubtfully. I could n't ex- 
actly see why they called her a beauty. To me, 
the engine was just an enormous monster of 
steel ; 293,250 pounds, loaded, so Big Jack in- 
formed me. Right behind was a car-load of food 
and drink for this monster— twenty-six thousand 
pounds of coal, enough to heat a country house all 
winter, and seven thousand gallons of water. 

"Will she use up all that coal before she gets 
to New York ?" I asked. 




"New York? Why, this engine only goes as 
far as Altoona. She won't have much coal to 
spare by the time she gets there, and as for the 
water, we '11 have to pick up more o' that before 
we get to Johnstown." 

Just then, a little whistle somewhere in the 
engine gave a thin "peep" that seemed absurdly 
weak as a signal for so gigantic a machine. 

"We 're off!" cried Big Jack, tugging at the 

Charlie Martine, the engineer, pulled open the 
throttle, and the huge locomotive glided majes- 
tically out into the night. All about was the wild- 
est confusion of red, green, and yellow lights: 
"home" and "distance" block signals, switch 
lamps, headlights, tail-lights, waving signal lan- 
terns. How in the world could the engineer 
thread his way through them? Yet he went on 
with perfect confidence. He knew which of the 
hundreds of lights concerned his particular path 
through that maze. I was content to leave it all 
to him. The long longed-for moment had ar- 
rived. I was really riding in the locomotive cab 
of the "Starlight Limited" ! 

My joy knew no bounds when the fireman said, 
"You may ring the bell if you want to." I never 
expected that I would actually have a hand in 
running the "Starlight Limited" 1 I went at the 
task with a vim, and pulled on that rope until the 
bell tumbled over and over. 

We were gathering speed right along. I found 
riding in a locomotive very different from riding 
in a parlor-car. The springs of a locomotive are 
so much stiffer that, instead of swaying smoothly, 
everything was shaking around and dancing 
violently. A lurch of the engine threw me over 
toward the boiler, and I came into contact with 
something so unpleasantly hot that I took par- 
ticular pains to avoid another such encounter. 

We were running through a chasm walled in 
on both sides, with the city streets crossing over- 
head, so there was but little to see. The fireman 
was very busy. Every now and then, he and the 
engineer would shout something to each other 
that sounded like "Here !" It got on my nerves 
at first, until I found that they were calling the 
signal "Clear !" According to the rules of the 
road, not only the engineer, but the fireman as 
well, must watch the signals. After each signal 
the fireman would jump down off the "box," open 
the furnace door, put in two or three shovelfuls 
of coal, and then slam the door shut. Then he 
would jump up on the box, and encourage me 
with my bell-pulling. 

"How do you know when to throw in the 
coal?" I shouted. 

"I watch the fire," was his reply, "and as soon 

as it gets ashy in any spot, I throw a shovelful of 
coal on that spot." 

"I should think some machine might be in- 
vented to do the work." 

"They are experimenting with an automatic 
stoker on some of our engines. Maybe they '11 
perfect the machine some day, but for the present 
they seem to think that they need the man on 
most of our engines. You see, it takes more 
brains to be a fireman than you would imagine." 

"Yes," I yelled; "you firemen don't get half the 
credit you deserve." I had a hundred questions 
to ask, but it was almost impossible to make one's 
self heard in that racket. 

Just then, there was a sudden glare of light, a 
roar, and a blast of air struck me, swept my cap 
clear off, and threw me against the boiler, from 
which I recoiled instantly. "What was that !" 

"No. 29 — the 'Starlight Limited,' west-bound," 
shouted Big Jack. "Going some, too. She 's a 
bit late." 

We were at East Liberty now, and had shot 
out of the long chasm. We had been climbing 
steadily for six miles up a steep grade, and soon 
we had a splendid view over the valley that was 
spread out below us. Off to the right we could 
see the flaring red lights of the steel-mills and the 
glow of the street lamps at Pittsburgh. Low 
over the hills ahead of us hung the distorted 
figure of the belated moon, which, though now 
on its last quarter, lit up the whole valley with a 
soft, fairy-like illumination. 

But I was in no mood for fairy dreams. We 
were running downhill now, at full speed, flying 
along at fifty to sixty miles per hour, and still 
gaining speed. ' Flying, I said, but not with the 
smooth, easy motion of a creature of flesh and 
blood, but with the banging, clanking, shrieking, 
rocking gait of a gigantic steel mastodon. Be- 
neath us tons of metal in the shape of connecting- 
rods, side-rods, cross-heads, pistons, valve-gear, 
and I don't know what-not, were pounding back 
and forth as if they were bent on tearing the 
whole machine to pieces. The big eighty-inch 
drivers were making four revolutions a second, 
and each full turn of the wheels meant an ad- 
vance of twenty-one feet. 

Suppose something should give way ! Sup- 
pose the connecting-rod should break loose ! I 
had heard of such an accident once, and the big 
steel bar, thrashing around, sliced through the 
engine cab as if it had been so much cardboard. 
Or suppose a rail should give way ! There they 
were stretching out ahead of us. I had seen how 
those rails were made ; how, softened by heat, 
they were rolled into shape as if they were made 
of lead. Now they were gleaming, not of their 



own light, but in the cold glint of the moon, rigid, 
inflexible, holding this lumbering monster to its 

My, how the engine did tear around the curves ! 
Even on a straight stretch, or "tangent," as it is 
properly called, every slightest unevenness of the 
road-bed was exaggerated tenfold. It was all I 
could do to hang on to my side of the cab. I had 
only one hand free to ring the bell, and I was 
getting very tired. I had been ringing it for a 
quarter of an hour straight. 

The fireman came up and felt of my muscle. 
"How would you like to trade jobs?'' he shouted. 

I was ready to do almost anything for a 
change. "Say," I yelled, "how do you do this 
when you 're alone? I mean, ring the bell and 
stoke the engine at the same time?" 

"Oh, I don't ring the bell, except through the 
yards at Pittsburgh." 

"Why did n't you tell me that long ago?" I de- 

"I thought you were doing it for exercise !" 
Big Jack said, fairly exploding with laughter. 

I realized then that I had been making a fool 
of myself, and dropped the rope in disgust. With 
that responsibility off my hands, I had a better 
chance to analyze the sensations that had vaguely 
impressed themselves upon me thus far. One of 
the queerest things was the way objects appeared 
to rush at us out of the darkness. Things grew 
big with terrifying rapidity. The ground seemed 
to slip under us so fast that it gave me the pe- 
culiar sensation of sliding forward, and I found 
myself edging back toward the rear of the cab. 
But the most astonishing sensation was at curves. 
The road would appear to end abruptly, and then, 
when it seemed as if we must be surely going to 
fly off into the yawning chasm below, the engine 
would give a lurch and go careening around the 
bend. If the track should spread and we should 
go over, the steel coaches behind us would roll 
down the bank unharmed ; but what of us in the 
locomotive? We would not have "the ghost of a 

It was reassuring to look across the cab at the 
clear-cut profile of the engineer gazing calmly 
ahead and attending strictly to business. The 
cry "Clear !" every so often, showed that my 
companions were both on the alert. Then, as we 
swung around a curve, I saw two red lights di- 
rectly ahead of us. "Clear !" came the monot- 
onous cry. 

"No; danger!" I shouted at the top of my 
lungs, "a red light — two of them — dead ahead ! 
Don't you see? Can't you see? We '11 hit them 
in a minute !" But by that time we had passed 
the lights, and I realized that they marked the 

rear end of a side-tracked freight. I collapsed 
upon the seat, mopping the perspiration from my 
brow, and resolving to leave it all to the engineer 
after this. He had n't paid the slightest attention 
to my agitation. 

Now and then, there was a hiss of steam as 
the engineer turned a valve to read the water- 
gage, or as he applied the brakes before taking a 
sharp curve. Suddenly an unearthly screech set 
my hair on end. It was our own whistle. The 
watchful engineer had seen some one on the 
track, and had taken this method of informing 
him that he was trespassing. If the whistle had 
anything like the effect on the man that it had on 
me, he must automatically have cleared the track 
with a bound. 

At one place, we seemed to be running right 
into a hill. Certainly there was no break in the 
ridge ahead that would let us pass. Then I made 
out the black mouth of a tunnel. The engineer 
turned a lever, there was the hiss of escaping 
steam, followed by the grinding of the brakes, as 
our train slowed down. The fireman opened the 
furnace door slightly so that no smoke would 
pour out of the stack, and then came up on the 
box beside me. It would n't do to stoke the fire 
while going through the tunnel, because that 
would make smoke and vitiate the air. 

In another instant we had leaped into the open 
mouth of the mountain and were plunged into the 
blackest of darkness. The only light in the en- 
gine cab was a lantern almost completely cov- 
ered up and throwing but a sickly beam of light 
on the gages. Away up forward, our headlight 
lit up the walls of the tunnel and illuminated a 
small patch of the track ahead of us. The racket 
in that cavern as we went tearing through was 
almost more than my ears could endure. 

The tunnel was about a third of a mile long. 
It could not have taken us a minute to traverse it, 
but it seemed very much longer than that before 
we shot out into the moonlight again on the other 
side of the mountain. Then the fireman jumped 
down and piled on more coal, while the engineer 
opened up the throttle to regain lost speed. On 
we went, rushing through freight-yards where 
there were so many lights that I thought the en- 
gineer must surely be mad to go through them 
without slackening our pace in the least. 

At one point, the fireman informed me that we 
were going to take on water. On a level stretch 
right ahead of us, I caught the gleam of moon- 
light in the water-trough that lay between the 
tracks. There was a post bearing a blue-white 
light as a signal to drop the scoop. Just as we 
came opposite the light, the engineer shouted 
"Now !" and the fireman turned a pneumatic 


7 721 




valve that lowered the scoop into the trough. The 
speed of the train was enough to send the water 
shooting right up that scoop into the water-tank 
of the tender. Just as we reached the signal-light 
at the opposite end of the trough, the engineer 
gave another shout ; but Big Jack had already 


raised the scoop, for he had been watching the 
manhole at the rear of the tender, and the water 
spurting out had told him that the tank was full. 

We passed through Johnstown, the city that 
was once wiped out by a flood. It lay there now, 
quite still and peaceful in that fateful valley 
whose ominous echoes were awakened by the 
thunder of our train. On to Conemaugh we 
sped, and then came the long, hard climb up to 
the top of the Alleghany Mountains. Over 
twenty miles of stiff grades and sharp curves 
wormed up to the summit. 

My, how the fireman worked ! I never real- 
ized before what an important personage the fire- 
man is. He got scarcely a moment's rest during 
that whole climb. He was almost constantly 
shoveling coal into the rapacious maw of that 
hungry monster. But he did not forget the sig- 
nals. He seemed to know exactly where they 
were, and just at the right instant he would 
snatch a moment from his work to lean out, 
catch the signal, and shout it to the engineer. 
Yes, I thought, when we get in on time to-mor- 
row morning, the passengers, if they think about 
the crew at all, will give all their praise to the 
engineer for his watchful attention to signals, 
and his skilful guidance of the train while they 
slept ; but they will never give a moment's 
thought to the grimy, perspiring fireman who is 
as watchful of the signals as is the man at the 
throttle, while at the same time toiling at the 

Herculean task of trying to appease the hunger 
of that ravenous locomotive. There was a heavy 
train behind us. The cars weighed three tons for 
every passenger they carried. Had the fireman 
faltered at his task, the locomotive would have 
balked at hauling such a load up those steep 
grades. As a matter of fact, most of the trains 
have a helper locomotive to take them up to the 
summit ; but this train was obliged to go it alone. 

At last the laboring fireman threw down his 
shovel, left the fire-door ajar, and jumped up on 
the box beside me. As if weary of the zigzag 
chase up the slope, the track suddenly dived into 
the heart of the mountain, and we plunged in 
after it. 

This tunnel was almost as long as the first one. 
When we emerged, we were on the Atlantic 
slope of the range with a down grade before us. 
The scenery was magnificent, particularly when, 
a few minutes later, we came to the far-famed 
"Horseshoe Curve." The road swept around 
three sides of the reservoir of the city of Al- 
toona, which was still five miles ahead. On the 
other side of the great curve, I could make out a 
train, apparently running parallel with us, but 
uphill. Evidently the fireman was stoking his 
engine furiously, for it was belching billows of 
smoke that were beautifully illuminated as they 
floated into the glare shed from the open fire- 


door. The next minute we had rounded the 
curve, and went shooting past that laboring train. 
On down the mountain we sped at a frightful 
pace. Almost before I knew it, the air-brakes 
were applied, and we came to a halt at Altoona. 
This was not a passenger stop, but one for chang- 
ing engines. Mr. Martine spoke to me now for 
the first time since we had started from Pitts- 
burgh. He suggested that I go back to my 




THE HORSESHOE CURVE. — " THE ROAD SWI'.I'T AROl'NU rHkl:i; MDl'.S Ol' THE K i;sl; R\()IR Ol' 'llli; (I IV (.1 AI.Ini.,\\ 

sleeper now, and have a good rest. But I had n't 
had quite enough yet, and, besides, I wanted to 
run at least as far as Will had. So I climbed out 
of the engine, and, while I waited for the next 
one to come along, munched a couple of sand- 
wiches that Uncle Edward had very thoughtfully 
reminded me to put in my pocket. 

I am glad that I took that ride from Altoona 
to Harrisburg, for there was one experience that 
gave me a delightful thrill. The ride was a 
beautiful one, too. The scenery rivaled anything 
I had ever seen. We crossed the Juniata River 
fourteen times within a few miles. 

I was beginning to get drowsy, despite the 
beauty of the scenery and the violent shaking of 
the locomotive, and had almost fallen asleep, 
when I was startled by the shout "Red eye !'" in 
place of the customary "Clear !" and almost 
simultaneously the emergency brakes were ap- 
plied. I was wide awake in an instant. There 
was the red light down the track, and we were 
bearing down upon it at a frightful speed. We 
could n't stop, and the man who was holding the 
lantern had to jump out of the way as we shot 
by. Our brakes were grinding and shrieking, 
but we kept on around a sharp curve, and there 
before us were the tail-lights of a freight-train. 
In a moment we would crash into it, and then 
what? It never occurred to me to jump. It cer- 
tainly seemed safer in the locomotive than any- 
where else. Just as a collision seemed inevitable, 
we ran past the caboose and four or five cars, 
before coming to a stop. I had been fooled 

( To he i 

again. The train was not on our track, but on an 
adjoining one. 

But why had we been signaled ? There was 
no wreck. The fireman explained it to me : 

"It is one of the rules of the road," he said, 
"that when a freight-train stops very suddenly 
because the brakes have n't been put on right, 
trains must be flagged on the next track until an 
investigation can be made, because sometimes the 
freight-train may "buckle" and throw a car 
across the adjoining track. Once when I was 
firing on the J. G. & Z., a freight buckled and 
threw an empty box-car square across the track 
just as we came along. By George ! we had n't 
a second's warning. Before I had time to blink, 
we hit that car right in the middle and cut it 
clean in two. The "old man" did n't even have 
time to turn the brake lever, but the people in the 
sleepers never knew a thing had happened." 

It was a pretty tired chap that climbed out of the 
locomotive at Harrisburg and staggered down the 
platform to his sleeping-car. No trouble now in 
getting to sleep. Even before the train had 
started on its next lap, I was off in slumberland. 
I knew nothing of this mortal world, until Will 
fairly hauled me out of bed about half-past nine 
and bade me hustle, as we had almost reached 
New York. 

The first thing Uncle Edward did after we ar- 
rived at the city was to take us both to a Turkish 
bath, where strenuous efiforts were made to re- 
store our Caucasian complexion. 







By the time that Fred had arrived with the joy- 
ous tidings that Mother would not only do the 
work of sewing the tent but also provide the 
goods, Freckles had resurrected the patterns, and 
was displaying them to Harry. 

They were of heavy brown paper, and con- 
sisted of two large triangles — "A" and "B." 

" 'A,' " Freckles explained, "is a right-angled 
triangle three and a half feet on the base, and 
seven feet ten and a half inches high. Six pieces 
are to be cut like this 'A' pattern, only two inches 
larger all around, to allow for a two-inch turn-up 
at the bottom and two-inch strapped seams. 
These are for the back and sides of the tent, you 
see. Sew i and 2 together, on the long side, then 
3 and 4 and 5 and 6. Then sew 1-2 to 3-4 and 
3-4 to 5-6, as shown in this little diagram, marked 


" 'B' is a triangle similar to 'A,' except that it 
is four feet on the base, and this extra six inches 
of width extends to within eighteen inches of the 
apex. This is the pattern for the two halves of 
the front, and the additional six inches are to 
provide the lap for the flaps. This also, re- 
member, is to be two inches larger all around 
than the pattern. 

"Using pattern 'B,' cut 7 and 8. Sew 7 to i 
and sew 8 to 6, as shown. When that much has 
been accomplished, we will put one gallon of 
gasolene into a pail and chip into it as much 
paraffin as the gasolene will dissolve, doing this 
out of doors, of course, for gasolene is too dan- 
gerous for us to fool with in the house or the 
barn. Then we '11 lay the tent out flat on the 
grass and paint it with the mixture, first on one 
side, then, when dry, on the other. The gaso- 
lene will carry the paraffin into the pores of the 
muslin and then evaporate, and we will have an 
absolutely waterproof, light-weight tent. 

"When dry, we will hang it up by the center 
and bring 'D-E' and 'E-F' together and sew 
them. Then, you see, we have a pyramid tent, 
seven feet square on the floor and full seven feet 
high in the center, which we can set with one 
pole and five pegs, one at each corner, and one^ 
in the center of flap-door. 

"Just to make it absolutely damp and bug- 
proof, while your mother is stitching the tent, I '11 
be making a seven-by-seven floor, of heavy, 
brown waterproof canvas, with a seven-inch sill 

in front, to sew to the bottom edge of the back 
and sides. And we '11 get a tailor with a heavy 
machine to stitch it together. To this we will 
fasten four loops of clothes-line — one at each 
corner, with another in the middle of the front — 
and we '11 have a tent that needs no guys, and can 
be pitched in five minutes." 

"Fine!" said Fred. "And when we collect a 
pile of leafy branches, heap them up on the tent 
floor, and cover them with our blankets, we '11 
sleep like kings !" 

"P-a-r-don me," said Freckles, "but we do not! 
The landowner whose premises we would rob of 
everything green to make a lumpy, woodpile mat- 
tress, would make things as interesting for us as 
the fine assortment of insects which the brush- 
wood beds would bring along with them." 

"What about the beds of boughs, that we read 
about?" Harry inquired. "It sounds awfully 
good and outdoorish." 

"It does — in books !" said Freckles. "But in 


A, Half-section of sides and back. 

B, Half-section of front. 

real camp-life give me a camp-mattress. Some 
day we will have air-beds and cots; but just for a 
starter, I '11 show you how to make something 
on which we can sleep, and which can also be 
used as a life-preserver cushion, and to take the 




edges from the thwarts and the hardness from 
the canoe floor. You may have noticed both when 
you paddled around the other day." 

"We did, now that you mention it," and Fred 
rubbed his back reminiscently. "But I don't see 
how we are to manage to carry real beds along, 
without towing a freight-boat behind." 

C, i he tent sections sewed together. 
(Seams exaggerated.) 

"Now, if you '11 listen, you '11 see how easy it 
will be. When we are getting the tent material 
(which, by the way, will be eleven yards of un- 
bleached muslin, a yard and a half wide, and 
seventeen yards of heavy waterproof canvas, 
fourteen inches wide), we will also buy eight 
yards of light-weight, waterproof, brown duck, 
forty inches wide. This we will cut into three 
pieces, each eight feet long. Each of these we 
will fold over, down the long way, making double 
strips eight feet in length by twenty inches wide. 
Then we will sew up each end and, at intervals 
of two inches, sew across the double strips, as 
Diagram D shows. You will see that we now 
have a number of tubes, closed at the bottom and 
open at the top. These tubes we will fill with 
pulverized cork, which we can get from any fruit 
dealer who sells Malaga grapes. They always 
come packed in it, you know. It 's hard to tell 
just how much we "II need, but we "11 start with 
a bushel, and get more if we have to. 

"The best way to fill the tubes is to hang the 
strips, open side up, by safety-pins to a rod across 
two chair-backs, and pour the cork into the tubes 
through a cardboard funnel, ramming it down 
with a piece of broom-handle ; then, when they 
are filled to within an inch of the top, we '11 stitch 
up the openings by hand to keep the cork from 
spilling out until our obliging families can make 
a finished job of it on the machine. 

"And there we are with three cork-filled, life- 

preserving mattresses six feet long and eighteen 
inches wide, and which can be folded over to 
serve as canoe cushions with backs." 

"But you said the strips were to be eight feet 
long and twenty inches wide !" said Harry. "Are 
n"t you out on your figures?" 

"Not a bit !"" said Freckles. "You '11 see that 
the filling up of the two-inch 
tubes and the end and side 
seams will shorten and nar- 
row the bed. It is impossible 
to tell in advance just how 
much it will reduce the size, 
l)ut the set which my uncle 
made seemed to take up 
about one and a half feet in 
every six, so I 've allowed 
two feet, to be on the safe 

"Now," Freckles contin- 
ued, "let 's lay out our work ! 
I "11 look after the material 
for the tent and beds ; Fred, 
you circulate among the fruit 
dealers and get hold of that 
cork, and ask your grocer for 
two cracker-boxes, to hold the grub ; Harry, you 
go down to the house-furnishing store and buy 
these things : 

I three-quart pail. 

I five-quart pail. 

I two-quart French cofifee-pot. 

I 85/2-ii'ich frying-pan. 

I 91/2-inch frying-pan. 

4 plates. 

4 cups. 
4 forks. 
4 knives. 
4 teaspoons. 
2 table-spoons. 
I large pail. 

"And let 's get agate or enamel ware, wherever 
we can. It costs a little more, but it 's cheaper 
in the end. Be sure and see that the covers of 
the three- and five-quart pails have ring lifts 
instead of knobs, so we can nest 'em. Buy every- 

8 ft. 

2in. apart 

D, l"he camp mattress. 

thing but the large pail, and then get a tin one 
with a cover, and big enough around to hold the 
frying-pans after we have cut off the handles, 
and high enough to hold all the rest of the outfit. 
"You see, this keeps all the cooking and table- 
ware together, and will do for a water-tank when 
we are in camp. The cover will do for a wash- 




"How about bedding?" asked Fred. 

"We will each borrow a pair of blankets from 
home, and then we '11 need a rubber blanket 
apiece. They ought to measure about four by 
six feet, with a slit in the center, through which 
we can put our heads when we want to use them 
for raincoats. Even if our mattresses get damp, 
we can spread these rubber 
blankets under us so that the 
damp will not strike through." 

The boys separated on their 
several shopping expeditions, 
and a busy week ensued, dur- 
ing which the sewing-ma- 
chines of both families worked 
overtime, and the corner of 
the boat-house, where the ca- 
noe was stored, began to look 
like a house-furnishing estab- 

"How in the world are we 
ever to pack that pile of stuff 
aboard one seventeen-foot ca- 
noe?" asked Harry, as he 
gazed at their equipment, on 
the morning of the eventful 
day which was to inaugurate , 
their camping season. 

"Wait and watch !" was 
Freckles's cheerful assurance. 
"Say, Fred, check off this gro- 
cery list with me as I pack the 
things away : 

"One pound of pulverized 
coffee — packed in a carton 
and goes right into cracker- 
box number one. 

"One pound 'of butter — I '11 
first put that into the pre- 
serve-jar that I borrowed 
from Mother, and then into 
box one. 

"One box of matches — an- 
other jar for them. 

"A small tin of baking-pow- 
der, one of cocoa, two small 
tins of unsweetened milk, two tins of soup, a 
pound of bacon, a tin of pepper, all into the same 

"Three and one-half pounds of granulated 
sugar, a small box of washing-powder, three 
pounds of flour, and a bag of salt. These go into 
those air-tight cans which we 've been begging 
for the last week, and they go into the cracker- 

"Take the dozen eggs, Harry, put them into 

that small tin box, cover and pack them with this 
sawdust, and put 'em into cracker-box number two. 
"Now let 's get the quart of potatoes into that 
muslin bag that I made for 'em, and they go with 
the two loaves of bread into box two, with the 
eggs— but keep eggs on top ! There ! that 's the 
end of the list. All accounted for, Fred?" 

'iiK ^%'^'!Xk% 



"Every single item. Goodness ! how they sub- 
side, when they 're stowed." 

"Now," continued Freckles, looking over the 
equipment with some pride, "each man wrap his 
extra clothing and toilet articles in his blankets, 
and wrap the blankets in the rubber ponchos, 
tying them with that heavy cord. It looks to me 
as if we were about ready to go on board, so over 
with the canoe !" 

"She certainly rides like a duck," said Harry, 




as he surveyed their craft. But Freckles lost no 
time in contemplation but issued his final orders. 
"The big tin pail of kitchen ware goes behind 
the rear scat. Harry's and my blanket bags go 
each side of the rear paddler, who sits on his 
mattress cushion. The cracker-boxes go between 
the forward thwart and the front seat. The 
tent, which I have wrapped around the jointed 
pole, goes in the bow and partly under the front 
seat. It won't be in our way when we get out, 
and there is nothing in it to be damaged when 
stepped on. The second mattress cushion goes 
ahead of the second thwart. By this arrange- 


ment, either paddler may sit upon seat or thwart, 
without re-arranging the stowage. And here 's 
this camp ax, with a leather sheath, that Father 
gave us ; let 's have that up in the extreme bow." 

"Are n't you going to tie the stuff to the ca- 
noe?" asked Fred. 

"Not much!" was the reply. "If, by any 
chance, we capsize, the heavy stuff is so placed 
that it dumps overboard and lightens the canoe, 
while the light duffle will be held in place by the 
seats, unless we need to pull it out. We "re 
canoeing in civilized surroundings, and I 'd rather 
lose some grub and cooking-tools than a good 
canoe. Now, Harry, let 's you and I start for 
camp, and while I pitch the tent and straighten 
things out, you come back for Fred and his bed 
and bedding." 

Wpien Fred and Harry reached camp, the tent 
was pitched, the beds spread out, with the blanket 
bags across the heads, the cooking-ware was 

neatly arranged near a pile of wood, and the 
large tin pail full of cool spring water, into which 
the thirsty paddlers gratefully dipped their cups. 
"Where did you get those tent-pegs?" Harry 
wanted to know after inspecting the canvas 

"Pegged four wagon-wheel spokes from the 
wheelwright, cut them in two, sharpened one end 
of each, and notched the other. They are the 
best kind of pegs for sandy soil, and almost as 
compact as metal ones, which are better for heavy 
earth but cost a little money." 

"This camp is worth photographing," was 
Harry's verdict, as he pro- 
duced his camera. 

"All right," said Freckles. 
"While you 're doing that, 
Fred and I will see if we 
can't add some fish to the 
evening bill of fare. Put 
your rod together and help 
me with the canoe." 

It was but a short paddle 
to the fishing-grounds, the 
fish were biting well, and 
when the little folding an- 
chor was hauled aboard and 
the canoe again pointed for 
camp, a nice string of fish 
were passengers. 

"Here, I "11 clean those 
fish, Harry," said Freckles, 
"if you '11 lay two small logs 
about six inches apart and 
parallel, and build a fire be- 
tween them, while Fred goes 
to the spring for the butter, bacon, and milk that 
I sunk in one of the cracker-boxes. One of them 
was water-tight, and you '11 find it 's a pretty 
good refrigerator." 

The five-quart pail was filled with water and 
placed on the logs. By the time that the water 
boiled, there were enough ashes in which to place 
the potatoes. Setting aside the large pail after 
pouring four cups of boiling water into the 
French coffee-pot over five tablespoonfuls of cof- 
fee, the small pail was placed over the fire and 
the soup poured into it. Then a couple of slices 
of bacon were put into a hot frying-pan, and 
when the fat had tried out, the fish were placed 
in it. 

As soon as the soup was hot, it was served in 
the cups, and by the time this was disposed of, 
the fish, coffee, and baked potatoes were ready. 

The dishes were washed with soap-powder and 
a mop, and dried on some cheese-cloth (previ- 
ously washed and dried) which had been pro- 




vided for the purpose. Last of all, the debris 
was disposed of by dumping it on the fire. 

"Those bicycle wrenches that you bought at 
the five-and-ten-cent store make good frying- 
pan handles," admitted Harry, "although, as 
wrenches, they leave something to be desired." 

"Well, you see, 1 did n't buy them for wrench- 
ing," said Fred. 

Before the slin had set, the tent-flaps were 
closed, to keep out the evening moisture, and 
fresh wood was piled on the fire around which the 
boys sat making plans for the morrow. 

When the fire had died down, the embers were 
carefully extinguished, and the boys crept into 
bed, to be aroused next morning by Freckles's 
cheery announcement that the sun was up, and 
that they would have pancakes for breakfast. 

The fire started and the kettle set to boil, the 
trio went for an appetizing swim. 

While Fred made the coffee, Freckles poured 
a cup of canned milk into one cup of water, 
broke an egg into this, and handed it to Harry to 
stir. Then he mixed two teaspoonfuls of baking- 
powder and one half of salt with two cups of 
flour, and added it to the milk, v/ater, and egg, 
stirring out the lumps. 

Greasing the frying-pans lightly with a slice of 
bacon. Freckles proceeded to cook the cakes, 
almost as rapidly as the boys could eat them. 

Well-buttered and sugared, the cakes were pro- 
nounced a success, and Harry was moved to try 
his hand at cooking them, with poor success, until 
Freckles showed him the necessity for turning 
them as soon as one side was browned, and serv- 
ing them as soon as they were cooked through. 

When it came time to break camp, the amount 

of scouring required to remove the wood soot 
from the pails and frying-pans almost caused a 
strike from Fred, who had been assigned this 
task while the others struck the tent and packed. 

"Never mind," said Freckles. "Go down to 
the beach and use plenty of sand, and, next time 
that we camp, we will have muslin bags for the 
pails and pans. It is one of the drawbacks of 
a wood fire." 

"It looks to me as if it might rain a bit be- 
fore we strike the boat-house," said Harry. 
"Can't we arrange things so that we can wear 
those rubber ponchos, if we need them?" 

"Let 's pack the blankets inside the tent and 
roll it up, waterproof floor-cloth on the outside," 
suggested Fred. 

This they did, and found that in this way 
everything could be kept dry under any weather 
conditions. It also insured that all the equipment 
which dampness would harm would be inside the 
tent, when it was pitched in a drizzle. 

"It 's too bad we have no sail," said Harry, 
regretfully, as he and Freckles paddled home- 
ward, leaving Fred to pour water on the fire and 
search the camp-ground for anything which 
might have been overlooked when packing. 

"Yep!" agreed Freckles; "we could make the 
trip in no time with this breeze. Suppose we get 
up a rig?" 

"Suppose that we don't know anything about 
it!" was the disconsolate response; "a lovely job 
we 'd make of it." 

"Well, your cousin Will docs know. Why not 
write and see what he can tell us ? After the 
sewing we 've already managed, a little thing like 
a sail ought not to put us out of business." 

( 7^7 de contifiued. ) 



When a little child is naughty, 
And is cross with everything. 

All his thoughts are changed to hornets 
That go flying off to sting. 

When a little child is happy. 

Then his loving thoughts, I think. 

Are turned to floating butterflies. 
All white, and gold, and pink. 



"Good evening, good evening ! — good night, good night ! 
All 's well. Sir Bufo ; sun is setting, all 's right ! 
Good night, good knight!" 

It was the usual salutation of the tribe of the 
silver tongues to the strange and melancholy 
knight-errant whom they always met, setting 
forth as they were homing. And invariably Sir 
Bufo would answer soberly : "The evening is 
ever good indeed, and the night it is good like- 
wise." And then they would pass on, he to take 
up his quest, they to their lofty rest. 

For they were of the air, and traveled along 
the blue ways of the heavens, in the glow of sun- 
light and the gladness of song; while he was of 
the earth and of its waters in the season, and 
wound softly the brown ways of it, in the quiet 
of shadows and the coolness of dews, and rains, 
and pools. Even so now he wended his way, 
alert but still — still as the night that moved with 
him— listening this way and listening that, his 
trusty lance at rest, yet none the less ready for 
an instant blow. 

So it was that he caught the first faint alarm, 
borne on the stillness of the sunset sigh which 
always rises from all the earth— an alarm that 
broke at once into the pitiful clamor of many 
small voices appealing for succor; feeble, inartic- 

ulate cries and broken words of fright and mor- 
tal dread — the voices of the Beautiful Ones and 
of the Useful Ones, mingled. 

Like a flash, the knight-errant was off, in leaps 
and bounds clearing the space which lay between 
him and the attack which these cries anticipated, 
and arriving betimes at the scene. Into the midst 
he sprang, striking this way and striking that, 
and never missing, destroying the besiegers 
wholesale. Not one, indeed, escaped ! 

And then how the Beautiful Ones and the Use- 
ful Ones did pour out their hearts in praise and 
thanksgiving to him, their deliverer ! But this 
made the knight more unhappy. "By my troth," 
said he at last, "such words fill my breast with 
longing to have merited them ; whereas I have 
done naught that is deserving, nor brave, nor 
great, nor fine. For, first, I have but slain mine 
own real prey, which all my instincts bid me 
slay ; and second, they are a puny lot, whom not 
to kill, I should be a poor wight indeed; and, 
third, their numbers here were so insignificant, 
and these so sluggish, as not to have given my 
good lance, Tenaculum, aught worthy of his agil- 
ity and skill ; and, last, truly mine own pleasure 
have I esteemed, Beautiful Ones and Useful 
Ones, more than succor to yourselves. So do 



not embarrass me with praises and with thanks, 
I beseech you, but rather let me go for what I 
am— a rough, rude fellow whom creation has en- 
dowed with tastes that make him serviceable to 

"Oh, but good Sir Bufo ! You came upon our 
calls of terror and distress !" cried one. 

"And in response to them !" said another. 

"And 't is not the first time !" declared a third. 

"Nor yet the last, methinks, if we have a like 
occasion and do cry out again !" affirmed a fourth. 

"I am but true to mine own ever-hungry self, 
nevertheless," he answered; "and have but fol- 
lowed the promptings of mine own nature." 

"So do we all, sir, when it comes to that," 
broke in a new voice, sweet and strong though 
not loud, from somewhere up above them, "and 
happily. For only thus could we serve ; that have 
I observed and learned during the winters and 
summers that I have lived and seen the lives of 

"Oh, that 's Vitis speaking," whispered one, 
almost reverently ; "wise and good and beautiful 
Vitis, who is as old as ancient Time himself. 
She speaks seldom, and all her words are true !" 

"Then peace!— that we may hear them!" cried 
a neighbor, shortly. And how hard they all did 

"Let naught that mortals say or believe ever 
dismay you. Sir Bufo," she went on, sweetly; 
"they are different creatures from ourselves, 
whom we may not understand. As for ourselves, 
we have our own laws, locked safe in the great 
stronghold 'Instinct,' where none may disturb 
nor tamper with them, and where they are secure 
against breaking; and naught have we to do but 
fulfil them as we are prompted." 

So was his melancholy lightened at last ; and 
Sir Bufo wielded his trusty lance with a will and 
with gladness unalloyed, many a time and oft, 
during the dim hours before the tribe of the sil- 
ver tongues began to sing of the dawn which 
they from on high can see first, away down over 
the rim of the world. And many a marauder 
who would have pillaged and murdered in the 
midst of the Beautiful Ones and in the midst of 
the Useful Ones, did he lay low, without their 
ever suspecting that such mischief threatened- 
even after the dawn-song began. At last, how- 
ever, he went, when above him he heard the 
morning greeting: 

"Good-morrow, good-morrow ! — good day, good day ! 
Sun is risen, Sir Bufo ; you '11 soon on your way? 
Good knight, good day!" 

To which he always answered : "The sun of 
the morrow is risen indeed, and I am on my way." 

Back along the brown earth he wended, while 
it was yet cool, and moist with the dews, and 
dim, to his dim, cool castle with its thick walls 
and shaded porticos, standing like a rock by the 
edge of a small forest. And there he secluded 
himself, to rest and to ponder and to dream on 
what Vitis had said; and to be very glad indeed 
that it was all right and purposeful for him just 
to go on being himself, and satisfying his appetite 
to the very limit ! And so he drifted off into what 
passed with him for sleep, just about the time the 
small sage came out to look at the young tomato- 
plants and the young asters which he had set the 
day before, to fill the spaces decimated by cut- 

"Every one is safe," he called back in exulta- 
tion ; "not a one has been touched !" 

"What did I tell you?" said the big sage, who 
was following after; "leave it to Sir Bufo!" 

"Do you suppose he really caught 'em. Uncle 
Ned? Or did n't any cutworms come at all?" 

"Not come at all ! Why should n't they? They 
came three nights ago and took down half the 
plants,— and here are more nice, tender young 
ones to be chewed up, — what more would the 
dragons desire, do you suppose? Of course he 
caught them, red-handed I should say, and put 
them to the sword." 

Down onto his stomach plumped the little sage, 
and under the big, tilted-up stone slab by which 
they were standing he peered, this way and that, 
until his eyes grew used to the darkness. Then, 
"I see his eyes shining. Uncle Ned!" he cried; 
"he 's away over at this corner, blinking — so !" 

"And drawing his mouth down — so," demon- 
strated Uncle Ned ; "and puffing his sides in and 
out— so. Indeed, he 's not as handsome a fellow as 
knights-errant usually are supposed to be, is he?" 

"Some wicked old witch enchanted him," the 
boy answered, as serious as ever was, while he got 
up gravely to brush the twigs and dust and dirt 
from his clothes; "he is really a bee-yw-tiful 
young prince who has to go 'round in the form of 
a toad until some one happens to do the thing 
that breaks the spell." 

Uncle Ned looked just as serious as ever was, 
too. "Why, sure enough he is !" said he, after 
he had considered it carefully ; "and we must en- 
tertain him as befits his rank." 

So to furnish him with a proper retinue, they 
went off hunting to a little pond not far away, 
and brought home from it, in a glass fruit-jar, 
ever so many tadpoles which they had dipped up 
from the pond with a big dipper. And then they 
made a fine "frog pond" not far from Sir Bufo's 
castle, and partly in the shade of his shrubbery 
forest, by hollowing out a depression in the 




ground about two inches deeper than, and the 
size and shape of, the biggest wooden chopping- 
bowl that they could buy. Into this depression 
they fitted the bowl snugly, and then faced the 
earth that showed around its rim with flat stones, 
and planted an iris clump beside it. Some stones 
they put onto the bottom of the bowl, and a little 
earth; and then they put in water way up to the 
brim; and into the water they put a plant of 
Giant water-weed, which had to be bought under 
the name Anacharis Canadensis gigantea, and a 
plant of Salvinia Braziliensis, which floats on the 
water's surface and so makes a nice, dim, shad- 
owy place underneath, for little tadpoles to rest. 

One plant to every two gallons of water is 
enough, so really they need not have had two 
plants, for the big bowl did not hold more than 
two gallons. But having the two made them feel 
extra certain that the water would be always 
fresh, and they were nice to see, as well. Then 
at last, when everything was ready, and the sun 
had shone one whole day and made the water 
warm, they turned tadpoles and pond-water from 
the fruit-jar all into this miniature pond; and 
crumbed in some dog biscuit, very fine, for food. 
Afterward, once in a while, they put in a very 
little raw meat chopped very fine, never enough, 
however, to leave any long uneaten, for this 
would foul the water. And, of course, they 
watched it very closely, and added as much water 
as it needed every day to keep it always full. 
This water had to be added very carefully, as 
you may guess, not to make any commotion ; and 
it had to be sun-tempered until it was just the 
temperature of the pond-water, to be sure of not 
chilling the toad babies. Sometimes they poured 
it in in a tiny little trickle that ran so gently down 
the side of the "pond" that it did not make a rip- 
ple; and other times they sprinkled it out of the 
watering-pot, just like a rain. And, of course, 
the rain itself helped, too. 

If mosquitos laid eggs there, the tadpoles 
promptly ate them up; and, of course, when they 
grew up into toads and went to be gentlemen in 
waiting on Sir Bufo in his great castle, or wan- 
dered off to other castles hollowed under stones, 
which had been made ready in two or three 
places about the garden— which they did over- 
night too, the scamps, and were gone of a morn- 
ing!— the water was stirred up every day by 
turning the hose into it and letting it run hard. 
This floated wrigglers ofif, if there were any, yet 
made it possible to keep the place for a little 
drinking-pool through the summer. For by this 
time, the birds had learned where it was, and 
came daily many times; and neither big sage nor 
little would take it away from them. 

Thus, two of the garden's most powerful aids 
and allies may, oh, so easily, be established; the 
first by actually bringing them in in their baby- 
hood, the second by simply inviting them to come, 
and making them at home and happy when they 
accept the invitation. All by himself, Sir Bufo 
can and will destroy every day more than a hun- 
dred of the worst insects which gardeners have, 
to worry about— probably a great many more 
than a hundred, but we will be on the safe side 
and make a low estimate,— and with his young 
attendants, therefore, who will never wander very 
far from the place which they first know as 
home, see what strenuous allies they are, right on 
the very ground itself. And then the birds— the 
tribe of the silver tongues— in the air and on the 
branches and on the ground as they are, what 
will they not destroy of the ravaging hordes that 
eat up leaf and blossom and fruit? From three 
thousand to five thousand insects have been 
counted in a bird's stomach at one time. Think 
what this means ! 

There are the native sparrows, for instance- 
ever so many kinds there are, too; modest little 
fellows in sober clothes — the dear little song- 
sparrow and the chipping-sparrow being the ones 
we all know best probably. Many seeds these eat, 
but mostly weed- and grass-seeds, which we can 
well spare ; so we need not be the least suspicious 
of them on this account, but, on the contrary, do 
everything to invite them. For in summer, in 
addition to eating these troublesome seeds, they 
eat insects freely — insects make up a third of all 
their food indeed— bringing to their nests grass- 
hoppers, and many beetles, and other things 
which do great harm. 

Then there are the little wrens, who love to 
build their nests inside a hollow branch or in a 
gourd, if it has a door the size of a quarter— no 
larger, mind!— cut in its side, or in boxes pro- 
vided for them, always with this tiny opening. 
These are a wonderful little army to have work- 
ing for a garden, for they eat almost nothing but 
insects, and go everywhere hunting carefully over 
every shrub and tree and vine, and even the 
fence-posts, and into crannies in walls, for cater- 
pillars and bugs. Every one who has any garden 
at all ought to have a wren-house somewhere 

Dearest of all^ though, are the chickadees— at 
least I think so— one of the tiniest and daintiest 
of birds. And what a lot of good they do ; for 
they eat the smallest insects which bigger birds 
pass by, and even the tiny insect eggs do not 
escape them. Flies they catch too, and some of 
the wretched scales, and aphids in large numbers. 
And then the robins, and the catbirds, and the 




swallows — every bird, indeed, that will come 
around in response to the encouragement of a 
drinking-pool— will do something for you by 
doing something for the garden. 

The least of all the garden's allied defenders, 
however, — in point of size, — we can do practi- 
cally nothing to invite, nor even to protect, once 
they come of themselves. For insects are too 
tiny to be dealt with by clumsy creatures like 
humans; yet there are many insects that serve us 
as well as the birds and the toads. Some are wee 
creatures of gauzy wings that look a little bit like 
miniature wasps— wasps belong to the same great 
order in the insect world— but they are not a bit 
waspish, for they do not sting; others are small, 
armored little hard-shells like the ladybug, whose 
house is on fire and her children at home; and 
still others are like neither, but do as good work, 
in that they capture caterpillars and worms that 
feed on plants, and devour them. 

The little gauzy-wings, which are called gen- 
erally Hymcnoptera, lay their eggs in the cocoons 
of injurious insects; or, if they are very tiny, 
perhaps in the eggs of these insects, thus prevent- 
ing them from ever hatching at all, or else de- 
stroying them soon after they are hatched. The 
ladybug drags the slinking little scale out from 
under its protective shell on the branch or twig 
of a tree, and eats it up ; and then she lays her 
own tgg in the space she has thus won for the 
purpose. And ground-beetles, as already men- 
tioned, live on many kinds of worms and cater- 
pillars which eat plants, or which turn into other 
kinds of creatures that eat them. 

We are not likely to know all these various 
kinds, nor would it do much good if we did. But 
it is a very good idea to keep your eyes open and 
never to injure any kind of insect that you see 
dragging another insect— a worm probably— 
away somewhere (they always seem to drag them 
away, though where they take them is a mys- 
tery!) ; and never to injure a ladybug, either the 
bright little red ones with the several black spots 
on their backs, or the shiny all black ones with 
just two vivid red spots; and not to disturb any 
little gauzy-wings that remind you of small wasps. 
Some are very tiny, but there are some others 
that are half an inch long, perhaps ; and some 
have very small "waists," while others are 
straight-bodied, like the dragon-fly. And here, 
by the way, in the dragon-fly himself we have a 
friend that is very useful to us indeed— and one 
that never harms any one, please remember. 

Two or three times this month, we must go 
around the garden and the shrubbery and the 
trees, and rub off any little buds that are starting 

out on the tree-trunks or on branches, where we 
do not want new branches to form. This is one 
of the very best ways of "pruning," for it does 
not waste the plant's strength in the least, and 
does not leave a scar either— which is a great ad- 
vantage. For wherever there is a scar on a tree 
or shrub, there is a chance of some fungous dis- 
ease gaining an entrance— just as a cut finger 
may give entrance to our bodies of some germ 
enemy. Form the habit, therefore, of r ibbing 
away buds all during the summer; and ycu will 
never have any real hard pruning to do. 

The rose-bugs come now, and currant-worms, 
and aphids. For these last you can spray your- 
self ; but for the worms some one must do it for 
you, you will remember. Keep a sharp eye — 
that is important— so nothing will get ahead of 
you. If a leaf shows signs of curling, or if it is 
partly gone, look under it ; and look the plant 

Thin out seedlings of annuals, and thin out 
vegetables when they get nicely up— beets, and 
carrots, and all the things that are planted in 
rows— and take the little ones in to be cooked, 
tops and roots, for greens. You cannot eat too 
many greens, you know, all summer. Put stakes 
to everything that is going to grow tall long be- 
fore it needs them, for, if you do not, the plants 
will lop over and the stems twist around in all 
sorts of outlandish ways, and you can never 
straighten them out; they will have grown that 
way, you see. So set the stakes and begin tying 
the plants down near the ground when they are 
little, tying them again and again as they rise up ; 
thus they will be fine and straight. Be sure you 
tie loosely, so as not to restrict the sap circula- 
tion. And if you can get old stockings to cut into 
strips for this tying, you will have about the best 
material that I know. 

Rake the ground twice a week at least, to keep 
the surface light and prevent the moisture from 
being drawn out. And pick seed-pods from all 
your flowers as soon as you see them even start- 
ing. This is the way to keep the plants blooming, 
for, of course, what they are after is seed. And 
as soon as they have formed it, they will be sat- 
isfied and not try to make any more ; that is, they 
will stop blooming. Good gardeners do not let 
them have their way therefore ; and so they get 
blossoms all summer. 

All sorts of things can be sown now, both 
flower a:ad vegetable; keep all your garden busy 
by replanting each space when it has finished 
with the crop it bears, putting in a root crop to 
follow a top crop, and a top crop to follow a root 

( To be continued. ) 




This month, I 'm going to answer a letter re- 
ceived from one of my readers who lives in San 
Francisco. Her idea seems to me so good that I 
thought more of you might be interested in doing 
what she wants to do ; anyway, I hope you will 
be, for I 'm sure you will get a great deal of 
pleasure and profit out of it if you are. 

In the first place, I '11 give you her letter, and 
then I il try to give you a few hints on the sub- 
ject of her inquiries. 

My Dear Miss Hawthorne : Having been a reader of St. 
Nicholas for several years, and especially of your 
"Books and Reading," I am taking the liberty of asking 
your help in forming a reading club for girls about my 
own age, from sixteen to eighteen. 

My plan is to have a little club that will at once hold 
the girls' interest and be useful in stimulating a desire 
to know really good literature. 

My difficulty (or I imagine it will be a difficulty) is 
that girls of that age are not apt to care about good 
books unless they are made especially attractive to 

Could you give my friends and me a few suggestions 
in regard to such a club, and what authors it would be 
best to begin with? I would not trouble you, but I feel 
that such a club would be of great benefit to us. 
Yours very sincerely, 

Grace M. Linden. 

This seems to me an excellent letter, and I 
hope Miss Linden won't mind my publishing it. 
It puts the matter so clearly, and I 'm certain 
many of you will agree with her in all she says. 

Most of us find more pleasure in doing things 
in groups than alone. It is n't that you can't 
canoe, or sail, or sew, or walk, or cook, or read 
alone. But somehow these things are more en- 
joyable when done with other people of like 
tastes with yourself. The rivalry of mind or 
body, the fun of getting different points of view. 

the delight of being with those you like, the help- 
fulness of competition and discussion, — these are 
a few of the reasons why we like clubs. 

It 's a great pity not to acquire the love of big, 
fine books, books that can be lifelong companions, 
while you are young. If you don't get the habit 
then, in fact, you are very likely never going to 
get it, and an incalculable amount of real happi- 
ness will be lost to you. For of the many things 
that give happiness in this world, three of the 
most important are people, nature, and books. 

And now to get to the business in hand. 

In the first place, I would not have the club too 
large. Eight or ten members ought to be enough, 
at any rate until you are in good running order, 
and four would not be too few. If the club is 
larger, there would be too many conflicting points 
of view; some of the girls would be pretty sure 
not to care much for the purposes of the club, and 
as likely as not it would turn out to be a talk club 
before many months, with the books quite out of 
the running. 

Don't (I think I '11 begin with the don'ts) lay 
out too heavy a program to begin with, nor ar- 
range for too many meetings. Once a week, or 
even once a- fortnight, is quite often enough at 
first. Then, if the meetings prove very enjoy- 
able, you could have more. Many a good thing 
is killed by too much enthusiasm at the start. 

After you 've chosen your officers and got your 
club on a proper basis, call a meeting to discuss 
the writers you want to take up. Get opinions 
from each member. Decide whether you will be- 
gin with dead or living authors. Whether you 
are going to confine yourselves to fiction or take 
up other forms of literature. Whether you want 
to read poetry as well as prose. Get a vote on 
these subjects. Another matter worth talking 
over is the amount of time you are to give to the 



writer, or group of writers, you decide upon. 
You might prefer to study one author thoroughly, 
or to choose the best-knov/n books of several be- 
longing to the same period, or to read master- 
pieces as such, and with no relation one to the 
other. These things are a matter of preference, 
and should be decided accordingly. The main 
thing, as Miss Linden recognizes, is to cultivate 
a fondness for good literature. 

Personally, I think the study of a group would 
prove the more enjoyable. Suppose you chose 
the preceding age in American literature. That 
would include men like Emerson, Thoreau, Haw- 
thorne, Motley, and Prescott, Oliver Wendell 
Holmes, Lowell, Longfellow, and others. You 
could choose a book by each of these men, or an 
essay, or a poem, or a short story, as seemed best, 
voting on these. It might be interesting to add 
some biography of the time, or stories about the 
men chosen. 

Another interesting thing to do would be to 
take the women who wrote in the nineteenth cen- 
tury. That century saw a wonderful birth of 
genius in women, and you could easily make up a 
list of books that would give you material for a 
year. There was Jane Austen, at the very begin- 
ning of the century, followed by the famous 
Bronte sisters, Mrs. Gaskell, George Eliot. Later 
came Louisa Alcott, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, 
Christina Rossetti, Charlotte M. Yonge. These 
are only a few, and think what a charming num- 
ber of books you could choose from these alone. 
In many cases delightful Lives of these women 
have been written, and it would make your read- 
ing course much more complete to include sev- 
eral of these. 

If you preferred to begin with one writer, Rob- 
ert Louis Stevenson will make an excellent first 
choice. His books are so various, so tense in 
interest, so fine, so gay and thrilling and amusing, 
that you would be sure to interest every member 
of your club. Then his letters from the south 
seas, the "Vailima Letters," are the biggest kind 
of a treat, and reveal so much of the astonishing 
life in Samoa; and there are his short stories and 
his poems. Several excellent books have been 
written about Stevenson, too. After you had 
read all there was to read by him and about him, 
you would have added a vast deal to your know- 
ledge on a great many subjects, have met a num- 
ber of interesting and enchanting people, real 
and imaginary, and have pretty thoroughly 
formed a habit of reading good literature. 

But reading should not be the only thing in 
your club. If I were you, I should suggest a cer- 
tain amount of reading aloud at your meetings, 
taking this turn about. The art of reading aloud 

beautifully is a charming one, and can be a boon 
to others all your life. Practice is the only thing 
that can give it to you. Practice and criticism, 
and I would have both in the club. 

After the reading I would talk the book over 
thoroughly. Say what you each like or don't 
like, how the characters strike you, how much 
the story itself interests you, how you are im- 
pressed by the author's style. And when you 
talk, don't say what you think is expected, or is 
the proper thing to say, but what you really do 
think and feel about the book and the writer. 

A certain amount of reading should be allotted 
before the next meeting of the club, so that the 
books will not take too long to finish, or the 
-thread of the story be lost. 

Then, say once a month, or perhaps once every 
three months, just as you elect, you ought to 
write little articles on the books you have been 
reading. There is lots of fun in putting your 
ideas down, and lots more in reading them out 
before your club, and later in discussing the 
different points of view that have been put forth. 
These papers ought to be informal and entirely 
sincere. If you could find out something inter- 
esting relating to the book or the author you 
were reading, you could write about that, or you 
could confine yourself to the hero or the heroine 
or the climax of the story, or the period in which 
it was laid. In fact, you could make these little 
papers a very interesting and important part of 
your club work. 

If, after having given some book a fair chance, 
none of you find it worth going on with, give it 
up. Don't exhaust yourself with a book simply be- 
cause you think you ought to like it. After all, the 
purpose of your club is to have a good time, and 
if you don't have a good time, the club will cer- 
tainly die. There are so many enchanting stories 
for you to read that there is no sense in wasting 
time with one that bores you, even though it may 
be something which delights a lot of other peo- 
ple. Perhaps you may yourselves like it later 
on. But do give each book that fair chance, for 
some of the best, some you will like the most, are 
a bit slow in getting started. You have to work a 
little to get at them, but you '11 be glad once you 
really become intimate with them. Books are 
like people; some of those you love best were 
often difficult to become acquainted with when 
first you met them. Often these wear best of all, 
and add most to the joy of your life. 

I think that once or twice a year it would be 
good to offer a prize on the best paper read be- 
fore the club in the past six or twelve months. 
That would stimulate interest in the writing of 
the articles, and judgment in deciding upon them. 



Many girls think that because a book is spoken 
of as a great book, or because it is written by a 
famous man, it must necessarily be hard to read. 
But, after all, the best books are such because so 
many people have decided that they like them. 
You can have just as thorough an enjoyment out 
of a work of art as out of a sloppily written and 
shallow story, if only you '11 give yourself the 
chance. In fact, you can have a great deal more ! 
For appreciation of excellence grows with en- 
couragement, and brings astonishing rewards. 

The really worth-while books tell the truth; 
the truth about human beings, the truth about 
place and time, the big truth that lies behind life. 
When this truth-telling is joined to beauty of 
expression and style, art and truth meet in the 
book. As soon as you discover the fascination 
of these two elements, you will seek for them, 
and books that lack them will not interest you. 

In your club work seek for these two things 
in the books you read. There are many aspects 
to both, and often you may not know them at 
first sight. But the longer time you spend in the 
company of either, the more you '11 need of both, 
and the less patience you '11 have with what is 
cheap or silly or inadequate. You have only so 
much time, and you won't want to waste it on 
second or third best, when there is so much of 
the very best to be had for the seeking. 

I do hope very much that many of you may 
start reading clubs all over the country, or the 
world ! I shall be so glad to answer any ques- 
tions you may want to ask n:e, to help you in 
making a list of books to be read. Think it over, 
and talk it over. And then perhaps, who knows, 
before next year you might have a number of 
flourishing clubs going, and send delegates to the 
Panama Exposition ! 




I CAN sing in the garden, I can sing in 

the wood. 
And I can sing when I am vexed because 

the boys are rude ; 
I can whistle when I 'm lonely, and hum softly in a 

crowd, — 

And how I love a jolly, jolly song! 

When I 'm digging in the garden, I can 

mock the robin's call ; 
I can imitate the gobbler with the 

gobble's rise and fall; 
I can whistle till the bluebird does not know his mate at all,- 
And how I love a jolly, jolly tune ! 

When I 'm rowing on the river, I sing a sailor 

With a hearty trolling chorus, and th 

spun out long, 
For I know there never was a place 
where songs do not belong,— 
And how I love a jolly, 
jolly tune ! _ 




Author of "A Little Cook Book for a Little Girl, " " Margaret's Saturday Mornings," etc. 


One day early in June, Mildred ran up to her 
mother's room as soon as she came home from 
school. She tossed her hat on the bed, and 
dropped her books in an arm-chair. "Oh, 
Mother!" she exclaimed, out of breath, "do you 
suppose I could have twenty girls here some af- 
ternoon for a little bit of a party? I do so want 
to ask them right away, before exams begin. 
They are my twenty most particular friends, and 
some of them are going away just as school 
closes, so, you see, I have to hurry." 

"Of course you may have them," said Mother 
Blair. "But only twenty particular friends, Mil- 
dred? What about the rest of the class?" 

Mildred laughed. "Well, I mean these are the 
girls I happen to know best of all, and I want to 
have a kind of farewell before summer really 
comes. What sort of a party shall we have, 
Mother? I mean, what shall we have to eat?" 

"I should think strawberry ice-cream would be 
just the thing, with some nice cake to go with 
it, and something cold to drink; is that about 
what you had thought of?" 

"Just exactly, Mother. But do you think we 
can make enough ice-cream here at home for 
twenty people? Would n't it be better to buy it?" 

"Oh, I am sure we can easily make it, and 
home-made ice-cream is so good — better, I think, 
than we could buy. We can borrow Miss Betty's 
freezer, which holds two quarts, and as ours 
holds three, that will be plenty. We count that 
a quart will serve about seven, — more cooking 
arithmetic, Mildred ! If one quart will be enough 
for seven people, how many quarts will be needed 
for twenty?" 

"The answer is that five quarts will be just 
about right," laughed Mildred. "Perhaps some 
of them will want two helpings. But, Mother, if 
we have the party on Saturday, Norah will be 
very busy, and who will make the cream?" 

"We will all make it together, and Jack may 
pack the freezers and turn them for us. And 
Norah may make the cake for you on Friday, so 
that will be out of the way." 

So, early on Saturday morning, Mildred and 
Brownie began to hull strawberries for the party, 
and put them away in bowls on the ice. Then 
they made the table all ready on the porch, put- 





ting a pretty little cloth on it, and arranging 
plates and napkins ; glasses, for what Brownie 
called the "nice-cold drink," were set out too, 
and little dishes of the candy which Father Blair 
had brought home and called his contribution to 
the party ; and in the middle of the table they put 
a bowl of lovely red roses. 

After an early luncheon, everybody went at 
once to the kitchen. The berries were put on the 
large table, and the cream and milk brought from 
the refrigerator. The two freezers stood ready 
in the laundry with a big pail for the broken ice, 
a heavy bag, a wooden mallet, and a large bag of 
coarse salt. 

"Come, Jack," his mother said, as he stood 
picking out the biggest berries from the bowl and 
eating them, "here 's some more man's work for 
you ! We want you to break the ice and pack 
these freezers for us." 

"What do I get for it ?" Jack asked, pretend- 
ing to grumble. "If the girls are going to eat 
up all the ice-cream, I guess I won't bother freez- 
ing it." 

"No, indeed ! they are not going to eat it all 
up," said Mother Blair. "I am counting on hav- 
ing ever so much left over for dinner to-night; 
and you shall have two helpings." 

"Make it three and I "11 think about it," said 
Jack, choosing the very biggest berry of all. 

"Three then," said Mildred, disgustedly, tak- 
ing the bowl away. "Boys do eat so much !" 

"This cream is going to be so good that you 
will want three yourself," laughed Mother Blair. 
"Now, Jack^ this rule is for you. Some cooks 
think that all you have to do in packing a freezer 
is to put in layers of broken ice and salt, and then 
turn the handle ; but there is a right way to do it, 
and if you follow this, you will find the cream 
will freeze ever so much more quickly than if 
you are careless in packing." 


2 large bowlfuls of broken ice. 
I bowlful of coarse salt. 

Put the ice in a strong bag and pound with a mallet 
till it is evenly broken into bits the size of an egg. Put 
the ice in a pail till you have a quantity broken, and 
then measure ; add the salt quickly to the ice and stir it 
well ; then put the empty ice-cream tin in the freezer 
with the cover on, and fasten on the top and handle. 
Pack the ice all around the tin tightly till it is even 
with the top. Then stand it away, covered with a piece 
of carpet or blanket, in a dark, cool place, for half an 
hour. There should be a thick coating of frost all over 
the inside when the cream is put in. 

mother gave them, and getting out the spoons 
and sugar and other things they would need. 

"Are the berries washed?" asked Mother Blair. 
"Yes, I see they are; now. Brownie, you may put 
half of them at a time into this big bowl, and 
crush them with the wooden potato-masher till 
chey are all juicy. And, Mildred, here is the rule 
for making one quart of plain white ice-cream ; 
all you have to do is to add any kind of fruit or 
flavoring to this, and you can change it into what- 
ever you want." 

"Just like a fairy's recipe .'" said Brownie. 

"Exactly!" said their mother. "Now, Mildred, 
multiply this rule by five." 


3 cups of milk. 
I cup of sugar. 

I cup of cream. 

Put the cream, milk, and sugar in a saucepan on the 
fire, and stir till the sugar is melted and the milk 
steams, but does not boil. Take it off and beat with the 
egg-beater till it is cold : add the flavoring and freeze. 


I quart of fruit, or enough to make 

a cupful of juice. 
I small cup of sugar. 

Mash the fruit, rub it through a sieve, add the sugar, 
and stir into the cream just before putting it into the 

"You see what a nice, easy rule this is. You 
can use fresh raspberries or pineapple or peaches 
in summer-time, and in winter you can use canned 
fruit. If the fruit is sour, of course you must 
take a little more sugar than if it is very sweet. 
And when juice is very sour indeed, like currant 
or cherry juice, do not use it for ice-cream. And 
when you want to make chocolate ice-cream you 
put in — " 

"Do let nie write that down. Mother, please, 
because I perfectly love chocolate ice-cream," in- 
terrupted Mildred. 


Make the plain ice-cream as before; while still on 
the sto\c add 

3 squares of unsweetened chocolate, 

J4 cup of sugar. 
2 teaspoonfuls of vanilla. 

Put the vanilla in last, just before freezing. 

While Jack was working in the laundry, Mil- It took only a little while to mix the cream 
dred and Brownie were reading the recipe their and cool it, and then Brownie had the berries all 



ready to go in ; so Mildred called to Jack to know 
if the two freezers were ready. Jack was reading 
"Treasure Island" in a corner of the laundry, 
and it took three calls to rouse him. 

ence in the world whether or not it is ice-cold 
inside." Then they poured in the cream and shut 
the freezer tightly, and Jack began to turn the 
handles, first of one and then of the other, with 


SEE N'E.vr PA(j;:,) 

"The freezers?" he asked; "the freezers— oh, 
yes, they are all ready. At least I suppose they 
are, they 've been standing so long. I 've been 
having a great time with old Silver in the stock- 
ade !" 

"Well," said Mildred, doubtfully, "if you 've 
been off on one of your treasure trips, I don't 
know whether the freezers will be ready or not." 

But when they looked inside, there was the 
thick frost all over the tin. "Perfect !" said 
Mother Blair. "Now you will see how quickly 
the cream will freeze. It makes all the differ- 

"Treasure Island" open before him on an up- 
turned pail, though he very soon found that the 
freezers needed all his attention. He was de- 
voting himself to his task with grim determina- 
tion when Mildred peeped in at the door and 
stood watching him for a moment before she 
asked, mischievously, "And what is old Silver do- 
ing now, Jack? I believe you 're really going to 
deserve those three plates of ice-cream, after all." 
"Come, Mildred !" called her mother, "we will 
make something perfectly delicious to drink," and 
she handed a fresh recipe to the girls. 





4 lemons. 

1 quart of water. 

2 large cups of sugar. 
I quart of grape-juice. 
I orange. 

Put the water and sugar on the fire and boil them two 
minutes. Roll the lemons and squeeze the juice ; when 
the water is cool, add this and stand it away till you 

freezer, doing exactly what her mother did to the 
first one. They slowly pulled out the dashers, 
scraping them off as they did so, and then packed 
the cream down hard ; the covers were put on 
again, each with a cork where the dasher-top had 
been. Meanwhile Jack had been told to break 
more ice and mix it exactly as he had before. 
When this was ready, the plug at the side of each 
freezer was pulled out and the water drained off, 
and then the cans of cream 
were buried in the fresh ice 
so that neither of them could 
be seen, a piece of carpet was 
laid over each, and it was put 
back in its dark corner. 

"There !" said their mother, 
when it was all finished. "Ice- 
cream has to stand at least 
two hours after it is packed 
before it is quite good enough 
to eat. Thank you, Jack ! 
You are really learning lots 

about cooking, are n't 

you ! 


need it. Then add the grape-juice, and put it in a large 
bowl with a good-sized piece of ice ; slice the orange 
very thin and cut into small pieces and add last. Serve 
in glass cups. 

"That is so easy anybody could make it," said 
Brownie. "I guess I '11 make some for us all on 
the next hot night." 

"Oh, goody !" said Mildred. "Think how lovely 
it would taste out on the porch just before bed- 
time !" 

"Specially if there was a moon," said Brownie. 

"Yes, indeed! especially if there was a moon! 
You won't forget, will you ?" 

Brownie promised faithfully she would not. 

By the time this was done and ready to put 
away in the refrigerator to get very cold. Jack 
was shouting for somebody to come and see if 
the creain was frozen. "It turns awfully hard," 
he complained, rubbing his arms. 

His mother wiped off the edges of the tin very 
carefully so no salt could get in, and then lifted 
the cover, and, sure enough, the cream was firm 
and smooth, and a beautiful pink color. Mildred 
watched her carefully and took the second 

And now we will cut the cake 
and put it on plates in the re- 
frigerator to keep fresh, and 
then we will all go and dress 
for the party, because it is 
three o'clock." 

The refreshments were per- 
fectly delicious, everybody 
said, and the girls said the 
pink ice-cream, and the sponge- 
cake, and the grape-juice lemonade were "the 
best ever." When everybody had gone, Mildred 
took a big plateful of ice-creain over to Miss 

"Oh, how good that is !" she said as she ate it. 
"How beautifully good ! So good to look at, I 
mean, as well as to taste of. Would you like to 
have some more strawberry ice-cream recipes to 
go with it ?" Mildred said she would love to, so 
Miss Betty began to write: 


I quart of water. 2 quarts of berries. 

21/2 cups of sugar. 

Juice of I lemon. 

Crush the berries and press through a sieve ; there 
should be two cups of juice ; if not, add a few more 
berries. Boil the water and sugar one minute, cool, add 
the berry juice and that of the lemon, coo! and freeze ; 
serve in glass cups. 

"You can see, Mildred," went on Miss Betty, as 
she finished this, "that a pretty way to serve this 
is to put each cup on a sinall plate and lay a few 
fresh strawberry leaves by il." 



"Sweet!" said Mildred, and Miss Betty began 
the second recipe. 


I quart of plain ice-cream. 
I quart of large strawberries. 
Yz cup of powdered sugar. 

Cut the berries in slices and lay them on a dish, and 
sprinkle the sugar over them. Take some tall glasses, 
put in a layer of ice-cream, then a layer of berries ; let 
the cream be on top, and put two or three whole berries 
on top of all. Or, if you can get little wild strawber- 
ries, use those whole both in the layers and on top. 

"Those are both just perfect," sighed Mildred. 
"Now have n't you one more recipe, dear Miss 
Betty? Three is a lucky number, you know." 

Miss Betty thought a moment. "Well, here is 
something I think is just delicious, and it 's so 
easy that Brownie could make it alone— or even 
Jack ! There is no turning of the freezer at all, 
only the ice to be broken. But it must be made 
in good season, for it has to stand awhile, as you 
will see. And when you turn it out, you can put 
a row of lovely big strawberries all around it and 
sprinkle them with sugar." 



I cup of sugar. i cup of water. 

I pint of cream. Whites of 3 eggs. 

I teaspoonful of vanilla. 

Put the sugar and water on the stove and boil gently 
three minutes without stirring. Lift a little of the 
syrup on the spoon and see if a tiny thread drops from 
the edge ; if it does, it is done ; if not, cook a moment 
longer. Then let this stand on the very edge of the 
stove while you beat the whites of the eggs very stiff 
and slowly pour the syrup into them, beating all the 
time. While you are doing this, have somebody else 
beat the cream stiff ; when the eggs and syrup are 
beaten cold, fold the cream into them, add the flavoring, 
and put in a mold with a tight cover. Put this in a pail, 
cover deeply with ice and salt as before, and let it 
stand five hours. 

"You see how easy that is," said Miss Betty. 
"That 's all the recipes to-day. But, Mildred, if 
you, and Jack, and Brownie will all come to 
luncheon next Saturday, I '11 have something else 
made out of strawberries for you." 

"Oh, Miss Betty !" cried Mildred, rapturously, 
"we '11 come— indeed we will !" 

"Very well; and tell Jack he can have three 
helpings of everything !" 



The boy who studies botany will find he has at need 
Advantages to make his playmates envious indeed; 
No boy or girl should ever "call another names," of course, 
But learning and a memory lend one's language crushing force. 

The incident I have to tell contains, I fear, no moral 
Unless the line above be one. Two playmates had a quarrel. 
Young Wilfred studied botany — he was n't very big ; 
The taller, Joe, I grieve to say, had called his friend a pig ! 

The boy whose aunt had coached him well in botany grew red. 
"A pig ! You say that I 'm a pig?" indignantly he said. 

His lofty glance lent meaning to the scathing words that follow : 
"At all events, / 'wi not a gamopetaloiis corolla!" 

The nonplussed Joe could only stare as Wilfred turned away — 
His ready wit had left his foe without a word to say ! 
Observe ! He was not "calling names," as only rude boys do, 
What Wilfred said to Joseph was indisputably true. 

The boy who studies botany will find it useful, very, 
In just such an emergency, with such an adversary. 

A minor difficulty, though, has just occurred to me— 
Suppose the other fellow should be studying chemistry! 


"Who are you, little maiden fair 
With bright, blue eyes and golden hair ?" 
Why, I 'm Dad's darling, don't you know ? 
He always calls me Little Jo. 

My mama calls me Josie dear, 
And that 's the name I love to hear; 
For, when a naughty girl I 've been, 
She sadly calls me Josephine. 


Then I go by myself and say, 
"I hate that name and will obey." 

So back I come, and whisper clear, 
"See, Mama, now I 'm Josie dear." 

"And what does Daddy say, my pet. 
When you annoy, or tease, or fret?" 
Oh, he just says, so soft and low, 

"Is this my own dear Little Jo?" 

That always makes me 'shamed, and I 
Just hug him round the neck and cry, 
And tell him I do love him so, 
I '11 surely be his Little Jo. 

_^<?^<'<\^>| __ 



A CASTLE, or cottage, or mansion, or tent, 
Or billow-rocked vessel, or canopy bent 
Above the red wagon where Romanies ride, 
Is home, blessed home, to the dwellers inside. 
But look you at this one — high swung to the 

And built by the owners themselves, if you 

please ! 
No bargain with masons and joiners had they. 
No lot did they buy with its taxes to pay, 
But royally chose just the place they liked best. 
And set about building this orioles' nest. 
That burst of rich music I heard in the spring 
Was gratitude poured for the gift of this string. 
Who guessed, when its first humble duty was 

A palace 't would hold 'twi.xt the earth and the 

sun ? 
The cunning of beaks and the skill of wee feet 
That looped it, and laced it, and knotted it 


That winds could not loose it, however they blow, 
Nor twist it, nor turn it, nor weight lay it low ! 
The sheep gave this wool, and the thorns pulled 

it out ; 
The horses gave hairs that were wiry and stout; 
And God gave the knowledge, the joy, and the 

That went to the wonderful weaving thereof. 
The maple gave twigs where the home could 

be hung. 
The zephyrs so softly their lullabies sung; 
And smiling Miss Sunshine and Lady Gray Rain 
Gave smiles and gave blessings again and again. 
The wee eggs gave birdies; the father gave food; 
The mother gave warmth from the warmth of 

her blood ; 
And June gave the courage, the strength, and 

the day 
When five baby orioles fluttered away — 
In quest of adventures, the big world to see, 
And gave the old home, with its story, to me. 




One morning, as Daddy-long-legs was walking briskly across the porch, he met 
a small, reddish-yellow object moving slowly toward him. " Dear me ! " exclaimed 
Daddy-long-legs, "and who are you?" 
" I 'm Ladybug, Your Honor." 

"Well, Ladybug,"- said Daddy-long-legs, "you 're so very small that I almost 

stepped over you. It 's a good thing you 
have such a bright dress, or I would n't 
have noticed you at all. You see, I 'm 
up rather high." 

"Yes," replied Ladybug, " I see. You 
must be Daddy-long-legs I 've heard so 
much about." 

" You 're right. I 'm Daddy-long-legs, 
the champion walker! When it comes to 
a race, you know, I always beat." 

Ladybug looked at Daddy's long legs. 
"With legs like those," she said, "you 

DEAR me! exclaimed DADDY-LONG-LEGS, 

ought to be able to get over the ground 
very fast." 

"Oh, yes, yes," agreed Daddy-long- 
legs. " Just see me go!" He moved off 
toward the post at the corner of the porch. 
" See ! When I step, it means something. 
Why, if I had to crawl along as slowly 
as some folks," he looked down at Lady- 
bug as he said it, "I would n't try to go 
at all ! I 'd creep back into some dark 
corner and stay there." 

" Oh, there are quite a few of us, and we get along, even if it is slow work," 
said Ladybug, calmly. 

" Too slow for me ! " exclaimed Daddy-long-legs. " Why, since I started across 





'one! two! three 


the yard, I 've seen quite a lot of pretty fair steppers, but I left them all behind. 
They could n't keep up, and you — why, you 're the very smallest and the slowest- 
looking of the whole lot ! Pshaw, you can't go at all ! Even when you 're doing 
your very best, you hardly seem to move. Poor thing! I can imagine how 
much you envy me." Daddy-long-legs stretched out several of his legs to their 
full length. It was a sight, sure enough, and Ladybug gasped, and moved a 
little to one side. 

Daddy again stalked over to the post and back. " Now, Ladybug, you poor 
little slow-poke, how long do you think it would take yo2i to get to that post?" 

"Well, I don't know exactly," answered Ladybug, looking at the post. " It 's 
quite a little way over there, but if you say so, we '11 try a race for it." 

"Why, you don't mean to say you even think yoii can try a race with nic! 
You don't mean it — do you?" 

"Why, yes ! Of course, I may not beat, but we might try it just for fun." 

"Well, it will be fun, sure enough!" said Daddy-long-legs, glancing at the 
crowd of spiders, ants, caterpillars, and other insects which had stopped to hear 
what Daddy-long-legs and Ladybug were talking about. "We '11 start at this 
crack in the floor," Daddy-long-legs said, " and, to give you every advantage, 
I '11 allow you to have an inch — yes, two inches — as a start." 


n't be 


"I would n't want any favors of that sort. It would 
stand I'ust even with this crack, where you are. 
We '11 toe the mark together." 

So they fixed themselves at the crack in 
the floor, and Daddy-long-legs counted 
" One! two! three!" — and they were off 
for the post. 

Daddy intended to be at the post by 
the time Ladybug had crossed one board 
in the floor. But, before he had taken six 
steps, he heard Ladybug call out pleas- 
antly, "Hurry up! hurry up! Daddy- 
long-legs! " And there was Ladybug 
looking down at him from the post as 
calmly as though she had been there all 
the morning! 

Daddy-long-legs stopped suddenly. 
"Why, you little minx! what does this 
mean? You 've played a trick on me. 


You did n't walk that distance in such a 
short time, I know!" 

"No, \ficw'' replied Ladybug, quietly. 
"I can either walk or fly, as it suits me. 
This time it suited me to fly. W^hy did 
n't you fly. Daddy-long-legs, Long-legs, 
Long-legs ? " teased Ladybug. 

Daddy-long-legs looked up at her 
again, as she smiled down on him from 
the post, and took off his hat to her. Then 
he said slowly: "W'ell, I declare! Who 
would have thought that you could fly ! — 
such a crawling, creeping, slow-looking 
little body as you ! I did n't see any 

" You were too busy looking at your 
long legs, Daddy. There rt;r other won- 
derful things in the world, such as wings, for instance. Sometimes they 're folded 
up pretty close, and not so easily seen as those long legs of yours. So be more 
careful the next time you want to race, and don't boast too much. 

"Oh, wouldn't you like a pair of wings. Daddy-long-legs? 
fine for racing!" Ladybug called back, as she flew toward 

WOULD n't you like A PAIR OF WINGS?' 

They are 
the potato 



Dear little Pussy, don't be scared, 
That dog can't bite you, if he dared ! 
He 's made of velvet, that 's the truth. 
And has n't got a single tooth; 

He follows at his master's heels, — 
He can't run fast on those bent wheels. 
He 's not so pretty. Puss, as you, 
His coat is not so clean and new. 

Sit still, dear- if I 'm not mistaken, 

You 're going to have your picture taken. 


The cloud of smoke revealed to 2000 soldiers stationed along the trail and on the upper slopes of the mountain behind the camera, the fast-in- 
creasing fury of the flames down in the hollow as they were fanned into walls of fire sometimes 150 feet high by a sudden forty-mile gale. These 
devastated the beautifully wooded hollow so suddenly that several hundred soldiers and a provision train within its depths were nearly imprisoned. 


On the eighth of July, 1913, a thin cohimn of pale 
bkie smoke was discovered rising from the woody 
slopes of purple-tinged Mt. Tamalpais, standing 
like a sentinel on the shores of the Golden Gate, 
just across from the city of San Francisco, Cali- 
fornia. The smoke spiral was silently and gently 
curling upward from beside the track of the 
unique scenic railway — the crookedest railroad in 
the world — at a point high up and about a mile 
from the summit. 

Section hands employed by the railroad were 
immediately despatched to investigate. The fire 
was supposedly extinguished by them, but later a 
strong wind arose, and before the inhabitants of 
the several towns and hamlets strung about the 
base of the mountain realized it, a formidable 
blaze had spread over several acres, and was 
fast eating up the verdure, urged on by the 

In mountainous country, it is no easy task to 
marshal fire-fighters and apparatus high up on 
steep burning slopes. The arrival of night was 
a second drawback in this instance. Even as the 
sun set that evening, a great dark column of 
smoke, acres broad, was rolling skyward and 
stretching out into a great canopy miles across, 
giving friendly old Mt. Tamalpais the appearance 
of a formidable volcano in a state of great ac- 

All the next day the fire raged, driven by an- 
other north wind, while urgent calls for help 
were telegraphed to the larger cities within reach. 
Their own volunteers, prepared for tedious work, 
had already set off for the burning areas. By 
twilight on the first day, over a thousand acres 
of green had vanished, and the cozy taverns and 
observatories on the summit and elsewhere were 
facing fast-approaching ruin, as was the not far 
distant and famous grove of great redwood trees, 

now a national preserve, and known as the Muir 

By nightfall, the entire region about the moun- 
tain was in excitement and commotion. Fortu- 
nately, the mountain railroad was still running, 
and United States troops and naval reserves had 
reached the locality, where warlike strategy was 
instituted in the endeavor to check the creeping 

During the night, one line of the fire ascended 
the slopes to the summit, reaching the tavern and 
licking its sides and roof and cracking its win- 
dows. Some fifty soldiers saved the building by 
climbing to the roof and beating out the showers 
of sparks with sacks kept wet by dipping into 
tubs of water. During the afternoon, many of 
the guests at the tavern had hurried to safety 
on spare trains or on little gravity-cars which 
provided the most thrilling rides imaginable 
down through the burning slopes. 

On the morning of the third day of the fire, 
the writer found himself with his camera on the 
summit of a low ridge near one of the endan- 
gered towns, two and a half miles from a small, 
insignificant line of smoke lazily curling up into 
the air. 

He was chagrined to find himself apparently too 
late, for dwellers near by told him of the efforts 
of three thousand fire-fighters, armed with brush- 
knives, grub-hooks, and shovels, who had worked 
under trying conditions all through the night be- 
fore, and had apparently succeeded in almost 
extinguishing the entire line of fire, two miles or 
more in length. 

He photographed the distant scene, and was on 
the point of turning back, when he became seized 
with the determination to go on — a determination 
that brought him a never-to-be-forgotten expe- 
rience, for, before the day was done, he twice 
barely escaped death in traps formed by the 
mountain's creeping flames. 





1'his mountain fire raged for five days and nights, burning up over 6000 acres of a beautiful scenic region on the shores of the Golden Gate, 
not far from the city of San Francisco, California, before 3000 fire-fighters, composed of soldiers, sailors, and townspeople, finally checked its 
course on the very edges of three thickly populated hamlets. At the point here shown, the fire had traversed a section some two miles in extent. 

As he went on, trudging along upward in the 
increasing heat of the sun with a fifty-pound 
outfit in a suitcase, the wind gradually grew 
stronger. Indeed, at about one o'clock, he and 
about a hundred brush-cutters, besides women 
and girls serving coffee and sandwiches to the 
nearly exhausted men, were compelled to flee for 
their very lives. Wild cries and shouts were aris- 
ing from down in a smoke-filled hollow where 
several companies of artillerymen and a provi- 
sion-train were at work. Then it was that those 
above the conflagration realized that retreat had 
been cut off, and that all were in imminent dan- 
ger ; for the flames had been blown where they 
had found fresh fuel, and were devouring the 
mountain-side at a rate of about a thousand acres 
an hour. 

It was after this flight with the two thousand 
soldiers up the mountain by means of a broad, 
cleared check-trail, that the photographer secured 
the best of all the smoke pictures. These were 
taken just as the sun set, leaving him and the 
hungry army to pass the hours of the coming 
night in the open on the dreary, wind-blown, fire- 
swept peak. 

As the soldiers were retreating upward, one 
was seen to disobey orders and rush back down 
the ragged stretch for half a mile into the burn- 
ing area after his blankets, which had been has- 
tily abandoned, along with those of many others, 
in the mad rush to safety. While he was gone, 
a newly started back fire nearly cut him off, and 
again almost trapped the photographer and a 
large number of soldiers who were working in 
the neighborhood. 

Fearing further unexpected turns of events, 
the photographer determined to ascend the moun- 
tain to the burned-over and safer sections near 
the summit. In the climb through the dark,— 
stumbling and scrambling, ruining clothes and 
shoes and suitcase, craving something to eat and 

drink, — he was joined by stray soldiers, who also 
had disobeyed orders and determined to obtain 
water and possibly food at the tavern on the 
summit. It was a weird tramp, that "hike" in the 
dark, up through a dim. rock-, brush-, and tree- 


'i'hey swept np a hill here, and jumped with ease a wide check-trail, 
rut by 2000 soldiers and civilians between the oncoming fire and two 
threatened towns. 

The smoke traveled over si^ty miles, dropping ashes in the cities of 
< lakland and Alameda, thirty-two miles distant. 

grown region, with the sparkling of the stars on 
oiie side of the heavens, and the ominous, red- 
illumined canopy of the billowy smoke-clouds on 
the other: with the leafy, unseen woods bending 
and swishing and snapping in a wind that, at any 
moment, might bring an onrush of sparks and 




flames; and with the impression that the summit 
was nearer than it turned out to be ! The eood- 


1^^^^ J J .^^^^B 

IB^ '•"• ' 


They are cutting a back-fire path through light chaparral on a ridge 
above their towns. A half-liour later, they were running for their lives 
before flames that rushed up from the right and swept all the area 
here shown. 

natured joking and banter of the men kept up the 
spirits of the party, and ere long the entire com- 
pany was ransacking the savory, spacious kitchen 
of a kixurious, but deserted, tavern. And they 

Citizens from endangered districts awaiting the approach of a line of 
fire half a mile distant. A canon separated the men in the foreground 
from the approaching flames, but the latter soon passed this barrier, 
forcing the men to flee for safety. 

found coffee, ham, crackers, marmalade, and 
water ! That was enough ! They feasted, forgot 

the fire, and talked until midnight. Then, tak- 
ing a farewell look at the fascinating panorama 
of living red below and the far distant sparkle of 
the lights of the great cities rimming a low hori- 
zon, they unrolled their blankets on the polished 
floor and instantly fell asleep, exhausted with the 
labor of the day and indifferent to the events of 
the morrow. 

But the trouble of the "men in the ranks" did 
not end there, for, before dawn, a searching offi- 
cer appeared on the scene. Almost instantly 
many pairs of heels disappeared through the un- 
burned woods down the slopes in various direc- 
tions. The photographer entertained the officer, 
in fact he did not contradict the impression that 

A load of tourists descending the eight miles of winding track from 
the summit in a gravity car controlled only by brakes. 
The fire burned over the space on the right quite up to the track. 

he belonged to the hostelry in some capacity, 
and laid a feast before him calculated to put 
him, or, indeed, any other hungry man, in a fine 

It was down through the burned-over district 
of si.x thousand acres that the photographer re- 
turned, afoot, for not a train could run. Once, 
on the way, a wee cottontail slipped across the 
rails between his very feet, unharmed, but evi- 
dently still frightened nearly to death. It must 
have escaped by cowering among the damp rocks 
of a near-by spring. Here and there, dead rep- 
tiles were seen — many rattlesnakes being among 

All told, it was a fascinating experience, in spite 
of his blistered hands and feet ; and great was 
his joy when he finally reached the bread-basket 
and the pump at the end of the fifteen-mile up- 
and-down scramble, with a beautiful set of pic- 
tures, and with a story to tell. 

L. R. Perry. 





The motion of flying birds' wings is so rapid that 
frequently many of their movements and posi- 
tions escape the eye. It often requires the high- 
est speed of the camera to show the wings in cer- 
tain positions. Some skilful photographs of wing 




motions have been taken by Mr. Howard H. 
Cleaves. A few selections from these remarka- 
ble results are here shown. 

When the laughing-gull makes a quick ascent 
from the nest in the marshes on Cobb Island, 

The osprey, in descending to the nest, assumes 
just the reverse position, and the wings push 
back against the air, so as to stop the l^ird quickly. 


Another photograph shows the osprey ap- 
proaching the nest on the ground. It, too, is 
"putting on the brakes," but the body in relation 
to the wide expanse of wings assumes a peculiar 

Still another remarkable use of wings is shown 
by the young osprey on the nest, the bird spread- 

AN ii-I'InI \ (i)ML\(; DOWN I'O ITS NEsT; 

Virginia, the wings assume a remarkable posi- 
tion, apparently reaching out into the air ahead 
to grasp as firm a wing hold as possible on the 
air, and thus drive the body forward. 


ing them in a menacing way as if to make itself 
appear as formidable as possible, and thus 
frighten away an intruder. A conmion brooding 
hen does much the same thing when she spreads 
her wings and erects the body feathers, and ap- 
parently tries the effect of a little bit of hypocrisy 
by pretending to be a more formidable bird than 
she really is. 





No boy or girl who has ever read of Carl Hagen- 
beck, or who, better yet, has witnessed the per- 
formances of the trained lions and tigers which 


he has sent to this country, need be told that the 
Germans possess rare ability as trainers of wild 

And even more interesting, perhaps, is the fact 
that in a number of German households boys 
and girls have been permitted to have as pets the 
offspring of some of those ferocious beasts which 
have given Hamburg its reputation as "the great- 
est wild-animal market in the wijrld." In the 
accompanying illustration, three (jerman children 
are shown in the proud possession of some lion 
cubs, which, as you see, resemble in size and gen- 
era! appearance every-da}- American cats. The 
German wild-animal experts claim that, while 
very young, the "babies" of the lion and tiger 

families are comparatively harmless, and the play- 
fulness and droll antics of the little animals endear 
them to children to such an extent that the young 
folks are often loath to give them up when it is 
considered that the animals are approaching an 
age when it is better to have them 
safely caged behind iron bars. 


Most people are unaware that the 
apparent distance of an object de- 
pends upon the use of both eyes. 
This fact, however, can be strik- 
ingly shown. Place a pencil so that 
two or three inches project over 
the edge of a table. Then stand 
alongside the table, close one eye, 
and attempt to knock the pencil off 
by quickly hitting the projecting 
end with the tip of the forefinger. 
Almost invariably the person mak- 
ing the attempt underestimates the 
distance by an inch or more, and, 
much to his surprise, misses the 
pencil entirely. One-eyed people, 
accustomed to estimating distances 
with only one eye, of course have 
no trouble in hitting the pencil at 
the first trial. 

To make a person think there 
are two marbles where only one 
really exists, have him cross the 
second finger over the first, close 
his eyes, and tell how many mar- 
bles he is touching when you hold 
a single one in contact with the 
ends of the two crossed fingers. 
The illusion is very startling, and 
the person almost invariably has to 
be shown the single marble before 
he believes there is only one. If 
a marble is not convenient, the 
end of a pencil or other small object may be used. 
To test your ability to make your muscles work 
as you desire, try sliding the forefinger of the left 
hand backward and forward along the edge of 
a table ; at the same time, tap in the same spot 
with a pencil in the right hand so that the end 
touches the table midway between the ends of the 
path the forefinger follows. At first, it is ex- 
tremely difficult to make the pencil tap in the 
same spot without hitting the finger, but after 
a little practice you will find that quite the con- 
trary is the case, for it st)on becomes almost im- 
possible to make the o1)ject with which the tap- 
ping is done touch the forefinger or vary from the 
same spot on the table. Fred Telford. 





We often hear that the Germans are a Httle slow 
in their ways, and perhaps we are apt to conclude 
that they must be what we call "poky." Never- 
theless, it is from Germany that we get the latest 
and most thrilling thing in the way of diving ap- 
paratus. It is nothing less than a submarine sled 
upon which the diver can sit and be drawn rap- 
idly through the depths, up or down at his will, 
pretty much as we have always pictured Santa 
Glaus sailing tlirough the sky. This does not 
sound a bit slow, does it ? And you can be sure 
that it took a pretty bright and quick mind to 
conceive such an idea and make the sled. 

But don't think that 
this vehicle for un- 
der-water riding is de- 
signed for play, even 
though a trip in such 
a sled must be full of 
excitement. It has 
been planned and per- 
fected so that divers 
can do their work 
better and cover a 
greater area than is 
now commonly possi- 
ble. It also enables 
the diver to do this 
without tiring himself 

You have waded 
through the water, 
and know how it 
holds you back, even 
when only knee-deep. 
It was still harder to 
was up to your waist; 
you found it easier to 


walk through it when it 
and, when shoulder-deep, 
swim than to walk. Therefore, you can realize 
that it would be even more exhausting— if you 
could do it— to walk when entirely below the sur- 
face. And mind you, you have on only a very light 
bathing-dress. The diver, on the other hand, has 
bulky shoes with soles of lead ; he has a cumber- 
some suit of rubber and canvas ; he has a metal 
helmet ; and about his waist he carries quite forty 
pounds of lead weights — the purpose of these and 
those on the soles of his shoes is to help hold him 
to the bottom when his suit is filled with buoyant 
air. These things all hamper his steps, but, in ad- 
dition to these, he has to drag the rope that serves 
the double purpose of a life-line and a means of 
signaling to the people above, as well as the hose 
down which comes the fresh air that makes it 
possible for him to work uncler water. These 

conditions are made worse when he has to labor 
against a current. 

Ordinarily, the diver carries and pulls all these 
things with him every step he takes, and this 
effort alone is so wearying that it lessens the 


amount of work he can do under water. Usually, 
when it is necessary for him to examine a con- 
siderable area of the sea-bed, he has to be drawn 
to the surface when he finishes in one place, and 
his attendants and their craft must be moved to 
another point — a thing that generally takes a 
good deal of time — and then the diver is lowered 
again. It is pretty slow work, and divers de- 

A I'l.l, As AN I Mill IN IILI SIN>,IIIM;. 

mand very high pay. Besides, they have to have 
a number of attendants: one to hold the life-line, 
one to watch the air-hose, and either two or four 
— depending upon the deepness of the water in 
which he is working— to man the air-pumps. 
Again, when searching for something that has 




been lost in the water, the diver often has to 
make many trips up and down in order that he 
may have a chance to rest. 

Dr. Draeger, the inventor of the submarine 
sled, has produced a successful diving-dress that 
does not require an air-hose — the necessary oxy- 


gen is supplied from a tank which the diver car- 
ries on his back. This does away with all but 
one of the attendants, and this one handles the 
life-line, which is, also, a telephone connection 
between himself and the diver. In this way. 
Dr. Draeger has stripped the diving-dress of 
one of its most hampering attachments, and the 
German under-water worker can move 
about much more freely on that ac- 
count. Now you will be able to under- 
stand how this submarine sled can be 
used for really valuable service. 

The sled is made of metal, and the 
diver sits in a seat that has a solid back 
and hood. The sled is really a form 
of submarine, because it has rudders to 
turn it to right and to left, and other 
rudders to make it rise or descend when 
being drawn through the water by a 
motor-boat, to which it can be attached 
by a line. This sled also has ballast 
tanks which, when filled with water, 
carry the sleigh to the bottom, or, when 
emptied, make it rise to the surface. 
The diver controls these operations 
easily from his seat. You wonder how 
he forces the water out of the ballast 
tanks when he is below, don't you? Well, he 
has a couple of strong, steel flasks into which, 
before he descends, air is crowded at a high 
pressure. He can draw upon this supply many 
times and still find it strong enough to force the 
water out of the submerging tanks. When this 
is done, these tanks are like the swimming wings 
which you have probably used yourself, and up 
goes the .sled because of this buoyancy. 

When the diver is ready to go down in the 
water, he takes his place on the sled, and it is 
launched overboard like a boat from a float. He 

opens two little valves on the top of the ballast 
tanks. Out leaks the air, while water enters 
from below, and he settles easily to the sea-bed. 
Then the motor-boat takes the tow-line, which 
has as its core an electric cable which supplies 
current for the search-Hght on the sled. The 
diver then lets into the tanks just enough air 
from his steel bottles to buoy up the sled until it 
rests very lightly on the bottom, so that the least 
pull will draw it forward ; and, by turning the 
diving rudders when under way, he can rise and 
descend at will, either settling again to the sea- 
bed or soaring over some big 

\RuODena FOB. ^ ^ 

R.CBT AND LCrT obstaClC. 

Let us suppose that he has 

halted the sled by signal and 

has stepped out of it to make 

an examination. Not finding 

what he seeks, he steps aboard of his sled and 

takes his seat. At the same time, he telephones up 

to the captain of the motor-boat that he is ready 

to be off again, and directs him the way he wishes 

to go. Without more ado, the motor-boat speeds 

away, and the diver sits back and takes things 

easy. Perhaps he may wish to go some distance. 


Then he brings the sled to the surface and is 
towed along in the sunshine. While at the sur- 
face he opens the face-plate of his helmet and 
breathes the free air, closing the valve of his 
oxygen tank, and thus holding this air in reserve 
until he goes under water again. 

In time, submarine sledding may become a 
popular sport, but for the present it will help the 
diver to do his work better and quicker, while 
the man of science can thus explore Nature's 
under-water world. 

Robert G. Skerrett. 





Although it seems improbable, a lighted candle 
can be kept burning when almost completely 
submerged in water. The fact was discovered 
very long ago by Archimedes, and doubtless the 
boys of ancient Greece amused themselves with 
the experiment, which is extremely simple to 
arrange. The candle used may be of any size, 
although a very fat coach-candle, which will 
make a larger flame and continue longer burn- 
ing, is best. Use 
a fairly large 
glass of water, 
and conduct the 
experiment care- 
fully and only 
under the supcr- 
t'isioii of a grown 

First, the can- 
dle must be 
weighted so that 
it will float with 
the top just flush 
with the surface 
of the water. You 
will be surprised 
to find how little 
weight is re- 
quired—a small 
piece of metal 
stuck into the 
bottom of it will 
answer. If it is 
not large, a nail, 

or two or three large pins, will be enough. Be 
careful to have the weight so placed that the 
candle will float in an exactly upright position. 
When it is adjusted, light the wick carefully. 
It has probably become wet in the meantime, 
and will flicker at first, but once lighted, it 
will burn freely and steadily, despite its unusual 

Be careful, however, not to disturb the water, 
but to keep it absolutely at rest, since a slight 
wave-motion will cause the melted wax to spread 

The extraordinary thing about the experiment 
is, of course, that the cajidle should continue to 
burn. As it is gradually consumed, however, its 
weight is diminished, causing it to rise very 
slowly. Its upward movement balances this loss 
of weight so that the flame will remain at exactly 
the same position above the water. If it were not 
so, of course the flame would be put out by the 
rising water. It is fascinating to watch this 


curious automatic adjustment. If the directions 
which we have given be carefully followed, the 
candle will continue to burn quietly on the very 
edge of the water until it is completely consumed, 
without spilling a drop of wax. 

Francis Arxold Collins. 

[want to KNOW" 

XOTE: So many questions are received that we can under- 
take to answer in these pages only those of unusual or general 
interest. Other letters, containing return postage, will be 
answered person a II y . — EDI TOR. 

ho'w the bees found a home 

Sag Harbor, N. Y. 
Dear St. Nicholas : A curious thing happened to us last 
week. For a number of days, we had been tormented 
with a plague of honey-bees in the house — there were thirty 
in INIother's room on one occasion. I could not bear to 
injure the little creatures. As soon as I would get them 
all safely out of one room, another would be infested. Fi- 
nally, I unearthed an old hive that was moldering away 
down in the barn, scalded it out, and set it up on the cel- 
lar-way by the kitchen door. The bees inspected by the 
dozen. The next day at noon, we heard the most tremen- 
dous humming, and there was a cloud of them flying over 
the roof of the house. They turned a very acute angle, 
and went straight into the hive, and have settled to work 
like "busy bees" indeed. 

Louise Lockwood Painter. 

W'e have had quite a number of reports in 
the last few years to indicate that scout bees are 
often sent out a day or so in advance of the 
swarm. This is not always the rule. — The A. I. 
Root Company, Medina, Ohio. 

thunder and lightning with snow 

Indianapolis, Ind. 
Dear St. Nicholas: On the morning of March 25, dur- 
ing the recent floods, a very queer coincidence took place. 
It was raining when I reached my school, but after an 
hour or more the rain changed into a wet snow. While 
it was snowing, a flash of lightning was seen, followed by 
a loud clap of thunder. This was repeated, though per- 
ceptibly fainter. Then the thunder and lightning went 
away as quickly as it had come, though the snow still fell. 
Could you tell me if you have ever heard of it lightning 
when snow was falling, and what could have caused it? 
1 would be very thankful if you could, please. 
Your interested reader, 

Blanche B. Shaw (age 13). 

It is Ijy no means rare for thunder and light- 
ning to accompany a snow-storm, but it is prob- 
able that, on such occasions, the lightning is 
really generated in a cumulus cloud, in which 
rain is being formed, up above a lower snow- 
cloud.— H. W. Williams, Acting Chief of Wea- 
ther Bureau, Washington, D. C. 

Anu now come the prose-writers! — with the young artists 
a close second. Nor is there a very perceptible gap be- 
tween the latter and the photographers and rhymesters. 
But the premier honors seem to belong to the young tellers 
of tales, who evidently reveled in that comprehensive 
subject " The Village Alystery." Their stories included 
all sorts and varieties of rural mystifications, from haunted 
houses to practical jokes, besides scores of others of a 
poetic or a truly literary turn that deserved and received 
very serious consideration. And all were so interesting 
and well told that to select the half-dozen best from the 
best fifty was no enviable task. Even now, the editor 
heartily wishes that some way might be devised by which 

he could occasionally put the choice to a vote by the League 
members themselves! 

But in your enjoyment of these clever storiettes, don't 
overlook the drawings. The skill in draftsmanship shown 
by some of our young artists is matched by the lively 
sense of humor evinced by their less ambitious comrades; 
but all are excellent. 

Next month, we shall have an explanation to make in 
regard to the limit of length for prose stories. Mean- 
while, it is enough to say that, while stories not exceeding 
350 words are alloived, the pressure upon our space com- 
pels us to ask our young contributors to restrict the 
length to 300 words, whenever possible. 


In making the awards, contributors' ages are considered. 

PROSE. Gold badge, Mildred E. Hudson (age 15), Oregon. 

Silver badges, Frances Hull Warren (age 10), Iowa; Raymond J. Lillie (age 15), Ohio; Montgomery Knight (age 
12), Massachusetts ; Dorothy Ray Petgen (age 11), Pennsylvania; Betty Penny (age 14), Michigan. 
VERSE. Gold badge, Lowry A. Diggers (age 16), Missouri. 

Silver badges, Ann E. Hamilton (age 12), Ohio; Katherine Morse (age 10), New York; Rachel E. Saxton (age 14), 
New York; Florence M. Treat (age 15), Oklahoma. 

DRAWINGS. C;old badges, Miriam Newcorn (age 13), New York; Mavis Carter (age 17), England. 
Silver badges, Mary Lee (age 15), New Jersey; Robert Martin (age 13), Massachusetts; Harrison W. Gill (age 16), 
Italy; Lucile Kapp (age 13), Illinois; Marjorie Bradford Clarke (age 16), New York. 

PHOTOGRAPHS. Silver badges, Balfour Daniels (age 13), New Jersey; Eleanor Stevenson (age 16), New York; 
Frances A. Scott (age 12), Pennsylvania; Clinton Kirk (age 14), New York; Harriet E. Arnold (age 15), Vermont. 
PUZZLE-MAKING. Gold badges, James K. Angell (age 16), New York; Ruth A. Austin (age 17), Ohio. 
Silver badges, Jesse Carmack (age 14), Tennessee; Ethel Josephine Earle (age 13), Connecticut. 
PUZZLE ANSWERS. Gold badges, J. Whitton Gibson (age 14), Pennsylvania; Ruth V. A. Spicer (age 13), Dis- 
trict of Columbia ; Marshall A. Best (age 12), Illinois. 
Silver badges, Florence Noble (age 9), Vermont ; Gratia H. Ketchum (age 15), Pennsylvania. 





(.ML\ I'.K BADGE.) 



(An orchard idyl) 


{Cold Badge. Silver Badge 7con February. i()l.l) 
Life's briglilness, gLidnt'ss, happiness, 

All come with thee, fair blossom time ; 
Thou makest care and sorrow less 
By thy sweet spell, unconscious, yes, 
Yet powerful in every clime. 
Oh, blossom time ! 

A baby in its nurse's arms sleeps 'neath the shade of 
orchard trees. 

There doubly shielded from all harms, lulled by bird- 
songs and hum of bees. 
In blossom time. 

The children love to romp and play about those trees so 

strong and tall ; 
They laugh with glee and merrily say, "Oh, see the 

pretty petals fall ! 

It 's blossom time !" 

Bright school-boys and sweet school-girls pass, to gaze 

with loving, longing eyes 
Upon that fair, bewildering mass of fragrant blooms. 

And each one sighs : 

"Gay blossom time !" 

There, on a carpet pink and white, two lovers sit in 

silent joy. 
Two faces beam with love's own light ; he, bashful, shy ; 

she, sweet and coy. 

That 's blossom time. 

•ished the idea, but finally yielded to his cousin's im- 
portunate pleadings, and the adventurous pair set out 
to solve the provincial mystery. 

At the threshold of the dilapidated building, they 
jiaused and again listened to the dulcet, melancholy 
"When-u-ah-oo" that issued from within. With fast- 
beating hearts they gained the circular stairway and 
laboriously climbed into the turret. As they peered 
into the gloom, two gleaming, amber sparks returned 
their gaze, and a flutter of wings, like the rustling of 
in\isible draperies, filled the room. The next instant 
a dark object settled upon the moonlit window-ledge, 
and the boys beheld — a huge screech-owl ; then a clear, 
tremulous "Who-oo-ah" rang out over the cluster of 
cottages that nestled in the bosom of the hills, and the 
eery disturber of the town's peace sped away into the 



SeOTI', AGE 12. 

A mother and a father now stroll, hand in hand, down 

Orchard Lane ; 
Together they through life will go, their happiness can 

never wane ; 

True blossom time. 

With eyes now dim, and hair so gray ; worn, wrinkled 

faces, shoulders bent. 
Lips trembling, that few words can say, an aged couple 

through the orchard went — 
In blossom time. 



{Gold Badge. Silver Badge won May, 1914) 
A WILD, weird cry, mournfully passionate, floated out 
over the little New England village. Dick Townsend 
and his cousin Gene, sprawled beneath the spreading 
branches of a giant hemlock, glanced apprehensively 
into the twilight shadows. 

"What was that?" cried Gene. 

"Well, no one knows exactly what it is. Some of the 
more superstitious folk believe it is a ghost ; but no one 
is particularly anxious to discover the owner of the 
voice. It comes from that old watch-tower every eve- 
ning." Dick pointed to the ivy-covered structure which 
rose, dark and menacing, against the riotous beauty of 
the sunset. 

"Say, let 's explore the old place ourselves," sug- 
gested the city lad, enthusiastically. Dick scarcely rel- 



{Silver Badge) 
"This town is so dull," said Gertrude. "Let 's start a 
mystery of some sort." 

"Let 's do something nice for everybody, and not let 
any one know anything about it," said Bertha. "Let 's 
have Barbara and Carol do it, too." 

The next morning, the lame man found a large pile of 
wood on his porch. It happened every morning, but 
he could not find out who did it. 

When the poor woman who had six children found a 
basket of clothes on her porch, she was beside herself 
with joy. And whenever it snowed or turned colder, 
there was always a basket of food, fuel, or clothes. 

The old lady who lived on the hill said : "My garden 
looks best when I am sick !" One day she decided to 
find out who it was that weeded her garden so nicely. 
So she told her neighbors to pretend that she was sick. 
Pretty soon the little girls heard it, and they decided to 
weed the old lady's garden. 

They met at the foot of the hill at five o'clock the 
following day. When they had been weeding for a 
while, they heard the old lady calling them. She said : 
"Come in, and let me thank you !" When they went 
into her dining-room, the table was set with doughnuts 
and milk, which tasted very good to them. 

When any of these little girls saw any one, they said 
"How do you do ?" so nicely and cheerfully, that that 
person said it just as cheerfully to the next person. 




Soon everybody felt cheerful. But they did not know 
that they owed it all to the four small girls. So the 
\illage mystery proved to be (|uite a success. 


]!Y .\NN E. HAMILTON (.\CE 1 2) 

(Sih'cr Badge) 
In summer, when the flowers are in full bloom, 

I lie beneath the blossoming cherry-trees 
Out in the orchard, and look up and see 

The fleecy clouds, like billows on great seas. 

Of Nature's beauties, trees, and flowers, and all, 
I love the birds — the children of the trees ; 

They flit about, amongst the blossoms sweet, 
Swaying so gracefully, one with the breeze. 

The apple-trees are hidden with their buds : 

The plum- and peach-trees let their blossoms fall 

Upon the earth — like messages to me, 

To tell me that the spring has come to all. 



{Silver Badge) 
In this case the village is Domremy. The mystery cen- 
ters about the French saint, Joan of Arc, and her 
"voices." These voices, which, the maid claimed, di- 
rected her in her victorious battles with the English, 
have baffled the greatest historians, and continue to 
baffle them. 

Joan of Arc was always a pious child. She often 
left the other children, to sit under a tree and dream. 
It was here that the voices came to her for the first 
time, telling her to be a good child and obey her parents. 
Thereafter, they appeared to her many times, and only 
once did she miss their presence. When she had saved 
Orleans and had seen the king crowned at Rheims, they 
bade her lay down her arms and return to her home. 
But she disobeyed, and not until after she had been 
captured, convicted, and was bound to the stake, did 
she hear them again. Then a look of peace spread over 
her face, and she fell, a martyr. 

The people of France have since discovered the real 
services rendered their nation by this peasant girl, and 

whether they were dreams, fanatical ideas, or realities, 
no mortal knows. They have furnished subject for 
debate among great as well as small societies, and 
jirobably will never be accounted for. They are, indeed, 
the mystery of the village of Domremv. 


now worship her memory. They have never, however, 
discovered the powers which compelled this girl of 
eighteen years, who had never seen an implement of 
warfare, to lead the French soldiers to victory, after the 
greatest soldiers of the age had failed. It is evident 
that Joan believed in her voices and trusted them, but 


(slL^■ER b.'\D(;e. ) 



(Silver Badge) 
"Come !" said the sunshine, sweeping down. 
"Come !" said the rain, "I will give you a crown." 
"No !" said the little seedling brown, 
"I will )wt come." 

"Why?" asked the sunshine. "Why will you not?" 
"Why?" asked the rain. "Come, get out of your cot!" 
"No !" said the seedling. "No, I will not ! 
I just won't !" 

Then they rolled her and pushed her out of her bed ; 
They pushed down her feet, and they pulled up her head. 
"Now will you behave?" they, triumphing, said. 
"Yes, of cotirse I will." 

Now when she had pushed herself out of the ground, 
She saw lots of flowers when she looked around. 
And she heard the sweet and the rustling sound 
Of the wind in the trees. 

She was a daffodil, straight and tall. 
The rain had given a crown ; and all 
The other flowers seemed to call, 
"It is blossom time !" 





"on time." by ivhkiam newcorn, 

age 13. (gold badge. silver 

badge won july, i9i3.) 

"playground pictures." I 

AGE 13. 



(Silver Badge) 
B STANDS for buttercups, so pretty and petite. 
L stands for lilies, so fragrant and sweet ; 

stands for orchids, so grand to behold, 
S for the sunflower, with petals of gold ; 
S, too, for sweet-william, lovers' delight, 
O is for orris, dainty and bright ; 

M is for mignonette, to put with the flowers 

That go to the sickly, to brighten their hours. 

T is for tulip, beautiful and gay, 

1 is for iris, growing in May ; 

M is for myrtle, sweet perfume to give, 
E is for efflorescence of all flowers that live ; 
Whether gay, or beautiful, or sublime, 
They all bring sunshine in blossom time. 



(Silver Badge) 
It was a quiet, unobtrusive little village near the sea. 
Every morning the fishing-smacks went out, and every 
evening they returned, laden with fish. Stirring events 
were scarce there. 

About half a mile from the village, down by the sea, 
were some huge rocks, towering high above the shelv- 
ing beach. There were many nooks and crannies in 
these rocks, and also deep crevasses. But there was 
one cave, to which my story relates. 

It had long been the village mystery, and it was well 
named, as I found out on entering it. 

Until within a year it had remained a mystery, 
strange sounds issuing from its innermost caverns : 
weird ghostly sounds of shrieking and groaning and 
clanking of chains. But a party of adventurous tourists 
finally solved the mystery. They entered the cave 
boldly, when, suddenly, there came from the black cav- 
ern in which dark forms seemed silently flitting about, 
a most unearthly sound. They shrank back in terror, 
but as nothing happened, they crept in again. They 
found that the shrieks were made by the ocean dashing 

against the rocks and rushing through small holes. Soon 
a chain was found, wedged between two rocks. They 
tried to remove it, and, to the immense astonishment 
of the party, two large rocks fell with a thud upon the 
sandy floor of the cave, and there before them in a 
niche in the rocks was a chest, bound with iron bands. 
The united efforts of the party removed it from the 



niche, and, when opened, it was found to be full of old 
Spanish money — all oval gold pieces. It must have 
been a pirate's hoard. Therefore, to-day, the cave no 
longer remains a mystery, although it emits the same 
doleful groans as before. 






{Honor Member) 

TiiH soft brcfzt' sets tin- li1y-l)t'lls 

Gaily a-chinic. 
He lingers in the quiet dells, 
Bends lower where the violet dwells. 
And her a little secret tells — 

In blossom time. 

The soft breeze brings the summer-cry 

In joyous rhyme. 
He blows the flower petals by. 
And lilts the saucy butterfly 
That in the rose's heart doth lie, — 

In blossom time. 

The breeze goes by us in its flight 

From cooler clime. 
The sky is blue, and fair to sight 
Through apple blossoms pink and white 
For Heaven smiles, and all is right — 

In blossom time. 



(Silver Badge) 
"That there house is the village mystery," laughed 
Farmer Jenks, as he drove up to the old house, so long 

vacant, which Miss Elton, an artist, was to occupy. 
"You should have moved to another part of Greenfield, 
Miss Elton. There ain't a person here would come 
near that house of yourn. It 's haunted." 

"Haunted I" exclaimed Miss F.lton. "Who told that 
yarn, I should like to know?" 

"A tramp, the grocer's boy, and the washwoman," 
answered Jenks, as he stopped the horses. "They do 
say there 's a white thing what whines an' groans o' 
nights been seen in them very gardens. Hope you don't 
meet it. Miss Elton," he added, with a chuckle. 

"Not likely," replied Miss Elton, as she stepped from 
the wagon and entered the house. 

That night she heard a strange whining sound in the 
garden, but thought nothing of it. The second night 
she heard the sound again, and on the third night, Miss 
Elton decided to investigate. Taking her electric 
pocket-lamp, she went into the garden. There was a 
white object on the path near the steps. Miss Elton 
shivered involuntarily, but she quickly flashed her light. 
There on the path crouched a large white dog, looking 
hungry for love and for food. 

Miss Elton burst into laughter as she looked at it. 
The dog whined again, and precipitated himself upon 
her fresh white gown. 

"Poor doggie," she exclaimed; "poor, dear doggie." 
Then she led him to the house. 

"Lan' sakes. Miss Elton," gasped the colored maid at 
the door, "what yo' done got there?" 

"The 'village mystery,' " answered Miss Elton. "You 
're going to live with me, are n't you, doggie?" 

The "village mystery" wagged his tail. 




BY JOHN I.OOFBOUKlioW, Auh II. BY ll.vl.iai. 1 1,. ARNOLD, AGE 15. (SILVER BADGE.) 







(Silver Badge) 
From sun-baked prairies far below, the springtimr 

flowers had gone ; 
And visions of our hearts' desire began to lure us on. 
The ice-chained brooks were loosed, a breeze caressed 

the peaks sublime. 
And over silver San Juan's trails we rode, in blossom 




In sunny meadows gaily waved Chipeta's scarlet brush ; 

The fragile harebell drooped within the solemn pine- 
wood's hush ; 

Where aspens, quivering in delight, their secrets 
whispered low. 

Grew somber monk's-hood, cinquefoil, rose, and aster's 
purple show. 

From prim sand-lilies incense rose, as pure as Ophir's 

gold ; 
By dark ravines the Sego's cups, mauve-splashed, 

found trembling hold ; 
From dark, rich mold to sweetest air, all things 

luxuriant sprung, 
And crushing masses carelessly, we rode the flowers 


And up, through treeless wastes, gray fantasies of times 

long past, 
O'er rugged crags we climbed, to find the fairest flower 

at last : 
'Mid jagged cliffs against the sky, where brilliant snow 

peaks shine. 
With silken cup, and heart of gold, we found the 


But time and circumstance have changed, fate sings 

another song. 
And fainter through the passing years we hear the 

aspen throng. 
No longer do we climb the peaks our eager arms to iill 
With rarest treasures from their sides, whose fragrance 

lingers still. 

Though here, but one wee daisy decks the lonely 

prairies' sweep. 
The blossoms fair we picked that day, within my heart 

I keep. 
In dreams I often see again that well-remembered 

climb : 
I have my dreams, and I am glad, for it is blossom time. 



It was a beautiful day in October. The world was put- 
ting on a new attire, a garment of crimson and gold, 
and the yellow sun was pouring its last pale rays on the 
faded earth. 

"Bob," said Frank Carrol, breaking the long silence, 
"that idea of punishing old Jim Bradley for ducking 
us in the horse-pond is just right. When he sees two 
spooks near that 'havmted house,' on Fordsham Road, 
he '11 nearly have fits — and on 
Hallowe'en, too. Don't forget 
to be ready at nine o'clock to- 
night. Bob. Good-by." 

It was late, and Jim was walk- 
ing unsteadily down the still, 
dark road, after several hours' 
carousing in honor of his wife's 
birthday. The moon had disap- 
peared behind a cloud, and only 
the little, twinkling stars re- 
mained to guide the solitary 
pedestrian on his way. A sharp 
breeze recalled Jim's wandering- 
senses. He turned at the sound 
of a slight rustling in the bushes 
— and beheld a most awful, 
blood-curdling sight. 

Seated on the rickety gate of 
were two tall figures, all in white. 
Fire gleamed in their eyes, and deep groans escaped 
from their moviths, as they swayed to and fro. 

Jim's knees be- 
gan to tremble, and 
everything" reeled 
before him. With 
a mighty effort he 
gathered himself 
together, and fair- 
ly flew down the 
road, splashing 
into pools of rain-water 
and falling into countless 
bramble bushes, until, wet 
and disheveled, he ar- 
rived, a changed man, in 
the safety of his own home. 
Bob and Frank slipped 
off the gate and rolled with 
laughter on the ground. 
"Gee !" gasped Bob, "the 
look on his face when he 
saw us was worth ten 
duckings !" 

But from that day, the 
ghosts of Fordsham Road 
remained "the village mys- 

(gold BADGE. 

the "haunted house' 



AGE 16. 




In blossom time, ■ Men in the meadows 
When flowers are gay. Are making hay ; 

And birds sing sweetly 

All the day ; when sunshine falls 

On the sparkling bay. 

When o'er the hills, This is the time 

And far away, That I love to play. 






March has gone with wind and cold, 
And April with its showers. 

Now the lovely Lady May 

Comes with birds and flowers. 

Dandelions gay with gold, 

Robins singing near. 
All the world is glad again — 

Blossom time is here. * 

"a heading for JUNE." BY WILBUR F. NOYES, AGE l6. 



{Silver Badge) 
The rich glow of the southern moonlight flooded tue 
deserted old Terry place with a radiant light. The tall, 
white pillars gleamed at the end of the avenue, and the 
trees whispered in the night breeze as they had done 
fifty years ago, when the house was filled with life and 
gaiety. But the neglected grass waved almost as high 
as a man's waist, windows and doors were boarded 
across, and an unmistakable air of desertion pervaded 
the entire scene. 

But as midnight approached, suddenly a dog barked, 
down in the village. And if any one had been watching 
just then, he would have seen a weird, wondrous change 
take place. Had he rubbed his eyes and looked again, 
he would have seen that the grass was cut and trimmed, 
that dainty white curtains stirred softly at the open 
windows, and that the place was as it had been fifty 
years before. 

Lights flashed through the house, and sounds of mirth 
and revelry floated out through the windows. In the 
long parlors, furnished in the fashion of half a century 

waved almost as high as a man's waist, windows and 
doors were boarded across, and an unmistakable air of 
desertion pervaded the entire scene. 

The moon and the night wind had been the sole spec- 
tators of the ghostly repetition of the last ball at the 
old Terry mansion. 



The brooklet sings a lullaby, to buttercups and clover. 
The south wind, to the cloudlets high, a drowsy song 

hums over ; 
The valley lilies ring their bells. 
And dreamily the music swells. 
Strawberries, round-faced topers red. 
Drink sun-wine, in the garden bed. 
While on a mossy table green. 
Their fairy goblets may be seen. 
To "Larkspur Inn" comes from the sky 
A pilgrim, — 't is a butterfly. 
So calm, the waters of the lake 
Against the shore no ripples break, 
A primrose petal, like a boat 
'Midst water-lilies white, would float ; 
While 'round the sun-dial roses climb, 
And wait for their sweet "blossom time." 


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

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


Betty Martin 
Catherine Carter 

Richard M. Gudeman 
Margaret Mead 
Eunice M. Koesel 
Katherine Bull 
Margaret Marion 

Clara Snydacker 
Amy Love 
Susanna Paxton 
Agnes Nolan 
Edith Townsend 
Helen F. Neilson 
Elizabeth Naylor 
Margaret Smith 
Helen Frances Hall 
Louise S. May 


"on time." by LUCII.E KAPP, 


gone by, crowds of quaintly dressed people moved here 
and there, laughing and talking. Strains of music filled 
the old house presently, and many graceful couples ac- 
cepted the invitation to dance. 

Suddenly, when the merry-making was at its height, 
a cock crowed lustily, greeting a few faint streaks of 
light in the east. Like a puff of wind the gay throng 
vanished, and the lights went out. The neglected grass 

Claire H. Roesch 
Elouise Loewenson 
Grace D. Landon 
Frank G. Way 
Winthrop Bushnell 
Margaret Walker 
Madeline Buzzell 
Grace C. Freese 
Frances Simpson 
Alvin E. Blomquist 

Sue Golding 
Alfred Curjel 
Emily Delafield 
Priscilla Abbott Drury 
Anna Louise Elliott 
Katie Papert 
Catherine Frances 

Gladys M. Smith 
Muriel V. McClure 
Esther Julia Lowell 
Marjorie E. Gehn 
Gertrude Woolf 
David H. Dodd 
Phebe Poole 
Emma K. Price 
Dorothy Walworth 
Edith M. Levy 
Eleanor W. Haasis 
Marguerite Sisson 
Ruth Schmidt 
Dorothy von Olker 
Naomi Lauchheimer 
Eugene Joseph Vacco 
Edith Mabel Smith 
Grace M. Perkins 
Alfred Galpin, Jr. 
Dorothy Thompson 
Marie Brown 
Lucy Weiss 
Helen Handy Allen 
Gertrude Harder 

W. Turner Wallis, 

Paulyne F. May 
\. Winifred Colwell 
Frances Johnston 
Gretchen Hercz 
Elmaza Fletcher 
Elsie Wright 
Leona Tackabury 
Margaret Day 
Paschal Strong, Jr. 
Sibyl Weymouth 
Harold F. Hopper 
Edith Anna Lukens 
Helen E. Stoney 
Mildred G. Wheeler 
Gladys Haux 


Elisabeth Elting 
B. Cresswell 
Marie Welch 
Dorothy M. 

Lucy A. Mackay 
Lucile H. Quarry 
Elnyth Arbuthnot 
Eugenia A. Lee 
Frances N. 

Adeline R. Evelett 




Vida Williams 
N. Caroline Hopkins 
Peggy N orris 
Harriet Asenath 

Elizabeth Farr 

Sally Rayen Davis 
Marion Penn 
Blanche W. Hull 

Edward J. 

Shelpman, Jr. 
Ethel Warren Kidder 
Kenneth C. Davis 
Helena Gedney 
Fletcher Hock 
Katharine E. Smith 
Shirley Edwards 
Nora Bromley Stirling 
Paul C. Hutton, Jr. 

Rubert Hill 
Patrick Tabor 


Henry S. Johnson 
Margaret Spaulding 
Edith Pierpont 

Ruth Kathryn Gaylord 

'on time." by H.'iROLD STEDFELD, AGE 15. 

Eleanor Hall 
Gertrude Harkins 
Priscilla Mitchell 
Elizabeth Bullitt 
Mildred Fish 
Elizabeth Peirce 
Genevieve Virginia 

Vernie Peacock 
Lois Janet Welker 
Jessie M. Thompson 
Arthur Walter Lee 
Harriet A. Wickwire 
Margaret C. Bland 
Martha Sherman 
Leslye I. Thomas 
Sylvia Merriam 

Jean K. Freeman 
Irma Andr6 

Elizabeth McGowan 

Eleanor Johnson 
Isabel R. Waterhouse 
William A. Ralston 
Elizabeth Gillilan 
Alice Card 
Theodora Kaufman 
Lucy Kate Bowers 
Aline E. Hughes 
Adelaide G. Hewitt 
Leisa Wilson 
Ethel Ranney 
Sarah F. Borock 


Eleanor K. Newell 
Dorothy Walter 
Sam Kirkland 
Amy StearnB 
Leonard Moore 
Carl Keth 
Margaret F. Foster 
Edwin M. Gill 
Emma Stuyvesant 
Esther Price 
Richard H. Grubbs 
Frederick W. Agnew 
Helen Benedict 
Mary G. Willcox 
Margaret Thomson 
E. Theo. Nelson 
Emily C. Acker 
Charlotte Kent 


Robert Edward Blum 
Kenneth D. Smith 
Doris Berry 
Hortense Douglas 
Walter Hochschild 
Philip M. Alden 
Charles C. Hirschy 
Abigail Huyler Held 
Doris C. Smiter 
Frances Metcalf 

Frances K. Marlatt 
Ernst Ehrgott 
Ruth Brown 
E. Barrett Brady 
Duncan Scarborough 
Marguerite T. Arnold 
Henry C. Miner, Jr. 
Julian L. Ross 
Ida Cramer 
Kirkland Hallam 
Salvatore Mammano 
Laura Hunter 

"on time." by FRANCES M. 

Katherine D. Fowler 
Dorothy V. Tyson 
Margaretta Wood 
Dorothy W. Brown 
Margaret A. Blair 
Helen Purdy 
Esther M. Detmer 
Julius F. Muller 
Percy Douglas 
Isabelle Coyne 
Gladys Hatheway 
Hector Clarke 
Knight Marshall 
Lily Goldsmith 
Janet Tomilson 
Antonio Whittle 
Oscar Dubiate 
Fanny Lindsey 
Maude Drake 

Joe Earnest 
Fred Floyd, Jr. 
Elizabeth Townsend 
George Hopping 
Dorothy Collins 
Marian G. Wiley 
Elizabeth Richardson 
Leonard L. Ernst 
Abraham B. Blinn 
James Stanisewsky 
Ruth Barrett 
Helen G. Barnard 
Oscar K. Rice 
Virginia Sterry 
Elizabeth Martin 
Ethel T. Boas 
Bessie Radlofsky 
Anne Barton Townsend 
Francis G. Christian 


Douglass Robinson 
Carl Fichandler 
Roberta Donham 
F. Marian Smith 
Mildred Voorhees 
Isabel Conklin 
Frances H. Bogart 

Gordon Grove 
Francis B. Shepardson 
Lucy M. Hodge 
Hilda Libby 
Katherine J. Judson 
Margaret P. Barcalo 
Arthur Morsell 
Donald G. McCloud 
Dudley A. Streeter 

Catherine Barton 
Eleanor McCarthy 
Charles Carroll 
Mary E. Jacobsen 
Vesta L. Tompkins 
Theodore L. 

Turney, Jr. 
Betty Gray 
Rutn Doan 


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. 176 will close June 24 (for for- 
eign members June 30). Prize announcements will 
be made and the selected contributions published in St. 
Nicholas for October. 

Verse. To contain not more than twenty-four lines. 
Subject, "Memories." 

Prose. Essay or story of not more than three hundred 
words. Subject, " A Curious Experience." 

Photograph. Any size, mounted or unmounted; no blue 
prints or negatives. Subject, "Lights and Shadows." 

Drawing. India ink, very black writing-ink, or wash. 
Subject, "Something Doing," or a Heading for Octo- 

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 yifwwon/j' where 
and under what circumstances the photograph was taken. 

No unused contribution can be returned unless it is 
accompanied by a self-addressed and staviped envelop of the 
proper size to liold the manuscript, drawing, or photograph. 


Any reader of St. Nicholas, whether a subscriber or not, 
is entitled to League membership, and a League badge and 
leaflet, which will be sent free. No League member who 
has reached the age of eighteen years may compete. 

Every contribution, of whatever kind, nuist 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 7nust 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 
Address: The St. Nicholas League, 

Union Square, New York. 


Mr. Rackham's fine drawing which forms the frontis- 
piece of this month's St. Nicholas will recall to many 
readers the well-known story which it illustrates, — 
"The Frog Prince," from Grimm's Fairy Tales. As 
summarized in the introduction to Arthur Rackham's 
"Book of Pictures," the story runs about as follows: 

"The youngest daughter of the King loses her golden 
ball in a well in the forest where she has been playing. 
A frog hears her crying and bargains with her before he 
fetches back her ball. He will not accept her offer of 
her pearls or diamonds, or even of her golden coronet, 
but makes her promise that she will let him be her con- 
stant companion and playmate, even to sit by her at 
table, and drink out of her cup — 'If you will promise 
all this,' he says, 'I will dive down and bring you back 
your golden ball.' Of course she agrees, thinking she 
may safely promise a frog anything he asks, no matter 
how absurd it is. The frog brings back her ball, and 
the Princess thinks she will have to keep all her prom- 
ises. But all ends happily. The frog proves to be a 
bewitched Prince, is restored to his natural form, and 
marries the Princess." 

Cleveland, O. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am writing to express my appre- 
ciation of the magazine I have received for seven years 
— St. Nicholas. It was given me as a Christmas gift 
in 1906, and I have not missed a copy since. Each one 
seems better than the last, and all are just "chuck full" 
of interesting articles and serials. I consider you the 
best of the magazines I subscribe for, and am always 
anxious to get my next copy. In the past year, I have 
been interested in the serials "Beatrice of Denewood" 
and "The Land of Mystery." In former years, I have 
greatly enjoyed "The Lass of the Silver Sword," and 
its sequel, "The League of the Signet-Ring." I have 
often been able to use your shorter articles in school 
work, among them "Beloved of Men — and Dogs," the 
life of Sir Walter Scott. I also read with pleasure and 
enjoyment "Books and Reading," by Hildegarde Haw- 
thorne, and "Nature and Science for Young Folks." 

Expressing again my enjoyment and appreciation, 
I am 

Your constant and devoted reader, 

William H. Wright (age 13). 

In summer, school starts at half-past seven in the 
morning, and lasts until one o'clock, even on Saturdays. 

When you are through the first four grades, you go 
to another school, called middle school. 

From the sixth to the first grades, they have separate 
schools for boys and girls. Here are taught, besides the 
usual branches, English, French, geometry, Latin, and 
a great many sciences. 

The pupils take lunches along, which they eat during 
the two recesses. 

There are three different classes of schools, that for 
the poor children being free, that for the middle classes 
charging a small fee, and that for the wealthy classes 
costing a great deal more. 

On the first of May, they have what they call 
"Mothers' Day." Little wax flowers and little buttons 
with pictures of bears, the emblem of Bern, are sold, 
and the proceeds go to a society which supplies families 
having small children with good milk the year round. 
In the evening, they give a big dance, to which all 
school children bring flowers, and the entrance fees 
are also given to this society. 

Everybody who goes to Bern is sure to go to the bear- 
pit to see the cunning animals, and to buy some of the 
fruit and pastry which are kept near by on purpose for 
the bears. 

While we were in Bern, three little bears were born. 
They were such cute little things, looking just like balls 
of fur. It is lots of fun to see them take their bath and 
climb the immense trees which are planted in the center 
of the pit. 

Bern is certainly a beautiful city and a lovely place 
to live. 

I remain your devoted reader, 

Gertrude C. Peycke (age 12). 

Glencoe, III. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I can't ever tell you how much I 
enjoy your magazine. Your pictures, stories, poems, 
etc., please me very much. 

I am now anxiously awaiting the new number, for all 
my lovely stories. Some of my favorites were "The 
Land of Mystery," "The Lucky Sixpence," "Beatrice of 
Denewood," and others. 

I only have a few pets, for one, a dear little Japanese 
chow-chow, died. My pets are : Rosy, the pony ; Tiger, 
the cat, and Molly, the cow, though she is n't much of a 
pet. Your loving reader, 

Lindsay C. Field (age 9). 

Omaha, Neb. 
Dear St. Nicholas : As I have never seen a letter tell- 
ing about Swiss schools, I shall tell you about my ex- 
perience with them. 

The first four years, which they count as the tenth, 
ninth, eighth, and seventh, the child has to go to a 
private school. The boys sit on one side of the room, 
and the girls on the other. They have very large desks, 
and two children always sit together. Arithmetic is 
taught only twice a week, but reading, writing, and 
spelling are taught daily. 

Every Saturday morning, the whole class has gym- 
nastics, which is counted as one of the studies. On the 
days that they have arithmetic they also have manual 
training. They spread oil-cloth over the desks and do 
the manual work right there in the room. 

Milwaukee, Wis. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am an ardent reader of your 
magazine, and enjoy it very much. I am writing to tell 
you of our beautiful city. The scenery in the summer 
is lovely, especially in the parks. The most well-known 
are Lake Park, Washington Park, Mitchell Park, and 
Humboldt Park. Although they are all pretty, I do not 
think that any of them can compare with Lake Park. It 
has so much natural scenery, and is such an ideal spot 
for picnics in the summer. The band concerts, also, 
help to entertain us on the long summer evenings. 

We have loads of fun in the winter at Washington 
Park ; skating and tobogganing are our favorite sports. 
In the winter, the skating is usually good there before 
it is in any other place, because the lake is artificial and 




not very large, and, of course, freezes very easily and 

The animals in the summer at this park are amusing 
to watch, especially the polar bears. There are three or 
four of them. At four o'clock or so, the keeper who 
feeds them comes around and gives them two dozen 
loaves of bread and about five or six pieces of beef. 
First the bears take the bread, and go over and soak it 
in their pond ; then take it back and crush it with their 
paws, and eat it. Before they have quite finished eating 
the bread, they devour their 
meat. When that is gone, they 
eat the rest of their bread. 

They are not the only animals 
that are amusing to watch, for 
the baby monkey is equally in- 

Very sincerely yours, 

Helen Shaidnagle 
(age 14). 

took wagons to "Bourg St. Pierre," which took about 
two hours ; we all had soup and big pieces of 
bread in a little "cafe" called "Le dejeuner de Napo- 
leon," where we could hardly all get in ! We were told 
that Napoleon I passed by there, and stopped at the 
same "cafe" when he went through Switzerland to go to 
Italy, so it was quite interesting. After we were all 
rested, we walked for four hours or more until we ar- 
rived at the hospice. On our arrival we felt the change 
— in coming up it was so hot, but as we went on, we 

Pedro, S. Dak. 
Dear St. Nicholas : My age is 
nine years. My height is four 
feet and five and one half inches. 
I live on a ranch seven and one 
half miles northeast of Pedro, 
in South Dakota. I have two 
sisters and one brother. 

We have a dog named Major 
and a cat named Moses. My big 
sister named the cat Moses be- 
cause she found him in the 

My oldest sister is eighteen years old. My other sis- 
ter is twelve years old. My brother is seven years old. 
We children all want the St. Nicholas when it comes. 

We have an old horse named Cleve that we children 

I like the story "The Runaway" best. I liked the 
story "Miss Santa Claus of the Pullman" very much. 
Your loving reader, 

Mary T, Huss. 


I HAVE a little pussy-cat 

Whose name is Jeremiah ; 
Some of the household proposed to me 

To call it Obadiah. 
But I objected so to this. 

They mentioned Hezekiah ; 
Of all the three outlandish names, 

I like plain Jeremiah. 

Elizabeth Laurie (age 10). 

Lausanne, Switzerland. 
Dear St. Nicholas : Some time ago, our school was 
taken on an excursion to the Great St. Bernard, and I 
thought that it might interest you if I wrote and told 
you about it. There were fifty girls, five mistresses, and 
two guides. We got up at three in the morning, had 
breakfast (a very funny time for it !), and left the house 
at four. We all had big "knapsacks" on our backs, and 
heavy nailed boots, and canes. I 'm sure we must have 
all looked a sight ! It was lovely going down to the 
little station, where we took our train, in the dark. 
We took the train to Martigny, and there changed 
and took the mountain train to Orsieres ; there we all 


gradually felt the cold, since there was a great deal of 
snow up there. At the entrance of the hospice, there 
was a great big dog (a stuffed one) who had saved over 
fifty lives. Then the monk showed us to our rooms ; 
we had very nice ones, considering where we were. I 
was in a room of four, but there were also others of 
two and three. Before supper, we all went out and 
walked around a bit ; there is a lovely little lake near 
the hospice, and we were all enchanted with it and with 
the lovely mountains which surrounded us. Then we 
went in for supper. We were all at one big table ; we 
had a very nice Swiss supper, and afterward we all 
wrote cards and bought little souvenirs that the monks 
had made. Then we were all sent off to bed (but we 
did n't go right away). After having the time of our 
lives, we got into bed at last. We did n't undress, but 
only took our boots off, so it was quickly done. 

The next morning, we got up at six and had break- 
fast, which consisted of coffee, bread, and frozen honey. 
Then we visited the little chapel, which was so lovely 
and quaint, and after that saw the dogs. There were 
about twelve of them. They always let them out at 
eight in the morning and give them their "gymnastic" 
lesson, as the monk said. The dogs were so nice, and 
looked very intelligent indeed. We sang to the monks 
before leaving, and I think they liked that. We left at 
eight ; the best walkers took the way by the "Col de 
Fenetre" — all could n't go, as it was climbing mostly, 
so several of us went back by the same way we came. 
We all got into a hay-cart at Bourg St. Pierre, where 
we were like sardines in a box, but at last we arrived at 
Orsieres, and waited for the others to return. We ar- 
rived back at school at ten, and went to bed directly. 
We were all very sunburned, and looked like a band of 
Indians. In all, we had a most lovely time, and I don't 
think we shall forget our trip to the Great St. Bernard. 



I love the St. Nicholas, and especially the new serial 
story "The Runaway." 

With love from your affectionate reader, 

Phyllis M. Pulliam (age 13). 

PiQUA, O. 

Dear St. Nicholac : I have taken you ever since Novem- 
ber, 1910, and do not think that I could get along 
without you. 

This fall, I saw the play of "Little Women," and 
most of my girl friends did too. We were so interested 
in it that we got to work and in another week had the 
play ourselves. I took the part of John Brooke. There 
were ten of us in it. We learned our parts by heart, 
and the costumes were very good indeed. Hannah was 
especially good in the way she fixed her hair. We took 
it from the chapters "Playing Pilgrims," "A Telegram," 
and "Aunt March Settles the Question." For a fourth 
act, we had a tableau, then got up and danced around 
Mr. and Mrs. March, and had a grand right and left. 

Later, we had it again, and made $16.50, each ticket 
being a dime. 

I was much interested in the letter from Miss Alcott 
in the January St. Nicholas. The part about the 
March family I liked especially. 

I think that -the St. Nicholas has the best stories 
for children that there are. 

Your interested reader, 

Catharine M. French (.age 11). 

Cascade Locks, Ore. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I am a member of the League, and 
I enjoy reading you very much. I think you are the 
very nicest magazine there is. Our family has taken 
you since before my mother can remember, and my 
grandmother had a number of bound volumes. 

One time before Christmas, Mother told us that we 
would have for Christmas something that we would en- 
joy more than anything else, and that there would be 
ten of it. We just could n't imagine what it was. And 
when Christmas came, it was ten volumes of the St. 
Nicholas ! They are regular treasures. We enjoy 
reading them over and over so much. 

I have read over almost all of the poems in the last 
number. I like the one on page 282 of the January 
number, "The Old and the New," by Eugenia B. Shep- 
pard, very much. 

Your interested reader, 

Chloe S. Thompson (age 10). 

Lancaster, Pa. 
Dear St. Nicholas : I like the new way in which St. 
Nicholas comes. I loved "The Land of Mystery." I 
like "The Runaway," and I thought that "Miss Santa 
Claus of the Pullman" was lovely. 

Every Saturday morning, if I am down-town, I can 
see the Amish people. For they come in every Satur- 
day morning to market. They dress very funny indeed. 
The little children dress like their mother and father. 
Little girls four and five years old wear skirts down to 
their shoe-tops. Their skirts stay that way till they are 
grown up. Little boys wear long trousers. The men's 
and boys' suits look as though they had outgrown them. 
The women and children dress in bright purple, blue, 
green, red, and black. They wear bonnets which are 
black. Their bonnets stick away cut, and are like stove- 
pipes. Your loving reader, 

Susan Appel. 

A GOOD friend of St. Nicholas, Mr. J. B. Haines, of 
Philadelphia, sends us this amusing story of an incident 
in his household showing how and why boys can be 
good sometimes if they particularly desire to be. 

"One of my boys, a determined young rascal of eight 
years, works out for himself many original thoughts, 
and proceeds to put them into action. 

"At the beginning of Lent, we were very much sur- 
prised when this young man refused to take his share 
from the box of candy, and we immediately jumped to 
the conclusion that he was n't feeling very well ; but he 
would have nothing to say upon the subject. But his 
chum, little Geraldine, finally worked out of him that 
he was keeping Lent. We were surprised at him keep- 
ing anything, and wondered how he got the notion in 
his head ; we commenced to see in our visions a future 
bishop, but, try as we would, we could not find out why 
he was keeping Lent until yesterday. Then it appeared 
that my eldest son denied himself all candy during 
last Lent, and at Easter all the children and ourselves 
chipped in and purchased him the biggest chocolate 
Easter egg we could find, which weighed something like 
three pounds. We found out that Master Spence had n't 
forgotten that big Easter egg, and wanted to know from 
his sister if the big Easter egg which he would get at 
Easter would be as big as the one his brother got when 
he kept Lent !" 

We beg pardon, in advance, of all the highly respected 
Teacher folk who read St. Nicholas for printing the 
following verses about "Nature-Study and Teacher" as 
viewed from the small-boy standpoint. And please ob- 
serve that they were written by Miss Blanche Elizabeth 
Wade, so that neither the small boy, nor the Editor, is 
really responsible for them, after all ! 


We ought to study Nature just from books, is what I 

say ; 
It does not do for Teacher dear in any other way. 
Because when once I found a spider, brown and very 

And brought him carefully to her in my best sailor-hat. 
My teacher cried aloud in fright, and squealed, and took 

on so, 
I had to hurry to the door, and let my spider go. 

One time, I found the finest kind of long, soft, fresh 

green worm ; 
But, my ! you ought to see the way it made my teacher 

squirm ! 
Then on her desk I put a snail, a harmless little thing 
That would not hurt a bit, because it could not bite 

nor sting ; 
But when it came half-way from out its shell, and tried 

to crawl. 
The noise my teacher made they say they heard across 

the hall. 

Another time, a baby mouse I brought her in a box. 
She gave a look, and then a scream that folks could 

hear for blocks. 
I thought she 'd like to see a snake ; and brought one 

in a pail ; 
But Teacher yelled a lot, and would not even touch its 

So, Nature-Study in a book is all that she can stand, 
For when it comes to samples, Teacher has n't any sand! 
Blanche Elizabeth Wade. 


Word Puzzle. From 2 to 24, rob ; 3 to 23, dared : 4 to 22, Barnard : 
5 to 26, bore : 6 to 27, coon ; 7 to 28, tank ; 8 to 2g, tell ; g to 30, seed ; 
10 to 16, terrify: 11 to 15, roust; 12 to 14, pit; 32 to 17, Mars; 33 to 18, 
tent: 34 to 19, noon: 35 to 20, wail: 36 to 21, reel: i to 25, horn: 2 to 
26, rare : 3 to 27, darn ; 4 to 10, booklet : 5 to 9, bones ; 6 to 8, cat : 29 to 
II, leer: 30 to 12, drop: 31 to 13, ruin; 32 to 14, mist; 33 to 15, Taft; 
22 to 16, deanery ; 21 to 17, lions ; 20 to 18, lot ; 23 to 35, drew; 24 to 36, 

I. S-camp. 
7. S-peak. 

Novel Diagonal Acrostic. From i 104, wire; 5 to 8, hats: 9 to 
12, gong: 1310 16, gone. George Washington. Cross-words: i. Weir. 
2. Hind. 3. Gare. 4. Gote. 5. Tons. 6. King. 7. Lave. 

Word-Squares. L i. Marsh. 2. Agile. 3. Rival. 4. Slave. 5. 
Helen. 11. i. Fetch. 2. Exile. 3. Tidal. 4. Clasp. 5. Helps. IIL 

1. Crete. 2. Raven. 3. Event. 4. Tense. 5. Enter. 
A Shaksperian Diagonal. Pericles. Cross-words: i. Prospero. 

2. Hermione. 3. Cordelia. 4. Achilles. 5. Doricles. 6. Fluellen. 7. 
Mortimer. 8. Claudius. 

Double Zigzag. Abraham Lincoln. Cross-words: i. Abel. 2. Ibis. 

3. Ruin. 4. Back. 5. Halo. 6. Hale. 7. Main. 
Primal Acrostic. Jackson. Cross-words: 1. Joggles. 2. Alem- 
bic. 3. Console. 4. Knuckle. 5. Scandal. 6. Omnibus. 7. Nippers. 

Illustrated Puzzle. Mungo Park. i. Lemon. 2. Fluke. 3. Honey. 

4. Cages. 5. Cloak. 6. Paper. 7. Frame. 8. Earth. 9. Cakes. 

Solvers wishing to compete for prizes must give answers in full, following the plan of the above-printed answers to puzzles. 

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 March Number were received before March 24 from Gratia H. Ketchum — J. Whitton Gibson- 
Ruth V. A. Spicer — Marshall A. Best — Florence Noble — Eleanor Manning — Theodore H. Ames — Elizabeth Lee Young — Ruth M. Wheeler 
— Evelyn Hillman — Florence S. Carter—" Chums" — " AUil and Adi " — Isabelle M. Craig — John Pierpont Helmick. 

Answers to Puzzles in the March Number were received before March 24 from William T. Fickinger, 8 — Sophie Rosenheim, 8 — Isabel 
Shaw, 8— C. H. Pritchard, 8— Elsie De Witt, 8— Janet Fine, 7— Helen A. Moulton, 7— Margery H. Patch, 7— Max Stolz, 7— Lothrop Bartlett, 6 
— Ruth C. Wilson, 6— Dorothy Berrall, 6 — Justine Hartley, 6 — Agnes Nearing, 5 — Jeraldine Mallette, 5 — Buela Doolittle, 5 — Anita L. Grannis, 
5 — Lazare Chemoff, 5— Arthur Poulin, 4 — Frances K. Marlatt, 4— Alice A. Barksdale, 3— Mary L. Butler, 2 — Natalie Bloch, 2 — T. D. Smith, 
I — J. Thomas, i — J. W. Sanborn, i — M. Snook, i— S. V. Knight, i — D. Crane, i — E. Backes, i — V. Shepherd, 1 — F. Floyd, Jr., i — K. E. Styer, 
I — M. Eversole, i — M. Byers, i — M. Schultz, i — E. Carpenter, i — H. C. Green, i — B. Freeman, i — H. H. Stewart, i — M. McCready, i — A. 
Bell, I— V. Yegen, i— D. McCune, i— P. Reimold, 1— D. Clark, i— L. Hiss, i— E. A. Miller, i— J. G. Greene, i— W. Chess, i— G. F. Baldwin, i. 

Single Beheadings. Third row. Memorial Day. 
C-apes. 3. S-lime. 4. S-loop. 5. L-earn. 6. B-rain. 
S-tall. 9. C-rude. 10. B-leak. 11. T-rays. 

King's Move Puzzle. Begin at 20 and spell out Aristotle: begin 
at 17 and spell Xerxesj 41, Narcissus; 53, Endymion ; 47, iEneas; 38, 
Draco: 27, Rhea; 3, Eurynome; 31, Leochares. 1 he initials, re- 
arranged, spell Alexander. 


( Go/d Badge. Silver Badge ivon May, IQil) 

I. Upper, Left-hand Square: i. High. 2. A musical 
drama. 3. Great excitement. 4. Tendency. 5. Mea- 
sures of length. 

II. Upper, Right-hand Square: i. To urge. 2. A 
remnant. 3. Senior. 4. A utensil for separating fine 
from coarse particles. 5. To twist. 

III. Lower, Left-hand Square : i 
Proportion. 3. An inflammable fluid, 
tent attack. 5. Painful eruptions. 

IV. Lower, Right-hand Square : 
Applause. 3. Incline. 4. A small candle. 5. Austere. 

V. Upper Diamond: i. In assert. 2. A scarf of fur. 
3. To waken. 4. A snake. 5. In assert. 

VI. Left-hand Diamond: i. In assert. 2. To bleat. 
3. To set in rows. 4. Period. 5. In assert. 

VII. Central Diamond: i. In assert. 2. A tavern. 
3. To go in. 4. A snare. 5. In assert. 

A water-plant. 2. 
4. A slow, persis- 

Cozy places. 2. 

VIII. Right-hand Diamond: i. In assert. 2. Sum- 
mit. 3. Heavy cords. 4. An inclosure. 5. In assert. 

IX. Lower Diamond: i. In assert. 2. Also. 3. Bel- 
lows. 4. A compound of a metal and other substance. 
5. In assert. 

ruth a. AUSTIN (age 17). 


{Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 




19 SI 


54 45 35 39 Cross-words : i. To set free. 2. 

8 • 55 • Public. 3. To introduce. 4. A 

22 • stroke. 5. A weapon. 6. A South 

63 5 American bird. 7. A tree. 8. To 

S3 • vex. g. The Paraguay tea. 10. 

12 46 40 Warmth. 11. Cloth made of flax 

I 17 65 or hemp. 12. An instrument for 

3 20 • measuring time. 13. A vegetable. 

36 42 • 14. Makes thin. 15. Fretful and 
60 30 59 peevish. 

10 18 49 When the foregoing words have 

37 so • been rightly guessed and written 

11 48 4 one below another, the initials 
14 34 32 will spell the name of a favorite 
47 61 6 author. 

The letters represented by the 
figures from i to 12 will spell the State in which the 
author was born; from 13 to 23, from 24 to 35, and 
from 36 to 46, each name a book by this author ; from 
47 to 53, the town in which the author afterward 
lived ; and from 54 to 65, the name of this author's 


9 41 


58 52 
13 25 

29 43 
44 23 




I'llI': KIDDLM-liOX- 


Each of the nine little pictures in the above illustration 
represents the title of a poem by Longfellow. Which 
are the nine poems ? 

3. A dealer in silks and woolen cloths. 4. The governess 
of a convent. 5. To count. 6. Peril. 7. To heed. 8. 
To make exact. 9. The dress and make-up of a person. 
MARGUERITE A. HARRIS (age lo), League Member. 


(Silver Badge, St. Nicholas League Competition) 























































1 1 



Cross-words: i. A French seaport. 2. The capital of 
Hungary. 3. One of the United States. 4. The coun- 
try which contains the desert of Gobi. 5. A sea of 
southern Europe. 6. A country of Central America. 7. 
An island south of Australia. 8. A great mountain 

When the foregoing words have been rightly guessed 
and written one below another, the diagonal, beginning 
at the upper, left-hand letter and ending with the lower, 
right-hand letter, will spell a country that has recently 
been the subject of much controversy. 

The letters represented by the figures from i to 13, 
spell the name of a Prussian city famous for the treaties 
signed there; 14 to 20, an East Indian island; 21 to 26, 
a European capital; 27 to 31, a river of India; 32 to 38, 
a city in the Argentine Republic ; 39 to 43, a town in 
Mexico near the Rio Grande; 44 to 51, the capital of a 
South American country ; 52 to 57, a country of south- 
ern Asia. JESSE CARMACK (age 14). 


When the nine words described have been rightly 
guessed and written one below another in the order 
here given, take the first letter of the first word, the 
second letter of the second word, the first letter of the 
third, the second of the fourth, and so on. These nine 
letters will spell the name of a very famous painter. 

Cross-words (of equal length) : i. The instrument 
by which a vessel is steered. 2. Pertaining to the mind. 


My primals name a large city and my finals the State 
in which it is located. 

Cross-words : i. Tidy. 2. A measure ot land. 3. In 
a short time. 4. A musical wind-instrument. 5. Bad. 
6. Part of the eye. 7. A young girl. 8. A narrow road. 
9. A big lake of North America. 

A. B. BLiNN (age 14), League Member. 


( Coid Badge. Sih'cr Badge luon September, IQIJ) 

I 2 5 — 6 

20 19 

17 18 





9 10 

From i to 2, exalt; 2 to 3, to enrich; 3 to 4, humor; 4 
to s, the coat of a seed ; 5 to 6, fuss ; 6 to 7, a month ; 
7 to 8, proportion; 8 to 9, a greasy substance; 9 to 10, 
a musical term meaning "slow"; 10 to 11, to possess; 12 
to II, a light spear; 12 to 13, a cabal; 14 to 13, bustle; 
14 to IS, to bring low; 16 to 15, to employ; 16 to 17, a 
fabulous animal; 17 to 18, new; 18 to 19, to fold; 19 to 
20, evident ; i to 20, a long space of time. 

The letters represented by the figures 3-5-4-2-7-9-8- 
10 spell a famous battle fought in the month named by 
12-16-11-15; while one of the commanding generals is 
named by 17-14-19-13-18-1-6-20. 

JAMES K. ANGELA (age l6). 



"That soup for mine! Come rain or shine 
Or any kind of weather. 
With that inside, I daily ride 
Two hobbys— both together." 


^ ^i'H Campbell 


It becomes a regular hobby. 

After you eat it a few times and see how good 
it is every time, and how good it makes you feel 
afterward, you find that nothing else quite takes the 
place of 

Campbell's Tomato Soup 

And it's a mighty sensible hobby, too — enjoyable, 
healthful, practical; a benefit to the whole family; a 
time-saver and a trouble-chaser every time you ride 

Why not start today? 

21 kinds 10c a can 




TN all the world of outdoor play, 
from the dolly days to the golf 
days, no hobby fits in, — adds pleasure 
to every other hobby as does 


Kodak and Brownie catalogue free at your dealers, or by mail. 

EASTMAN KODAK CO., Rochester, N. Y., The Kodak City. 



All Ready for 
Strawberry Time 

In tne spring, grocers everywhere stock up on Puffed Grains to get ready for straw- 
berry time. Our mills are run night and day. We have sent out more than ten 
million packages to prepare for June demands. 

For people, more and more, are mixing Puffed Grains with berries. The tart of 
the fruit and these nut-like morsels form a delicious blend. 

Serve Together 

When you serve berries, serve with them a freshly-crisped dish of Puffed Wheat or 
Puffed Rice. Mix the grains with the berries, so that every spoonful brings the two 

The grains are fragile, bubble-like and thin, and the taste is like toasted nuts. 
They add as much deliciousness as the sugar and the cream. 

Strawberries, you think, are hard to improve upon. But try this method once. 

Puffed Wheat, 10c 
Puffed Rice, 15c 

Except in 



There are many delightful cereals. We make 17 kinds ourselves. But Prof. An- 
derson, in creating Puffed Grains, has supplied the daintiest ready-cooked morsels 
which come to the morning table. 

And their delights are endless. They are good with sugar and cream. They are 
good mixed with fruit. Yet countless people like them best when served like 
crackers, floating in bowls of milk. 

Girls use them in candy making. Boys eat them dry like peanuts. Cooks use 
them to garnish ice cream. In all these ways they take the place of nut meats. 

But they are never better than at berry time, mixed with the morning fruit. 

The Quaker QdAs (l>mpany 

Sole Makers 






(A Continued Story) 



(Polly and Peter are away at school. Their 
letters \fi\\ appear here each month. ) 

A Letter from Peter 

Dear Polly : 

We have been having quite an exciting time lately. I sup- 
pose that, just like a girl, you will say, "Oh, he means boning 
up for exams." But I don't mean that at all. Exams are 
exciting enough, but they just stir your head up, and don't get 
way down to your toes the way base-ball games and track-meets 
and things like that do, when you just ha've to beat somebody 
out, and work all over like anything. Most girls would think 
it was a waste of good time, but you have more sense. So I will 
tell you about it. 

I guess I have n't told you, but I have just set my ambition 
on being captain of our track-team before I leave school, and 
the first thing I have to do is make the team. It is a little 
bit " nervy " for a first-year boy, but I guess that nerve is what 
wins, if it is the right kind, not just bluff and brass. 

Well, I have a fine track-suit and shoes and a sweater and 
all, and I have been practising running and jumping and hur- 
dling. I do my best work in the hurdles. I heard Mr. Evans, 
who is our Physical Director, say the other day when he did n't 
know I was around: 

' ' That boy will make a good hurdler some day if he has the 
grit to stick to it." 

Well, I guess 1 have the grit; anyway, I had plenty of it in 
my shoes yesterday afternoon after the try-outs. They ran off 
the semi-finals of the 220-yard hurdles at four o'clock, and 
maybe it was n't great sport. Oh, I must tell you about Billy 
Conley. He is a second-year boy and an awfully good hurdler, 
and maybe he will beat me to-morrow when they run the finals. 
We 'U see. I don't like him awfully much. He has some 
funny streaks, and likes to play mean tricks on fellows and get 
up crowds to vote for offices and so on. Well, I had a hard 
tussle of it, but I won my heat by a nose. Charley Smith al- 
most beat me out, but I think Charley had too much chocolate 
sundae in his system. So when they ran off the next heat, I 
was standing there in my sweater to watch, because Bill was 
in it. 

It was awfully close. They were all lined up at the start — and, 
say, I '11 bet they could just feel the wiggles going up and down L 

their spines. "Ready ! " cried the starter, — ' ' On your marks ! ' ' 
— " Get set ! " — "Bang!! " But do you know, that Bill 
Conley tried to steal on the pistol, and the fellows had to go back 
like a lot of naughty puppies and do it all over. " Bill," 
said Mr. Evans, " if you try that again, back you go to the gym 
and stay there ! ' ' Well, he did n't, and at last they all got off, 
neck and neck. 

Bill was ahead, but he caught his toe on the last hurdle and 
over it went, and he came down hard on his knee. But he was 
game, and up and off in a second, though it must have hurt 
like anything, and won the heat by the skin of his nose. My, 
but it was exciting I 

Well, after it was over 
and they were running the 
last heat, he sat down bv 



the side of the track and looked very sad. I went up to 
him and said : 

"What 's the matter, Bill? Does it hurt very much ? That 
was a hard knock." 

And he looked up, grouchy as could be, and answered : 

"Huh! None of your business, Freshie ! I s'pose you 're 
glad of it. To-morrow this knee will be so stiff I can 'frun, 
dog-gone it. Here 's where you win out." 

" Well," I said, "you just try this," and I brought out my 
sample bottle of 


that I always keep handy. 

" You tie that up before it gets stiff and keep it soaked with 
Pond's, and you '11 be all right to-morrow." 

He looked up at me with a sheepy grin and said : 

"That's mighty good of you, Peter; don't care if I do try 
it. You 're a real brick ! " 

Well, I saw Billy last night just after dinner, and he was n't 
limping a bit. But Charley Smith told me that he heard that 
Bill had been planning to fix me all right so that I would lose 
out to-morrow. What do you think of that ? You 
know Molly, Bill's sister, she is in your class, 
is n't she.? Well, why don't you have a talk with 
her and see if she can't straighten him out a bit .'' 

I think he 's a good chap inside, but he 's 
got to get rid of his mean outside before 
he grows up. 

Some of the boys came in yester- 
day just as I was writing about Bill's 
mean outside — you know I 'm wor- 
ried about Bill — a fellow never grows 
up right if he is always plotting 
against his friend'. 

If you can imagine, in twenty minutes we have to be out on 
the track ready for the finals. Say, I 'm not a bit excited in my 
head, but my knees feel sort of wobbly. 

There goes the quarter of four chimes now, and I 've got to 
hustle like anything. " On your marks ! ' ' — " Get set ! ' ' — 

More later from 

Your affectionate brother, 


(In the next number you will find out who won the finals 
and how Bill Conley tried to " fix " Peter.) 

POND'S EXTRACT COMPANY'S Vanishing Cream-Cold 
Cream — Face Powrder — Toilet Soap — Pond's Extract. 

131 Hudson Street New York 





IT is perfectly natural 
— that liking you have 
for Beech- Nut Peanut 

Most heahhy American 
boys are fond of it and 
are eating it constantly. 

More than a million 
mothers keep Beech-Nut 
Peanut Butter on hand, 
for family use, and to 
serve to guests — and for 
the boys and their friends 
when they come around. 

Beech-Nut Peanut Butter 
comes in vacuum-sealed jars of 
three sizes, and is sold by rep- 
resentative grocers everywhere 

Send your name on a post card fot 
"Happy Little Beech-Nuts"— Jingle 
booklet, beaatifalty illustrated, 

Beech-Nut Packing Company 
canajoharie. n. y. 

'i]iii]iiijiiiiiiiiiiHiiiiiiiriiiiini]iiiriiiiiiirriiiiiiiiiii]iriiiiiiiiii niiniiiiiiMl 

Now and then I receive a very nice letter from 
a reader, which is carefully signed, but gives 
no address. Perhaps the writer thinks I am 
rude in not answering, but what can I do? 

For example, a reader, whose first name is 
Mary, wrote me a delightful letter saying that 
she had been reading "Richard Carvel" and 
wanting to learn more about the American 
naval hero John Paul Jones. I dictated a com- 
plete answer to Mary, giving her the names 
of several books by different publishers on this 
interesting subject, before I discovered that 
there was no address on her letter ! 


"Dear Book Man": 

Writes a ten-year-old Boston girl, "I wish 
you would tell me where I could find a good 
easy cook-book. Not one to teach me how, 
but just simple understandable receipts. I can 
cook pretty well, and I am just 'crazy' over it. 
I am going to get all the meals next summer. 
I can make as good cake as mother can, and 
all by myself too. I made her a birthday cake 
without her knowing it, and without any but- 
ter in the house. 

"I am very fond of books. The Book Man 
articles are very interesting. I like the 'Won- 
derful Adventures of Nils' and its sequel by 
Selma Lagerlob better than any book I ever 
read. They are my greatest treasure. I adore 
St. Nicholas and I think it is the best maga- 
zine I ever read. I love 'The Lucky Stone' 
and 'The Housekeeping Adventures of the Ju- 
nior Blairs.' " 

The answer: Get Mrs. BarroU's "Around- 
the-World Cook Book," and surprise the fam- 
ily this summer with all kinds of unfamiliar 
dishes. Mrs. Barroll is notable among her 
friends for her delightful housekeeping; and 
this book is made up of the receipts she has 
picked up in her years of wandering all over 
the world. She has tested every receipt, and 
her directions are easy to follow. 

Then there is Mary Ronald's "Luncheons," 
a regular cook's picture book. You can have 
lots of fun with it. The price of the "Around- 
the-World Cook Book is $1.50 net; "Lunch- 



THE BOOK MAN— Continued 

eons," $1.40 net; and they are both well worth 
the price. 


"Caterpillars and Their Moths," by Ida 
Mitchell Eliot and Caroline Gray Soule. The 
life-histories and illustrations of forty-three 
species of moths in the United States and Can- 
ada. $2.00 net. 

"The Sea Beach at Ebb-Tide," by Augusta 
Foote Arnold. It gives full directions for col- 
lecting and preserving seaweed, the arrange- 
ment of a herbarium, etc. $2.40 net. 

"Box Furniture," by Louise Brigham. "Box 
Furniture" tells how to make and how to have 
fun making one hundred simple, serviceable, 
artistic, and fascinating things in the furniture 
line. Nothing is left to chance or guesswork. 
It tells just how. Many illustrations. $1.60 

"Art Crafts for Beginners," by Frank C. 
Sanford. Illustrated by the author. $i.20 net. 

"Mary's Garden and How It Grew," by 
Frances Duncan. For everybody who wants 
to know when and how to plant a garden. 

Not always. But is it fun to play the piano 
or to dance or to roller skate if you are not 
used to it? Get the habit now, even if it is 
hard to begin. You can't always get a piano 
even if you like to play; you can't dance or 
skate when you are sick or tired or grown old, 
but you can always read— and you '11 never 
know what fun it is until you get the habit! 
— Public Libraries. 


Here is an interesting list sent in to The 
Book Man by a bright twelve-year-old, who 
gives them as her great favorites among the 
books she knows : 

"The Wonderful Adventures of Nils." 

Louisa Alcott's books. 

Stevenson's "Treasure Island" and "Kid- 

Frances Hodgson Burnett's • "The Little 
Princess" and "The Secret Garden." 

Kipling's Jungle Books. 

Nesbit's "The Treasure Seekers," "The 
Wouldbegoods," and "Harding's Luck." 

"Alice in Wonderland." 

"Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm." 

"Hans Brinker," which, you will remember, 
was written by Mary Mapes Dodge, so long 
the beloved editor of St. Nicholas. 


A first-rate list that for any twelve-year-old ! 



Measure up to the 
Standard of the 

If Not, What is the 

In 9 cases out of 10 it is a 
question of Feeding. 

/y If properly fed, other conditions being 

correct, Baby should at least be Normal 
in his physical development. 

Mental development depends largely upon a 
I satisfying food. ^^a^ 

All milk makes a curd in the Baby's Stomach. 
The curd should be light, so the digestive 
juices of the delicate stomach can act readily 
upon it. 

Gail Borden Eagle Brand Condensed Milk 
makes a light, flocculent curd similar to that 
of Mother's Milkr 

It contains the necessary elements for building 
firm flesh and bone. The baby is satisfied 
and grows normally. 

Send for Feeding Chart and literature. 


"Leaders of Quality" 

Est. 1857" 


C O NT o E:;rsr^S ED 



St Nicholas Advertising Competition, No. i^o. 

Time to semi in ansiuers is up June 20. P?'ize winners annoiinced in the August number. 

This competition is going to prove who keeps 
his eyes widest open. You know sometimes 
you are reading aloud in school and suddenly 
the class begins to laugh without any reason, so 
far as you can see, but you find that they are 
laughing because you said, "The pipe was 
tinny," when you meant to say, " The pipe was 

You must be very careful in this competition 
not to make any mistake. 

What we want you to do is to give the name 
of the article in the advertisement of which you 
find all the words we have put into any ques- 

For example — suppose we should ask a 
question like this: "Are you ready to cut out 
and stand up?" Having read the advertise- 
ments you will remember that some advertiser 
offered something "to cut out and stand up," 
so you look through the advertisements for that 
phrase. You find this phrase on the Sapolio 
page, and elsewhere in the same advertisement 
are the words given in our question, namely, 
"are" and " you." So the answer to this ques- 
tion would be ''Sapolio." 

You will find in every question some word 
or clue that will make you think at once of some 
particular advertisement you have read. In 
question No. i you can easily see that "125 
years ago " gives the key to the answer. All 
of you remember from last month's competition 
what was invented 125 years ago. Here are 
the questions. The answers will all be found 
in the May advertising pages. 

1. Was this question invented 125 years 

2. Should you, too, visit the army and the 

3. Are oiled roads good enough for you ? 

4. Were apple blossoms very beautiful ? 

5. Can dad handle you like a boy ? 

6. Is dancing delightful to artists? 

7. Were clean children always heroes? 

8. Will you enjoy twenty-five ^ economy? 

9. Does n't Mother want you children to 
be disappointed? 

ID. Is Fairy Food irresistibly good? 

11. Is 3 in One 100 times? 

12. Is a mile and a half Park the largest? 

13. Can you save 6 pounds in school? 

14. Do you want one million big red letters? 

1 5. Will the children wear them ? 

16. Is Velvet good and strong ? 

Do not rewrite the questions but put down 
the mimhers and write after each number the 
name of the advertised article as given in the 
May St. Nicholas, which correctly "answers" 
that question. This will not be difficult as no 
advertisement smaller than a quarter page is 
used. If more than one advertised article is 
mentioned in an advertisement, both should be 
included in your answer, as "Puffed Wheat & 
Puffed Rice," in one of the Quaker Oats Com- 
pany's advertisements. 

After writing out the correct answers write 
us a letter of less than 250 words telling us 
which of these 16 advertisers your family pa- 
tronizes — and why you give preference to St. 
Nicholas advertisers. In the case of equally 
correct answers to the questions, the prize will 
go to the one who writes the best letter. 

The prizes will be : 

One First Prize, $5.00, to the sender of the 
correct list and most interesting letter. 

Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each, to the next 
two in merit. 

Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each, to the next 

Ten Fourth Prizes, $1.00 each, to the next 

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 prizes offered. There is no age limit, and no 
indorsement of originality is required. 

2. In the upper left-hand corner of your list 
give name, age, address, and the number of this 
competition (150). 

3. Submit answers by June 20. 

4. Use 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 fas- 
tened together. 

5. Be sure to comply with these conditions if 
you wish to win a prize. 

6. Address answer: Advertising Competition 
No. 150, St. Nicholas Magazine, Union 
Square, New York. 

Another Prize Competition this month is given 
on our stamp page. 

(See also page 18.) 




A $4.23 Quality for 

Per Tire 

The standard price for a high-grade tire is $425 
apiece. Of course, lesser tires sell at lower prices. 

But the several leading makes still cost you $4.25 

per tire. 

In the Goodyear-Akron you get the utmost qual- 
ity for $2,48 per tire. You get Goodyear quality — 
the best tires men can build. You get it for $2.48 
per tire because this is the world's 
largest tire plant. Enormous output 
and modern equipment have brought 
cost down and down. And our aver- 
age profit last year was 6% per cent. 


Remember that Goodyear Automobile tires hold top 
place in Tiredom. They outsell any other. So do 
Goodyear Motorcycle tires. The Goodyear-Akron single- 
tube Bicycle tire is made by the same experts, in the 
same factory, and by the same Goodyear standards. 

How to Qet Them. Order from us direct. For the 
plain tread, send $2.48 per tire. For the non-skid, send 
$2.75 per tire. If we have a dealer 
near you, order will be filled through 
him. Otherwise we send by Parcel 
Post. We ask direct orders because 
so many dealers handle tires which 
pay them larger profits. 





Compass and Whistle in one 

A true Compass and a powerful Whistle, solid metal, 
beautifully nickel-plated. Price 15c., 4 for 50c., 1 doz. 
^1.25, by mail post-paid. Every boy scout should have 
one. Send for illustrated catalogrue, free, containing all 
the latest European and Domestic novelties, tricks, 
puzzles, useful articles, fancy goods. 
EXCELSIOR NOVELTY CO.. Dept B, Anderson Realty BIdg,, Mount Vernon, N.Y. 


Camp and Sportsman's Lamp 

Makes nights in camp cteerful; can overhaul guns and 
tackle OT read. Worn on cap or belt. Both hands free 
for gtm or knife. Casts bright circle on trail and pre- 
vents stumbling, trreat for coon or 
possum. A fine lure for fish or frogs. 
Ideal for casting, gigging, spearing, 
boating or canoeing. Handy for re- 
pairing tire punctures at night. Pro- 
jects light of over 14-candle power 150 
feet. Bums Acetylene Gas. Weight, 
5 oz. Height, 3J inches. No oil, soot 
or glass. Absolutely safe and simple. 
Catalogue free and instructive booklet. 
At all Dealers or " Knots and How to Tie Them, ' ' mailed 
by Mall Prepaid $1.0B on request. 

JOHN SIMMONS CO., 4 Franklin St., New York City 

Forest and Stream 

Edited by . 

William George Beecrof t 

The weekly journal of outdoor life, hunting, 
fishing, natural history, taxidermy, canoeing. 
The "How To and Where To" of each sport. 
The American Gentleman's Journal. $3.CX) 
a year or on trial to ST. NICHOLAS readers 
$1.00 for six months. 

22 Thames Street, New York 


Leant to Stoitn by 
Que Trial 

Plain, 25c. 
Fancy, 36c. 

For Sale Everywhere 

AYVAD MAN-F'G CO.. Hoboken. N. J. 

Be the 

Keep your com- 
panions on the correct 
way to your destination 
by day or night, with a 
compass that is guaranteed' 
always correct. The 



is not only nseful and educational, but is a great thing for boys 
to have fun with. It has a jeweled needle— heavy and tempered 
Bteel point— silvered metal dial—screw stop and white metal 
non- tarnishing case. 

It is the only Guaranteed Jeweled compass at its price. 

Most dealers sell the Leedawl Compass. Go to your dealer 
first. If he does not have them, or will not order for you, send 
us his name and address with $1.00 and we will send you one. 
Descriptive matter mailed on request, 

Tayior /nstrument Companhs lOGAmes St., Rochester, N.Y. 
There's a Tycoa Thermometer for Every Purpose. 

Here's Real Pleasure 

Escape the heat and monotony of these long, languid 
days by an outing, vacation or exploring trip in an 


It will open a world of new summertime pleasures to you. 
The '*OId Town" is strong and safe, swift and graceful — 
preferred by experienced canoeists. 2000 canoes in stock — 
agents everywhere— send tor catalog. 

"■Where the stream in witchin' play ^^OlD TOWN CANOE CO. 

Goes laughin'oD.jestpushin' all the >^^H 256 MAIN STREET, 
lilies out his way." /mtKcK Old TOWN, MAINE, 




To New Mothers 

The Mothers of 15,000,000 Children Have Depended 
on the Rubens Shirt. See What it Does for Babies. 

The Rubens has no open laps or buttons, so it keeps out cold 
air, is comfortable and convenient. 

It is double thick in front, protecting chest and abdomen — the 
parts that most need protection in both summer and winter. 

It makes dressing and undressing easier, slipping on like a coat — 
and is adjustable. 

For 1 6 years it has outsold all other shirts. Let your little 
new-comer wear it. 

Ask for Rubens Shirts and be sure that this label ap- 
pears on the front. This shirt is our invention, and this I /J? a, 
whole factory is devoted to its right production. Don't | ''xi-c^6<i<A7 
be misled by imitations on a garment so important. 

R*ff U.S. Pal. Office 

No Buttons No Trouble 

Reg.U.S. Pcit.OJ/ice (107) 

Rubens Shirts 

For Inf eoits 

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 


Pernaps ^ne oest way to report on this interesting com- 
petition is to print the Prize Winner's letter. Here it is: 
Bessie H. Rockwood, 
Age fourteen years. 
. . . N. Y. 

Competition No. 148. 

This is Helen's and Charles's letter about the February 

St. Nicholas advertisements. They wrote it them- 
selves, without any help. 
*Advertising Editor, St. Nicholas Magazine, 

*Dear Sir : — • 

One page we saw is about Rubens Shirts For Infants, 
What Every Baby Needs in Winter. There is, too, an 
advertisement about the Mandel-ette (a one minute cam- 
era), and one about the Cromwell, a design for spoons 
made by the International Silver Co., who make the 
1847 Rogers Bros. ware. 

There is a page about the Grand Canyon of Arizona, 
and another about Peter's Milk Chocolate. Another 
brand of chocolate has a picture of a waitress, and un- 
derneath the picture is this: Reg. U. S. Pat. Office. 
On the next advertising page is something about Camp- 
bell's Soups, of which there are 21 kinds. 

Not far away is the Jell-O page with a picture of 
four college girls having A Quiet Little Spread. Facing 
them are some men talking about Holeproof Hosiery, 
made in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. 

The seventeenth page is about Colgate's Ribbon 
Dental Cream, and tells why a U. S. Army sergeant, 
on recruiting service, rejected a would-be soldier on 
account of his bad teeth. The sergeant stated that 
"Thirty-five per cent, of the catarrhal cases in the 
United States Army were directly traceable to diseased 

oral conditions." • Not necessary, but not wrong. 


On one page is the picture of a funny little fellow 
" Practising " on the piano. This advertises a book, 
Improving Songs for Anxious Children, published by 
G. Schirmer (Inc.), 3 East 43d St., New York. 

Eskay's Food is told about in a half-page advertise- 
ment, and pictures of children are shown. On the 
next page is Gail Borden's advertisement of Eagle 
Brand Condensed Milk. Then there is Beech-Nut 
Peanut Butter, made at Canajoharie, N. Y. 

Polly and Peter Ponds interest us very much, and 
the story of Peter's experience is very amusing. So is 
the page on The Cruise of the Ivory Ship. 

The next page describes Libby's California Asparagus. 
Yours sincerely, ~ 
Helen Heedless and Charles Careless. 

Here are some of the principal ERRORS made in 
many letters : 

Charle's; Mandelette camera; Jello; College spread ; 
Reuben's shirts for winter (instead of for infants); 
Cambell's soups. 

Here are the careful readers of St. Nicholas : 

One First Prize, $5.00: 

Bessie H. Rockwood, agre 14, New York. 
Two Second Prizes, $3.00 each : 

Harry Guthmann, age 17, New York. 

Anna F. Hedrick, age 13, Connecticut. 
Three Third Prizes, $2.00 each: 

Faith Gillies, age 15, Minnesota. 

Rosamond Bartlett, age 14, Massachusetts. 

Anna Shaw Gifford, age 17, Massachusetts. 
Ten Fourth Prizes, % 1.00 each: 

Helen Coleman, age 15, Illinois. 

Julius R. Pratt, age'lS, New Jersey. 

Adalene Garretson, age 13, New Jersey. 

Marian G. Howard, age 15, Maryland. 

Samuel S. Cadwell, age 10, Connecticut. 

Valerie Torpadie, age 16, New York. 

.John Perez, age 14, New York. 

Horatio Ridout, age U, Maryland. 

Dorothy June Mattern, age 12, Pennsylvania. 

Denis Blake, age 15, New York. 


m- SCHWATIZ ,^^ 

FifftAve,at3istst " jlie Home o/T0Y5 

New YorIC 

Truly this is the most delightful store to visit in New 
York — a store of joys for girls and boys. And remember, 
you ST. NICHOLAS readers are always welcome to come 
and enjoy to your heart's content the thousands of interesting 
things seen here in greatest variety. 

BasebaH outfits— bicycles, tricycles, and velocipedes — games— wagons — 
skates — cameras— tennis and golf outfits — gymnasium outfits— fishing 
tackle and camping outfits— and ever so many other things for making your 
summer-time play and recreation happiest and most enjoyable. 

Come personally if you can, but if you live too far away then 
write us for catalogue — which is full of pictures of many of our 
nicest things, and from which you can choose what you want. 

Schwarz Building, 

The largest exclusive Toy Store in the World 

ESKAYS FOODddicSe triplets 

"Our triplets were put on 'E^kay's Food' from the very first. They 
owe their life and strength to it." Mrs. T. Kranzusch, Appkton, Wis. 

Send for TEN FEEDINGS FREE and book " How to Care for the Baby." 





Use it every day 

Child health should be 
safeguarded by liberal use 
of Listerine — the safe and 
pleasant antiseptic that has 
held the confidence of phy- 
sicians and dentists for over 
thirty years. 

Daily cleansing of the 
and throat with 
Listerine is a pre- 
ventive highly re- 
garded in the best 
homes in America. 
Imitationsare either 
very inferior or 
positively harmful. 

All Druggists Sell L isterim 



St. Louis, Mo. 




with Father's 
Corona Type- 


if Father has n't taken it with him. 

Most often he does, and this advertisement is to remind 
the little ones to ask Father to buy them a Corona all for 

The Corona is the best playmate to have — and, besides, it's 
the easiest way to do "lessons." 

Some children don't have the use of a Corona at all — as 
even Father does n't own one. We ask all the Boys and Girls 
who are in this fix — to show "Dad" this ad. 




is, first of all, a standard 
typewriter in every particular. If you can operate any one of 
the $li)0 machines you can operate the Corona. The Corona 
is only different in weight, size and price. Its weight is 6 lbs. 
—size when folded 3%" x 10^" x 9". 

The Corona Portable Typewriter is the machine for per- 
sonal use and it will save its cost in a short time, 

CJuldreri — be sure to sendns your name a7id address 

for our little Booklet No. 33 ^Printed for yo7i. 

The Standard Typewriter Co., Groton, N. Y. 

141 W. 42d St., at Broadway, New York City 

Agencies in principal Cities of the PVorld 



made safe and sure with little work if 3-in-O 
Used. oils everything from garret to cellar : Sewinpr 
machines, bicycles, guns, tools, hinges. Won't collect dirt 
or gum. 

3-in-One cleans and polishes all fine furniture, veneered 
or varnished. Removes dust, soil and ordinary marks of time 
and wear. Also makes dusting easy and sanitary. Contains 
no acid ; no unpleasant odor. 

3-in-One keeps bright and prevents tarnish on spipote. 

faucets, metal soap dishes, towel racks and all other nii'kel 

fixtures or ornaments in bathroom or kitchep. .'.It prevents 

rust on all black iron surfaces, indoors or out, in Wy climate. 

■Write today for generous frefe' sample and 

free 3 in -One Dictionary. 

3 in-One is sold everywhere, 10c, 25c, and new 50c 
£conoiiiicnl Household Size. ' ^ 



42 QH. Broadway, New York 








Broad Toe 

Extension Hecl 

Where the ankles of a boy or girl 
" turn in," the Coward Arch 
Support Shoe with Coward Ex- 
tension Heel is very helpful in 
correcting this common form of 
foot w^eakness. 

Constructed over approved 
anatomical forms, it rests and 
strengthens the entire foot struc- 
ture, holds the ankle upright, and 
restores the arch to normal posi- 
tion. Particularly useful for pre- 
venting and relieving "flat-foot" 

Coward Arch Sapport 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 



264-274 Greenwich St., New York City 

(near warren street) 


T'S pretty hard to wait that 
last half- hour before daddy 
comes with the box of ■z^^. 
But «^5^ are worth waiting 
for. They always taste just a 
little better than you remember. 

Bonbons *^ Chocolates 

Children like •e^^ best be- 
cause they are most delicious. 
Mother likes them best for the 
children because they are al- 
ways pure and fresh, -e^xs- 
come in so many varieties that 
they suit every age and taste. 

«^K^ candies are sold by 
•e^^ agents (leading druggists 
everywhere) in United States 
and Canada. If there should 
be no sales agent near you, 
v/rite to us. 


Frank DeK. Huyler, President 

■e^>4^ Cocoa — the greatest drink for 

young people 





Careful Mother 

to keep baby dry and comfort- 

To make Her own work less — 
Puts a pair of Kleinert's Baby 
Pants over her baby's diaper. 

They positively protect the 




Single Texture, 25c. 

Double Texture, 50c. 


Little Dickie" Prepaid $lio 

Special Offer, 30 Days 

This perfect Motor with Switch and *' Motor Hints " mailed anywhere in 
U. S. or Canada on receifjt of $ Every boj' and grown-up should have 
the new VOI^TAMP Catalog — ^just the book for the experimenter. Wire- 
less, Telegraphs, Telephones, Motors, Dynamos, Transformers, Rectifiers, 
Miniature Railways and Parts, Raw Materials and hundreds of others. Sent 
only for 6c in stamps or coin. Largest Electrical Mail Order House in U. S. 

Nichol BIdg. Baltimore, Md. 

A Binder for your St. Nicholas 

With your Own Name on Front Cover 

Keepsyotir magazines ingoodeondition and 
where you can easily get them, and makes a 
book you willbeproud tolendyotir friends. 

$1.00 Postpaid 

Write to Si. Nicholas or to 




Original and unequaled. 

Wood ortin rollers. "Improved* 

requires no tacks. Inventor's 

signature on genuine: 

Delivered v?u FREE 

on Approval and 30 Days Trial 

^Flin Nn MniIFY t>ut write today for our big- ism catalog 
OCnU nU mUnCI of "J?aff«er"Bicycle3. Tires and sun- 
dries at prices eo low they will astonish you. Also particulars of our 
ereat new offer to deliver you a Ranger Bicycle on one month's 
free trial without a cent expense to you. It's absolutely genuine. 
DfiyC y<>^ can make moneytakingordersfor bicycles, tires, lamps. 
■IV ■ W 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 <!•'■«<=* *<> y"- No one else can offer such 
^— ^^— .^^^.^.^— ^— « values and such terms. You cannot afford 
to buy a bicycle, tires or Bundries without first learning what we can 
offer you. Write now* 

Mead Gycle Gom , Dept. B 272, Chicago, ###• 

Old Fashioned Country Place 



you want it, on piazza, nursery table or playroom floor. 

Lawns and tennis court, rose 
garden and sun dial, old fash- 
ioned garden, summer house 
and garden tables. Terraces and 
fences in perfect order; place in- 
cludes fine house, gardener's cot- 
tage, greenhouse, poultry yard 
fully stocked with pedigree 
fowls, Plymouth Rock, Wyan- 
dottes, Buff Cochins, Leghorns, 
^^j^ ~ ~ dt^^nuBi ~ day old chicks, etc. 

The place affords a wonderful opportunity for the exercise of individual 
taste in landscape effects ami yields aji7ie crop of happiness and content 
all siim7ner lo}i_^. 

Dr. Montessori has bought several of these little country places for use 
in her Schools at Rome and highly endorses it. Edward Bok, Editor of 
I^adies' Home Journal, says : " It has added a new delight to childhood." 
Collapsible, portable, almost indestructible. Takes but little space in suit 
case. Sent prepaid by parcel post or express. 


(Frances Duncan) 6 East 37th Street, New York 

The books of Rudyard Kipling sell 

better every year than those of 

any other living author 

Every child should have for companions 




They are to be had in two editions : green 
cloth, $1.50 each; pocket edition in flexi- 
ble red leather, $1.50 net, postage 10 cents. 


has been issued also with sixteen full-page 
illustrations in rich color by the famous 
English artists Maurice and Edward 
Detmold . Price $2.^0 net, postage 10 cents. 
The Century Co., Union Square, New York 



Golden Gate 





Gardiner Gateway 


tKe Original, Natural and Northern 
Entrance to 


Via the 

Northern Pacific 

Personally Conducted Excursions Weekly 
Trains direct to Gardiner 

Season: June 15 — Sept. 15 

Regular Park Tour 
five and a half davs 

Send six cents for attrac' '■ ^^ ^ ^1^ 

tiva liierature show' 
hotel rates and 
detailed information 


Cen'l Passenger Agent 

ST. PAUL, Af/iVjV. 

Sample size mailed for six cents in stamps. 
Ask for our booklet, ** Health and Beauty.'* 




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 w^ear out, but a loving little pet will bring a new companionship and 
happiness into the home, grow^ing 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 

Song Birds in 
r^ Your Garden 

Va?i ca?i iviiL them. Bluebirds, wrens, 
purple martins, flickers, etc., — the beau- 
tiful American birds can be attracted by 
Dodson Bird Houses. Write for my free, 
illustrated book which tells how to win 
and help birds. I 've been buildingr bird 
houses for 18 years. Among them — 

Dodson Bluebird Hmise. 
Solid oak, cypress shingles, copper cop- 
mg. Price $S.(iO. 

Dodsoft Purple Martifi Hmise. 
26 rooms and attic. Price $12.00; with all- 
copper roof, $15. (K). 

Dodson Chickadee or Nuthatch Hmtse. 
Price $1.50; with all-copper roof,$ 
Double Chickadee or Nuthatch House. Price $2.50; with all- 
copper roof, $3.50. 
Flicker Houses, $2.50 to $5.00 ; Tree Swallo^v House, $3.00; 
Flycatcher House, t^.^^y^ either one with all-copper roof, $4.()U. 


Catches as many as 75 to fOO sparrows a day. Automatic. 
Strong, electrically welded wire — adjustable needle Poi^tts at 
two fitunel mouths. Helfi us zet 7' id of this e7ie77iy of 02ir 
native birds. Price $3.00. All prices are f.o.b. Chicago, 

Solid oak. cypress 
shinj^les, copper 
coping. Price $5.00 

IViHte to-day /or Mr. Dodsoii's free illustrated book about Birds. 

Joseph H. Dodson, 707 Security Bldg. 
Chicago, III. 

Mr. Dodson is a Director of the 

Scottish Terriers 

Offered as companions. Not 

given to fighting or roaming. 

Best for children's pets. 


Brookline, Mass. 

The Kiddies and Grown-ups 

botli enj oy our stylish 

Pony Vehicles 
and Harness 

A postal request will 
bring our catalog, 
showing the greatest 
vai'iety of pony run- 
abouts, traps, governess carts, surreys, harness and 
saddles of latest designs. Write today. 

The Brown Carriage Co., 1602 GestSt., Cincinnati, 0. 


We must reduce our stock of CATS, 
to make room for our boarders. Many 
of our best will gro at sacrifice prices 
to first comers. 

Make boarding reservations now 
for your dog' or cat's vacation. Cata- 
logue and rates upon request. 


N. Y. Office, 112 Carnegie Hall Tel., 3691 Columbus 

BIRDS boarded in bright sunny room at 
moderate prices. Aviary bred canaries 
and ornamental foreign finches for sale. 

All kinds of seeds and foods by parcel post. 
S. C. JACK, 120 West 116th St., New York 



Beautiful and intelligent little 
horses for children constantly on hand 
and for sale. Send 5 cents in stamps for 
handsomely illustrated pony catalogue to 

617 Eighth St., Monmouth, III. 

Wash Your Dog 

With our Medicinal Dog Soap. 
Stimulates the hair, improves the 
lustre of the coat, cleanses the skin 
and rids him of the flea. 25 cents 
a cake — small cake free. 
Condition Pills — Worm Capsules. 

1310 Sansom St., Philadelphia, Pa. 

Belgian Schipperkes 

(Best Bnrglar Alarm) 

Their small size, short hair, na- 
tural cleanliness, intelligence and 
freedom from disease, make them 
the ideal and perfect house dog. 
Puppies from imported stock. 


A New Dog Cake 


For dainty feeders, invalids, puppies, toys, etc. 
Write for sample and send 2c. stamp for" 'Dog Culture" 




^t ^tci^olajs} pet ^E^epartment— conttnuei) 

Pony Hints 

Ponies always bring abundant health, depend- 
able us^ulness and unequaled pleasure, but 
your pony — the one best suited for your special 
needs — must be chosen with knowledge and 
care. Write me just what you want, and the 
price. Your future playmate is waiting for you. 

No. Ferrisburg Vermont 


Pets for the children. Pals for all. 
The best natured dogs living. 

Pups and Show Dogs 

Prices $25.00 to $250.00. All pedigreed. 

Fort Orange Kennels 
Albany, N. Y. 


who says she likes a real loving little 
puppy lots better than dolls. Her uncle 
Mr. F. R. Clark, ow^ner of the Sunny- 
brae Collie Kennels, Bloomington, 111., 
can sell you a beautiful little collie if 
you write at once. He has written a 
very valuable book on dog training 
which costs only 25c. Write to him. 

Prize Winnin g Shetland^ 

"" Our big herd of nearly 300 ponies contains many 
prize winners and all are well bred, reliable and 
constitutionally strong. Naturally you wish your chil- 
dren to be robust and self reliant and nothing will help' 
them so much as having a good Shetland pony for a play- 
fellow. They are not expensive and their cost of keep Is ' 
small. They can be ridden or driven equally well, and 
Belle Meade Farm ponies can be trusted anywhere. They 
are not afraid of anything. Get 

one— it will repay you a thousand 
fold in the health and happi- 
ness of your children. Com- 

plete outfits. Write for cata- 

Belle Meade Farm 
Box 9 Markham, 


^ci^ooljs anD Campjs 

New- York, Ossining-on-Hudson. 
tjr^wi !-.+ /-> VI T-Toll OssiNiNG A department of Ossining 
JtiampiOIl nan 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. 

Thompson - Baldasseroni School of 

TraVGl ^°^ Girls. 14th Year. Eight months' travel and 
' study abroad. Usual courses. American home 
comforts. October sailing. 

Mrs. W. W. Scott, Sec'y, Dover, N. H. 


Algonquin National Park, 'i 
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. 

Boys! Girls! Speak a Foreign Language! 

Learn on your own talking home, during spare 
moments — French,Gernian, Spanish, Italian—easily, 

quickly. No tiresome rules. Just listen to the native pro- 
fessor's voice pronounce each word and phrase until you 
know it. Make your school work easy by the 


combined with 


Let us send you our free " Treatise on Lang^uag-e Study," 

and particulars. Write to-day. 

THE LANGUAGE-PHONE METHOD, 979 Putnam BlUg.. 2 W. 45(h St., New York 

National Park 

Semiitsii^y^fcriji r 1 s 

^^ ^r^^Washington, D. C. ( Suburbs^^^ 

^ Junior College. All High School ^ 

courses and 2 years of College work. 

"Wide range of Vocational, Academic and^ 

Cultural studies. Attention to special talents 

and individual tastea Music. Art, Homeinaking. 

Open-air life near National Capital. Illustrated book ^ 

on request. Address Box 178 Forest Glen, Md. 

Connecticut, New Haven. 

PAMP STTlVnVrYm'nF' I" ^^ beautiful highland 
L. A iVX t- :5 U IV iV I a 1 U tL country of Wilton, Conn. 
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. 


' assssssssssssss^Bss&ii&ssssssssssssssssssssssss^^sssssgggs^^ 




E are anxious to make this page interesting to 

planned a prize contest — and the best of it is that 
it is open to every one, whether a stamp-collector or 
not, and every competitor has the same chance of 

If you are not now a collector, here is an oppor- 
tunity to start a very interesting and instructive 
hobby with a valuable set of stamps ; or, if you are 
already an enthusiast, to add some prize issues to 
your collection. 

Here is what you must do : 

This is a picture of a stamp which has recently 
been issued by Hungary. It differs from previous 
issues only in the water-mark. 
The design is the same. There 
are two rather prominent fea- 
tures of the •design. First, 
there is the flying bird. It may 
be a dove, or a hawk, or an 
eagle. Who can tell us ? Just 
below the bird is a curious- 
looking crown. Why should 
such a crown appear so prominently upon these 
stamps? Perhaps some of our readers know all 
about this, and will tell St. Nicholas. Write in 
three hundred words or less what you can find 
regarding the stamps of Hungary. The writer of 
the most instructive and interesting account will 
receive as a prize a complete set of this new issue 
from one-heller to five-krona. This set, purchased 
from a dealer, would cost about three dollars. To 
the second best article on the above subject we will 
give a set of stamps to and including the two-krona. 
This competition is governed by the same rules as 
those applying to our -advertising competition, Sec- 
tions I, 2, 3, and 4 — i.e., any one may compete for 
prizes. All essays must contain your name, age, 
and address, be written in ink on one side of your 
paper only. All answers must be in our hands by 
June 20. Successful contestants will be announced 
in our August number. Replies should be directed to 

Editor Stamp Page, 

St. Nicholas Magazine, 

Union Square, N. Y. City. 

This competition is a trial feature for our Stamp 
Page. If it meets the approval of our readers, as 
evidenced by the number that enter the competition, 
we shall take great pleasure in repeating it from 
time to time. 


THIS month brings us complete new sets from the 
French Colonies "Upper Senegal and Niger," and 
"Senegal." They are similar to recent issues of the 
other colonies. They are oblong and bi-colored, the 
center representing a local scene. 

The third illustration shows the design of the 
pfennig value of the new issue for Bavaria. This 
nation is evidently pursuing a new policy in issuing 
stamps — new in several ways. After having held 
persistently to one design from 1867 to 1911, it has 
since then gladdened the hearts of collectors with 
these new types. And this latest is certainly a 
thing of beauty. We recently have had much to say 
in praise of the pictorial beauties of the Egypt and 
Turkey issues, but, after all, there is nothing so 
striking as the plainer design with only a portrait. 
How often do we hear collectors regret that no 
longer is there the finish and color of the older 
issues — that no longer does any nation give us any- 
thing which can compare with the exquisite engrav- 
ing of the early Ceylon or the 
wonderful colors of the early 
issues of St. Lucia and St. 
Vincent. But here at last is 
something new, and some- 
thing which can come a close 
second to those older issues 
which we collectors admire 
so much. These Bavarias are 
beautiful in finish and mag- 
nificent in color. They are 
printed by what is called the 
"mezzotinto" process. As is 
seen in the illustration, the 
design is simple in the ex- 
treme. The wa- 



ter-mark is hori- 
zontal wavy 
lines. On the 
lower values the 
King's portrait 
is about three 
quarters shown, 
and he is wear- 
ing spectacles ; 
while in the 
higher, or "mark," values, there 
are no spectacles, and the face 
is in profile. (A mark is worth 
twenty-five cents in our cur- 
rency.) The colors of the set 
are as follows : three-pfennig, 
brown ; five-pfennig, green ; 
ten-pfennig, red ; twenty-pfen- 
nig, blue ; twenty-five-pfennig, 
gray ; thirty-pfennig, orange ; forty-pfennig, olive ; 
fifty-pfennig, red-brown ; sixty-pfennig, blue-green ; 
eighty-pfennig, violet ; one-mark, brown ; two-mark, 
violet ; three-mark, red ; five-mark, dark blue ; ten- 
mark, dark green ; twenty-mark, dark brown. Simply 
mentioning these gives no idea of their beauty, for 
the colors in many instances are so strikingly vivid 
that they seem alive. All the stamps are printed on 
light buff paper. 





Contains separately described printed spaces for over 15,000 
different stamps from tiie earliest issues to the present year. 
All in one volume. An unequaled grift for young ueople who are 
starting stamp collections. Board covers, ;J2.25;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. 


127 Madison Avenue 

New York City 

FIIMF stamps sold cheap. 50% and more allowed from Scott's 
ril^E* prices. International Stamp Co., Covington, O. 

Special bargain sets, 5c. each 

With our 
net approvals 

Palm Stamp Co. 

10 Brazil 
10 Cuba 

10 China 

10 Dutch Indies 

Los Angeles, Cal. 

Tin vnii /.rtlle/.* P''**3^^®t'""P^'* We have m.any fine 

UO you COlieCL foreign stamps to send you on approval 
— ask for some. Good references or a guarantee required. 
H. W. Protzman & Son, 1031 28th St., Milwaukee, Wis. 


With trial approval sheets. F. E. Thorp, Norwich, N.Y. 


D.^IX.VAAVlll.^ 10 Luxembourg ; 8 Finland ; 20 Sweden ; 
15 Russia ; 8 Costa Rica ; 12 Porto Rico ; 8 Dutch Indies ; 5 
Hayti. Lists of 7000 low-priced stamps free. 
Chambers Stamp Co., Ill G Nassau Street, New York City 

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., 

HussMAN Stamp Co., St. Louis, Mo. 

Q. —„— .« I 333 Foreign Missionary stamps, only 7c. 100 for- 
OtailipS • eign, no 2 alike, incl. Mexico, Japan, etc., Sc. 
ion diff. U. S. fine, 30c. 1000 fine mixed, 20c. Agents wanted, 
50%. Lz's^ free'. I Buy Stamps. L. B. Dover, St. Louis, Mo. 


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 7?er cent. List Free. I buy stamps. 

C. Stegman, 5941 Cote Brillante Av., St. Louis, Mo. 

•31^^^* "3 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. 

< o 1 All diff. foreign stamps incl. China, Egypt, Chili, Peru, 
\.£t\. 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. 

New Kind of Stamp Collection 

Don't wait until your friends have started their collection. 
Be the first one yourself. Send 25c. for the New York 
Series of 50 or more. 

Art Picture Stamp Co. 

Hasbrouck Heights, N. J. 

DANDY PACKET STAMPS free for name, address 2 collec- 
tors, 2c. postage. Send to-day. U.T.K. Stamp Co., Utica, N. Y. 

RARE Stamps Free. 15 all different, Canadians, and 10 India 
A^^^ with Catalogue Free. Postage2cents. It possible send 
yMf*<i3Kk namesandaddressesof two stamp collectors. Special 
/■( jM] offers, all different, contain no two alike. 50 Spain, 
WLmMj llc-'tf Japan, 5c.; 100 U. S.,20c.; 10 Paraguay, 7c.; 17 
NSW^j/ Mexico, 10c.;20Turkey, 7c.; 10 Persia, 7c. ;3 Sudan, 5c.; 
^9SB^ loChile, 3c.;50 Italy, 19c.;200 Foreign, 10c. ; 10 Egypt, 
7c.; 51). Africa, 24c.; 3 Crete, 3c.; 20 Denmark, 5c.;20 Portugal, 6c. ;7 
Siam, 15c.; 10 Brazil, 5c.; 7 Malay, 10c. ; 10 Finland, Sc; 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. 

PREMIUM to new applicants for approvals. References. 
Mrs. Oughtred, 28 Lincoln Ave., Montreal, Quebec. 

STA MPS 105 China, Egypt,etc.,stamp dictionary and list 3000 |B| 
bargains 2c. Agts., 5o%. Bullard & Co., Sta. A, Boston. Bsi 

FOREIGN STAMPS FREE i\,f;,/-f ,"a^ 

ing China and Venezuela, to all who apply for our high grade 
approval selections. Send two cent stamp for rettirii postage. 
The Edgewood Stamp Co., Dept. S, Milfokd, Conn. 

1 1 K \7I7 you ever noticed how many cheap stamps there are 
**'* » d that you never see on approval sheets? Ask us to 
show you some at one-half catalog. Reference, please. 

The Stamp Counter, Box 644, Amityville, N. Y. 

Mention St. Nicholas. Quaker Stamp Co., Toledo, Ohio. 

This Fine Animal Set from Borneo Free if you send 25c. for 

six months' subscription to Mykeel's Stamp Weekly, Boston, Mass. 

You May Have Your Choice of These Premiums 

Six Borneos 2f)5 different foreign 60 Japanese 

20 diff. animals 101 diff. United States 50 Asiatic 

%^^ Special. Trial Offer tO iveeks 10c. a7id I ^oiir Choice : 
101 diff. foreign. 50 diff. U. S. 15 Austria Jubilee. 

THE next rainy afternoon when you have n't anything to do, and time hangs heavily, why don't you ask 
your chum over to your house and start a stamp album? You have n't any idea what fun it is after 
you once get it going. 

Perhaps your, or your chum's, mother may have some old letters or papers with stamps such as you 
have never seen — and they '11 do finely for a starter. And who knows? May be you '11 come across 
a precious "inverted medallion " and become the envy of all stamp enthusiasts in' a day. 



Three fhfillind d^/s ecf "^e 

You ride along the sky-high edge of a mile- 
deep abyss. You venture mule-back through 
earth's cracked crust, on trails that tip. And 
camp out down below, under the stars. 

Amount named includes round-trip 
railroad fare, Williams, Ariz., to Grand 
Canyon; three days at El Tovar Hotel, 
managed by Fred Harvey; a jaunt down 
Bright Angel Trail; a carriage ride along 
Hermit Rim Koad; also the trip to 
Grand View. 

Stop at Bright Angel Camp, instead 
of EI Tovar, and it will cost less. Take 
a room with bath, at El Tovar, and the 
expense will be a little more. Hermit 
Trail camping trip also will add a few 
dollars. It is easy to finance a week's 
stay or longer. 

Besides being a scenic spectacle, you 
may here enjoy an unique outing. 

If you enjoy camping, hire 
a mule and a guide and lose 
yourself in the wilderness. 

Are you interested in Indians — - not 
the cigar-store kind? Take your choice 
of the home-loving Hopis or nomadic 

The trail trips are unlike any moun- 
taineering you ever have tried. 

A word regarding the Santa Fe's 
through California trains: 

The California Limited is the king of 
the limiteds — an all-steel train, 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 

Three other daily trains — all classes 
of tickets honored — they carry standard 
and tourist sleepers and chair cars. 

The Santa Fe meal service is man- 
aged by Fred Harvey. 

On request, will gladly send you our two illustrated ti'avel 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 
10 72 Railway Exchange, Chicago 






'T'S a very great deal to guarantee an entire season's 
service, or repairs or replacement, free, as we do for 



But when in almost every case these tires start their second season 

good as new — well, no wonder boys who haven't got them are keeping 

dealers hustling us to fill orders. It's not only the everlasting service — 

there's the Vacuum Cup Tread that prevents slipping and makes the tire as 

puncture-proof as tires can be — and the absolutely oilproof quality for 

riding oiled roads without damage — that appeals to boys and men alike. 

Single Tube and Clincher types — the tread is red. 

Have you got YOURS yet ? If not get your order in Now. 


New York 


Kansas City, Mo. 



San Francisco 

St. Paul 


Los Angles 







An Independent Company with an independent selling policy 

For Motorcycles: Oil proof Vacuum Cup Automobile tires in 
Motorcycle sizes — guaranteed for 5,000 miles and average over 
twice that distance — the tires that give the safety and service that 
strenuous motorcycling demands. Gray Treads. 



10% More for Your Money 

Quaker Oats is now put up also in a 25-cent size, nearly three times as large as the lo-cent size. 
By saving in packing it offers you 10 per cent more for your money. See how long it lasts. 


The very aroma of Quaker Oats tells its ex- 
quisite flavor. You know before you taste it that 
there's choiceness in this dish. 

Only the big grains yield that aroma. And, 
without the Quaker process, it could never be kept 

That's why Quaker Oats is distinctive. 

We get that flavor and we preserve it. We dis- 
card all the grains which lack it, so the flavor is 
never diluted. 

If you enjoy it, you can always get it by simply 
saying ' ' Quaker. " And without any extra price. 

Rolled from the Largest Grains 

We get but ten pounds of Quaker Oats from a 
bushel, because of this selection. But those are 
the luscious flakes. The others are good enough 
for horses, but not for boys and girls. 

We started to do that 25 years ago, and the fame 
of this flavor spread. Now a hundred nations send 
here to get Quaker Oats. And millions of children 
of every clime enjoy it every morning. 

Quaker Oats, as an energy food, excels anything 
else you know. It is known as " the food of 

But, without that taste which makes it inviting, 
few children would eat half enough. 

Serve Quaker Oats in large dishes. 
Small servings are not sufficient to 
show in full its vim -producing power. 

lOc and 25c per Package 

Except in far West and South 

Tl^e Quaker Qdis Q>mpany 




V^e Cruise y^ IVOKY SHIP ^"<^ f^o^ ^^e I 

J HOSE Muddy People being clean 
fM and pure as driven snow, our 
J^' heroes gave them IVORY SOAP 
to keep them always so. Miss , 
Betty gave them petticoats and Bobby 
gave them hats. Snip barked a farewell 
bark to them and Pussy murmured ' 'Rats . ' ' 
Then up with anchor, crowd on sail! 
Pull taut each stalwart rope! All shout- 
ing ^'Homeward hound are we! Off sails 
the IVORY SOAP!" Our little heroes 
dreamed of home and talked of cakes and 
pies that Mother made until the tears 
of pleasure dimmed their eyes. But ah, 
how brief were all their dreams, how 
vain each well-made plan! How little 
cared a Hurricane for plans of mortal man! 
When deepest in their dreams of cake, 
it brewed an awful brew and shattered all 
the plans of pie of our devoted crew. 
That gruesome, brewsome Hurricane 
came hurry-caning forth and beat the 
ocean into bits of fumy -spumy froth. 

For days and days and nights and 
nights it growled and it gloated, and tried 
to sink the IVORY Ship, but couldn't 
'cause it FLOATED. Our daring little 
voyagers got wet, and by the force of 
such a horrid Hurricane were driven from 
their course. 

And when the sun came out at last, they 
squealed with gratitude, and by degrees 
could calculate their proper latitude. 
While Gnif was calculating hard o'er 
minutes and degrees. Snip gave a very 
warning bark and Pussy gave a sneeze. 

No wonder! Not so far away, a fleet of 
BATH TUBS lay, and that the fleet was 
in distress was just as plain as day. From 
each Tub Ship waved little hands, and 
dirty little faces that bore the marks of sad 
neglect and other dirtsome traces stared 
pleadingly at IVORY SHIP and cried in 
sad distress. What was their trouble all 
about.!* I'll leave you all to guess. To 
give you just a little hint — when you 
have dirty faces or mussy hands, what do 
YOU do to purify those places? 

TKeBathtub Fleet. 














.,.««„„, your 



iiillli' * 


Just the purest, richest milk obtain- 
able, with half the natural moisture 

Make a note now to have your 
grocer include a can of Libby's Milk 
w^ith your next order. 

Libby, McNeill & Libby, Chicago 

Id rxia^ 

In purcnasing table silver there is a 
. distinct buying advantage in the 
knowledge tbat 184? ROGiRS llOS^ 

silver plate is tne brand wnich is 
sold with an unqualified guarantee 
made possible bu the actual test of 
over 65 Ljears. Sold bu leading dealers. 

Send for dlustraied catalodiie T-5" 

(Successor to Meriden Qrilannia Co., 



"U/ie World's Largest Ma/ters of Sterline Silver and Plate 





\oL. XLI, No. 9 JULY, 1914 Price, 25CENTS 




'Have you a little 'Fairy in your home?' 

Then you \A/ill appreciate and value all the 
more the advantages to you and your little 
rairy in 



It is so pure and agreeable — made of the finest vegetable 
oils, with cleansing constituents that are mild and healthful. 

Fairy Soap serves every toilet and bath purpose of every' 
body in the home, from baby to grandparents. 

The white, oval, floating. 
Fairy cake fits the 
hand, and wears down 
to the thinnest wafer 
— and it is good 
soap always. 

Yet with all its superior- 
ity and advantages the 
price is but five cents 
a cake. Good deah 
ers everywhere 
sell Fairy Soap. 

iiri[iriiiiiiiiriniii[iiiiiiiiir[iiiriiii[i'"iiriii]ri]i iiiiuiiiiiiiriMnniiiiriiujiiiMimnn 




Copyright, 1914, by The Century Co.] (Title Registered U. S, Pat. Off.) [Entered at N. Y. Post Office as Second Class Mail Matter. 



The Victrola 
here is the 
$200 style 

Dancing to the music of the 
Victrola is the favorite pastime 

With a Victrola and Victor Dance Records it is easy to 
learn all the new dances. 

The maxixe, hesitation, tango, one-step — you can enjoy 
all the modern dances in your own home with the Victrola. 

"How to Dance the One Step, Hesitation, and Tango" is 
a new Victor booklet just issued — illustrated with photos of Mr. 
and Mrs. Vernon Castle fwho use the Victor exclusively and 
superintend the making of Victor Dance Records) and 288 motion- 
picture photographs. Ask any Victor dealer for a copy, or write us. 

There are Victors and Victrolas in great variety of styles 
from $10 to $200, and any Victor dealer will gladly play any music 
you wish to hear. 

Victor Talking Machine Co., Camden, N. J,, U. S. A. 

Berliner Gramophone Co., Montreal, Canadian Distributors 

Always use Victor Machines with Victor Records and Victor Needles — 
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New Victor Records are on sale at all dealers on the 28th of each month 




Meliin s Food 


On Mellin's Food prepared with 
milk, as directed, your baby will fill 
out, color will come into his cheeks 
and brightness into his eyes. Mellin's 
Food softens the curd, thus making 
the milk more digestible, and adds 
just the elements necessary to make 
a properly balanced diet. 

A quantity of Meliin s Food sufficient for 
trial sent free of all expense to you. 

Mellin's Food Company, ' Boston, Mass. 

Use the Meliin s Food Method of Milk Modification. 

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


Frontispiece. Marjorie and Margaret. Painted by Artliur Rackham. Page 
Two Boys and the Flag. Story Eleanor Schureman 769 

Illustrated by Charles M. Relyea. 

"Sim and Shade." Picture. Drawn by M. L. McMillan 779 

The Princess and the Pirate. Story Doris Webb 780 

Illustrated by Dugald Stewart Walker. 

Paul Revere— Goldsmith. Sketch Park Pressey 784 

Illustrations from photographs. 

The Runaway. Serial Story Allen Frencli 788 

Illustrated by C. M. Relyea. 

A Useless Race. Picture. Drawn by C. Barnes 795 

The Making of a Canoeist. ("Under the Blue sky" Series.) E. T. Keyser 796 

Illustrations from diagrams and photographs. 

An Interrupted Song. Verse George 0. Butler 801 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Base-ball: The Game and Its Players. Serial Biuy Evans 802 

Illustrations from photographs. 

Base-ball Problems 807 

The Lucky Stone. Serial Story ; Abbie Farwell Brown 808 

Illustrated by Reginald Birch. 

A Building Contract. Verse Caroline Hofman 814 

Illustrated by Rachael Robinson Elmer. 

The Game I Love. Serial Francis Onlmet 815 

Illustrations from photographs. 

"In the Evening Glow." Picture. From a painting by Charles C. Curran 819 

The Procession. Verse Margaret Wlddemer 820 

The Fairy Steeple. Verse, illustrated by the Author ■ Katharine Maynadler Browne. 820 

Independence Day. Verse EUa M. Boult 821 

Illustrated by Beatrice Stevens. 

Stories of Friendly Giants. II. How the Giants Got the Best of 5 Eunice Fuller \ qqo 

Thor. Serial / Seymour Barnard S 

Illustrated by Pamela C. Smith. 

The Complete Gardener. Verse b. s 828 

Illustrated by the Author. 

Garden-making and Some of the Garden's Stories: The Story of 

the Fractions Grace Tabor 829 

The Coon Hollow Push-mobile Aeroplane. Pictures. Drawn by 

Culmer Barnes 832 

The Housekeeping Adventures of the Junior Blairs. Serial Caroline Frencli Benton 833 

Illustrated by Sarah K. Smith. 

With Men Who Do Things. Serial A. Russell Bond 837 

Illustrations from a diagram and photographs. 

The Brave Little Girl. Verse Tudor Jenks 841 

Nature and Science for Young Folks, illustrated 842 

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

Drawings, Photographs, and Puzzles. Illustrated •. 849 

For Very Little Folk: 

The Doll's Circus. Verse Will PhUlp Hooper 857 

Illustrated by M. K. Moore. 

The Letter-Box. illustrated. ' 860 

The Riddle-Box 863 

St. Nicholas Stamp Page .' ; Advertising page 20 

TheCe7itiiry Co.ajidits editors receive inanuscriptx and art utaterial, submitted for picblication, 07dyoit the jniderstandi?i^tliat they siuill 
not be respo?isible for loss or injury theretoiuhile in their possessio}t or in transit. Copies of tnannscripts should be retained i>y the authors. 
In the United States and Canada, the price of The St, Nicholas Magazine is $3.00 a year in advance, or a.'i cents a 
sinsrle 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 <5/W and furnish 
covers for 75 cents per part, or $1.50 for the complete volume. (Carriage extra.) In sending the numbers to us, they should be dis- 
tinctly marked with owner's name. Bound volumes are not exchanged for numbers. PUBLISHED MONTH LY. 

WILLIAM W. ELl^SWORTH, mTTTi « -n -utihttti it rtn. WILLIAM W. ELLSWORTH, P^.rtrfcw/ 


GEORGE INNESS, JR. __ . _ ,.,,_, ,_ ,_ DOUGLAS Z. DOTY. Sfr«<arv 

Trustees UniOn SClUare, New York, N. Y. RODMAN gilder. Treasurer 

GEORGE L.WHEELGCK.^^V 7>faji<r«. 


DEAR St. Nicholas Reader: It is hard to tell 
whether the August St. Nicholas will appeal 
more strongly to girls or to boys. Certainly the girl 
readers of St. Nicholas will be particularly pleased 
with the story called "The Pinch of Necessity," for it 
tells how a courageous girl made possible the rescue of 
a party of men. 

St. Nicholas boys, on the other hand, — and girls 
too, for that matter, — will enjoy "Capitalizing a Brook," 
which tells how a clever boy utilized a waterfall and 
helped to improve the family fortunes. 

Mrs. Katherine Dunlap Cather, author of the story 
"The Boy of Cadore" in the June St. Nicholas, has 
written another story for the August number, which 
tells "When Mozart Raced with Marie Antoinette. " 


The plot of the .serial "The Runaway" is working 
out gradually, but it is still puzzling. 

In "With Men Who Do Things," the boys watch 
the rescue of two men trapped in a steel tunnel, and 
are able to witness the complicated problems that ham- 
per the rescuers. 

As to "The Housekeeping Adventures of the Junior 
Blairs," I wonder if St. Nicholas readers have 
thought that Jack has not been getting his full share 
of the fun. In the August instalment. Jack will have 
his innings, for he goes off camping with his father, and 
learns all sorts of good out-of-door camping receipts; 
also how to manage a camp, and how useful it is for a 
boy to know how to cook. 

The "Friendly Giants" story in August will be 
called "The Giants and the Herdboy. " It is taken 
from a little-known Hungarian folk-tale, and is a tale 
that very few of us have ever heard. 


Billy Evans, the great umpire, in the August num- 
ber is going to develop a theme which he touched on 
last month. His article is called "The Collegian in 

Francis Ouimet, the youthful champion, continues 
his series, "The Game I Love," and gives the very 
best of advice to golfers, young and old, especially on 
how to keep in good physical condition. 

There will be another paper in the " Garden Series," 
which is proving extremely useful to amateur gardeners, 
young and old. 


As usual, St. Nicholas continues to be one of the 
best-illustrated magazines in the world. The frontis- 
piece of the August number is a handsome reproduction 
of an old master, Jacob Cierritz Cuyp. It is a portrait 
of a Dutch girl. 

From beginning to end of the number are pictures, 
comic and serious, including a two-page nonsense story 
in verse by our old friend George O. Butler, whose very 
original pictures and poems have so often amused St. 
Nicholas readers. Speaking of pictures did I tell 
you that the original of one of the recent Rackham 
frontispieces has been purchased by the French Gov- 
ernment and placed in the Luxembourg Museum? This 
is a stepping-stone to the great museum, the Louvre, 
in Paris, which is not permitted to acquire the work oi 
painters and sculptors who are still living. 

As usual a number of the smaller pictures in this 
number will be contributed by members of Sr. Nicholas 
League. Next month, as you may remember, will 

appear the winning pictures in the competition for illus- 
trations entitled "The Messenger" and of course 
"Heading for August." 


The department " Books and Reading," conducted 
by Hildegarde Hawthorne, is continued, as well as the 
various other departments that add so much to the at- 
tractiveness of St. Nicholas. 

The letter that follows was written by a member of 
the .St. Nicholas League who has just reached the age 
limit of eighteen years. It indicates how much the 
League means to all its members. Fortunately, St. 
Nicholas does not lose such loyal friends entirely, for 
many League members later become regular contribu- 
tors to St. Nicholas Magazine itself. 

Dear St. Nicholas: 

Just a tew days ago, I wrote my last poem lor the 
League. Since then my eighteenth birthday has come 
and gone, and the doors of the League are closed to 
me forever. Of course I shall still read the League 
pages — I hope I shall never be too old for that — but 
there 's such a wide, wide gulf between being an active 
and an associate member, — for I suppose that is what 
I am now. Nevertheless, although I can no longer 
contribute to the League, I shall love it every bit as 
much as before — and that is a great deal. Oh, I do 
wish I could express in words how much I have en- 
joyed my work for the League, and how much more in 
many ways I feel that it has helped me. 

Oh, the wonderful day when I received my silver 
badge! I shall never forget it, or how surprised and 
delighted I was. It seemed as if nothing in the whole 
world could be so beautiful — until the gold badge came. 
Even now I cannot tell which one I am fonder ol. Up 
to the very last time before my League days came to a 
close, I never ceased to have a thrill whenever I dis- 
covered the wonder words "Honor Member" written 
below my name. So once more, dear St. Nicholas, 
I thank you many, many times for all the pleasure and 
profit I received in those days before I was eighteen, 
my St. Nicholas days. 

Very sincerely, 

G. N. S. 

Mr. Wm. McAndrew, principal of the famous Wash- 
ington Irving High School, in New York, recently 
sent the following letter to the chairman of a Shak- 
spere Celebration Committee, commending the poem 
"In -Shakspere's Room," which appeared in the April 
St. Nicholas, and later kindly gave his consent to our 
quoting what he had written: 

"Dear Madam: You have done the Shakspere 
Committee a real kindness in calling attention to I3en- 
jamin F. Leggett's beautiful poem in the April St. 
Nicholas. I enclose copy of letter I have just sent 
to Mrs. James Madison Bass, Chairman of the Shak- 
spere Committee. With best regards, I am, yours 
truly, Wm. McAndrew, Principal." 

Hoping that you will surely enjoy the splendid, 
breezy .August St. Nicholas, as much as I have, I am 
Yours as ever. 


Protection For The Home 

The strongest desire of husband and wife is the welfare of their children. The husband works 
hard to provide for them, and would be glad to know how best to safeguard them. The wife works 
hard too — in the home — and is equally interested with her husband in sound insurance-protection. 

Net Cost is Low in the Postal Life 

Because : 1 st. Commission-Dividends tanging, on 
Whole Life Policies, up to 


of the premium go to Policyholders 
the first year. 

2ncl. Rene^val-Commission Dividends 
Office-Expense Savings covered by the 




guaranteed dividends, go to Policyholders in 
subsequent years. 

Beginning at the dose of the second year, the Usual contingent Policy-dividends, 

based on the Company's earnings, still further reduce the cost each year after the first. 

The woman's interest in insurance-protection and health-conservation in the home is not 

less than her husband's. Nowadays sensible people talk these things over together. 

Why Not Investigate? 

The Postal Life issues all the standard forms — 
Whole Life, Limited-Payment Life, 
Endowment, Joint-Life, Child's Wel- 
fare and Industrial : all these are yours to 
choose from ; but it is probable that you will 
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Write the Company for Official Information, 
giving date of birth of both husband and wife, 
also occupation. The Company will send 
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We Want 
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TheCentury Dictionary 
Cyclopedia & Atlas 

Life is before you and 
a false step may bring 


Can you afford to run 
the risk of being wrong? 

Own the Century and be 


Published monthly, at New York, N. Y. 

Editor : William Fayal Clarke 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

Managing Editor: William Fayal Clarke 33 East 17th Street, New York, N. Y. 

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Owners; Stockholders — 

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Donald Scott 9 East 9th Street, New York, N. Y. 

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E. Reed Anthony Boston, Mass. 

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Known bondholders, mortgagees, and other security holders holding 

I per cent, of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities None 

The Century Co., William W. Ellsworth, President 
Sworn to and subscribed before me this eleventh day of March, 1914. 

Frances W. Marshall, Notary Public, N. Y. County. 
(Seal) (My commission expires March 31, 1915.) 


Copy. Life Pub. Co. 


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Vol. XLI 

JULY. 1914 

No. 9 

Copyright, 1914, by The Century Co. All rights reserved. 



J. Q. A. Smith, Jr., only son and heir of Center- 
ville's leading citizen, better known to his mama's 
circle as Johnny, and to the boys as Quince, trod 
gingerly the graveled path from the front door 
to the gate. A becoming self-respect prevented 
him from walking on the grass, though the un- 
expected tenderness of his feet seriously modified 
the rapture of going barefoot for the first time 
that season. Once outside the gate, however, 
even the exacting code of boyhood did not for- 
bid him to leave the plank sidewalk, where in- 
sidious splinters lurked ; and he scuffed comforta- 
bly along in the soft dust of the road, swinging 
his lunch-box and whistling "The Star-Spangled 
Banner" with admirable spirit, though somewhat 
off the key. 

To whistle was for Johnny, that morning, a 
necessity. The sky was so blue ; the locust blos- 
soms were so white and fragrant; the early morn- 
ing air, cool and still, was so saturated with the 
vague promise of coming summer. Then, too, 
he had been allowed to leave off his coat, as well 
as his shoes and stockings. And literally to crown 
all, he had a new straw hat, that ultimate symbol 
of the joyous change from winter to spring. But 
aside from all these sources of inspiration, 
Johnny had a special reason for whistling "The 
Star-Spangled Banner." 

As he turned into Main Street, he quickened 
his pace to a canter; for there it lay, just ahead 
of him, on the grass of Court-house Square, the 

long-expected, municipal flagstaff. The superb 
polished shaft of Oregon fir was the elder Smith's 
gift to Centerville. He had said at breakfast that 
it was at the station, and would probably be in the 
square this morning ; but his small son, John 
Ouincy Adams Smith, Jr., had scarcely dared 
trust the hope till it was justified by sight. 

"Yes, sir ! There she is ! Twice as long," he 
told his exultant heart, "as any telegraph-pole." 
And astride the noble butt of it, gripping it with 
patched knees and caressing it with freckled 
hands, sat Mickey O'Shea; Mickey, red-headed 
and ragged, rude son of a peasant sire, prone to 
lapse into the brogue in moments of excitement; 
yet, by virtue of his quick wit, high spirits, and 
essential "squareness," Johnny's chosen comrade 
and soul-mate. Before Martin's Pharmacy, across 
Main Street from the square, the paternal 
O'Shea's rickety milk-wagon was drawn up at 
the curb, while its wizened owner, leaning for- 
ward from the driver's seat, discussed Center- 
ville's new possession with two early loiterers. 

"H'lo, Quince !" hailed grinning Mickey. "She 's 
come, an' she 's a whopper !" 

"She sure is," assented Quince, dropping down 
beside him and stroking the smooth bole with de- 
lighted fingers. "Ma says," he proceeded to dis- 
pense the information gleaned at breakfast, "the 
Civic League 's got th' flag 'most done. Pa 's 
goin' to present it to th' town on th' Fourth ; an' 
they 're goin' t' have a raisin', with th' Reg'- 
mental Band from th' fort, an' speeches, an' 
songs, an' all sorts o' doin's." 





"Who 's goin' t" run 'er up?" asked Mickey. 

"Aw ! Major Butterworth, o' course." Johnny 
named the veteran commanding the dwindling 
forces of the local Grand Army Post. 

"Gee !" breathed Mickey, in his usual manner 
of uttering the otherwise unutterable. The honor 
and glory conferred on Major Butterworth 
seemed to him almost too great for a mere mor- 
tal to support. 

"Me b'y," called the elder O'Shea, sitting erect 
and gathering up his reins; "iv ye "re goin' along 
o' me, climb abo-a-rd." 

"Wanta ride?" asked Mickey, patronizingly. 
Most of the Centerville boys had to walk to 
school. And Johnny, remembering how pleas- 
antly conspicuous are bare feet when dangled 
from the tail of a wagon, decided that he did. 

The O'Shea equipage made such frequent 
stops, in the way of business, that the last bell 
was ringing when the two friends dropped off the 
wagon before the school-house of which Center- 
ville was so justly proud. They took their places 
in the line of fourth-grade pupils filing into the 
hall. Miss Emerson, the blonde young teacher, 
stood at the classroom door, her left arm full of 
small flags — "Not so titr'ble little, neither," as 
Alickey later remarked to Quince— with enchant- 
ing gilded sticks, spear-headed. She put one into 
each eagerly outstretched hand. Betty Reynolds, 
just ahead of Quince, turned, laughing for plea- 
sure in the fluttering bright thing, and brushed 
it across his face. Humble-minded Mickey 
flushed at his own fancy of how it must seem to 
have the pretty child treat one with such friendly 
familiarity. But he was used to having Quince 
stand between him and Betty. He accepted her 
remoteness from himself as part of the natural 
order of things, mysterious but unchangeable. 

"Pass quietly to your seats," said Miss Emer- 
son, smiling at the eager faces. "I '11 tell you 
about the flags after roll-call." 

Accordingly, after the opening exercises, she 
rapped for attention. 

"You all know," she began, "that our generous 
fellow-townsman, Mr. Quincy Smith" — here 
Quince sat up very straight and smoothed his 
hair— "has given Centerville a huge flagstaff, 
and the bunting for a monster flag, which the 
Women's Civic League is making. And we know 
now that everything will be ready for the formal 
raising on the Fourth. I have n't time to tell you 
all about the fine program that has been ar- 
ranged; but my dear old friend. Major Butter- 
worth, who is to raise the flag, knows that I love 
it, and try to teach you how worthy of love it is. 
So he has asked me to appoint one of you to act 
as his aid at the ceremony." 

The listening children were round-eyed with 

"But I don't think," Miss Emerson went on 
gravely, as became the importance of her sub- 
ject, "it would be quite fair for me to choose one 
of you for so great an honor ; so I 'm going to 
let you compete for it, as many of you as care 
to. How many," she asked, "remember the 
'Story of our Flag' that I read to you last term?" 

All over the room eager hands were raised ; 
and Mickey, aflame with enthusiasm, leaped to 
his feet and waved a freckled paw in the air. 

"That 's very good," smiled Miss Emerson. 
"Now I want each one of you to write out that 
story, in your own words, without help or sug- 
gestion from any one. Bring me your papers 
Monday morning ; and the writers of the best 
ten will be excused from regular work for the 
remainder of the term, and organized into an 
advanced class in American history. Whoever 
makes the best record and passes the best ex- 
amination, shall be Major Butterworth's aid on 
the Fourth. Is my plan satisfactory?" 

A unanimous shout of "Yes, ma'am !" filled 
the room; and the small flags waved and flut- 
tered till it seemed a garden that suddenly had 
burst into blossoms of red, white, and blue. 


W'lTH their flags over their shoulders the two 
friends walked— or rather marched— home from 
school together, as usual, but in unwonted si- 
lence; for their heads and hearts were full of 
high ambition and bright dreams. To Johnny it 
seemed almost a certainty that he, son of the 
donor, and usually "honor man" of his class, 
would be the one chosen as the major's aid in 
raising the flag. 

In the Court-house Square, where their home- 
ward paths divided, they stopped with one ac- 
cord beside the still prostrate flagstaff, and stood 
gazing down at it in absorbed contemplation, until 
a long-drawn "Gee !" brought John's startled eyes 
to Mickey's face. There, with a shock of in- 
credulous amazement, he read a vaulting ambi- 
tion that threatened his own supremacy. 

"Well! what d' you know about that?" he in- 
quired of the universe at large. With the spon- 
taneous brutality of a healthy boy in a temper, 
he took the situation in hand. 

"Now looky here, Mickey O'Shea, don't you go 
to buttin' in on this. This is a 'Merican flag, an' 
raisin' it 's a job for a 'Merican." 

"Well, ye blitherin' spalpeen," gasped Mickey, 
lapsing into the ancestral brogue, "ain't I a 




Quince swept him witli a glance of insolent 

"Not so 's you could notice it," he sneered. 

"Ye 're anodther !" screamed Mickey, in a red- 
headed rage. "Me father says I "ni a na-a-tive 
bor-run 'Merican citizen." 

"Aw-w !" snarled Quince, now (juite lost to all 



'h'lo, quince!' grinning mickey. 


considerations of decent courtesy, "what 's 
ol' Erin-go-bragh know about it?" 

Then, with filial love and loyalty fanning the 
flame of his outraged pride to a white heat, did 
Mickey O'Shea double his sturdy fist, and smite 
his soul's brother on the mouth. 

For the ensuing ten minutes, there was an ac- 

ti\'c "mixing" of races on the court-house lawn, 
accompanied by a clamorous confusion of 
tongues. Two sparrows, challenging each other 
to single combat in the path, forgot their differ- 
ences and fled together between the tree-trunks, 
shrieking with fright. Mr. Martin, lounging in 
the door of the Central Pharmacy, jerked an 
indicative thumb toward the combatants, and 
winked at Judge Reynolds, passing by. The 
judge, however, merely shrugged a tolerant 
shoulder as he went his way. That sparrows or 
boys should come to blows in the square was an 
event so common as to lack interest. 

But muscular superiority was all in Mickey's 
favor, and he soon sat triumphant on his pros- 
trate foe, wiping the involuntary tears from a 
blackened eye with his rough sleeve; while 
Johnny, sobbing with impotent rage, writhed and 
struggled under him. 

"You just lemme up, Mickey O'Shea," he 
wailed. "Get off'n me, an' lemme up. An' don't 
you ever dast speak to me again, — not as long 's 
you live !" 

"Aw, well!" drawled Mickey, rising with inso- 
lent deliberation and prodding Johnn}' with a 
stubby toe, "git up, ye Yankee bully ! Run along 
home wid yez an' tell yer mawmaw. I 'm not 
m'anin' 's to spake t' yez, ez long 's I live, ner 
afther I 'm dead, nayther." 

And with this comprehensive declaration of 
eternal hostilities, Mickey shouldered his ffag in 
a very martial manner, and, adopting a very mar- 
tial stride, set off northward, toward the abodes 
of the lowly and the tumble-down cottage he 
called home ; while Quince, trailing his banner 
in the dust, and dreadfully attended by visions of 
an impending interview with the elder Smith, 
turned southward toward the more aristocratic 
and critical locality of Center Street. 

Thus did ambition cross the path of friend- 

To the chosen ten of the fourth grade, their con- 
test for the proud position of aid to the major 
overshadowed in interest all other current events, 
local or national. 

It was soon apparent to Miss Emerson, how- 
ever, that the ultimate choice must lie between 
two contestants. John and Mickey took up the 
"advanced" study of American history with a 
burning ambition to excel ; which, it is to be 
feared, had in the beginning no sweeter root than 
the stubborn determination of each to defeat the 
other. They were an evenly matched pair, for, 
while John's quick and retentive memory took a 
firm grip on names, dates, and the general order 




of events, Mickey's vivid imagination visualized 
each heroic episode into a present reality which 
he could not, if he would, forget. And each, in- 
tent on bettering the other's record, corrected his 
own weakness by the standard of his rival's 
strength. Johnny pored tirelessly over details 
of strategy, battle, and siege which threatened 
to elude him, staying his flagging courage in 
hours of weariness by an inward growl : 

"That Mickey 0'5"/i(?a.' Huh!" 

Meantime, Mickey wrote out exhaustive lists 
of names, dates, and such other things as must 
be memorized by main force, and conned them 
early and late, vowing in his heavy heart that 
he 'd show that Quince Smith. 

For when the first frenzy of rage was over, 
Mickey's was a leaden heart. Even Quince, petted 
son of a prosperous household and popular neigh- 
bor of other fortunate children, was conscious of 
a great and aching silence where Mickey's cheer- 
ful voice had been. While for the less-favored 
child, alone with his sense of insult and outraged 
friendship, the solitude of the long evenings was 
well-nigh unbearable. His tired father nodded 
on the door-step after supper, lulled by the crick- 
ets' mournful monotone ; his kind but busy 
mother drew her chair close to the unshaded oil- 
lamp and interminably mended, crooning over 
and over one strain of "Kathleen Mavourneen," 
while Mickey hung over the gate, gazing va- 
cantly at the browsing cows that dotted the wide 
common, and watching the distant lamps kindle 
one by one in the windows of other poor cot- 
tages sparsely set along its border. 

His puzzled dog. Ginger, sat beside him, rais- 
ing brown eyes of sympathy, and whining softly 
now and then, with the pathetic dumb sense of 
a mysterious trouble beyond his power to help. 
Ginger owed his name to his temperamental vi- 
vacity. In appearance he suggested mustard. 

Perhaps in these sunset vigils he, like Mickey, 
was remembering how, in happier twilights, they 
were wont to scamper down into the village and 
prowl under the Smiths' bright windows, sum- 
moning Quince with a whistled signal for a 
merry race through the village streets, or a cool- 
ing saunter in the quiet fields beyond the town. 
It was in the red afterglow of a June sunset that 
Mickey, restless and miserable, closed the rickety 
gate behind him, shied a clod at one of the rumi- 
nant cows, in spontaneous resentment of her un- 
social character, and started listlessly toward the 
village. Sedate Ginger trotted at his heels, so 
depressed by the prevailing atmosphere that he 
only looked askance, with a great rolling of white 
eyeballs, when the Widow Fogarty's black cat 
spit at him from her gate-post. 

Mickey scuffed along stolidly, but with a defi- 
nite purpose in mind. It was almost the only 
consolation of the child's lonely hours to stand 
beside the great flagstaff, long since set in posi- 
tion, and, laying his hand on its smooth bole and 
gazing far up into the evening sky, where its 
slender tip waited for the flag, to dream of the 
victory he would win, and of his coming day of 
triumph, when even Quince must recognize him 
as a " 'Merican citizen." 

But on this particular evening his accustomed 
place was occupied by an earlier comer, a tall 
man in a long frock-coat and soft hat, white- 
haired, but of very erect and soldierly bearing, 
who stood gazing up at the splendid length of the 
flagstaff, tapping its polished side with his walk- 
ing-stick, and whistling softly. The light of a 
daring purpose brightened Mickey's downcast 
face. Here was companionship of the best, to be 
had for the asking, if only he dared to ask. He 
and Ginger stepped briskly but silently over the 

"Please, sir — " 

The startled major looked down to find two 
pairs of brown eyes looking up, the boy's shining 
out of a freckled face aglow with eager interest, 
the dog's expressing, in accord with his tense 
body, an equal readiness to run from a possible 
kick, or relax into a doggish grin at a friendly 

"Hello, son !" said the major. "What 's your 
dog's name ?" 

"Ginger,"' answered Mickey, with a slight 
swagger. He was not given to vanity, but he 
was proud of Ginger. The dog sat down now, 
at the tall man's feet, indicating by rapid thumps 
of his stumpy tail that he considered himself 
properly introduced. 

"Your name Ginger, too?" asked the major, 
with an appreciative twinkle. 

"Aw, no, sir," said the child, gravely, conceal- 
ing his surprise that so great a man should ask 
so foolish a question. "Me name 's Mickey 

"Mickey O'Shea, is it? Well, Mickey, what 
can I do for you?" 

"Please, sir, Major Butterworth," repeated the 
boy, "did you ever raise a flag before ?" 

"Oh, yes ! My conscience, yes ! Many a one ; 
and watched the raising of a-many more." The 
major squared his shoulders, and his eyes bright- 
ened. Mickey's question had touched the springs 
of memory. "It was my privilege," he said, with 
fine, old-fashioned dignity, "to see the flag raised 
over Fort Donelson, after its surrender; and I 
saw the stars and stripes leap out again"— he 
swept his hat from his head as though he still 




beheld that leaping splendor— "over Sumter, 
after the evacuation of Charleston." 

"Gee !" breathed awe-struck Mickey. "Won't 
you tell me 'bout it, please, sir?" 

"Why, yes, son; yes, of course, if you care to 
hear it." 

If he cared! The lad's shining eyes were an- 
swer enough. 

"Come over here," said the major; and 
led the way, with boy and dog at his 
heels, over the lawn to the court- 
house steps. When they 
were comfortably settled, 
and he had laid his hat 
aside to enjoy the evening 

"Well, Mickey," said he, 
"all that was a long time 
ago ; a long, long time ago. 
Boys don't think much 
about it, nowadays. I don't 
suppose, now, you know 
what happened at Charles- 
ton, say on December 20, 

He leaned forward and, 
through the gathering dusk, 
scanned the boy's face 
quizzically, expecting a 
confession of ignorance. 

"Th' Secession Or- 
d'nance was passed," came 
the prompt answer. 

"Right, sir ! Good ! And 
afterward— say, now, on 
the twelfth of April, '61 ?" 

"They fired on the 
fla-a-g, at Sumter." The 
catch in Mickey's voice was 
almost a sob. The major 
laid a soothing hand on his 

"Well, well, son ! That 's 
all over, all over long ago. 
Charleston 's as loyal now 
as Boston. I was down 
there last year; and, b' 
George ! it 's just as loyal 
as Boston. But" — he spoke 
with sudden heat — "it was 

aflame with armed rebellion in the summer of 
'63, when my regiment was ordered to join Gill- 
more's command." 

And plunging into the deep sea of his memory, 
the old soldier told the story ; not as it stands 
written in our text-books and official records, 
but as it was lived by the men whose passionate 

heart-beats made history, in the awful splendor 
of battle, at that crisis of fate. 

And Mickey, the Irish peasant's son, who made 


rur, OLD soLDii'.u Toi.n thi; story. 

it his proudest boast that he was "a na-a-tive 
bor-run 'Merican citizen," listened with his soul. 
The shadows deepened under the trees, while the 
stars came out above them. The red-and-green 
window-lights of the drug-store sent their long- 
rays across the street, and threw the polished 
shaft of the flagstaff into high relief. And still 




the major's voice sounded on, deepening and 
thrilling with his thronging memories. 

The tale ended, he sat with bared head against 
a pillar, his white hair glimmering in the twi- 
light. To Mickey's rapt eyes, gazing up at him, 
he seemed the heroic past made visible. On the 
lower step. Ginger audibly slumbered. The stri- 
dent, chorused cheep of crickets, half heard as 
an undertone to the sonorous voice, seemed now 
to swell and fill the silence. They sat awhile in 
this voiceful stillness, the old soldier in the hush 
of memory, the boy thrilling with vague new 
perceptions of manhood, of courage, of achieve- 

The major stirred first. He stood up and put 
on his hat. 

"Well, Mickey, that 's the story." 

Mickey leaped to his feet. 

"Yes, si)'.'" he cried. "Sure, that "s the story! 
You bet it 's the real thing ! I never heard the 
likes o' that before. I wisht they 'd tell it that 
way in th' books." 

'Tn the books— ?" 

Mickey broke into a flood of speech. He had 
had no one to talk to for such a weary while. 
Now, trotting" at the major's side, along the path 
toward Main Street, he poured out his heart. 

"I 'm studyin' 'Merican hist'ry at school, sir. 
There 's ten 'v us ; we 're a special class. An' 
Miss Emerson says whoever passes th' best 
'zamination '11 be 'pointed to help you raise the 
flag on th' Fourth." 

"To be sure!" said the major, seeing a new 
light. "To be sure ! I remember. So you 're 
one of those boys ?" 

"Oh, I wisht I could do it, sir !" cried Mickey. 
"I 'm pretty good ; I 'm near the top. But there 's 
Quince Smith— he 's good, too; he 'members lists 
o' things better 'n I do. So— I dunno — '' 

"Well, now, Mickey," said the sympathetic 
major, "I wish you luck. I hope you '11 win; 
but, see here, son" — in his earnestness he paused 
and laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, facing him 
about and looking intently into the uplifted, won- 
dering eyes — "above all, you play fair; play the 
game straight ; never cheat nor take a mean ad- 
vantage. H the other fellow proves himself the 
better man, you recognize his right to be the bet- 
ter man. See? If he wins, you take your drub- 
bing" without a whimper, like a soldier. That 's 
the finest thing you can do for the flag. To be 
brave, to be honest, to be just, a clean man, fit to 
raise it, that 's a greater thing than just to raise 
it. Understand?" 

"I — I — guess so," stammered bewildered 
Mickey ; "I '11 try. Thank you, sir. Good-night." 

As the boy raced homeward with Ginger, 

through the sweet silence of the summer night, 
he was not, at first, sure that he did understand. 
But as he pondered the major's hard sayings, by 
degrees a vision of their meaning rose within 
him. He saw, in crude, boyish fashion, what 
love of the flag, love of country, pride of citizen- 
ship might mean. He vowed, in his thrilled and 
yearning boy's heart, that it should mean that to 

"To be brave, to be honest, to be just, a clean 
man, fit to raise the flag!" 

He squared his shoulders in imitation of the 
major's martial bearing; he raised his face to the 

"Gee !" breathed Mickey to the stars. 

The morning of the final examination showed a 
somber sky, in harmony with the emotions of the 
ten. Quince Smith, thrusting his cropped head 
between the curtains with which his mother per- 
versely encumbered the windows of his room, 
scanned the gray east and sniffed the heavy air 
with a sense — though he could not have phrased 
it so — of something sinister lurking in wait to 
exult in his defeat. His black-and-white New- 
foundland puppy fawned beneath the window, 
wagging a cajoling tail, and, with a broad, dog- 
gish grin, besought him to come out and play. 
But the student of American history was not 
thinking of play. Mechanically his brain re- 
hearsed the elusive details of marches, battle, 
and siege. 

"On the night of December twenty-fifth," his 
thoughts ran, "Washington crossed the Dela- 
ware, about nine miles above Trenton — or was it 
below? — and marched south — or north? — to meet 
the expected reinforcements under — under—" 

He drew in his head, with incidental disaster 
to the curtains, and opened the book on his table 
with a bang, muttering for the thousandth time : 

"That Mickey O'Shca! Huh !" 

At about the same moment, Mickey, on his way 
to the sty with refreshments for the pampered 
O'Shea pig, paused and set down his pail so sud- 
denly that Ginger, shadowing his steps as usual, 
bumped his nose against it. Drawing a much- 
thumbed paper from his pocket, he mumbled over 
again the list of Presidents: 

"Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Mon- 
roe,— .y»rc I know 'em; sure I do. But I might 
be forgettin' at the last minute. 1 '11 not, though." 

And resuming his burden and his way, he timed 
the pat of his bare feet to the cadence of "Wash- 
ington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, Monro*?." 

The ten were to be examined during the morn- 




ing study-liour ; and with paper spread before 
them and pens dipped and poised, they waited 
while Miss Emerson, with a soft scratching of 
chalk, wrote on the blackboard the first of the 
test questions : 

1st: What acts of the British Parliament finally roused 
the American Colonies to open revolt ? 

Ten pens struck the paper as one. That was 

2d [wrote Miss Emerson]: Name and describe the 
first battle of the Revolution, giving, briefly, positions and 
movements of troops, names of commanders, and general 

Mickey's heart leaped exultantly : this was 
quite in his line. He cast an inquiring glance at 
the back bowed over the desk in front of his 
own. Quince's pen was traveling steadily over 
the paper, covering it with his boy's script, large 
and crude, but legible. Evidently his Waterloo 
was not yet. Mickey bent to his task, writing flu- 
ently, out of the fullness of assured knowledge, 
and adorning his pages with the best writing and 
most correct punctuation in the fourth grade. 
Steadily he traveled down the list of questions, 
reading them scrupulously one by one, not dar- 
ing to look ahead for fear of confusion and 
panic, but gaining courage with each answer 
written ; though he trembled, too, at the unhesi- 
tating and unresting scratch, scratch of John's 

The hour drew toward an end. The ordeal 
was almost over, and Mickey realized exultantly 
that he had answered nine questions readily and 
fully. He raised his eyes to the blackboard for 
the last time. 

loth: Name the Presidents of the United States in their 

No parties nor dates of election required. 
Good ! He knew the names ; sure he knew them. 
He began confidently to write : 

"Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, 
Monroe, Adams, Jackson — " 

He held his pen suspended. "Jackson — Jack- 
son— " 

Mentally he began again : 

"Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, 
Monroe, Adams, Jackson — " 

And then he knew that the dreaded, the intol- 
erable disaster had befallen him; that the weak- 
est link in the chain of his overtaxed memory 
had snapped. After "Jackson," there was noth- 
ing in his mind but blankness, a great void. He 
bowed his head on his hands, pressing his finger- 
tips on his eyelids and his stubby little thumbs 

into his ears. Through his tunmlt of terror and 
despair he struggled to bring back the vanished 
name. Oh, was he going to fail, after all his toil, 
all his hopes and dreams ? 

As the thought stung him, he raised his head 
with a look of bitter resentment directed at John's 
back ; but John's back was not there. A random 
breeze had swept to the floor one of the finished 
pages he had laid aside, and, stooping to recover 
it, he left exposed under Mickey's very eyes the 
list it had been so easy for him to write. There 
it stood, in the large, round hand, crude but legi- 
ble : 

"Washington, Adams, Jefferson, Madison, 
Monroe, Adams, Jackson, Van Burcn!" 

Mickey's brain seized upon the name with such 
an inward shout that he half expected to hear it 
echo through the room. With a gasp of relief he 
wrote it down, and all the rest flowed from his 
pen like running water; so that before Miss Em- 
erson's bell tapped for recess, his paper was fin- 
ished and folded. He marched down the aisle, 
not unconscious of John's confident tread, but 
with an equal confidence, and laid the precious 
document on her desk. She smiled in sympathy 
with the triumph in his shining eyes. 

"All right, Mickey?" 

"Sure it is. Miss Emerson, ma'am ! I answered 
every one 'v 'em.'' 

"Good ! I felt sure of you. I know how hard 
you 've worked." 

Mickey rushed exultantly down-stairs and 
through the door. But as he opened his mouth 
for the shout with which the normal boy cele- 
brates each return to freedom and the open air, 
something in the look of the lowering sky smote 
him like a hostile hand ; and cold with dismay, 
he realized, for the first time, what he had done. 
He had not "played fair" — he had taken a mean 
advantage ! And of Quince, the only rival he 
had to fear ! He had not played the game 
straight. He was not "fit to raise the flag." 

With a stricken face, he jerked his arm from 
the friendly grasp of Gene Martin, and slunk 
away toward a far corner of the yard, hearing, 
as he went, the sympathetic protest of an older 
lad : 

"Aw, leave 'im be ! Can't you see he 's all in?" 

And at the same moment, he saw, with start- 
ling clearness, the sturdy little figure of Quince, 
standing rigid with dismay, and gazing at him 
with a face from which pity had stricken all 
trace of anger and bitterness. 

Quince thought he had failed, and was sorry 
for him ! Quince, whom he had robbed ! That 
was the last straw. Sinking down in a lonely 
corner of the hedge, he covered his shamed face 




with his hands. His hmch-box lay beside him, 
but he could not eat. He could only sit and lis- 
ten, helplessly, to the persistent echo in his brain 
of the major's deejj voice: 

"Above all, you play fair — never cheat, nor 
take a mean advantage. To be brave, to be hon- 
est, to be just, a clean man, fit to raise the flag—" 

Oh, he had meant to do and be all that ; and 
he had failed ! All in a moment, l)efore he knew 
it, he had failed. 

It was Friday, and a half-holiday. The fourth 
grade was to reassemble after recess only to 
learn the result of the examination. 

At the tap of the bell, the child got to his feet 
and stumbled to his place in line, too numb with 
wretchedness fully to realize what had befallen 

Two examination papers were spread on the 
desk before Miss Emerson. The rest had been 
laid aside in a rejected heap. When they were 
seated, she spoke, with merciful promptness: 

"I want to thank the ten," she said, "for their 
faithful work, and to congratulate them all on 
the excellence of their papers. The habit of 
faithful, conscientious effort is worth far more 
to you than any prize or reward I could possibly 
give you. Because of their record during the 
term and the quality of their papers, the choice 
for the coveted appointment as aid to Major 
Butterworth lies between Mickey O'Shea and 
Johnny Smith." 

John's eager face flushed, and he 
wriggled with excitement : but Mickey 
sat rigidly still, his head on one freckled 
hand, which screened his wretched face, 
his eyes staring blankly at the desk be- 
fore him. 

"In scholarship they are equal," Miss 
Emerson's pleasant voice went on. "But, 
you know, everything counts in a written 
examination ; and Mickey excels in pen- 
manship and composition. And so, 
Mickey — " 

She turned her e3'es toward him, and 
paused, bewildered. For the child had 
risen and stood gripping the desk with 
one shaking hand, as if for support. 
Under the upstanding flame of his hair, his face 
was white. Quince, twisting about in his seat to 
look at his successful rival, stared in amazement 
at this way of accepting victory. 

"Please 'm," stammered Mickey, "I — I — can't. 
It 's meself is— not fit—" 

For once. Miss Emerson ignored his lapse in 

"What do you mean, IMickey?" she asked 

"I — I ch-a-ated !" The word seemed wrenched 
from him, and his white face grew crimson. 

"You cheated! Flow?" 

" 'T was th' tinth question, ma'am. I forgot 
Van Buren— an' I could n't think. An" then — I 
saw Quince Smith's pa-a-per; an' — " 

But Mickey had reached the limit of endur- 
ance, and sat down, hiding his shamed face in 
his hands. 

"Then, of course," said Miss Emerson, speak- 
ing slowly and heavily, as if some one had struck 
her a sudden blow, "that leaves Johnny in the 
lead; and I appoint him — " 

A rending sob from overwrought Mickey cut 
painfully across the silence of shocked attention 
in the room. And again the troubled teacher 
paused ; for now 
Quince was on his 
feet, looking at 
her with appealing 
eyes. He stepped 
back and laid his 
hand on Mickey's 
shaking shoulder. 


"Please, Miss Emerson, if you please, ma'am," 
he stumbled in his eagerness, "could n't Mickey 
'n' me — " 

"And I," she mechanically corrected. 

"Yes 'm ; 'n' /,— well,— now, could n't we, botli 
of us, do it fogeflier?" 

"Oh !" cried Miss Emerson, her grave face 
grown suddenly radiant, "that would be beauti- 
ful ! And — I think— just, too! Mickey did very 
wrong; he yielded to a gudden temptation. But 




he has made honorable 
amends. What does the 
class think?" 

The wild clapping of 
hands told what the 
class thought. 

"Then," said their smil- 
ing teacher, "I appoint 
John Quincy Adams 
Smith and Michael 
O'Shea to act as aids to 
Major Butterworth at 
the flag raising on the 
Fourth. You are dis- 

Neither Quince nor 
Mickey heard the word 
of dismissal, nor the 
tramp of excited but or- 
derly pupils filing from 
the room. Quince still 
stood with his hand on 
the shabby shoulder. 
Mickey had raised a 
radiant, tear-wet face. 
And as the two lads 
gazed at each other 
with shining eyes, their 
tongue-tied boyish emo- 
tion needed no words of 
penitence or of pardon. 

And then — oh, day of 
miracles beyond all 
dreaming ! — Betty, at the 
door, broke from her 
place in line, and her 
light feet skimmed the 
floor to Mickey's desk. 
She laid a wee hand be- 
side Johnny's, on his 
rough sleeve. 

"Mickey O'Shea," she cried, 
"I think you 're just splendid ! 
That was the bravest, bravest thing 
you did !'' And blushing at her own 
impulsive daring, she fled so fast that 
Mickey breathed his heartfelt "Gee \" to her 
flying curls. 


The day of days dawned radiantly fair. In 
the blazing red of geranium borders along 
the paths of the square, and in the living- 
white and blue of the sky, nature unfurled 
the tricolor. Long before the sparkle of 
early morning had evaporated in the July 
sun, a steady stream of travel began to flow 






into the county road, from country lanes and 
byways. The shining seven-passenger car of 
the prosperous orchardist or stockman slowed 
down, perforce, to the pace of rattling farm- 
wagons or rickety buggies, drawn by the patient 
horse. Shouts of greeting and snatches of song 
mingled with the protesting "Honk! honk!" of 
obstructed motors and the random popping of 

In the square, as the early comers gathered, the 
belated committee on decoration was hastily put- 
ting the finishing touches of draped bunting and 
flags on the speakers' stand. Important members 
of the Regimental Band from the fort, in spruce 
uniforms with winking buttons, inspected the 
lower platform assigned to the musicians, count- 
ing and rearranging the chairs. 

On the flagstaff, just above the ground, the 
mighty flag hung motionless from its halyard, 
covered, but not hidden, by a veil of thinnest 
white, secured about it by loosely knotted cords. 

As near- to this center of interest as they had 
been able to find places, early on the ground and 
cheerfully resigned to the long interval of wait- 
ing, sat Michael O'Shea, the elder, and Molly, his 
wife. The polish on the wizened milkman's Sun- 
day shoes was as brilliant as the cotton roses in 
good Molly's best bonnet ; and the pride and 
pleasure in their weather-beaten faces outshone 
both. While the small yellow dog, crouched be- 
side Michael's chair, was only restrained by a 
hand on his collar and an occasional "Whisht, 
now, be aisy !" from venting his excitement in a 
series of explosive barks. 

"Sure, th' b'y look'd foine," said Michael for 
the hundredth time. "An' I 'm not begrudgin' 
the new clo'es, an' shoes, an' hat. 'T is a good 
la-a-d Mickey is ; an' this '11 make a ma-a-n av 
'im, bein' chose, so, to raise th' fla-a-g, along av 
th' ma-a-jor an' Smit's b'y." 

To honest Michael "the ma-a-jor an' Smit's 
b'y" were merely incidental; contributory, but 
not essential, elements of young Mickey's tri- 

"Whisht, Mike, ma-a-n !" warned Molly, listen- 
ing eagerly. 

For far away, at the end of Main Street toward 
the school-house, a sudden rattle of drums 
sounded, and fell as suddenly silent. A silver 
bugle blew the assembly ; and preluding trumpets 
swelled into "The Battle Hymn of the Repub- 
lic," accom]3anying a great chorus of children's 

On came the eagerly awaited procession. 
All the school children of the district, trained 
for weeks in preparation for this great day, 
marched first, white-clad, with fluttering flags 

and ribbons of the tricolor. Betty, because of 
her clear voice, walked alone in advance of the 
column, her white dress and yellow curls blown 
backward, the silken flag she carried wrapped 
about her by the summer wind. 

" Mine eyes have seen the glory 
Of the coming of the Lord," 

chanted the fresh voices. 

" (jlory, glory, hallelujah! " 

sang the silver trumpets ; and all the waiting 
throng was on its feet. 

Still singing, the children crossed the lawn and 
mounted the steps of the speakers' stand. Still 
playing, the musicians defiled to the left and 
took their places on the lower platform. 

The singers turned at the back of the plat- 
form, and dipped their flags in salute, as the 
donor of the flagstaff mounted the steps, with 
Judge Reynolds, president of the board of se- 
lectmen, and the white-haired ininister. And 
then, ah, then!— the major, leading the thin 
ranks of the Grand Army Post; the major, su- 
perbly tall, a soldierly figure, his soft hat held 
against his breast, the medals and decorations 
won by honorable service gleaming beside it, and 
on his either hand, brave in fresh Sunday serges, 
flags in their buttonholes, and the straw hats they 
carried banded with red, white, and blue, walked 
the two loyal young lovers of their native land. 
Quince Smith and Mickey O'Shea. 

The boys heard only vaguely, from the remote- 
ness of their own dreams, the brief speech of 
presentation, chastened to dignified simplicity by 
the honest emotion of the speaker, and the judge's 
equally brief and sincere words of acceptance. 
It was only when the full band burst, with a 
mighty wave of sound, into "The Star-Spangled 
Banner," that they woke to a full consciousness 
of the great moinent close at hand. The crowd 
was on its feet again, singing, with bared heads : 

" Oh, say, can you see, 
By the dawn's early light — '' 

The major sung with the renewed vibrance of 
youth in his deep voice ; the boys with all the 
fervor of their proud, young hearts. 

The major, still singing, walked slowly down 
the steps. His young aids followed, side by side. 
He laid his hand on the halyard. John and 
Mickey, loosening the knots that held the filmy 
veil, took each an edge of it and stepped back- 
ward ; and the mighty banner, in its unveiled 
radiance, swung free. It moved upward slowly. 
Its folds lifted in the breeze, and fell again, and 
lifted, as it rose above the tree-tops and leaped 




straight out, a flaming splendor, rippling in the 
wind, at the tip of its staff. 

" And the Star-Spangled Banner 
In triumph shall wave," 

shouted a thousand throats. 

Instantly, upon the last note of the song, si- 
lence fell, as the old minister stepped forward 
and raised hands of supplication. 

"God of our fathers," he prayed, "bless this, 
our flag of freedom and of peace ; and these, thy 
sons, born under its guardian folds, who love it ; 

who have defended, and who shall defend it, now 
and forever more. Amen." 

Once more the silver trumpets preluded. 

The major's eyes were fixed upon the flag. 
John and Mickey, looking up to the tall soldier of 
freedom, blended their young voices in : 

"Sweet land of liberty. 
Of Thee I sing." 

While over thein the flag, playing, a living 
brightness against the sky, was stretched like a 
mighty hand of betiediction. 






The Princess Bar- 
bara was sitting in 
lier garden one day, 
embroidering a dec- 
orative piece of em- 
broidery in a proper 
and princessy fash- 
ion, when all at once 
she looked up and 
saw standing before her— a pirate. Now, of 
course, we should all be surprised if we met 
pirates in our gardens, but Princess Barbara was 
particularly surprised, because pirates were never 
allowed in the palace grounds, by the king's ex- 
press orders. She knew he was a pirate, because 
his mustache was long and black, his hat and 
boots were particularly piratical, and his silk 
pocket-handkerchief was a miniature pirate flag. 
"There are three questions I would like to ask 
you," he said, with a beautiful bow. "First—" 

"Oh, excuse me," said the princess, "but I don't 
believe I 'm allowed to talk to pirates." 

"Oh, all right," said the pirate, quite calmly; 
"I thought maybe you 'd like to hear the story 
of my life, and all about that time when I 
had that particularly thrilling adventure on the 
swimming island ; but as long as you 're not in- 

"How did it swim ?" asked the princess, eagerly. 
So the pirate began a most thrilling tale that 
kept the princess breathless from beginning to 
end. And when he had finished, "The first of 
the three questions," he said— but before he had 
time for another word, he discovered the king 
standing before him, trying to look surprised and 
grieved and furious and dignified all at the same 

"Begone at once !" said his majesty. "But first 
tell me how you came in." 

"I go anon," replied the pirate, and the princess 
was pleased to think that he could hold his own 
in classical conversation. 

. "Anent you go," continued the king, who saw 
that he must summon all his court language, "in- 
form me of your manner of ingress." 

"I erstwhile came," 
replied the pirate, 
folding his arms 
and closing his eyes 
in a truly dignified 
manner, "by just ye 
route by which anon 
I presently depart," 
and opening his eyes, 


he seized a linden bough and climbed over the 
palace wall, with an agility that made even the 
king a little envious. 

"And now, my dear," continued the king, sitting 
down by Princess Barbara, "I must warn you not 
to talk to pirates again. It 's quite against family 
tradition. And, besides, pirates are a great men- 
ace to the country, and I shall have this one 
seized and imprisoned at once. But, to speak of 
pleasanter themes, I came to tell you that Prince 
Goodale is coming to visit us, the most delightful 
of all your suitors. He is all that he should be, 
and he is n't all that he should n't be." 

The princess sighed. "Is he quite, quite per- 
fect?" she said. 

"Quite!" the king assured her eagerly, and the 
princess sighed again. 

All that day she kept sighing, and all the next. 
As the time for the prince's arrival drew nearer, 
the king was busy ordering all sorts of improve- 
ments in the palace. He introduced an extra 
retinue of retainers, had all the best gold and 
silver made ready, and engaged an itinerant 
painter to paint the outside of the palace. 

The princess sat by her window, still occasion- 
ally sighing and thinking of the splendid stories 
of adventure the pirate had told her. 

She idly watched the painter painting the pal- 
ace, with more industry than art, and wondered 
if princesses were permitted to talk to painters. 
But she did n't need to decide the question, for 
just at that moment the painter raised the scaf- 
folding, by its ropes, till he was level with her 

"The first question," he said, leaning his arms 
on the window-sill, "is, do you like peppermints?" 



"Oh, is it really you ?" cried the princess, in 
delight. "I never would have dreamed it ! Yes, 
1 'm very fond of peppermints. How splendidly 
you are di.sguised !" 

The pirate looked at his painter's costume with 
pride. "Yes," he said complacently, "I 've al- 
ways been very successful with disguises. There 
was that time when I was shipwrecked on an ice- 
berg—" and he went on to tell such a remarkable 
tale that the princess scarcely breathed until she 
suddenly heard the king beside her. 

contained his different crowns, and then all the 
scejjtcr boxes, and various other possessions, 
without which no prince makes a visit. The prin- 
cess watched a newly engaged porter take these 
boxes to the suite of rooms reserved for the 
prince. She walked slowly down-stairs, listlessly 
interested in the tumult, and on the stairs she 
met the porter, carrying three large boxes. 

"The second question is, are you fond of pa- 
chisi?" he said, as he reached her. 

"Oh, can it be you?" cried the princess, joy- 

"My dear!" he cried, "princesses must not talk 
to painters ! You, sir," he continued, looking at 
the painter with an expression of doubt, indigna- 
tion, and withering scorn, "had best depart with 
the most expeditious expediency." 

"I will depart," replied the painter-pirate, with 
equal scorn, indignation, and doubt. "I will de- 
part with instantaneous alacrity." And having 
whispered to the princess, "So do I love pepper- 
mints !" he pulled his pulley rope and let his scaf- 
fold to the ground with surprising speed. 

For two days more, the princess sighed without 
ceasing, and then the prince's trunks began to 
arrive. First came all the golden hat-boxes that 

fully. "I thought I should never see you again ! 
Yes, I 'm very fond of pachisi. There 's a 
pachisi board in the library. We can play a 
game now, if you like." 

So they went to the library and played pachisi 
until the king discovered them there. 

"What ho !" he exclaimed, really angry this 
time. "Be off! Begone! Depart! Don't even 
wait to apologize ! I will not listen to your 
apology !" 

But the porter-painter-pirate folded his arms 
with quiet dignity, and said: "I have nothing to 
apologize for ! I let the princess win three games 
of pachisi running, and I pretended not to see 




when I could have sent all her men home. How- 
ever, I am going by the way I came. Don't in- 
vite me to stay longer. I will not listen to your 
invitation !" 

And with undaunted courage he walked out of 
the front door, aqd even the king could not help 
admiring the way he made his way through the 


hall and down the palace steps, without once un- 
folding his arms or unclosing his eyes. 

At last the day came when Prince Goodale 
was to arrive. Everything was ready, and every- 
thing looked very well indeed, except the blotchy 
place on the palace wall where the pirate had 
started to paint. And to the princess that was 
the loveliest spot in the whole palace, even though 
the pirate's attempts at painting were somewhat 

A short while before the prince was to arrive, 
a wandering minstrel, with a harp, came to the 

"Just the thing!" cried the king. "We must 
have music to welcome the prince." So the min- 
strel, apparently something of a poet, too, began 
practising some very charming songs. 

The princess, who was very fond of music, 
stayed to listen even after the king had left to see 
to some final details. And as he finished an espe- 

cially beautiful bar, the poet turned to her and 

"The third question is, are you fond of pic- 

"I love picnics !" said the princess, rapturously, 
"and pachisi, and peppermints, and painters, and 
porters, and—" 

"Princes?" helpfully suggested the 
king, who had returned unexpectedly. 
"Or pirates?" suggested the poet, 
softly touching his instrument. 

"Oh, dear," sighed the princess. 
"I 've been most unhappy lately." 

"So have I," said the king, in a 
grieved tone. "You 've no idea," he 
continued, turning to the poet, "how 
difficult it is to bring up a princess. 
Now the other day she -mould play 
pachisi with a porter." 

"I don't mind telling you," said the 
poet, "that I was the porter— only 
iJiat was a disguise." 

"You don't mean it !" exclaimed the 
king. "How you 've changed I And 
before that," he went on, "she took 
the greatest interest in a painter." 

"I don't mind telling you," said the 
poet, "that I was the painter— only 
that was a disguise." 

"You do surprise me !" said the 
king. "But you have n't heard the 
worst. Just about a week ago, I found 
her deep in conversation with a pi- 
rate !" 

"I don't mind telling you," said the 
poet, "that I was the pirate, only that" 
— and he struck a sweeping chord on 
his \\2iVp—" that was a disguise !" 

"A disguise !" cried the princess, "then do you 
mean that you are not a pirate, after all ?" 

"I am no more pirate," he replied, "than I am 
painter or porter or poet." 

"Then what are you?" cried the king and the 
princess, both together. 

"Why, as it happens," he replied, with a smile, 
'T 'm Prince Goodale !" 

And with that there was a flourish of trumpets 
outside, and the palace doors were thrown open 
to a great retinue of Prince Goodale's followers, 
who advanced to the prince's right and left, and 
bowed low with every mark of respect and loy- 

The prince was escorted to his apartments by the 
amazed king, who was trying to be cordial in 
court language, and the astonished princess was 
left alone. 

But it was not long before the prince appeared 




again, in truly princely apparel, so dazzling that 
the princess could scarcely realize that she had 
known him as a 
pirate in her gar- 

"Are you sure," 
she shyly asked, 
"that you are real- 
ly Prince Goodale ? 
This is n't a dis- 
guise, too?" 

"A disguise?" 
said the prince, 
laughing, "why, 
yes, it is a disguise, 
in a way, because 
no one would ever 
recognize me now 
as a person who 
liked peppermints 
and pachisi and 
picnics. Of course 
I am Prince Good- 
ale, but, then, that's 
not the important 
thing. Pirates, 

porters, painters, 
poets, princes, and 
even princesses — 
they 're all disguises, you know— and I wanted 
to know what you yourself were really like— not 
you in the disguise of a princess. And now," he 

continued, "I '11 take you to my kingdom, where, 
after our subjects have welcomed us, we can have 


all the peppermints and pachisi we want." 

"And go on picnics every day !" whispered the 


Many a boy has declaimed from a school plat- 
form that 

'On the eighteenth of April, in 'seventy-five," 

Paul Revere rode through the night 
cry of alarm 

a certain 
until his 

"To every Middlesex 
and farm." 


But how many know 
whether the hero of the 
"Midnight Ride" ever 
merited praise in any 
other way? How many 
know what he did to earn 
a living in an every-day, 
prosaic world ? For the 
subject of the poet's fan- 
cy was, in real life, a very 
substantial, a very human 
person, with a large num- 
ber of mouths to feed ; 
and although roinantic 
episodes are gratifying to 
future generations, they 
do not, as a rule, help 
those immediately con- 
cerned to meet the "high 
cost of living." 

To properly appreciate 
the work of Paul Revere, 
it is necessary to go back 
a generation or two, for 
in his case, as in so many 
others, it is true not only 
that the "child was father 
of the man," but also that 
"the boy was the son of his father." 

Paul's father was from a good old 


family which had suffered hardship through the 
religious persecutions in France. In 171 5, when 
a boy of thirteen years, he was sent to Boston 
from his home in Guernsey, that he might learn 
the goldsmith's trade. It was a long, slow jour- 
ney by sailing vessel, but 
to a boy of thirteen every 
part of it was interesting. 
In Boston, he became ap- 
prentice to a goldsmith, 
took naturally to the 
work, and rapidly mas- 
tered the trade. 

In his Huguenot home, 
this boy's name was Apol- 
los Rivoire, but this gave 
the people in the new 
country so much trouble 
that, when the time came 
to open a shop of his own, 
he called hiiiiself Paul 
Revere, "merely on ac- 
count the bumpkins cotdd 
pronounce it easier," as 
some one said. 

The Paul Revere of 
Lexington fame was the 
eldest son of the youth 
from Guernsey, and was 
born in 1735. He was 
destined to take up the 
work his father came 
across the ocean to learn; 
but, through better edu- 
cation and greater oppor- 
tunity, he was to carry it 
to a higher degree of ex- 
cellence. He entered his 
father's shop, after finishing at the old North 
Grammar school, and soon showed great ability 




and liking for the work. He had skill as an en- 
graver, an important part of the trade, and good 
taste in designing. Aiany pieces of gold and sil- 
ver—chains, necklaces, ewers, spoons, cups, and 
tankards— that bear the mark of Paul Revere are 
treasured for their beauty as well as for their 

Revere's skill in handling the graver led him 
to take up the new enterprise of engraving on 

Harvard College, the town of Boston, and por- 
traits of Hancock and Adams. He engraved 
plates from which colonial notes were printed, 
and made a press for the printing. The first seal 
of the Commonwealth of Massachusetts was the 
work of his hands. 

With his good health, abundant energy, and 
especially his skill as a workman, Revere natu- 
rally became a leader in the meetings of Boston 



copperplate, a craft which at that time was, 
throughout the colonies, carried on by not more 
than a half-dozen men. He studied this out for 
himself, and, considering that the art was then 
crude at its best, he attained very good results. 
Pictures from his plates had much to do with 
arousing patriotic spirit, for he was an ardent 
patriot with a keen sense of humor, and the pic- 
tures turned to ridicule such obnoxious measures 
as the Stamp Act, the Port Bill, the tax on tea. 

The engravings of Revere were not, however, 
confined to caricature, for he made views of 

young men, "chiefly mechanics," which were held 
at the Green Dragon Tavern in the exciting 
times just before the Revolution. He was 
prominent among the "Sons of Liberty," and so 
became intimate with Warren, Hancock, the 
Adamses, and other zealous advocates of the 
colonies' rights. 

From the records of the Masons, of which 
order Revere was a prominent member, and later 
Grand Master, we read: "Adjournment on ac- 
count of the few Brothers present. N.B. Con- 
signment of Tea took the Brethren's time." This 




gives an interesting side-light on the stirring 
times in which Paul Revere took part. 

The next day after the famous "Tea Party," 
Revere set off on horseback to carry the news to 
the "Sons of Liberty" in New York and Phila- 
delphia. During the days that followed this trip, 
he rode thousands of miles, through heat and 
cold, through sunshine and storm, as messenger 
from one colony to another and to the Continen- 
tal Congress. 

So he was naturally in good trim when the time 
came for the one ride which, through a poet's 
skill, was to make his name renowned forever. 


Li the fall following the ride to Lexington, it 
became very difficult for the patriots to get suffi- 
cient gunpowder for the Continental army. 
There was only one powder-mill, and that 
near Philadelphia. So the leaders in New Eng- 
land of the cause of the colonies thought it 
would be a good plan for Revere, on one of his 
trips to the Quaker City, to learn how to make 
powder. They gave him letters of introduction 
to the mill-owner, and these were indorsed by the 
most active patriots in Philadelphia. But the 
owner of the mill had no intention of giving up 
his monopoly ; he absolutely refused to give any 
instruction. After long urging, he did grudgingly 
grant permission for Revere to walk through the 
works, thinking, no doubt, that could do no harm. 
Little did he realize Revere's powers of observa- 
tion and ability to take full advantage of every 
opportunity. From what he saw that day, the 

messenger from Massachusetts was able, on 
reaching home, to set up a mill and begin the 
manufacture of gunpowder. 

Nearly all through the Revolution, Revere was 
in the service of the colonies. He was commis- 
sioned lieutenant-colonel of the militia, and for 
some time was in charge of Castle William, in 
Boston Harbor. Of course he received pay for 
his later service, but much of his messenger work 
was purely voluntary. As one has said of him, 
"During all these years, he had a large family 
dependent upon him ; yet he was so constituted as 
to find sufficient leisure to interest himself with 
all matters pertaining to 
the public good." 

After the war, Paul Re- 
vere went back to his shop. 
About this time, he wrote 
his cousin in Guernsey : "I 
did intend to have gone 
wholly into trade, but the 
principal part of my inter- 
est I lent to the Govern- 
ment, which I have not 
been able to withdraw ; so 
I must content myself till 
I can do better." So we 
see that he intrusted his 
money as well as his ser- 
vice to the cause of lib- 
erty. However, he adds 
in the same letter, "I am 
in middling circumstances, 
and very well off for a 

The scope of his trade 
greatly enlarged through 
the natural demand that 
followed from his ability to meet need as it came. 
He opened a foundry for casting cannon, and soon 
added the business of bell-making. Ever on the 
alert to learn something new, he became the first 
man in this country to make copper sufficiently 
malleable so that it could be formed into spikes 
and rivets. He knew such a thing was possible, for 
it was being done in England, so he worked away 
at it until he discovered the secret,— in time to 
furnish all the brass and copper work, "bolts, 
spikes, cogs, braces, pintles, sheaves, and pumps," 
for the building of Old Ironsides. He also mas- 
tered the art of rolling copperplate, and this 
same Ironsides went to her battle with the Guer- 
riere clad in the coat of mail Revere had pro- 
vided for her. 

When the new State House was built in Bos- 
ton, Revere furnished the 6000 feet of sheet- 
copper required to cover the dome, and as Grand 





Master of the Masons he had an important part 
in laying the corner-stone. 

In 1801, the copper-works were removed to 
Canton, Massachusetts, and the business estab- 
lished there by "Paul Revere & Son," continued 
to thrive until a very few years ago, when it was 
absorbed by a "combination." Yet nearly all the 
years of his active life, the founder of this con- 
cern signed himself simply "Paul Revere — Gold- 

Revere lived to be eighty-three years old, sur- 
viving all but five of his sixteen children. Even 
in his old age he lost little of his vigor, and none 
of his stanch patriotism. When, in the War of 
1812, it seemed probable that the enemy would 
make an attack upon Boston, the bold signature 
of Paul Revere headed a list of names of men 
who pledged their services in defense of the 
town, and it is supposed that he was the one to 
draw up the pledge. 

About 1770, Revere bought a house in North 

Square, then a fashionable part of Boston, and 
this was his home for thirty years. In connec- 
tion with his selling off a small part of the land, 
there is this quaint statement, written by the pur- 
chaser and attached to the deed : 

This is to tell them that ones [owns] this a state 
[estate] after me that Paul Revere have Bult a Barn & 
set the Barn on my Land one feet which he Is to Re- 
move Whenever the Person that ones this Land shall 
Desire him or them that ones his Land after him. 

The barn disappeared many years ago, but we 
do not know whether it was ever removed "one 
feet" by "them that ones this a state." The 
house, a hundred years old when Revere bought 
it, is still standing. Each year it is visited by 
thousands of persons from all parts of the 

To this day, several church bells remain, sound 
as when cast, to ring their praise of Paul Re- 
vere's careful workmanship, — their honor to the 
man who did everything well. 



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

Chapter XX 


"Ah," said Mr. Lee, softly. 

Pale and rigid, Rodman stood watching him. 

"Why," asked the man, "should you suppose I 
would want to go to the safe, if," he spoke more 
and more slowly, "if— you— did n't — know?" 

Rodman shuddered. 

"Go and sit down," said the man, not unkindly. 

Rodman clambered into his seat. Mr. Lee be- 
gan to pace the floor. Every little while he 
glanced at the boy, and each time Rodman, fear- 
fully watching, saw in his eyes the flicker of a 
fire that came and went. One who had seen the 
man as he drove his automobile at the waters of 
the dam, would have noted in his face the same 
look now, the glance of one who enjoyed danger 
and welcomed it. 

Suddenly, with a little laugh but with no word 
to the boy, he turned and left the office. And 
Rodman, to whom the other had uttered no 
threat, put his head down on his arms and sobbed. 

"Spoiled !" he cried, almost choking in despair. 
"Spoiled !" 

Lhere, half an hour later, Pelham found him. 
Rodman had recovered his calmness, but his face 
was pale and his eyes were red. 

"Anything wrong?" demanded Pelham at once. 

"Probably everything," answered the other. 
"Where is Mr. Lee?" 

"He 's gone with Bob to Winton in the mo- 
tor," answered Pelham. 

Rodman sprang from his stool. "Lo fetch the 
money for the pay-roll?" 

"Yes," answered Pelham. "Rodman, what is 
the matter with you?" For Rodman, as if struck 
by a blow, had reeled to the chair by Mr. Dodd's 
desk and dropped into it. Pelham went to him 

"Give me a minute!" gasped Rodman, strug- 
gling with himself. "Now I 'm — all right." He 
raised his head, but he was so pale that Pelham 
cried : 

"Rodman, yoii must have the doctor." 

"No," answered Rodman, impatiently. "Pel- 
ham, I must think." 

And now he paced the floor where so recently 
Mr. Lee had been striding. Pelham, watching 
him, divined that this friend of his had more on 
his mind than ever had come to his own share in 

life. He watched Rodman's face gradually begin 
to glow with an idea; the color came back, and 
the eye sparkled as if the boy, in his turn, was 
measuring a danger. At length Rodman turned 
to him. His manner was entirely changed; he 
was alert and quick. 

"When did they start for Winton?" Rodman 

"Half an hour ago." 

"Did your brother have any other errands?" 

"One or two. And Mr. Lee was going to get 
some gasolene." 

"Pelham," asked Rodman, earnestly, "will you 
go with me, and do as I do, and ask no questions 
about it at all ?" 

"Is anything wrong?" returned Pelham, quite 
as earnestly. 

"Something may be very wrong indeed," an- 
swered Rodman. "But I can't tell you anything 
about it. You '11 have to come, and imitate, and 
say nothing." 

"Well, I '11 come then," agreed Pelham, slowly. 
"Where is it to be?" 

"The Winton road," answered Rodman. "We 
shall want your bicycle." 

"Why not a carriage?" asked Pelham. 

"It won't do," Rodman answered. He took up 
his cap. "I shall start at once. Will you go and 
get the bicycle, and catch up with me?" 

They parted at the door. In ten minutes Pel- 
ham, spinning along on his bicycle, saw Rodman 
ahead of him, already nearing the woods. By 
the time he had overtaken him, they were under 
the trees. Then when Pelham was by his side, 
and before he could dismount, Rodman, placing 
a hand on the saddle-post, began running. 
Though surprised, Pelham said nothing. 

For a mile they went, Pelham occasionally 
glancing at the other. Gradually Rodman began | 
to show signs of fatigue. At last Pelham dis- ' 
mounted. "We 're slowing up," he said briefly. 
"My turn to run." Rodman made no objection, 
but with a grateful glance mounted the bicycle, 
and Pelham ran by his side. At the end of an- 
other mile they changed once more. All the time 
scarcely a word was said. Pelham noted, how- 
ever, that while at each turn Rodman cast a 
glance ahead, those glances became more and 
more anxious. 

In the meantime Bob and Mr. Lee had driven 
over to Winton. Through the woods Bob man- 



aged the car, driving slowly under Mr. Lee's di- 
rection. Bob was a quick learner. He was fa- 
miliar with machines, understood the theoretical 
working of this one, and by his sureness of hand 
and eye speedily mastered 
the simpler management of 
the car. But when he ap- 
proached Winton he gave 
the control into Mr. Lee's 
hands, saying, "I don't want 
to wreck your car, or to kill 
any one." Separating when 
they reached the business 
blocks, they did their er- 
rands, and then met again 
for the return trip. 

"Got everything?" asked 
Mr. Lee as they started, and 
when Bob had nodded, in- 
quired: "How much money 
do you pay weekly, any- 

"We can show you all the 
figures, if you like," an- 
swered Bob. "The men earn 
all the way from twenty to 
thirty dollars a week, and we 
pay some of the higher em- 
ployees in cash — the book- 
keeper, for instance. I never 
like to give out how much 
we carry over the road, but 
of course you 'II say nothing. 
I 've fifty-two hundred dol- 
lars with me." 

"You handle a good deal 
yearly," remarked Mr. Lee, 
studying the road. 

"A fellow gets used to it," 
laughed Bob. 

When once they had 
passed the limits of the town, 
Mr. Lee stopped the car. 
"You '11 drive back?" 

Reluctantly, Bob shook his 
head. "I 'd like to, but on 
principle I ought n't. There 
probably won't be a hold-up 
on this road in a thousand 
years, but if it should happen 
this afternoon when I 'm en- 
joying myself, I should never forget the shame 
of it." 

"Give me your revolver," suggested Mr. Lee. 
"I 'm something of a shot myself, and I can take 
care of the money." 

"I 'd rather not," answered Bob. 

"My dear fellow," said Lee, "as a matter of 
fact, I carry a pistol myself, though it 's of very 
.^mall caliber. You 're entirely safe in taking the 
risk, even though you keep your own weapon." 


But Bob Still shook his head. "Much obliged 
to you, Mr. Lee, but really I could n't." 

Mr. Lee started the car. "I respect your prin- 
ciple," he laughed. "You '11 have plenty of 
chances to drive the car." 

They sped onward, and entered the long woods. 




'"Five miles without a house, I understand," re- 
liiarked Mr. Lee, "Where is the nearest tele- 
phohe, in case of accident?" 

"Perhaps a mile and a half back," answered 
Bob. "There 's one at the big farm-house at the 

They sped on swiftly. Bob, looking at the road 
ahead, like Pelham and Harriet, drew in his 
breath. "This is fun," he said. "I '11 have one 
of these machines some day." 

Mr. Lee shot a glance at him from under his 
brows, looked ahead, and slipped a hand into his 
vest pocket. He took it away, quickened the pace, 
and looked at the speedometer. Three miles now 
to the nearest telephone. When they swept around 
the corner he glanced keenly along the next 
stretch of road. It was empty. A smile of sat- 
isfaction came into his face, and in his eyes be- 
gan to flicker the light of daring. Suddenly he 
slowed the car down, and once more, with a quick 
motion, his hand went to his vest pocket. He 
turned to Bob with a sudden setting of his jaw. 

Bob was looking along the road. He did not 
notice Mr. Lee's action, nor think of the hand 
as it stole from the pocket. "There is some one," 
he remarked. "By Jove, it 's the boys!" 

Mr. Lee looked. There by the side of the road 
were two waving figures. He recognized Rod- 
man and Pelham. Slowly his hand fumbled be- 
neath his coat and came away from his pocket. 
The gleam died out of his eyes, the hard expres- 
sion left his face. He settled himself into a pose 
and expression of indifference, and presently 
stopped the car by the side of the boys. 

"Give us a ride ?" asked Rodman, pressing for- 

"Give us a ride ?" repeated Pelham. 

"What are you two boys doing here?" de- 
manded Bob, bluffly. "You ought to be at the 

Rodman was taken aback, and Pelham noticed 
it. "Not on Saturdays," he said readily. "After 
Mr. Hollins goes, we stay or not as we please." 

"Is everything locked up?" asked Bob. 

"The safe is shut, Mr. Dodd," answered Rod- 
man. "I 'm afraid I left the day-book outside." 

"Well," said Bob, good-naturedly, "I '11 put it 
in when I get back. But see that none of the 
other books is ever left out. It would be trouble- 
some to lose any in case of fire." 

Mr. Lee had been silent ; now he hooted with 
the horn. "Get in," he said briefly. His eye 
caught Rodman's. The light of adventure had 
kindled again. "Get in !" he repeated. 

From opposite sides the two boys climbed into 
the car and took places in the tonneau. "Let 's 
see how fast you can make her go," said Rodman. 

Mr. Lee started the car slowly. "I 'm not hur- 
rying to-day," he replied. He looked behind him 
at the stretch of road, then slightly quickened the 
speed. Pelham watched Rodman to see what he 
should do next. Rodman was watching Mr. Lee, 
who, after a minute, once more looked back along 
the road. They were just approaching a corner. 
Rodman's face was tense. 

They swept around the corner, and the boy 
craned forward to see the road. As before, as 
usual, it was empty. The car slowed suddenly, 
and once more Mr. Lee's hand was lifted toward 
his breast. 

Rodman rose in his seat. "Suppose there were 
robbers on the road !" he cried. "We two could 
take care of you." His lean brown hand slipped 
over Mr. Lee's shoulder ; it reached the pocket 
first. The strained voice continued: "Mr. Lee, 
lend me your pistol?" Rodman drew his hand 
away, and to Pelham's amazement it was holding 
a small automatic pistol. 

"Pelham," said Rodman, "ask your brother for 
his revolver." 

"Give it to me, Bob," begged Pelham, quickly. 

"What nonsense !" cried Bob, disgusted. "Pel- 
ham, shut your head. Rodman, you crazy thing, 
give back that pistol !" 

Rodman laughed shrilly ; he reminded Pelham 
of a nervous girl. "Faster, Mr. Lee," he cried. 
"Robbers !" 

"Better put that back," said Mr. Lee, without 
looking around. 

Rodman held the pistol toward the bushes. 
"I 'm ready for any one who shows himself. 
Faster ! Faster !" 

"Silly !" cried Bob, almost angry. "For Hea- 
ven's sake don't play with firearms. — Careful, 
Rodman ! You '11 drop it in the road." 

"Faster !" repeated the boy, almost beside him- 
self with excitement. 

Mr. Lee gave a short laugh and opened the 
throttle. The car shot forward, and Rodman sub- 
sided in his seat. Again the car surged into a 
faster speed, and yet again. Round the next cor- 
ner, with a shrill note of warning, it spun on two 
wheels, and before it was an empty stretch of 
road that seeined endless. Once more the car 
quickened its speed, and Pelham saw Bob sink 
lower in his seat. The rush of air smote him in 
the face, and he too crouched before it. He gasped 
with amazement. The engine was humming like 
the great turbine at the mill, and Pelham felt that 
the power of the two was the same. On either 
side of the road the woods stood like solid walls, 
between which the automobile was flying. The 
next corner suddenly showed before them, and 
Pelham caught his breath. The whistle sounded 




like the long wail of a demon, but the car never 
slackened its pace. 

"It 's too great a risk!" thought Pelham. But 
he knew he was helpless. He believed that they 
would dash into the woods 
at the turn, or maybe 
shatter themselves on 
some other vehicle, and 
he shut his eyes. He 
felt the whole car 
twist, but nothing- 
else happened. 
He looked 

again. Down 
another .; 

'hakuif:t, he gasped, 'Harriet 
have you got it still?'" 
(see page 794. 

Straight stretch they were racing at the same 
speed, but Pelham's anxious bosom was relieved. 
Before them rose a hill. The car must slow down. 
But no ! It dashed at the hill as if the road 
were level. Then suddenly the air was filled with 
a throbbing roar. Though they were fairly on 
the hill the speed did not change. Pelham under- 

stood: Mr. Lee had opened the muffler. Pelham 
fairly shivered as he remembered that there was 
a bad double turn ahead. 

Bob raised his hand, and Mr. Lee nodded. The 
car reached the brow of the 
hill — then suddenly the roar 
was cut off, and the speed 
grew less. Pelham saw Mr. 
Lee's finger moving the 
throttle, and every instant 
the car ran more slowly. It 
took the double curve at an 
easy speed, then slid forward 
to the long hill that led down- 
ward to the town. Pelham 
drew a long breath as he felt 
the brake go on. 

Over his shoulder Mr. Lee 
smiled at him. "Great ma- 
chine, eh, Pelly?" But Pel- 
ham was still too much 
amazed to do more than nod. 

"What was the speed?" 
asked Bob. 

"Just over sixty-two." 

"Whee !"' breathed Pelham 
to himself. 

They slipped down the 
long hill, and came into the 
town. Then Rodman leaned 
forward and spoke : "Can't 
we go straight to the office, 
Mr. Bob? I 'd like to have 
that book put away. Besides, 
we can make up the pay-roll 

"All right," answered Bob. 

In the office Bob opened 
the safe, put in the day-book, 
and then thrust in the packet 
of money. "We '11 make up 
the roll when Mr. Hollins 
comes in the afternoon. Now 
we 've barely time for lunch." 
And he locked the safe again. 
He went to the door, Mr. Lee 
silently following. "Coming, 

"In just a minute," an- 
swered his younger brother. 
Pelham was watching Rodman, who in his turn 
was looking shrinkingly at Mr. Lee. Rodman 
still held the pistol, which now he held out to its 

"Thanks," said Mr. Lee, indifferently, and 
thrust it into his pocket. The two men went out, 
and left the boys together. 




Rodman fairly dropped into a chair, and in 
alarm Pelham went to him. He saw that Rod- 
man's forehead was covered with perspiration, 
and when he touched his hand he found it cold 
and moist. But Rodman looked up and smiled. 

"It 's — it 's over, that 's all," he explained. 

The enormous speed of the automobile had put 
everything else out of Pelham's mind. Now, as 
he looked at Rodman, he began to think of the 
meaning of the boy's actions. A strange idea 
came to him, at which he himself began to turn 

"Rodman," he stammered, astonished, "do you 
mean— !" 

"You must say nothing to any one about it," 
directed Rodman, firmly. "It can't happen again 
for a week, and by that time — he should be gone." 

Pelham began to shiver. "It can't be true." 

Rodman rose. "I hope it is n't. Pelham, you '11 
be late to lunch." 

With his head in a whirl, Pelham went home. 
One thing he was glad of, that he had not prom- 
ised not to tell. Still, for a while he would say 
nothing. Through the meal he was silent, occa- 
sionally stealing glances at Mr. Lee. Why, the 
man was a gentleman ! 

Rodman was not at the ball game that after- 
noon. When Pelham returned to the house he 
found his forgotten bicycle leaning against the 
piazza steps. Rodman had brought it from its 
hiding-place in the woods. 

Chapter XXI 


Pelham's head was whirling once more; he was 
in the midst of things that he did not understand. 
There was Rodman's strange performance of the 
morning, and now there was a new fact concern- 
ing Brian. When the evening mail had been dis- 
tributed, and all sat reading their letters, Mrs. 
Dodd had suddenly spoken : 

"Brian, this is from your mother's letter. She 
says, 'Tell Brian I have been watching for a let- 
ter from him. He has n't written me since he 
went to you, not even to ask for money.' My 
boy, had n't you better bear this in mind ?" 

Brian, a little sheepish, had mumbled a "Yes." 
Pelham went out on the piazza. If Brian had n't 
written his mother for money, where had he got 
the "wad" from which he paid so freely at 
Springfield? He sat upon the railing and pon- 
dered the question. 

Presently Bob came out, and Pelham tried him 
with another of his problems. "I say. Bob, don't 
you think it queer that Mr. Lee carries a pistol?" 

"Hush, you young idiot," answered his kindly 

older brother. "Don't go singing out your ques- 
tions where the whole street can hear, and Mr. 
Lee too. — No, I don't think it queer. He told me 
he had it." 

"But why— ?" began Pelham. 

"Oh, lots of people carry firearms. I don't ap- 
prove of it at all, you understand. I call it a 
dangerous practice, and never have a pistol with 
me except on Saturdays, when I 'm carrying the 
men's pay. But many do it, just the same." 

And he strolled away. Pelham sat puzzling on 
the railing until Harriet appeared. Remember- 
ing Bob's lesson of caution, he called her to his 
side. "Harriet, I 'm all in a muddle." 

She put her hand on his shoulder while she 
looked up at the sunset sky. "Fire away," she 
said, "and let me help." 

He looked at her keenly. "That afternoon 
when Rodman drove home with you from Win 
ton, and hurt his wrist again — " 

In a flash her startled eyes were on him. "Pel- 
ham, how did you know?" 

"I 'm something of a Sherlock Holmes myself," 
he answered. "Let me tell you how I work it out 
from bits of evidence." And while she listened 
he told her how he had reasoned out what had 
happened. "I 'm not entirely clear about it," he 
confessed. "Johnson had some part of it, I can 
see. But how was it that you arrived with 

She told him. "I have been indignant about it 
ever since. I never thought a cousin of mine 
could act that way. Pelham, if you ever— !" 

"Now don't go insulting a fellow," he warned 
her. "But I want to talk with you about Brian. 
It "s too much for me alone. — Harriet, let 's go 
back to the day when Rodman came." 

"Begin then," she said. And he began. It 
was characteristic that neither asked nor offered 
promises of secrecy. They were a peculiar fam- 
ily, the Dodds. They trusted each other like an 
ancient clan : the family's secrets were for the 
family alone, and whatever was said in private 
was said in confidence. Further, neither brother 
nor sister would promise absolute secrecy, nor 
ask it, because their loyalty to the head of the 
house forbade it. Father or Mother might ask 
to be informed, and always must be told. And 
so, without exacting any promises, Pelham began. 

"You remember when we came back and said 
that Brian's wallet had been stolen— no, you were 
n't here. But when you came home from your 
own adventure with Rodman, we told you of the 
money. Now, Harriet, there were more than five 
dollars in the wallet that was lost. Brian had 
just shown it to me— a hundred and seventy- 
five !" 




Harriet gasped. "Pelham !" 

"I thought him mighty generous to say nothing 
about it. Of course he was afraid to tell Father, 
because it was against his agreement to bring 
money here. Still, it 's a tremendous amount of 
money for a fellow to lose. Knowing Brian, I 
expected him to grumble about it, especially to 
me, because I knew how much he had. Harriet, 
he has never once spoken about it ! And more, 
you know he dislikes Rodman. He thinks he 's 
pretending about his memory, and all that. But 
he never accuses him of having the money that 
was lost." 

Harriet nodded. "Perhaps you 've noticed that 
Brian 's very sensitive about any mention of it. 
It puts him out and bothers him. Out in the gar- 
den, once, he was very rude to me about it." 

"Yes," said Pelham. "But now listen. The 
other day, over in Springfield, he pulled out a 
roll of bills as big as the one he showed when we 
were driving, and paid our dinner bill from it. 
Where did he get it?" 

"Where he got the first?" suggested Harriet. 

"So I thought," answered Pelham. "Now, he 
got the first from his mother." Harriet's eyes 
sparkled. "Yes, we heard what Mother just read 
from Aunt Annie's letter." 

"Did he get it from his father?" asked Harriet. 

"I can't suppose so," answered Pelham. "I 
learned enough to see that there are some things 
his father won't do for him. And I take it that 
to offend our father is one thing that Uncle Dick 
does n't care to do." 

"Then," asked Harriet, "where did he get the 
new money?" 

"That 's what I 'm asking you," said her 

They looked at each other for a while. Har- 
riet's face grew more and more serious, and Pel- 
ham slowly nodded as he watched her. "I guess 
we agree," he finally said. 

"It 's the same money!" exclaimed Harriet. 

"I have n't a doubt of it," said Pelham. "That 
will explain why he has said nothing of receiving 
it, and why he hates to have the wallet men- 

"But did n't he lose it at all?" asked Harriet, 

"Found it in a different pocket before he got 
home," answered Pelham. "I can't see any other 
explanation of it. I was surprised when he said 
he had lost but five dollars; he knew Father 
would n't care about that. But he would n't own 
up that he 'd not lost his wallet at all. He was 
ashamed about 'so much fuss over nothing.' " 

Harriet's face showed that she was shocked. 
"But, Pelham, how can any one do such a thing?" 

"Brian is Brian," he answered. "I tell you, 
Harriet, I don't think any too highly of this 
cousin of ours. — But what I want to know is, 
what has become of that wallet? Brian and I 
have lived in the same room for weeks, and I 
have n't seen it once. I^e did n't even have it the 
other day at Springfield. The roll was just loose 
in his pocket. He was afraid I 'd see the wallet 
if he carried it, I suppose." 

Harriet came up on her toes. "Afraid some 
one would see it ! It is hidden, then, or destroyed. 
And I know which it is !" 

Pelham sprang to his feet, but before he could 
speak, Harriet took him by the arm. "Listen, 
Pelham. That day after I had told you all about 
Rodman's fall down the cliff, I found Brian in 
the kitchen. He had one hand in his pocket, and 
with one he was trying to lift the cover of the 
stove. He did n't like me to find him there." 

"Wanted to burn it," nodded Pelham. "I see." 

"I took him out into the garden," went on Har- 
riet, speaking quietly but very earnestly. "I was 
trying to— to say something to him, but he got 
angry when I mentioned the wallet, and so I left 
him. Then I was sorry, and went back to apolo- 
gize. I found him bending over a flower bed as 
if he had been weeding it. He said he 'd just 
pulled up something, but when we looked to see 
what it was, we could find nothing." 

She stopped at the bare facts, but Pelham's 
eyes were sparkling. "Oh," he cried, "Sherlock 
Holmes was n't in it with us ! Harriet, I want to 
do a little digging in that flower bed." 

"Quiet [" she warned. "I '11 take you there. 
But first go and see where Brian is." 

He went into the house, softly treading from 
room to room. Brian was not down-stairs. Then 
he tiptoed a little way up the stairs. Satisfied, 
he returned to Harriet. 

"He 's in our study. I heard him tell Mr. Lee 
that he 's writing a letter to his mother. Come 

They went into the garden, where the dusk had 
scarcely begun. Harriet led the way among the 
paths until they arrived at the bed where she had 
found Brian weeding. "In all these weeks," she 
said, a little doubtfully, "of course the place has 
changed a good deal with the growth of the 
plants. But I should say the spot is just behind 
that thickest clump of asters." 

Pelham twitched back his cuffs. "I may have 
to spoil them for you." 

"Never mind," answered Harriet. "I '11 ex- 
plain to Mother, if it 's necessary." 

Himself a thorough gardener, Pelham made 
nothing of thrusting his hands into the earth. 
"Not very deep, I suppose," he said, carefully 




feeling about. "Not here, Harriet. I '11 explore 
a little." Harriet stood watching while he care- 
fully widened out the circle of his search. "Try 
under the clump," she suggested at last. 

"Well," he said doubtfully, and thrust his hand 
deep under the plant. His face lighted. "Ah !" 

"Got it?" she demanded. 

"Got something !" he answered. "It feels 
like—" Slowly he drew out his hand, looked 
briefly at what he held, knocked the earth from 
it, and handed it to his sister. Then he turned 
to the flower bed again, and began to press down 
the earth around the disturbed asters. 

But Harriet was not so stoical. Seeing that in 
her hands she held a wallet, damp and earthy to 
be sure, but still a wallet, she mourned over it. 
"Oh, Pelham," she moaned, "it 's true ! He did 
it, and it 's true. To let us be thinking blame of 
Rodman all this time ! I would n't have be- 
lieved it of anybody." 

"Well," said Pelham, rising and dusting off his 
hands, "it looks mighty like Brian's work. 
There 's no knowing why a fellow should do a 
thing like that, but I suppose he thought he had 
a reason." 

"The best reason he could give is a bad one," 
replied Harriet. "Don't try to excuse him !" 

"I won't," answered Pelham, gloomily. Each 
thinking of their discovery, in silence they re- 
turned to the house. 

Eor a long time they sat upon the piazza steps. 
Harriet thought only of the revelation of Brian's 
selfishness ; Pelham, it must be admitted, had 
come to a consideration of his own cleverness in 
discovering his cousin's trickery. "I concluded 
that he had n't lost his money. Harriet enabled 
me to prove it. Between ns we 're a clever pair 
—hey, Pelly?" He was about to say as much to 
his sister, when he perceived a figure coming up 
the walk. 

"It 's Rodman !" he exclaimed. 

Rodman it was, and Rodman in a great hurry. 
He had been running, for he was out of breath. 

"Harriet," he gasped, stopping in front of her, 
and paying no attention to Pelham, "Harriet, 
have you got it still?" His tone was low and 

Harriet rose quickly. Pelham thought she also 
gasped. With a half frightened movement, she 
turned and looked at him. 

"Hullo, Rodman !" said Pelham. 

"Hello !" he answered, hurriedly— "Where is 
Mr. Lee?" 

"In the house," answered Harriet. "Rodman, 
do you wish to speak with me alone?" 

"Never mind Pelham," said Rodman. "He 
knows more than I wish he did, and might as 

well know yet more. — Harriet, have you still got 

"Tell me plainly what you mean," she said. 

"I want what I gave you up there in the field, 
when I was hurt. But Mr. Lee must n't see it." 

Rodman's voice was eager and earnest; he still 
spoke cautiously and low. Pelham, looking at 
him in surprise, saw that he was again quite as 
agitated as he had been in the morning. The 
boy clasped his hands together. "Oh, please get 
it for me quickly !" 

"Pelham," directed Harriet, "will you go and 
see if any one is in our study? Go quietly, as if 
you were n't looking for anything in particular." 

"And see where Mr. Lee is," added Rodman. 

"For goodness' sake !" thought the boy to him- 
self. Brian had had a mystery all these weeks, 
and now here were Harriet and Rodman with an- 
other. Mr. Lee was in some way mixed up in 
it. "In another minute I '11 be all in a whirl 
once more," he thought. "How can these inno- 
cent-looking persons— my own sister, by gra- 
cious!— keep all these things to themselves?" 

He went into the house. The question as to 
Mr. Lee was at once answered, for in the writ- 
ing-room he was talking with Bob and Mr. Dodd. 
Pelham heard the tones of all three voices while 
he stood for a minute in the hall. He went up- 
stairs. From his own room came the sound of 
Brian's whistle, and as he passed the door he saw 
his cousin tying his necktie before the mirror. 
As it was Brian's custom frequently to change 
his adornments, Pelham knew that he was safe 
for some minutes. He glanced into the little 
study. It was empty, and on Harriet's desk, 
where Brian had apparently been writing, lay a 
letter, addressed and stamped. Satisfied, he went 
quickly down-stairs. "Coast is clear," he said 
briefly. "But Brian may come soon." 

Harriet slipped into the house, and he heard 
her speeding up the stairs. On the gravel at the 
foot of the steps Rodman moved restlessly about. 
"Won't you come up?" invited Pelham. 

"Thanks," replied Rodman. "I '11 have to go 
in a moment." And still he shifted from foot 
to foot, and looked nervously at the windows of 
the house. Mr. Lee's laugh sounded through the 
open door, and the boy started. 

"Will you explain all this to me?" Pelham 
asked himself. He could find no key to it all. 

Then Harriet came quietly out again. In her 
hand she had gathered her skirt as if the more 
easily to come down-stairs. She looked around 
her, listened a moment at the door, and then 
came to the top of the steps. Her hand came 
away from her skirt, and she held out something 
which Pelham could not clearly see. 




"Here it is," she said. "It was exactly where 
I put it. So far as I know, no one has seen it." 

Rodman sprang up the steps and took it from 
her. "Thanks !" he said. Not another word did 
he utter, but Pelham felt that it expressed both 
gratitude and rehef. He thrust his hand inside 
his jacket, bowed hurriedly, and started away. 
Over his shoulder he threw back a "Good night !" 
Then he was gone. 

Harriet turned to her brother. "I 'm glad 
that 's over with," she said. Her voice also ex- 
pressed relief. 

"Gollyrampus !" cried Pelham, "what is all this 
that 's going on ? Was that a wallet that you 
gave him?" 

"Yes," answered Harriet. 

"Where have you been keeping it?" 

"In the secret drawer of my desk." 

"Why did he ask you to keep it ?" 

"I don't know." 

"What has Mr. Lee to do with it?" 

"I don't know." 

"What did Rodman want it back for?" 

"I don't know," said Harriet for the third time. 
Then suddenly she put her face in her hands. Her 
shoulders rose and fell. Pelham saw that she 
was weeping. 

"Why, old girl," he said, putting his arm around 
her. "Cheer up! Nothing 's wrong now, is it?" 

She raised her face, moist with tears, from her 
hands. "Pelham, don't you see what this means ?" 

'T 'm clean puzzled," he admitted. 

"Rodman gaVe me the wallet just after he had 
been hurt. We were alone together; I 'd sent the 
girls to get Nate. I told him I 'd keep it and tell 

"After he had fallen," stated Pelham, trying to 
get the facts clear in his mind. "Before he was 
sick, then?" 

"Yes," answered Harriet. "I thought when I 
got home that the wallet was Brian's, and was 
going to give it to him, or to Father. But then I 
looked at it carefully, and knew it could n't be 
Brian's— it was older, and longer, and had a 
name I could n't read. So I kept it and said 

"Golly !" mused Pelham. "So he had a wallet 
after all, but not Brian's!" 

"But," asked Harriet, and her tears started 
afresh, "don't you see that if Rodman gave me 
the wallet before he was sick, and comes and 
asks for it now— ?" 

"Whee !" whistled Pelham. "Then he 's got 
just as good a memory as you or I !" 

"Yes," said Harriet. "And he 's been deceiv- 
ing us !" 

"So he has !" agreed Pelham. 

And now his head was truly spinning again. 
Brian and Rodman and Mr. Lee and two wallets 
seemed in hopeless confusion. "I wish," he ad- 
mitted to himself, "that I was Sherlock Holmes, 
after all." 

{To be continued.) 


The Shark : " I 've been chasing that big flying-fish for half an houi ! Is he never coming down ? 
And whenever he does, how he' can swim! " 




Cousin Will's reply to the letter of inquiry was 
more than satisfactory. Instead of writing, he 
came down personally, and, calling a meeting of 
the trio, gave them a little talk on the sailing 

"In the first place," said he, "the very best sort 
of a rig for you boys is a double-lateen affair of 
about fifty-two square feet, total area. 

"The lateen is the simplest canoe rig, and hoists 
with one halyard to each sail. Divided into two 
sails, a rig of this size will allow of carrying 
either the full rig, or using the mainsail or the 
mizzen alone, which gives you a choice of the 
three following combinations, to suit any weather 
conditions : 

"Mainsail and mizzen = 52 square feet. 

"Mainsail alone = 35 square feet. 

"Mizzen alone = 17 square feet. 

"If you attempted carrying anything like this 
sail area in one sail, it would be necessary to 
complicate matters with a reefing gear ; while, 
with this double rig, should it blow up and catch 
you out, all that you need to do is to round up 
into the wind, drop the mainsail, and proceed on 
your course under the mizzen alone. And now 
let 's adjourn to the attic, and lay out the sails." 

Arrived up-stairs. Cousin Will produced a 
chalk-line, some white chalk, a brad-awl, and a 
twenty-foot tape-line. Having measured off a 
distance of five feet ten and a half inches on the 
chalk-line, he proceeded to chalk it well, then, 
with one boy at each end holding it taut, he raised 
the center and let it snap back to the floor. The 
result was a well-defined chalk-line, the length of 
the bottom of the mizzen. 

Then, driving the awl into the floor at one end 
of this line, a loop of the line was put over the 
awl, and a distance of six feet six inches meas- 
ured off on the cord. With this as a radius, a 
circle was described ; then, from the other end of 
the foot of the sail, a second circle was described, 
with the cord lengthened to six feet ten inches. 

From the point where these circles crossed, to 
each end of the bottom of the sail, a chalked line 
was snapped on the floor. The result was a tri- 
angle measuring five feet ten and a half inches 
by six feet six inches by six feet ten inches— the 
outside dimensions of the mizzen. 

"Um— um," said Harry, "that reminds me of 
something we had in geometry last term, but I 

never thought it would come in handy for any- 
thing real." 

Cousin Will laughed. "You will find that 
geometry means a great deal if you ever try to 
build anything which requires measuring." Then 
he went on : 

"Now that you boys see how the trick is done, 
I 'm going to let you lay out the mainsail, which 
measures eight feet three inches on the foot, nine 
feet three inches on the yard, and nine feet six 
inches on the leach, or after edge, of the sail." 

The boys soon had the larger sail laid out, and 
proved it correct by the tape-line. 

"The next thing," said Cousin Will, "is to buy 
some light drilling, as narrow as possible, and, 
commencing along the leach of the sails, lay the 
muslin over the floor patterns and cut it of¥ at 
top and bottom along the foot and top of the sails, 
letting the strips of drilling overlap an inch to 
allow for strapped seams. It will be a good plan 
to pin the strips together as you go along. When 
the strips are sewed together, turn over a quar- 
ter-inch seam along the three edges of each sail, 
and sew over this seam a binding of one-inch- 
wide non-elastic webbing. 

"When the sails are finished, borrow a gromet 
set, and punch and set metal eyelets, or gromets, 
through the webbing, in each corner and about 
one foot apart all along the foot and head of the 

"Your spars you must order from the mill. See 
that they are made of straight-grained spruce or 
pine, without knots, an inch in diameter at the 
center, and tapered to three quarters of an inch 
at the ends. The lengths are, for the main-yard, 
nine feet nine inches ; for the main-boom, eight 
feet nine inches; for the mizzen-yard, seven feet, 
and for the mizzen-boom, five feet sixteen and a 
half inches. 

"The spars, you see, are six inches longer than 
the sides of the sails to which they are to be 
attached, and allow of the latter stretching. 

"Now you '11 have to do some more shopping, 
this time at the ship-chandler's, where you must 
order this list of things: 

4 heavy brass screw-eyes, each with ij^-inch eyes 
and screws 15^2 inches long. 

2 heavy brass rings, i J4 inches in diameter. 

2 brass goosenecks (canoe type), for i^-inch mast. 

4 brass screw-bolts, to fit the holes in the goosenecks, 
and xYi inches long, with nut and washer to fit each. 





2 round mast-plates for iJ4-inch mast. 

2 hinged flagpole plates, iJ4-inch diameter hole. 

2 brass three-inch jam-cleats, with brass screws for 

I clutch-cleat for J4-inch rope. 

I gross of brass screw-eyes with J^-inch eye and J^- 
inch long over all. 

4 J4 -inch-diameter brass ferrules. 

I ball of seizing line. 

100 feet of ^-inch cotton rope. 

4 brass pulley-blocks with 5^-inch sheaves. 

4 brass screw-eyes with J4-inch-long screws, and with 
the eye large enough to go over the rings, or beckets, of 
the pulley-blocks. 

I brass thimble with 54 -inch eye. 

I brass screw-eye with eye large enough to hold the 

Freckles volunteered to take this rather long 
list in charge, while Harry and Fred agreed to 
look after the order at the mill. 

"Better hurry your part of it a bit, Fred," said 
Cousin Will, "and as soon as your spars and 
booms arrive, smooth them with sandpaper, give 
them two coats of varnish, and rub down each 
coat as soon as it is thoroughly dry. Then I '11 
be out next week and show you how to rig the 

Everything was ready and awaiting Cousin 
Will's arrival the following Friday, and the boys 
eagerly listened for his verdict on their work, of 
which they were secretly rather proud. 

The judge nodded approvingly. "The sails and 
spars look fine," he said. "And you 've made a 
good job of setting the gromets. Now let 's get 
to work. Here, Harry, take this small vise and 
open the four large screw-eyes, slip the two big 
brass rings into them, and then close the eyes. 
Fred, lay each sail along its yard and boom, with 
the inside corners in place, and along one edge of 
the yard and boom make a mark one inch each 
side of where each gromet comes ; then put in a 
screw-eye at each mark, being careful that they 
are in a straight line, and that the eyes stand 
across the spar or boom. 

"When that 's done, tie a ring of the seizing 
line through each gromet. The best way is to lay 
a lead-pencil at the edge of the sail, under each 
gromet, and tie the seizing line in a hard knot 
around the pencil and through the gromet, then 
pull out the pencil, and do the next gromet. This 
gives a line of loops along both sides of the sails, 
through which the lacing lines may pass. 

"Now, Harry, I see you 've joined each pair 
of those large screw-eyes with the rings, so we 
have our boom and yard connectors, which we '11 
screw into the mast ends of the booms and yards, 
after driving on the brass ferrules to prevent 
splitting. A gooseneck goes on each boom with 
the forward end flush with the forward end of 
the boom, and with the gooseneck at right angles 




to the row of small screw-eyes. The goosenecks 
are fastened to the boom with tb" '^rass screw- 

s' 10 /i' 8' 3" 

A, Mizzen; B, Mainsail. 

bolts, with nuts and washers on the opposite side 
of the boom, of course. 

"Now, Freckles, bore a horizontal hole, large 
enough to take seizing line, an inch from the 
after end of each boom. Then fasten the for- 
ward corner of the sail to the ring of one of our 
connectors with a bit of the seizing line, running 
through the gromet in the forward corner of the 
sail. Next, fasten the after corner of the sail to 
the after end of the boom, with the seizing line 
passed through the gromet in the after lower sail 
corner and the hole you have just bored in the 
boom. With this sail-needle, thread the seizing 
line alternately through the cord loops on the sail 
and the small screw-eyes 
on the boom, fasten one 
end of the seizing line to 
the forward screw-eye, 
stretch it taut, and fasten 
the other end of the line 
to the last screw-eye. Of 
course, you fasten the sail 
to the yard in the same 

The three boys worked 

busily at mainsail and 

mizzen, carefully carrying out these directions, 

while Cousin Will looked on with an occasional 

word of advice. 

"Now," said he, when the spars were firmly in 

place, "bring the sails, the hardware, and an old 

rake handle, and we '11 tackle the rest of the job." 

The canoe was pulled out to where there was 

plenty of room to move about, and while the 

boys did the wo"-'- Will, assuming the duties of 
foreman vig^.,, proceeded to issue his orders: 

"First, screw one of the flagpole 
plates to the upper side of the forward 
deck, leaving room for the mast to 
clear the deck, and fastening an in- 
verted mast-plate under it, for a step. 
The mizzenmast steps at the forward 
side of the after seat, using the other 
flagpole plate for the upper support 
and the second mast-plate for the step. 
If the steps cannot be set on the' ribs, 
fasten them to a block of wood extend- 
',^\ ing from one rib to another. If the 

seat-frame will not take the after flag- 
pole plate, fasten this to a board 
screwed to the under side of the seat. 

"Now we want to see about our 
masts, which are to have a slight rake 
aft. So step the rake handle as a tem- 
porary mast, and tie the mainsail to it 
in such a position as to have the jaw 
clear the deck and let the boom clear 
the head of the man sitting on the after cushion. 
Now make a mark on the temporary mast a foot 
above where the yard crosses it ; the distance be- 
tween the mark and where the rake handle touches 
the floor gives the total length of the mainmast. 
"The length of the mizzenmast we measure in 

C, Diagram showing method of 

connecting spars and 

lacing sails. 

D E F 

D, Mast-plate; E, Connector for booms and yards; F, Flagpole plate. 

the same way, giving the boom the same lift as 
on the mainsail. 

"Now you 're ready to order your two masts. 
They must be straight-grained spruce or pine, 
of the proper lengths, one and three quarter 
inches in diameter from the floor to four inches 
above the upper supports, and tapering from that 
point to one and a half inches in diameter at the 

"Is that all we can do this afternoon?" asked 
Fred, as Cousin Will paused reflectively. 

"I 'm afraid that 's about all this session, ex- 
cept placing the cleats. Here, Harry, sit in the 
canoe a moment, right here on the after cushion. 
We '11 put the two jam-cleats within easy reach 
for the halyards on your right, while the clutch- 
cleat for the mizzen-sheet goes to your left. The 
clutch-cleat holds the sheet wherever you trim it, 
until the lever is pressed, when it will pay out. 

"With this rig, the canoe will round up into 
the wind and spill the wind from the sails when- 




ever you slack on the main-sheet, which must 
never be fastened. This is ,...^ ^^uble-rigged 
canoe is so safe." 

"But what '11 we do when the masts come, 
Cousin Will?" began Fred, as soon as the cleats 
had been put on. "Are you 
coming again soon?" 

"No, I don't expect to, but 
if one of you youngsters will 
get a pencil and paper, you 
can write down just what to 
do, and get along all right by 

Freckles dug a pencil out 
of oneof hispockets, smoothed 
out a fairly clean piece of 
wrapping-paper, and thus 
qualified himself to act as 
scribe for the trio. He worked 
industriously, with occasional 
pauses on the part of Cousin 
Will to let him catch up, and, 
at the end of some minutes' 
work, proudly produced the 

"Varnish the masts, and 
when thoroughly dry, try the 
hang of the sails. When they 
suit, mark with a pencil where 
the jaw of the boom comes 
on the mast. Make a line 
one and a half inches above 
this mark, and another the same distance below. 

"Buy a strip of good heavy sole-leather three 
inches wide and fourteen inches long, and an- 
other strip of same material one inch wide and 
twenty-eight inches long. 

"If you can get a printer to cut these accu- 
rately, on a paper-cutter, you will have a better 

"Soak in water to make pliable, and, with small 

bevel, and tack edges. This is a collar to prevent 
boom and jaw from biting into mast. 

"Tgrk the one-inch strip around top of collar, 
with upper edge of strip coming exactly to upper 
edge of collar, and another strip around bottom 


copper tacks, fasten wide strip to the mast, with 
upper edge coming to upper lead-pencil line, and 
lower edge coming to lower line. With sharp 
knife, cut down edges where they meet on slight 


of collar, lower edges of both strip and collar 
flush. Tacks long enough to pass through both 
strip and collar should be used. These strips pre- 
vent boom rising too high when hoisting sail, or 
falling on deck when lowered. A couple of coats 
of shellac will make them hard as iron. 

"Open the eyes of the four three-quarter-inch- 
long brass screw-eyes and close them again over 
the eyes, or beckets, of each of the pulley-blocks. 
Screw one of these in mast, half-way between 
lower edge of leather collar and upper mast sup- 
port. Fasten upper blocks about an inch below 
masthead. On mainmast, these blocks should be 
in line with each other, but on mizzen they 
should be at right angles, so that the upper block 
is at right-hand side while the lower is at the 
forward side. This is because the mizzen hal- 
yard leads forward, and if the lower blocks were 
at the side, the mast would be pulled around, 
spoiling the set of sail." 

After Cousin Will had read Freckles's notes 
carefully, he handed back the paper, saying, with 
a laugh, "You certainly have got it all in, and I 
think you '11 find that everything will work out 
just about right." 



"But what do we do with the one large screw- 
eye and the brass thimble?" asked Freckles, who 
had been too busy noting information to talk. 

"Open it," said Cousin Will, "and close it 
around the thimble. We '11 screw it into after 
deck, to serve as a fair-leader to put the mizzen- 
sheet through." 

"It strikes me," said Harry, "that a lot of the 
fittings which we have used are pretty heavy. 
Could n't we have used lighter stuff?" 

Cousin Will smiled as he shook his head. 
"When you get out in a blow, you '11 be very glad 
that they are heavy enough to stand the strain. 
The trouble with many home-rigged canoes is 
that, while they serve beautifully in a gentle 
breeze, something gives way when the wind gets 
up. The way that your canoe will be rigged will 
allow you to feel secure as to your sails and spars 
staying together, when the test comes. The only 
thing lacking is a pair of lee-boards, which will 
allow you to tack against the wind." 

"How shall we make them?" asked Fred. 

"H I were you," said Cousin Will, "I 'd prac- 
tise with the sails a bit at first, and, meanwhile, 
save enough to buy them. The rigging that we 
have done together has been easy, and the results 
are about as good as if you had bought it, with 
the exception of the sails, which a regular sail- 
maker always can make far better than an ama- 
teur. But a pair of lee-boards need good-sized 
pieces of hard wood which must be carefully 
planed and trimmed, and are beyond the skill of 
the average boy and the tools that he has at his 
disposal. So I 'd advise buying them ready-made. 
There are several patterns and styles, and they 
may be shifted to suit the particular style of rig 
and placing of weights which you may use, and 
they can be taken apart for easy stowage, when 
paddling. But here," Cousin Will suddenly broke 
in, "I must catch my train. Let me hear about 
the next cruise. Good-by." 

"Good-by, good-by, thank you," the boys called 
after him as he hurried off. 

"What do you think !" said Freckles, suddenly 
appearing a few mornings later. "Father has 
been watching us work on that outfit, and asked 
me a few questions the other night about our 
camp. At last he gave me my choice of going 
to the mountains or staying home and having a 
canoe and rigging. I chose the canoe, and it 
comes day after to-morrow !" 

"That 's fine !" exclaimed Fred. "And now 
that we don't need to come back for the other 
fellow, we can go on a real cruise. We can rig 
your ship out in no time." 


"I should rather say we could," answered 
Freckles, proudly, "for Father ordered a suit of 
sails to match yours, to come with the boat, and 
the expressman brought the fittings this morning." 

"Are n't you glad that you 're living?" asked 
Fred, as the canoes stood out one morning, a few 
days later. 

"Yes. Is n't it great?" answered Harry, from 
the stern. "Duck now. I 'm going about. 
Freckles is getting a better breeze out there." 

It was a glorious morning, the breeze was not 
too fresh for full sail, and the old camp site, 
once considered far out on the edge of things, 
was miles behind. 

All the morning, the two canoes skirted sandy 
beaches and green rocks just awash, and passed 
cozy coves and mysterious inlets, which the boys 
marked for future exploration. 

At noontime, they pulled up on a shelving 
beach and ate lunch, under the shadow of a great 
rock, then, reembarking, they sailed on, until 
Freckles ran alongside with the suggestion that 
they make camp at the first inviting-looking spot 
which appeared. 

"We want wood, water, and a good beach, and 
we ought to be in camp and settled before dark," 
he urged. "It 's a mistake to pass a good spot 
after four." 

The others agreed, and shortly a place which 
came up to specifications was reached. 

The tent was pitched, the fire started, and the 
trio proceeded to prepare the evening meal. 

The next morning, the expedition proceeded 
on its way, and two days later, taking advantage 
of a fair wind, they turned the canoes for home. 

"Tell you what we '11 do next season," said 
Harry, as the fire of the last camp burned low. 
"That cove where we ended the run is fine. 
Suppose we store our heavy things with the 
farmer from whom we bought the eggs, and have 
a permanent camp, with a big wall-tent and fly 
and chairs and tables and a wood-burning stove? 
We can get a lot of the boys to go in with us ; 
some of us can be there all vacation, while others 
come home for a day or so now and then." 

"That 's an idea!" agreed Freckles, with en- 
thusiasm. "The boys who have no canoes can 
come by train or trolley, and we can meet them 
at the nearest landing. We can make side trips 
when we want to, and there will always be a 
camp pitched for any of the bunch that can come 
up for a day or a week." 

"Hurrah for the cooperative camp !" cried 
Fred, while Harry and Freckles joined in a rous- 
ing cheer. 



\Jn saycanyou secD/tne aav/n's early lioht, 
Q)cream'cl tke La6le,in recl,\\mite ana olue. 

No maeea ! said tke W, Cut 1 cd/i see at niokt 
wkick kas many aaVantadcs, too: 

At aaWn lean Aearmz cmosions,you knovk/, 
w kilc tkere realiyls little to see; 

Bit at m'dAf, vken tke lireWorks arc all m a 6 lo\)i?, 
J nat's tke lourtk ot ciulyrime ror 



^Jljy (Opsins 

Umpire in the American LeaP^ue 

Outguessing the Opposition 

J Teams and individual players who are 

■n constantly doing the unexpected 

and so get the best results 

Base-ball is largely a game of trying to outguess 
the other fellow. Each side is constantly trying 
to do the unexpected, and at the same time at- 
tempting to anticipate what the opposition intends 
to do. Every move of the members of the other 
team is watched closely. Let the slightest weak- 
ness be shown in any department, and immedi- 
ately advantage is taken of the opening. Snap 
judgment is a very necessary requisite on the 
part of the managers, as well as the players. As 
in every other business, the man who displays the 
best judgment and does the quickest thinking 
lands on top in the long run. 

A number of years ago, an enterprising young 
reporter was delegated to get an interview with 
the late Ed Delehanty on the art of batting. At 
that time, Delehanty was regarded as the premier 
hitter in the Big League, the American League 
not being in existence. It was the purpose of the 
young man to find out from Mr. Delehanty just 
how he managed to hit all the various shoots and 
curves served up by the opposing pitchers. The 
managing editor of the paper on which the re- 
porter worked believed such a story would greatly 
help ambitious players in their efforts to become 
crack hitters. 

After camping on Delehanty's trail for some 
time, the reporter managed to hold the star play- 
er's attention long enough to make known his 
desire. Delehanty was never much of a talker, 
and immediately became about as noisy as the 
Sphinx. To the volley of questions fired at him, 
he invariably replied : 

"I really don't know how I hit 'em." "They 
meet the bat and bound off." "It just 'comes 
natural,' I guess." Failing to get anything worth 

while, the cub reporter requested Delehan^ty to 
think it over, so the story goes, and leave a note 
in his box telling how best to hit the ball to put 
it in safe territory. 

The following morning, the reporter lost no 
time in opening the letter which Delehanty left. 
Delehanty could advance no particular reason for 
his batting ability other than that it was "just 
natural." However, such a theory did not ap- 
peal to the reporter, as it offered no possibilities 
for a story. So not caring to disappoint the 
young man, who was a likable chap, he decided 
he must try to answer the very perplexing ques- 
tion. But it was evident that he did not ponder 
long, and he afterward insisted that he believed 
his reply would be a good joke on the reporter, 
for his brief note read: 

"Just hit 'em where they ain't." 

That expression, as framed by Delehanty on 
the art of batting, has become a base-ball classic. 
As long as the great national pastime is played, 
the fans will implore their favorites to "hit 'em 
where they ain't." On opening the note, the 
young reporter was very much disappointed with 
the words of wisdom as uttered by the game's 
greatest hitter. Finally, the possibilities of the 
remark dawned on him, and he turned out a big 
story on the subject, and so he made a decided 
hit with his managing editor. 

Two or three years ago, I was seated on the 
bench of the Philadelphia American League team 
just before time to start the game. I noted that 
Connie Mack was being subjected to an inter- 
view by a young man who appeared to be just out 
of college. I judged this from the style of his 
wearing apparel and the way he dressed his hair. 




From the conversation I learned that the young 
man was writing a big "feature story," and 
sought to learn from Mack to what he ascribed 
the success of his club. When it comes to talking 
about the other clubs, Mack is always willing to 
express an opinion, and he always has a good 
word for his opponents. In fact, he is a believer 
in the adage, "If you can't boost, don't knock." 
When it comes to discussing his players, and his 
team's chances, he closes up like a clam. The 
reporter was a persistent chap, and as but a few 
minutes remained for Connie to decide on his 
line-up. he spoke to the young man about as fol- 
lows : 

"I always like to have my team doing the very 
thing the other fellows don't expect them to do. 
My boys always try to do that. Often they fail, 
but I don't mind that, for more often they suc- 
ceed in their efiforts to outguess the other fellows, 
and win. Do what the other fellows don't ex- 
pect, and you will keep them rather busy." 

"Do what the other fellows don't expect." ap- 
peals'to me as being as much of a base-ball classic 
as "Hit 'em where they ain't." 

The greatness of nine out 
of every ten star players, or 
teams, hinges on doing the un- 
expected. There are hundreds 
of mechanical players who 
can hit the ball, catch it, and 
run the bases. They are valu- 
able, of course, but it is al- 
ways possible to measure their 
value. The opposition knows 
that they will take few, if any, 
chances when they get on the 
bases, and that they are usually 
content to leave their advance- 
ment to the men who follow 
them in the batting order, 
rather than make an efifort to 
move up through their own 
efforts. Stars like Wagner, 
Cobb, Speaker, or any of the 
other leaders, are classed as 
stars because they do things 
out of the ordinary. They are 
constantly matching their wits 
with their rivals', and are al- 
ways ready to take a chance 
at the bat, on the bases, or 
in the field, and ever alert to 

For years, the real value of that great player 
Tyrus Cobb was underrated simply because he 
did not receive full credit for the results he 
achieved. When he performed a feat out of the 
ordinary, as the result of some quick thinking 

and the taking of a long chance, the cry invari- 
ably was made that he was "lucky." There is no 
doubt that Cobb is lucky to get away with many 
of the things he attempts; but he himself creates 
his luck. Many of the chances he takes in the 
field and on the bases would never for a moment 
be considered by the average player. 

Stealing home in a regular game is out of the 
ordinary; in an event like a World's Series game, 
it is very extraordinary. Cobb is the only player 
who ever turned the trick. He did it in the series 
of 1909, between Detroit and Pittsburgh. 

I once heard a player remark that the only sure 
way to make a play on Cobb was to throw to the 
base ahead of the one he was approaching. The 
remark was made lightly, but in truth it seemed 
the only safe way, for Cobb was literally running 
wild, and getting away with it. And I know one 
player who did the very thing suggested in a jok- 
ing manner by the Big League player. How- 
ever, he had never heard of the "throw to the 
base ahead'' theory, for he was a Cuban, and 
could not understand the English language. 

I HI (,Rh \ r 1 \ Rl s ( OBH 

No plaverin thej^ame has more natural abiliiy in every direction than the " Tiger " star. Cobb ran 
do everythnig well. On the bases he is a marvel Nu one has a more elusive slide. Time after 
time, he reaches a bag in safety, though the ball may beat him to it by several feet. The above pic- 
ture shows (."obb stealing third, having slid under the throw. 

sprmg a surprise. 

The play happened during one of a series of 
games in the fall of 1910, at Havana, Cuba, be- 
tween native teams and the Detroit club. In the 
first and again in the fifth inning of the game, 
Cobb, after getting on first, went to third while 
Sam Crawford was being thrown out at first on 




a bunt. The first baseman made a good throw 
each time. In fact, they were so good that they 
resulted disastrously. The ball and Cobb seemed 
to arrive at the bag at the same time, with the 
result that the ball got away from the third base- 


Although an outfielder. Cobb has always preferred the pitching 
job. Every day before the start of the game, he can be found 
doing a warming-up stunt, after the manner of the pitchers. In 
a pinch, Ty insists he could do the unexpected, and pitch the full 
nine innings. 

man each time, and Cobb reached the home plate 
in safety on both occasions. In the eighth in- 
ning of the game, Cobb and Crawford pulled the 
play again. This time the first baseman, Castillo, 
seeing that not even a perfect throw would land 
the "Tiger" star, threw the ball to the catcher, 
thereby at least preventing Cobb from scoring. 
Then Castillo doffed his cap, and the Cuban fans 
yelled with delight at the bit of ''by-play" on the 
part of their favorite. 

Tyrus Cobb is a big star in the base-ball world 
because he is an extraordinary fellow in every 
sense of the word. He has a keen brain, and 
always anticipates the likely-to-happen, thus pre- 
paring himself for any situation that may arise. 
When at the bat, there is no telling what he in- 

tends to do. He hits pretty well to any part of 
the outfield, is a good hunter, chops them to the 
infield, and always waits for the pitcher to give 
him one that he likes. He is constantly "mixing 
them up," thereby keeping the opposition con- 
stantly uneasy. He may try to bunt the first one 
and fail. Then when the third baseman, think- 
ing that possibly he will try again, comes tearing 
in on the next one pitched, Cobb is very liable to 
hit one back at him at a rate of a mile a minute. 
When he gets on the bases — and you can take it 
from me that he is on them a goodly portion of 
the time — there is no chance too daring for him 
to risk. Cobb surely is the unexpected in base- 
ball, from any angle from which you care to 
consider him. 

Naturally one of the greatest assets of a 
pitcher is his ability to outguess the batter; to mix 
them up, and serve just the style of ball the 
batter does not expect. Many star batsmen are 
said to have a "weakness." That means that a cer- 
tain style of ball is hard for them to hit. Pitch- 
ers with brains always make it a point to take 
advantage of such a fault. There are, of course, 
a number of batters who can hit almost any 
style of pitching. Christy Mathewson says that 
Hans Wagner's only "weakness" is a base on 
balls; that giving him his base usually prevents 
him from hitting a double, triple, or a home run. 
And in that connection Eddie Plank, the Athlet- 
ics' great left-hander, recently made a most novel 
comparison in discussing the relative merits of 
those two great batters Larry Lajoie and Ty 
Cobb. "Ty makes you put them over, and then 
hits them safe," said Eddie, "while Lajoie hits 
them a mile whether they are over or not." 

Lajoie is a wonderful batter; few greater have 
ever stepped to the plate. He is always danger- 
ous when he faces the pitcher, and usually does 
his best batting in the pinch, when most depends 
on his efforts. He is perhaps most dangerous 
when a pitcher is trying to pass him. By reason 
of his long having been known as a "bad ball" 
hitter, pitchers seldom give him a ball across the 
heart of the plate. They seem afraid to take 
such a chance. And I believe Larry would in- 
crease his batting average at least thirty points 
if he would wait out the pitchers more. He dotes 
on what would be called wild pitches or waste 
balls, and which the average batter would find it 
impossible to hit. I have umpired in a dozen 
games that Lajoie has broken up by hitting a 
waste ball, after the pitcher had been ordered to 
pass him and take a chance on the next batter. 
Plis bat seems to be built of sections. At least 
I have heard several pitchers express that opin- 
ion, after Larry, without any effort, had hit a 




ball that was a foot outside. Larry is a great 
hitter, great because, as Eddie Plank says, he hits 
them whether they are over the plate or not. 

Connie Mack is rated as one of the greatest, 
if not the greatest, man in base-ball. He is great 
because he always has the opposition "up in the 
air" as to his movements. The Athletics play all 
varieties of base-ball, and play them all well. 
Mack has but to order the style he desires dis- 
played, and his athletes do the rest. No general 
ever manceuvered his army with greater clever- 
ness than that with which Mack handles his selec- 
tion of pitchers. He seems to be able to know by 
instinct just the proper moment to send in re- 

The overwhelming defeat of the Chicago 
"Cubs" in 1910 was quite a surprise to the base- 
ball world, and to Cub fans in particular. But not 
to those who really knew the great strength of 
Mack's team, and the resourcefulness of the tall 
leader. Mack completely outguessed the opposi- 
tion in that series. He did the very thing Chance 
and the rest of the Cubs did not expect him to do, 
and it was the doing of the unexpected that put 
the Cub machine to rout. 

During the season of 1907, and for several 
years following, the pitchers in the American 
League appeared to have the edge on the batters. 
Low scores were the rule, and one run decided a 
majority of the games. As a result, the clubs for 
the most part were playing one-run base-ball, 

the National J-cague teams. When American 
League clubs went into the big series, they con- 
tinued to play the one-run brand of base-ball. 
\Anien a man reached first base, the sacrifice was 

invariably the play 
used, making it an 
easy matter for the 
o]:)position to break 
up the play, because 
they knew the style 
of attack. 

When the Athlet- 
ics and the Cubs 
met, it was only 
natural for Chance 
and his men to ex- 
pect the same style 
of play shown by 
former American 
League pennant win- 

ners. The Cubs were 
treated to a huge 


The Boston "Red Sox" have in Tris • ^i 

Speaker one of the most valuable players Surprise. i ne Sac- 

in base-ball. As a fielder. Speaker is a j-ificC hit WaS rarclv 
wonder, and is continually accomplish- i\ t i 

ing marvelous plays in the field. At UScd by the Mack- 

the bat he is equally proficient. He is •, j, ,i 

constantly "doing something you don't nCS. It WaS tUC 

expect," which is one reason for his great "steal " Or the ''hit- 
value to his club. 

and-run, all the 
time. No team could possibly have presented a 
more varied attack than that of the Athletics. 
They did just about everything the Cubs did not 


No play in base-ball is more thrilling than the steal home. Tris Speaker, of the " Red Sox," is shown in the above picture, 

getting away with the play by a beautiful hook slide. 

which calls for the use of the sacrifice hit very expect. Chance's machine was thrown out of 

frequently. The League was criticized for not gear, and before it could adjust itself, the Ath- 

mixing up its play enough, for not possessing the letics had won four of the five games, and the 

varied style of attack boasted of by a majority of series. In almost every game, the Athletics de- 




termined the result 1jy having one big inning. 
Instead of playing for one run, Mack's men went 
after them in bunches, and were usually re- 
warded with at least one productive inning in 
each game. 

In 191 1, when the series between the Athletics 
and the "Giants" stood 3 to 2 in favor of the 


A h.MAl.l. I'l.AVl-.l;, l;l r A l;lG hlAk. 
" Donie " Bush, the diminutive short-stop of the Detroit team, who 
has thrilled thousands of spectators by his brilliant plays. No play 
seems to be impossible for Hush, one of the smallest men in base-ball. 

Athletics, Mack sprung his usual unexpected 
move, the result of which was a big factor in the 
series. An injury to Coombs had put him out of 
the running, and Plank had pitched and been 
beaten. Bender, with but one day of rest, was 
not expected at all as the pitcher in the sixth 
contest. The Athletics seemed on the verge of 
breaking, while the Giants seemed to have recov- 
ered after a bad start. A further point in the 
situation was that if the Giants could win the 
sixth game, McGraw would have Mathewson to 
work the seventh and deciding game at the Polo 
Grounds. Conditions looked very favorable to 
the Giants. 

Plowever, in all this Connie Mack and Chief 
Bender had been left out of the reckoning. When 
the Athletics took the field for the sixth game at 
the Polo Grounds, Chief Bender walked out to 
the box, despite the fact that no spectator had 
the slightest idea that he would pitch. He had 
been reported as in rather poor health, and it was 

commonly asserted that he was a pitcher who 
needed three days of rest at least to show his 
proper form. But here was Mack sending the 
Indian back after a vacation of one day, to face 
the Giants in the test game of the series ! Mack 
surely did the unexpected in sending Bender to 
the mound, and Bender did the unexpected in the 
style of pitching he served to the Giants. 

Mindful that Bender was reported in poor 
health, McGraw undoubtedly sent his men up 
with orders to "wait out" the Indian; to make 
him pitch to the limit, and thus increase the chance 
of his weakening before the end of the game. 
Bender must have realized this before the end of 
the first inning, because I noticed that he put the 
first ball for each man right over the heart of the 
plate. He had superb control, and, in nine times 
out of ten, the first ball pitched was a strike. Im- 
mediately he had the batter in a hole, for the 
first strike means a great deal. So instead of 
being at a disadvantage to himself, and being 
forced to do an extra amount of work, he was 
constantly getting the advantage of the batsmen. 

During the first four innings, the New Yorkers 
"waited," — and failed to profit. In the fourth, 
the Athletics bunched a few hits and errors and 
scored four runs, making the score 5 to i against 
the Giants. Being four runs behind naturally 
caused a shift in attack on the part of McGraw. 
What was then needed by the New Yorkers was 
a bunch of runs, and such a thing would be pos- 
sible only by hitting. The order to "wait them 
out" was changed to "take a crack at the first 
good one." 

But Bender is too heady a pitcher not to know 
that McGraw would be forced to change his style 
of attack ; and he also realized that it was up to 
him to change his style of pitching. He no longer 
put the first ball squarely over the plate. Instead, 
he tried to make the batter go after a bad one, 
if possible, and he was very successful. He kept 
the ball inside and outside, high and low, but just 
over the edge, and as a result the Giants were at 
his mercy. In the seventh inning, the Athletics 
piled up seven more runs, which cinched the 
game. What was expected to be the toughest 
game of the series developed into a rout for the 
Giants, who suffered, one of the worst defeats in 
the history of the World's Series, the score being 
13 to 2, and only four hits having been made off 
Bender. The famous Indian won, not because 
he had his usual great amount of "stuff," as the 
saying is, but because he had a lot of brains, and 
made use of his head throughout the game. 

Manager McGraw, of the Giants, who has had 
such wonderful success with teams often rated as 
several notches weaker than other clubs in the 




race, is also a great manager in the way of con- 
stantly making his team do the unexpected things. 
He is a great believer in taking chances, in doing 
things on the bases, in constantly "mixing them 
up." When the Giants win, it is frequently 
said that "they simply stole the pennant by run- 
ning wild on the bases." The success of Mc- 
Graw's style of play is best illustrated by the 
number of pennant winners he has turned out. 

A manager of the McGraw type is sure to get 
a lot of praise for his tactics, and draw an equal 
amount of criticism. In the series of 191 1, be- 
tween the Giants and Athletics, a bit of strategy 
on the part of McGraw was credited with being 
the turning-point in a game. Snodgrass was 
on second and one man was out, when a ball was 
hit to Collins. Snodgrass was off with the pitch, 
and reached third almost as soon as the ball got 
to Collins. The Athletics' second sacker fumbled 
the ball momentarily. McGraw, quick to take 
advantage of the slip on the part of the usually 
reliable Collins, motioned to Snodgrass to try 
for the plate. Collins recovered quickly and made 
a hurried throw to the plate, but Snodgrass beat 
the throw by a scanty margin. The Giants were 

( To be con 

the victors, 2 to i. McGraw's willingness to take 
a chance had won the game. 

In the 1912 series with the Boston "Red Sox," 
a similar play came up, with Fletcher taking the 
place of Snodgrass on the base line, and Steve 
Yerkes acting the role played by Eddie Collins. 
It seemed like a less hazardous chance than Mc- 
Graw had taken the previous year, but Fletcher 
was retired when Yerkes made a wonderful throw 
to the plate which Cady, the Boston catcher, han- 
dled in masterly fashion. Most critics referred 
to that as bad