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Title: Our Town and Civic Duty - Young American Readers Series
Author: Fryer, Jane Eayre
Language: English
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Young American Readers




Author of “The Mary Frances Story-Instruction Books”

Illustrations by Charles Holloway, Jane Allen Boyer and from Photographs


   _In these vital tasks of acquiring a broader view of human
   possibilities the common school must have a large part. I urge that
   teachers and other school officers increase materially the time and
   attention devoted to instruction bearing directly on the problems of
   community and national life._--WOODROW WILSON.

The John C. Winston Company, Publishers
Philadelphia                    Chicago

Copyright, 1920, by
The John C. Winston Co.

Copyright, 1918, by
The John C. Winston Co.

All Rights Reserved


It will be seen at a glance that Part I of this reader contains
material emphasizing the civic virtues of courage, self-control,
thrift, perseverance and kindness to animals. Since these virtues are
so essential to the good citizen, the lesson periods devoted to the
teaching of them are among the most profitable in the course in Civics
for the Elementary Grades.

In the earlier Young American Reader, “Our Home and Personal Duty,” the
children learned about their dependence upon the people who serve by
contributing to their physical needs--the people connected with home
life. In this volume, “Our Town and Civic Duty,” the idea of service is
still the dominant note.

The work herein differs from that of the earlier volume, however,
in that the people who are being studied render a service which is
primarily civic. Therefore, in Part II a study is made of public
servants, both those who are directly in the employ of the community
and those who, although employed by private individuals, are, through
contract, engaged in public service. Among these are the policeman, the
postman, the fireman, the street cleaner, the garbage collector, and
the ash and rubbish collector. In the study of these various people the
threefold idea of dependence, interdependence and co-operation through
community agencies finds ample illustration.

Of course, it should always be kept in mind that the purpose is to
understand the nature of the _service_ rendered, and that the acquiring
of information is but incidental. The work should be so treated as
to arouse in the children an interest in these public servants, a
friendly feeling toward them, and a desire to aid them in the services
they are rendering.

In Part III, the nation-wide movement for Safety First finds
expression. The aim is two-fold; to point out the sources of danger,
and to teach habits of carefulness and caution.

The study and work of the Junior Red Cross, which form the subject
matter of Part IV, are admirably adapted to bring the pupil into direct
contact with one of the most inspiring aspects of our national life as
exemplified in the humane and patriotic activities of the American Red

_Suggestions as to the Method of Teaching._ It is well known that
children learn best by doing. Therefore, teachers are more and more
appreciating the value of dramatization, or story acting.

Whenever the stories in the reader are suitable, their dramatization
is a simple matter. The children are assigned the various parts, which
they enact just as they remember the story. In no case should the words
be memorized. The children enter eagerly into the spirit of the story,
and the point of the lesson is thus deeply impressed on their minds.
They should be encouraged to talk about the various topics in the book,
and to describe their own experiences.

It should always be borne in mind that when children begin to realize
that the good of all depends upon the thorough and conscientious work
of the individual, the foundation of good citizenship is being laid.

This reader is not intended to be exhaustive in any sense, but rather
suggestive, so that the teacher may use any original ideas which add to
the interest of the lessons.

In his introduction to the previous volume, Doctor J. Lynn Barnard
emphasizes this point when he says: “Like all texts or other helps in
education, these civic readers cannot teach themselves or take the
place of a live teacher. But it is believed that they can be of great
assistance to sympathetic, civically minded instructors of youth who
feel that the training of our children in the ideals and practices of
good citizenship is the most imperative duty and, at the same time, the
highest privilege that can come to any teacher.”


Special thanks are due to Doctor J. Lynn Barnard of the Philadelphia
School of Pedagogy, for valuable suggestions and helpful criticism
in the making of this reader; also to Miss Isabel Jean Galbraith, a
demonstration teacher of the Philadelphia School of Pedagogy, for
assistance in preparing the questions on the lessons.

    For kind permission to use copyrighted and other material
    acknowledgments are due to the following: Cassell & Co. for “Better
    Not, Bob!” from _Little Folks_; The Bobbs-Merrill Company for “The
    Knights of the Silver Shield,” from _Why the Chimes Rang_, by
    Raymond M. Alden, Copyright 1908; The American Humane Education
    Society for “The Story of Barry,” selections by George T. Angell,
    and other material; Wilmer Atkinson Company for the story of
    “Nellie’s Dog;” Miss H. H. Jacobs for two selections; The Animal
    Rescue League of Boston and The Ohio Humane Society for selections;
    and to The Macmillan Company for “How the Mail is Delivered,”
    from _How We Travel_, by James F. Chamberlain; to _The Red Cross
    Magazine_ for several photographs; to the F. A. Owen Publishing
    Company for the “Red Cross Emblem,” “Plain Buttons,” “The American
    Flag,” and other material from _Normal Instructor and Primary

[Illustration: THE CHILD









It may be said that a child’s life and experience move forward in ever
widening circles, beginning with the closest intimate home relations,
and broadening out into knowledge of community, of city, and finally of
national life.

A glance at the above diagram will show the working plan of the
Young American Readers. This plan follows the natural growth and
development of the child’s mind, and aims by teaching the civic virtues
and simplest community relations to lay the foundations of good
citizenship. See Outline of Work.




  Stories Teaching Courage, Self-control, Thrift, Perseverance,
  Patriotism, Kindness to Animals.

  _Courage_ (_Physical_)                                            PAGE

  IDA LEWIS, THE HEROINE OF LIME ROCK LIGHT                            3
  RUN! JOHN, RUN!                                                      6
  HE DID NOT HESITATE                                                  7
  DOWN A MANHOLE                                                       9

  _Courage_ (_Moral_)

  THE TWELVE POINTS OF THE SCOUT LAW                                  11
  CAPTAIN ABRAHAM LINCOLN AND THE INDIAN                              12
  DANIEL IN THE LIONS’ DEN                                            17


  BETTER NOT, BOB! (adapted), _Hartley Richards_                      21
  THE KNIGHTS OF THE SILVER SHIELD (adapted), _Raymond M. Alden_      30


  THE PRINCE AND THE CRUMBS OF DOUGH                                  37
  THE TRAMP                                                           41
  UNCLE SAM’S MONEY                                                   46
  THREE WAYS TO USE MONEY                                             48
  THRIFT DAY                                                          50
  HOW RICHARD PLANTED A DOLLAR                                        54
  HOW TO START A BANK ACCOUNT                                         58


  THE HARE AND THE TORTOISE (a play)                                  60
  AT THE END OF THE RAINBOW                                           63
  THE CROW AND THE PITCHER                                            74
  DRIVE THE NAIL ARIGHT                                               76

  _Kindness to Animals_

  THE ARABIAN HORSE                                                   79
  THE STORY OF BARRY                                                  81
  BANDS OF MERCY                                                      84
  SOME THINGS MR. ANGELL TOLD BOYS AND GIRLS                          85
  NELLIE’S DOG, _Robert E. Hewes_                                     87
  WHO SAID RATS? _H. H. Jacobs_                                       92
  A BRAVE MOTHER, _H. H. Jacobs_                                      93
  ABOUT THOREAU                                                       96
  FAIR PLAY FOR OUR WILD ANIMALS                                      96
  THE TRUE STORY OF PEDRO                                             97
  WHAT CHILDREN CAN DO                                                99
  A HORSE’S PETITION TO HIS DRIVER                                   100
  THE HORSE’S POINT OF VIEW                                          101
  A MAN WHO KNEW HOW                                                 103
  HOW TO TREAT A HORSE                                               103
  THE HORSE’S PRAYER                                                 104
  BIRDS AS THE FRIENDS OF PLANTS                                     108
  ANDROCLUS AND THE LION                                             113
  LIST OF BOOKS ABOUT ANIMALS                                        117



  _The Policeman_

  THE POLICEMAN AND THE RUNAWAY                                      122
  EVERYBODY’S FRIEND                                                 125
  WHAT THE POLICEMAN DOES FOR US                                     126
  HOW WE MAY AID THE POLICEMAN                                       127

  _The Fireman_

  DUTIES OF A FIREMAN                                                129
  THE STORY OF A FIRE                                                130
      I. JACK GIVES THE ALARM                                        130
     II. AT THE FIRE                                                 133
    III. THE RESCUE OF SHORTY                                        136
  HOW TO HELP THE FIREMAN                                            141
  DON’TS FOR YOUR OWN PROTECTION                                     143

  _The Postman_

  HOW THE MAIL IS DELIVERED, _James F. Chamberlain_ (adapted)        145
      I. UNCLE CHARLES WRITES FROM ALASKA                            145
     II. EARLY MAIL CARRIERS                                         148
    III. POSTAGE STAMPS                                              150
     IV. THE PONY EXPRESS                                            153
      V. THE MAILS OF TODAY                                          154

  _The Street Cleaner_

  YOU AND YOUR STREETS                                               161
  EQUIPMENT OF STREET CLEANERS                                       166
  HOW WE MAY HELP KEEP THE STREETS CLEAN                             167

  _The Garbage Collector_

  WHAT THE GARBAGE CAN TOLD ROBERT                                   169
  TWO GARBAGE COLLECTORS                                             175
  ROBERT’S VISIT TO THE GARBAGE PLANT                                179

  _The Ash and Rubbish Collector_

  THE FIRE THAT STARTED ITSELF                                       180



  WHO AM I                                                           187
  OUR SAFETY FIRST MEN                                               189
  STOP! LOOK! LISTEN!                                                194
  BE ON YOUR GUARD                                                   196
  A CLEAN CITY                                                       201
  FIRE-PREVENTION DAY                                                202
  HOW TO FIGHT FLIES                                                 204
  HOW TO FIGHT MOSQUITOES                                            206
  HOW TO MAKE A MOSQUITO TRAP                                        208



  _Junior Membership and School Activities_

  _Patriotic Service_

  THE JUNIOR RED CROSS                                               213
  THE PRESIDENT’S PROCLAMATION                                       214
  WHAT THE CHILDREN DID                                              215
  THE RED CROSS IN WAR                                               216
  THE RED CROSS IN PEACE                                             216
  THE GOOD NEIGHBOR                                                  219
  OUR TWO FLAGS                                                      220
  THE RED CROSS FLAG                                                 220
  FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE                                               221
  HENRI DUNANT                                                       222
  CLARA BARTON                                                       222
      I. THE CHRISTMAS BABY                                          223
     II. THE LITTLE NURSE                                            223
    III. CLARA GROWS UP                                              224
     IV. THE CIVIL WAR                                               225
      V. THE ARMY NURSE                                              226
     VI. MISS BARTON HEARS OF THE RED CROSS                          226
    VII. THE AMERICAN RED CROSS                                      227
  WHEN THERE WAS NO RED CROSS                                        228
  WHEN THE RED CROSS CAME                                            229
  THE RED CROSS                                                      231
  HOW MAPLEWOOD WON SONNY                                            232
  THE JUNIOR RED CROSS’ FIRST BIRTHDAY                               233
  HOW TO MAKE A RED CROSS EMBLEM                                     234
  I KNEW YOU’D COME                                                  235


  THE DEBT                                                           236
  PLEDGE OF ALLEGIANCE TO OUR FLAG                                   237
  TO THE FLAG, _Edward B. Seymour_                                   238
  THE AMERICAN FLAG                                                  239
  PLAIN BUTTONS--THE MAN WITHOUT A COUNTRY (adapted)                 240
  AMERICA, MY HOMELAND                                               247
  COLUMBUS, _Joaquin Miller_                                         248
  DEMOCRACY                                                          250
  THE FUTURE--WHAT WILL IT BRING?                                    251

         *       *       *       *       *

  OUTLINE OF WORK (For the Teacher)                                  253



Stories Teaching Courage, Self-Control, Thrift, Perseverance,
Patriotism, Kindness to Animals



This is the story of Ida Lewis, a New England girl who became famous as
a lighthouse keeper.

Ida’s father, Captain Lewis, kept the lighthouse on Lime Rock, near
Newport in Rhode Island. While Ida was still a young girl, Captain
Lewis became a helpless cripple, and the entire care of the light fell
upon the daughter.

One stormy day, as Ida was looking out over the water, she saw a
rowboat capsize. In a moment, she was in the lifeboat rowing to the
spot. There, in the high waves, three young men were struggling for
their lives. Somehow, Ida got them all safely aboard her boat and rowed
them to Lime Rock.

That was the first of her life-saving ventures. Before she was
twenty-five years old there were ten rescues to the credit of this
brave girl.

Ida did not seem to know fear. She risked her life constantly. Whenever
a vessel was wrecked or a life was in danger within sight of her
lighthouse, Ida Lewis and her lifeboat were always the first to go to
the rescue.

One wintry evening in March, 1869, came the rescue that made Ida famous
throughout the land.

She was nursing a severe cold, and sat toasting her stockinged feet
in the oven of the kitchen stove. Around her shoulders her mother had
thrown a towel for added warmth.

Outside the lighthouse a winter blizzard was blowing, churning the
waters of the harbor and sending heavy rollers crashing against the

Suddenly above the roar of the tempest, Ida heard a familiar sound--the
cry of men in distress.

Even a strong man might have thought twice before risking his life on
such a night--but not Ida Lewis.

Without shoes or hat, she threw open the kitchen door and ran for the

“Oh, don’t go!” called her mother; “it is too great a risk!”

“I must go, mother!” cried the brave girl, running faster.

“Here’s your coat,” called her mother again.

“I haven’t a moment to spare if I am to reach them in time!” cried Ida,
pulling away at the oars.

She had only a single thought. Human life was in danger. Her path of
duty led to the open water.

Strong though she was, it was a hard struggle to make headway against
those terrible waves. Time and again she was driven back. But she would
not give up. At last she guided her boat to the spot where the voices
were still crying for help.

There she found two men clinging to the keel of a capsized boat. They
were almost exhausted when she helped them to safety in her lifeboat.

The men were soldiers from Fort Adams, across the bay. Returning from
Newport at night, they were caught in the gale and their frail boat was

“When I heard those men calling,” said Ida, in telling about it
afterwards, “I started right out just as I was, with a towel over my

“I had to whack them on the fingers with an oar to make them let go of
the side of my boat, or they would have upset it. My father was an old
sailor, and he often told me to take drowning people in over the stern;
and I’ve always done so.”

The story of Ida’s heroic deed sent a thrill of admiration across the
country. The soldiers of the fort gave her a gold watch and chain.
The citizens of Newport, to show their pride in her, presented her
with a fine new surfboat. This boat was christened the “Rescue.” The
legislature of Rhode Island praised her for bravery; and the humane and
life-saving societies sent her gold and silver medals.

Best of all, Congress passed a special act, making her the official
keeper of Lime Rock Lighthouse in place of the father who had died some
years before.

For over fifty years she held this position. It was her duty to trim
the lamps every day, and to keep them burning brightly every night. Not
once in all that half century did the light fail to shine and guide
ships in safety. When an old lady, Ida Lewis was asked if she was ever

“I don’t know that I was ever afraid,” she replied; “I just went, and
that was all there was to it. I never even thought of danger.

“If there were some people out there who needed help,” she said,
pointing across the water, “I would get into my boat and go to them,
even if I knew I could not get back. Wouldn’t you?”

Do you wonder that Ida Lewis was called the heroine of Lime Rock Light?


Once there was a boy, John Hart, who lived at the edge of a wood, half
a mile from a village. One winter evening his mother said, “John, I
want you to go to the village on an errand; are you afraid of the dark?”

“No, indeed, mother, I’m not afraid.”

John set out bravely on the lonely road. Passing a great oak tree, he
heard a queer rustling sound. His heart beat fast and fear whispered,
“Run! John, run!” His feet began to run, but he said, “I won’t run!”
Then he saw that the sound was made by leaves blown about in the wind.
“Only leaves,” he said, laughing.

Halfway to the village a dark figure was standing beside the path. Fear
whispered, “A robber! Run! John, run!” but he thought, “I won’t run,”
and called out as he drew nearer, “Good evening!” Then he saw that the
robber was a small fir tree. “Only a fir tree,” he said, and laughed

Just outside the village a tall white figure appeared beside a dark
hedge. Fear whispered, “A ghost! Run! John, run!” Although shivering,
he said, “I will not run!” Then the ghost disappeared, and the rising
moon was shining through a break in the hedge. “Only moonshine,” he
said, laughing once more.

His errand done, John set out on his return. The ghost was gone, the
fir tree was a friendly sentinel, the leaves were still playing in
the wind. The next day he cut down the fir tree and set it up as a
Christmas tree. Spreading some dry leaves beneath it, he said, “Just
suppose, mother, I’d let them scare me.”



In a forest on the banks of the Shenandoah River, in the northern part
of Virginia, a party of young surveyors were eating their picnic dinner.

Suddenly they heard the shriek of a woman. “Oh, my boy! my poor little
boy is drowning!” rose the cry. The young men sprang to their feet, and
rushed toward the river.

A tall youth of eighteen was the first to reach the woman, whom two men
were holding back from the water’s edge.

“Oh, sir,” pleaded the woman, as the young man approached; “please
help me! My boy is drowning, and these men will not let me go!”

“It would be madness!” exclaimed one of the men. “She would jump into
the river, and be dashed to pieces in the rapids.”

Throwing off his coat, the youth sprang to the edge of the bank. For
a moment he scanned the rocks and the whirling currents. Then, as the
bright red of the little boy’s dress caught his eye, he plunged into
the roaring foam. Everyone watched the struggle, as he battled against
the raging waters.

Twice the boy went down; twice he reappeared farther and farther away.
The terrible rapids were bearing him on to the most dangerous part of
the river. The youth put forth all his strength. Three times the child
was almost within his grasp; three times an ever stronger eddy tossed
it from him.

On the bank the people waited breathless, almost hopeless. Suddenly,
the brave swimmer caught the little body. A shout of joy arose that
quickly changed into a cry of horror. The boy and man had shot over the
falls and vanished in the seething waters below.

The watchers ran along the bank, peering into the foaming, boiling

“There! There they are!” cried the mother. “See! See, they are safe!”
She fell on her knees with a prayer of thanksgiving. Eager, willing
arms drew them up from the water--the boy insensible, but alive; the
youth well-nigh exhausted.

“God will reward you for this day’s work,” said the grateful woman.
“The blessings of thousands will be yours.” She spoke truly; for the
youth of whom this story is told was George Washington.--_Selected._


If Willie Duncan had played where his mother told him to play, he would
not have fallen down a manhole; neither would he have had a narrow
escape from losing his life by being buried in the snow.


But Willie was only four years old, and therefore not so much to blame
as an older boy would have been.

The street cleaners were dumping the dirty snow from the street into a
manhole, which opened into a big drain. This drain carried off the rain
in summer and the snow in winter.

While the shovelers were at work, Willie toddled across the street.
Before the men near the manhole could stop him, he disappeared into the

“Bring a ladder!” some one shouted. But there were no ladders in that
street of crowded houses.

“Turn in a fire alarm!” some one else cried--and this was quickly done.

The men knew that firemen always bring ladders, and that they perform
many other duties besides putting out fires.

While they were waiting for the ladder, Frank Brown came running up.
Now, Frank was only twelve years old, but he was a boy of quick wit and
great presence of mind. Only the summer before, he had jumped into the
river from a pier to rescue a small boy from drowning.

“Let me go down and get him out,” cried Frank to the workmen.

The men tied ropes about the daring boy and lowered him feet first into
the manhole.

Meanwhile, they could hear poor Willie crying bitterly down there in
the soft, cold snow.

“Where are you?” called Frank.

“Here I am in the snow,” came a wee voice from the darkness.

Frank caught the half-frozen little boy in his arms, and both were
quickly pulled to the surface.

Willie was hurried off to the hospital to be treated for exposure; but
Frank was none the worse for his adventure.

While all this was happening, an accident befell the fire patrol which
was rushing to Willie’s rescue. The patrol motor-truck ran into a
bakery wagon. The driver of the wagon was thrown out and hurt. Both the
wagon and the patrol truck were damaged.

Wasn’t it fortunate for Willie that day that Frank Brown knew what to
do, and did it?

When the people praised Frank, he said, “Oh, that was nothing. I am
glad I could help the poor little chap--but I would have gone down
there to save even a kitten, wouldn’t you?”


    Since it took some time for the fire patrol to reach the manhole
    after the accident, what would have become of the little boy if
    Frank had not been a hero?

    How would you like to go down into a dark, cold manhole to rescue

    Tell what you know about Hero Medals--those of Andrew Carnegie, and

    Do you think that Frank was a Boy Scout? Why?


   1. A scout is trustworthy.
   2. A scout is loyal.
   3. A scout is helpful.
   4. A scout is friendly.
   5. A scout is courteous.
   6. A scout is kind.
   7. A scout is obedient.
   8. A scout is cheerful.
   9. A scout is thrifty.
  10. A scout is brave.
  11. A scout is clean.
  12. A scout is reverent.



Among the rough young men of the frontier, Abraham Lincoln was famous
for his quick wit and great strength. Many stories are told of his
courage in rescuing the weak and helpless from danger, often at the
risk of his life.

When Lincoln was serving as captain in the Black Hawk War, there
wandered into his camp one day a poor old Indian. The Indian carried
no weapon, and he was too old to be dangerous. He was just a forlorn,
hungry old man in search of food.

“Injun white man’s friend,” he cried to the soldiers, as he took a
paper from his belt and held it out to them.

The paper was a pass from the general in command, saying that the old
man was a peaceful, friendly Indian.

But the soldiers were too much excited to pay any attention to the pass.

“Kill him! Scalp him! Shoot him!” they cried, running for their weapons.

They were enlisted to fight Indians, and here was an Indian--perhaps
Black Hawk himself. They were not going to let him escape.

“Me good Injun! Big White Chief says so--see talking paper,” protested
the Indian, again offering them the paper.

“Get out! You can’t play that game on us. You’re a spy! Shoot him!
Shoot him!” the soldiers shouted.

A dozen men leveled their rifles ready to fire. The others handled the
old Indian so roughly and made so much noise over their prize that they
aroused the captain.

“What is all the trouble about?” he demanded, coming from his tent.

His glance fell on the frightened Indian, cowering on the ground.

Dashing in among his men, he threw up their weapons, and shouted,
“Halt! Hold on, don’t fire! Stop, I tell you!”

Then, placing his hand on the red man’s shoulder, he cried, “Stand
back, all of you! You ought to be ashamed of yourselves--pitching into
a poor old redskin! What are you thinking of? Would you kill an unarmed

“He’s a spy! He’s a spy!” shouted the soldiers.

“If he’s a spy,” answered Lincoln, “we will prove it, and he shall
suffer the penalty. Until then, any man who harms him will have to
answer to me.”

The poor old Indian crouched at Lincoln’s feet, recognizing in him his
only friend.

“What are you afraid of?” demanded one of the ringleaders, raising his
rifle. “We’re not afraid to shoot him, even if you are a coward!”

The tall young captain faced his accuser and slowly began to roll up
his sleeves.

“Who says I’m a coward?” he demanded.

There was no response to this.

Every man in the company knew the great strength of that brawny arm;
some had felt it on more than one occasion.

“Get out, Capt’n,” they said; “that’s not fair! You’re bigger and
stronger than we are. Give us a show!”

“I’ll give you all the show you want, boys,” Captain Lincoln replied;
“more than you are willing to give this Indian. Take it out of me, if
you can; but you shall not touch him.”

Again, there was no answer.

The Indian showed his pass, which proved him to be one of the friendly
Indians from General Cass’ division. Lincoln knew at once that it was

The young captain ordered one of the men to give the captive food and
let him go free. The poor man could not speak his thanks. To show his
gratitude, he knelt down and kissed the feet of the young soldier.

The men scattered and the trouble was over. No man in that camp had any
desire to try his strength with Captain Abraham Lincoln, who was ready
to protect a friendless Indian with his life.


  Oh, give us men with vision clear;
  With rugged hearts that know no fear!
  Good men, who are both brave and bold,
  Unshaken by the lure of gold;
  Who stand for right, whate’er their fate--
  Such men will make our nation great.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Do all the good you can,
  In all the ways you can,
  At all the times you can,
  To all the people you can.




In the days of long ago, when Darius was king, a very brave man lived
in Babylon. His name was Daniel. Daniel was just as truthful as he was
brave. No one ever knew him to do a mean thing, or to tell a lie.

Now, Daniel was a foreigner. He had been carried to Babylon as a
captive when a little boy. But that made no difference to King Darius.
The king liked Daniel because he was loyal and faithful, which was more
than could be said for some of the king’s servants. So the king made
Daniel first ruler in the kingdom--a very high position indeed; but the
proud nobles and princes of Babylon were very angry at this.

“He’s only a foreigner,” some said. “We despise him.”

“He was little better than a slave when he came here; now he rules over
us,” others said. “We hate him.”

Then they put their heads together and plotted to kill Daniel. “Come,”
the plotters said. “Let us search his record and accuse him to the
king. He must be dishonest, or a bribe-taker, to succeed like this.”

These men judged Daniel by themselves. They searched high and they
searched low, but could not find a single item of wrongdoing. Daniel
was true to his trust. His enemies were defeated, but not for long; for
they kept on plotting.

“Why didn’t we think of it before?” cried one. “We’ll put him in a
trap. His religion--he won’t give that up even to save his life.”


Now, you must know that the people of Babylon worshipped idols; Daniel
worshipped the true God.

This is the trap they laid for Daniel. They went to the king and said:

“King Darius, live forever. All the nobles and princes of the kingdom
desire to pass a law that whoever shall pray to any god or man for
thirty days, save to thee, O king, shall be thrown into the den of
lions. Now, O king, sign the writing that it be not changed, according
to the laws of Babylon which alter not.”

This pleased the king’s vanity and he signed the law, not knowing that
it was aimed at Daniel.

Then the plotters set spies to catch Daniel.

When Daniel knew that the law was signed, he might have said to
himself: “Oh, well, it’s only for thirty days; I won’t pray at all;
or I’ll pray in secret; or I’ll go to the king, who is my friend, and
explain the plot.”

He did none of these things. This is what he did. He went into his
house; up the stairs to his bedroom; opened the window toward the
far-off city of his birth; knelt down and prayed to his God. He did
this at morning, at noon, at night--three times a day as he had always


Daniel did just what his enemies had expected. He walked right into
their trap, rather than disobey his conscience. It took a brave heart
to do that. To be thrown into the den of lions meant certain death.

“Ha! ha!” laughed the plotters, “now we have him;” and they came in the
morning to report to the king.

“O great king,” they said, “this foreigner, Daniel, pays no regard to
the law that thou hast signed, but openly worships his God three times
a day.”

Then the king was very angry with himself for having signed the law.
All that day he tried to find some way to save Daniel, but could not;
for the laws of Babylon, once made, could not be changed.

The same evening, the plotters came again, accusing Daniel. Then the
king could wait no longer and sent for Daniel.

“O Daniel,” said the king, “the law must be obeyed. It may be that thy
God whom thou servest continually will deliver thee.”

Daniel made no reply.

Then the king sadly ordered the soldiers to take Daniel to the lions.

The den was underground. As the soldiers removed the flat stone from
the mouth of the den, the snarling beasts could be heard below.

Quickly they lifted Daniel and threw him in. He made no resistance.
They replaced the stone over the mouth of the den, and the king sealed
it, so that no one could open the den without his permission.

Then the king went to his palace. He sent away the musicians and
refused to eat. All night long he tossed on his bed and could not

Meanwhile, Daniel’s enemies were having a merry time, drinking to
celebrate their victory.

By daylight, the king was in a fever. Hastily he rose, ran out of his
palace to the den, and ordered the guard to remove the stone.

Then he stooped and looked down, fearful of what he was sure had
happened. All was quiet.

“O Daniel, Daniel,” he cried. “Is thy God able to deliver thee from the

Then up from the den rose Daniel’s voice, clear and steady:

“O king, live forever. My God hath sent his angel to shut the lions’
mouths, and they have not hurt me, for I have done no wrong.”

“Lift him out! Lift him out!” cried the king, too happy to wait another

Quickly they lifted Daniel into the daylight. Not a scratch was found
on him anywhere.

Then the king ordered the plotters to be brought to the den immediately.

“You laid a trap for my faithful servant, Daniel,” cried the king to
them, “and have walked into it yourselves. The fate you intended for
him is reserved for you. What have you to say?”

But they could say nothing, save to beg for mercy.

“Away with them to the lions!” ordered the king.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Whene’er a noble deed is wrought,
  Whene’er is spoken a noble thought,
  Our hearts, in glad surprise,
  To higher levels rise.
                          --_Henry W. Longfellow._




Thud! thud! thud! “Hit him in the eye!” “Knock the pipe out of his
mouth!” “Ha! ha! there goes his nose!” “I hit him that time!”

The victim of this piece of cruelty was only a snowman, which the boys
of Strappington School had set up in their playground.

But how was Mr. Gregor, who lived next door to the school, to know that
it was only a snowman? And what was more natural than that he should
peep over the playground wall to see what was going on? And how was
little Ralph Ruddy to know that Mr. Gregor was there? And how was he to
know that the snowball which was meant for the snowman’s pipe would
land itself on Mr. Gregor’s nose?

Oh, the horror that seized upon the school at that dire event, and the
dead silence that reigned in that playground! For those were the good
old times of long ago, when anything that went wrong was set right with
a birch-rod. Little Ralph Ruddy knew only too well what was coming,
when he saw the angry man stalk into the schoolhouse and speak to the

When the bell rang at four o’clock, the boys came out; and among them
was Bob Hardy, the son of a poor farm laborer.

“It’s a shame,” muttered Bob, “to make a row ’bout an accident. Of
course the schoolmaster had to take some notice of it. He is talking
to little Ralph now. I told him Ralph did not mean to do it. Just the
same, I’ll smash old Gregor’s windows for him.”

And Bob meant to do it, too. When all were asleep, he made his way down
to the schoolhouse by moonlight, with a pocketful of stones.

He climbed the wall of the playground, and stood there all ready to
open fire, when a voice startled him, a sort of shivering whisper.
“Better not, Bob! better wait a bit!” said the voice.

Bob dropped the stone and looked about; but there was no one near him
except the snowman shining weirdly in the pale moonlight. However,
the words set Bob to thinking, and instead of breaking Mr. Gregor’s
windows, he went home again and got into bed.


That was in January; and when January was done February came, as
happens in most years. February brought good fortune--at least Bob’s
mother said so, for she got work at the squire’s for which she was well

But it did not turn out to be such very good fortune, after all; for
the butler said she stole a silver spoon, and told the squire so; and
if the butler could have proved what he said, the squire would have
sent her to prison; but he could not, so she got off; and Bob’s mother
declared that she had no doubt the butler took the spoon himself.

“All right,” said Bob to himself, “I’ll try the strength of my new
oaken stick across that butler’s back.” And he meant it too, for that
very evening he shouldered his cudgel and tramped away to the big
house. When he got there the door stood wide open; so in he walked.

Now, there hung in the hall the portrait of a queer old lady in a stiff
frill and a long waist and an old-fashioned hoop petticoat; and when
Bob entered the house, what should this old lady do but shake her head
at him! To be sure, there was only a flickering lamp in the entry, and
Bob thought at first it must have been the dim light and his own fancy;
so he went striding through the hall with his cudgel in his hand:
“Better not, Bob!” said the old lady; “better wait a bit!”

“Why, they won’t let me do anything!” grumbled Bob; but he went home
without thrashing the butler, all the same.


That was in February, you know. Well, when February was done, March
came, and with it came greater ill-fortune than ever; for Bob’s father
was driving his master’s horse and cart to market, when what should
jump out of the ditch but old Nanny Jones’s donkey, an ugly beast at
the best of times, and enough to frighten any horse. But what must
the brute do on this occasion but set up a terrific braying, which
sent Farmer Thornycroft’s new horse nearly out of his wits, so that he
backed the cart and all that was in it--including Bob’s father--into
the ditch.

A pretty sight they looked there, for the horse was sitting where the
driver ought to be, and Bob’s father was seated, much against his wish,
in a large basket full of eggs, with his legs sticking out one side and
his head the other.

Of course, Farmer Thornycroft did not like to lose his eggs--who
would?--for even the most obliging hens cannot be persuaded to lay an
extra number in order to make up for those that are broken; but for all
that, Farmer Thornycroft had no right to lay all the blame on Bob’s
father, and keep two shillings out of his week’s wage.

So Bob’s father protested, and that made Farmer Thornycroft angry; and
then, since fire kindles fire, Bob’s father grew angry too, and called
the farmer a cruel brute; so the farmer dismissed him and gave him no
wages at all.

We can hardly be surprised that when Bob heard of all this he felt a
trifle out of sorts. He went pelting over the fields, and all the way,
he muttered to himself, “A cruel shame I call it, but I’ll pay him
back; I mean to let his sheep out of the pen, and then I will just go
and tell him that I’ve done it.”


Now, the field just before you come to Farmer Thornycroft’s sheep-pen
was sown with spring wheat, and they had put up a scarecrow there to
frighten the birds away. The scarecrow was truly sorry to see Bob
scouring across the field in such a temper; so just as Bob passed him,
he flapped out at him with one sleeve, and the boy turned sharply round
to see who it was.

“Only a scarecrow,” said he, “blown about by the wind,” and went on his
way. But as he went, strange to say, he thought he heard a voice call
after him, “Better not, Bob! better wait a bit!”

So Bob went home again, and never let the sheep astray after all; but
he thought it very hard that he might not punish either Mr. Gregor or
the butler or the farmer.


Now, the folk that hide behind the shadows thought well of Bob for his
self-restraint, and they determined that they would work for him and
make all straight again. So when Bob went down to the riverside next
day, and took out his knife to cut some reeds for “whistle-pipes,”
Father Pan breathed upon the reeds and enchanted them. “What a breeze!”
exclaimed Bob; but he knew nothing at all of what had in reality

Bob finished his pan-pipes, and trudged along and whistled on them to
his heart’s content. When he got to the village, he was surprised to
see a little girl begin to dance to his tune, and then another little
girl, and then another. Bob was so astonished that he left off playing,
and stood looking at them, open-mouthed, with wonder. But as soon as he
left off playing, the little girls ceased to dance, and begged him not
to play again, for the whistle-pipes, they were sure, must be bewitched.

“Ho! ho!” cried Bob, “here’s a pretty game. I’ll just give old Gregor a
turn. Come! that will not do him any harm, at any rate!”

Strange to say, at that very moment Mr. Gregor came along the street.

“Toot! toot! toot! tweedle, tweedle, toot!” went the pan-pipes; and
away went Mr. Gregor’s legs, cutting such capers as the world never
looked upon before. Gaily trudged Bob along the street, and gaily
danced Mr. Gregor. The people looked out of their windows, and laughed;
and the poor man begged Bob to leave off playing.

“No, no,” answered Bob; “poor little Ralph Ruddy never meant to hit
you, and you made him dance with pain. It is your turn now.”

Just then the squire’s butler came down the street. Of course, he was
much puzzled to see Mr. Gregor dancing to the sound of a boy’s whistle,
but he was presently more surprised to find himself doing the very same
thing. He tried with all his might to retain his stately gait; but
it was all of no use. His legs flew up in spite of himself, and away
he went behind Mr. Gregor following Bob all through the village and
dancing for all he was worth.

The best sight was still to come; for the tyrannical Farmer Thornycroft
was just then walking home from market in a great heat, with a big
sample of corn in each of his side-pockets; and turning suddenly round
a corner, he went right into the middle of the strange procession and
began to dance in a moment. Up flew his great fat legs, and away he
went, pitching and tossing, and jumping and twirling, and jigging up
and down like an elephant in a fit.

How the people laughed, to be sure, standing in their doorways, and
viewing this odd trio! Mr. Gregor was nearly fainting, the butler was
in despair, and the perspiration poured down the farmer’s face; but
that mattered not to Bob; he had promised himself to take them for a
dance all round the village, and he did it. At length, when he had
completed the tour, he stopped for just one moment, and asked Mr.
Gregor whether he would beg Ralph Ruddy’s pardon; and Mr. Gregor said
he would, if only Bob would leave off playing.


Then Bob asked the farmer if he would take his father back and pay him
his wages, and the farmer said he would; and, finally, he made the
butler promise to tell the squire that his mother had nothing to do
with stealing the silver spoon.

Then Bob left off playing. The three poor men went home in a terrible
plight; and Mr. Gregor begged little Ralph’s pardon; and the butler
cleared the stain from Bob’s mother’s character; and Bob’s father went
back to work; and Farmer Thornycroft soon afterwards took Bob on too,
and he made the best farm-boy that ever lived.

                               --_Adapted from the story in Little Folks
                                          By Hartley Richards._


    Did a little voice ever say “Better not” to you?

    Did you listen?

    Were you glad afterwards?


  Boys flying kites haul in their white-winged birds;
  You can’t do that way when you’re flying words.
  “Careful with fire,” is good advice we know;
  “Careful with words,” is ten times doubly so.
  Thoughts unexpressed may sometimes fall back dead;
  But God himself can’t kill them when they’re said.
                                    --_Will Carleton._

       *       *       *       *       *

  Help the weak if you are strong;
    Love the old if you are young;
  Own a fault if you are wrong;
    If you’re angry, hold your tongue.



Once upon a time, a long while ago, in a big dark forest there was a
great gray castle. It had high stone walls and tall turrets that you
could see a long way off over the tree-tops.

Perhaps you are wondering who lived in this castle far off in the woods.

Well, you see there were cruel giants in the forest--so cruel that the
king kept a company of knights in the castle to help travelers.

These knights wore the most wonderful suits of armor you ever saw. They
had tall helmets on their heads, with long red plumes floating behind.
They carried long spears, too; but the most wonderful thing about them
was their shields. These had been made by a great magician, and when
the knights first got them they were all cloudy; but as their owners
did more and more brave deeds, the shields grew brighter and brighter.

Once in a long while, when a knight had fought a terribly hard battle
or had done a great many very, very brave deeds, a beautiful golden
star would appear in the center of the shield.

One day a messenger came riding up to the castle in great haste. He was
terribly excited and he shouted, “The giants are coming! They are all
gathered together to fight you!”

You can imagine the commotion that took place in the castle! There
was a great hurrying and scurrying to bolt and bar all the doors and
windows, to polish armor, and to get everything ready.

The youngest knight of all, Sir Roland, was so happy that he did not
know what to do! You see, he had done many brave deeds already, and he
was thinking how much brighter his shield would be now that he had a
chance to go into a real battle. He could hardly wait!

By and by, all the knights were ready and the lord of the castle said:

“Somebody must stay here to guard the gate. Sir Roland, you are the
youngest; suppose you stay; and remember--don’t let any one in.”

Poor Sir Roland! I wonder if you can imagine how he felt. Why, he just
felt as if he wanted to die! To think that he had to stay at home when
he wanted to go more than anyone else. But he was a real knight, so he
made no reply.

He even tried to smile as he stood at the gate and watched all the
other knights ride away with their banners flying and their armor
flashing in the sunshine and their red plumes waving in the wind. Oh,
how he did want to go! He watched till they had galloped out of sight,
and then he went back into the lonely castle.


After a long while, one of the knights came limping back from the

“Oh, it’s a dreadful fight,” he said. “I think you ought to go and
help. I’ve been wounded; but I’ll guard the gate while you go.”

You see, he wasn’t a brave knight and he was glad to get away from the
battle. Sir Roland’s face became all happy again, for he thought, “Here
is my chance!” And he was just about to go; when, suddenly, he seemed
to hear a voice, “You stay to guard the gate; and remember--don’t let
any one in.” So instead of going, he said, “I can’t let any one in, not
even you. I must stay and guard the gate. Your place is at the battle.”

That sounds easy to say, doesn’t it? But it was very hard to do, when
he wanted to go more than anything else in the world.

After the knight had gone, there was nothing for him to do but to
wonder how the fight was going and to wish that he was right in the
midst of it.


By and by, he saw a little bent old woman coming along the road. Oh,
I almost forgot to tell you that all around the castle there was a
moat--a sort of ditch, filled with water--and the only way to get to
the castle was over a little narrow drawbridge that led to the gate.
When the knights didn’t want any one to come in, they could pull the
bridge up against the wall.

Well, the little old woman came up and asked Sir Roland if she might
come in to get something to eat. Sir Roland said, “Nobody may come in
today; but I’ll get you some food.”

So he called one of the servants; and while she waited the old woman
began to talk.

“My, there is a terrible fight in the forest,” she said.

“How is it going?” Sir Roland asked.

“Badly for the knights,” she replied. “It is a wonder to me that you
are not out there fighting, instead of standing here doing nothing.”

“I have to stay to guard the gate,” said Sir Roland.

“Hm-m-m,” said the old woman. “I guess you are one of those knights who
don’t like to fight. I guess you are glad of an excuse to stay home.”
And she laughed at him and made fun of him.

Sir Roland was so angry that he opened his lips to answer; and then he
remembered that she was old. So he closed them again, and gave her the
food. Then she went away.

Now, he wanted to go more than ever since he knew that the knights were
losing the battle. It was pretty hard to be laughed at and called a
coward! Oh, how he did want to go!


Soon a queer little old man came up the road. He wore a long black
cloak and he called out to Sir Roland, “My, what a lazy knight! Why
aren’t you at the fight? See, I have brought you a magic sword.”

He pulled out from under his cloak the most wonderful sword you ever
saw. It flashed like diamonds in the sun.


“If you take this to the fight you will win for your lord. Nothing can
stand before it.”

Sir Roland reached for it, and the little old man stepped on the
drawbridge. Suddenly, the knight remembered, and said, “No!” so loudly
that the old man stepped back. But still he called out, “Take it! It is
the sword of all swords! It is for you!”

Sir Roland wanted it so badly that, for fear he might take it, he
called the porters to pull up the drawbridge.

Then, as he watched from the gate, what do you think happened? It was
the most wonderful thing you could imagine! The little old man began to
grow and grow till he was one of the giants! Then Sir Roland knew that
he had almost let one of the enemy into the castle.


For a while, everything was very quiet. Suddenly, he heard a sound,
and soon he saw the knights riding toward the castle so happily that
he knew that they had won. Soon they were inside, and were talking
together about all the brave deeds they had done.

The lord of the castle sat down on his high seat in the main hall with
all his knights around him. Sir Roland stepped up to give him the key
of the gate. All at once, one of the knights cried, “The shield! Sir
Roland’s shield!”

And there, shining in the center, was a beautiful golden star. Sir
Roland was holding his shield in front of him, so he could not see it.
But the others looked and wondered; and the lord of the castle asked,
“What happened? Did the giants come? Did you fight any alone?”

“No,” said Sir Roland. “Only one came, and soon he went away again.”

Then he told all about the little old woman and the little old man, and
the knights still wondered about the star. But the lord of the castle
said, “Men make mistakes, but our shields never do. Sir Roland has
fought and won the greatest battle of all today.”

                                          --_Raymond M. Alden--Adapted._


    It was much harder for Sir Roland to stay and guard the gate than
    it would have been for him to go to the fight, wasn’t it?

    How many times was he tempted?

    What might have happened if he had not guarded the gate?

    Which knight gained the greatest victory of all?

    Over whom did he gain it?

    Can you remember a time when you did the right thing even though
    you felt very much like doing something else?


    He that ruleth his spirit is better than he that taketh a

    A strong heart may be ruined in fortune, but not in
    spirit.--_Victor Hugo._

    Be sure to put your feet in the right place; then stand

    He who cannot control himself cannot control others.



Once upon a time, so an old story says, a certain king was anxious that
his son, the prince, should marry the most thrifty maiden to be found
in his kingdom.

So he invited to the palace on a certain date all the young women of
the country, for that was the custom when a new princess was to be

On every side were arranged long tables, at which each girl was given a

Upon the tables were the materials and bowls and pans needed in making
bread. In the center of the room on a small platform sat the king and
queen, the prince, and several courtiers.

When they had all taken their places, the king announced that there
would be a contest in bread-mixing; and that a handsome prize would be
given to the young woman who, in the judgment of the king and queen,
made bread in the best way.

You can imagine how excited all the young women were, and how each one
set about her task trembling with nervousness, yet in her secret heart
hoping to win the prize.

You can imagine, too, how difficult it was to act as judge; for the
king and queen knew there must be several young women there who could
make bread equally well.

Every once in a while, the king whispered to the queen, and the queen
smiled and shook her head doubtfully, as if to say, “We shall have a
hard task to judge with fairness.”

In one corner of the room, working very quietly, was a very pretty
young girl. She was so far away from the king and queen, who were a
little near-sighted, that they had not observed her as carefully as
they had some of the others. But when the prince leaned forward and
spoke to them, they raised their hand glasses and turned their eyes in
her direction, to watch her every motion.

“We will examine the loaves as soon as they are placed in the pans,”
announced the king presently; and soon he led the queen and the prince
around the tables.

They came last to the place where the fair young girl was standing. The
king and queen looked not only at the beautiful white loaves in the
pans, but at the empty bowl in which the dough had been mixed. They
looked at each other, and nodded and smiled; then at the prince, and
nodded and smiled.

“What is your name, my dear?” asked the king, turning toward the table
once more.

“Hildegarde,” replied the maiden, blushing with shyness.

“Come with us,” said the king and the queen leading the way; and the
prince bowed low before her.

“May I escort you, Miss Hildegarde?” he asked, offering his arm, on
which she hesitated to place her hand, fearing lest the flour might
mark his velvet coat.

Upon this, the prince drew her hand through his arm, and they followed
the king and queen.

When they reached the platform, the king took Hildegarde’s hand in his.

“We, the king and queen, judge that this young lady has won the prize
because she has made bread in the best way,” he announced. “All of you
have made beautiful loaves; but Hildegarde is the only one who has
_scraped all the dough from the bowl and paddle, wasting nothing_. Let
the prince present the prize. Kneel, Hildegarde.”

As the maiden knelt on the cushion at the feet of the king and queen,
the prince came forward and placed a sparkling diamond ring on her
finger, and raised her to her feet.

“Will you accept it as a betrothal ring, and become my princess?” he
whispered; and Hildegarde answered, “Yes.”

“The prince goes with the prize,” said the king; “for he wants to have
for his princess the most thrifty maiden in the land.”

All the young women were invited to the wedding of the prince and
Hildegarde, and each received as a souvenir a beautiful little gold
purse in the form of a loaf of bread.


    Did the king and queen and prince need the crumbs of dough?

    Then why do you think Hildegarde was chosen?

    Why does it pay to save little things?

    Do you know that the gold dust in the sweepings at the mint amounts
    to many dollars in a year?

    Can you think of something you could save at your house?

       *       *       *       *       *

  We shape ourselves the joy or fear
    Of which the coming life is made;
  And fill our future atmosphere
    With sunshine or with shade.



“Oh, mother, I saw such a funny old tramp up the street,” said Stella,
as she came running into the house. “The boys were calling him names.
‘Look at old red nose,’ they called. He was so angry; you ought to have
seen him shake his stick at them.”

“That was very wrong--to make fun of an old man, even if he was a
tramp,” replied Mrs. Clark, looking serious.

“Yes, that is what I thought, mother. He seemed so poor and old. His
clothes were shabby, his shoes were full of holes, and his hat was too
big for him. He had such a bristly beard and such a red nose, and was
so dirty!”

“Poor old man, one can not help feeling sorry for him,” sighed Mrs.

“But what makes him so poor, mother?”

“It may be misfortune, my dear; but usually tramps will not work, nor
will they stay in one place. They prefer to wander from place to place
and beg for food. But come, dinner is ready.”

Just as they were seated at the table, they heard a heavy step on the
back porch; and a moment later there came a rap on the kitchen door.

The little girl went to open the door. In a moment, she came running
back with a frightened look on her face.

“Quick, mother,” she cried, “here is the tramp at our back door.”


“Don’t be frightened, dear. I’ll go to the door,” said Mrs. Clark.

“Please, ma’am, will you give me a bite to eat? I’m hungry. I haven’t
had anything to eat to-day,” begged the tramp, touching his old
battered hat.

Mrs. Clark was about to shut the door, but seeing the discouraged look
in the tramp’s face, she quickly changed her mind.

“Yes, I’ll give you something,” she said. “Sit down on the porch.”

With a look of grateful relief, the tramp sank down on the step.

In a minute, Mrs. Clark brought him a big bowl of the warm soup she had
prepared for dinner, and two thick slices of bread.

Clinging close to her mother, Stella watched the tramp devour the food

“My, he must have been hungry!” she thought.


After the tramp had eaten most of the food, Mrs. Clark asked, “Where is
your home?”

“I have no home, lady.”

“But where do you live?”

“Oh, anywhere I happen to be.”

“Yes, but where do you sleep?”

“Sometimes in the station house; sometimes in barns; anywhere I can.”

“Where are your friends?”

“I haven’t any friends, lady, except kind-hearted people like you, who
sometimes take pity on me and give me something to eat.”

“What will become of you?”

“I don’t know, lady; I don’t know, and sometimes I don’t care.”

“I do not mean to be curious, but would you mind telling me how you
came to be in such a plight?” said the kind woman.

“It is a long story,” said the tramp wearily. “I had a good home and
was well brought up; but somehow I never seemed to prosper for long. I
guess I was slack and careless; everything seemed to come so hard and
go so easily. I worked on and off. When I got anything I ate it up,
drank it up, or let it get away--didn’t know how to save--and now I am
old and have no home and nobody to respect me.” A tear trickled down
the old man’s red nose.

Then he stood up and handed back the empty bowl. “But I must not
bother you with my troubles,” he said. “Thank you for the food and for
speaking kindly to me.” With that, he tipped his hat and hobbled off.

They watched him out of the window as he went down the street. Soon
they saw a police officer come around the corner.

He stopped the tramp, spoke to him, and pointed up the road leading out
of town.

“What did the officer tell him, mother?” asked the little girl.

“I think he told him to move on,” replied Mrs. Clark sadly. “Come,
dear, dinner will be cold.”

A few days later, Aunt Anne came from the next town to visit the family.

Stella eagerly told her about the tramp.

“Why, that must be the poor old man the police found one morning in our
park. He was lying on a bench, sick; he had completely given out,” said
Aunt Anne.

“What did they do with him?” asked Stella.

“They put him in the ambulance and took him off to the county poor

“The poor farm?”

“Yes, that is where tramps and shiftless people generally land.”

“Oh, how dreadful!” exclaimed the little girl. “Aunty, I don’t see why
tramps don’t work?”

“Neither do I,” said Aunt Anne, shaking her head.


    Why is it that no one respects a tramp?

    Does a man who works hard often become a tramp?

    Name some of the things a tramp wastes that he should save.

    What must we do in order to have plenty to eat and wear, and to
    have a comfortable home to live in?

    What must we do with part of the money we earn?

    Does a tramp ever have a bank account?

    Can a tramp be of help to others? Why not?

       *       *       *       *       *

  I have a gift to use,
    Entrusted to my care;
  It’s not a costly gift,
    And neither is it rare.

  It must be used at once,
    So quickly tell me how--
  You have it; I have it;
    Its name is--Right Now.



There is one thing that Uncle Sam likes to do for his people himself,
and that he forbids any one else to do under penalty of the law. He
likes to make their money.

One of his first acts when setting up in business was to start a
factory, the United States Mint, for the coining of money. There are
several mints now, and in them is made all the money that circulates in
the United States.

Uncle Sam makes five kinds of money: gold money, silver money, nickel
money, copper money, and paper money; and places on each piece the
United States stamp.

One peculiar thing about money is that you cannot eat it when hungry,
drink it when thirsty, wear it for clothing, or build a house out of
it. What kind of cake, or coat, or house would pennies or nickels or
silver dollars make?

King Midas--in the story of the Golden Touch--found this out to his


There is one thing, however, that money will do a little better than
anything else; and it is because it will do this thing that Uncle Sam
makes it.

Money enables us to buy food to eat, clothing to wear, and houses to
live in. It is of little value in itself, except as it enables us to
purchase the things we need.

Just imagine what would happen if there were no such thing as money.
Suppose you are working for a baker. At the end of each week, pay day
comes; but there is no money, so the baker offers you three hundred
loaves of bread for your week’s work. These loaves of bread you would
have to exchange for clothing or other needs. This would be a very
troublesome thing to do.

To overcome this trouble, therefore, money was invented. Money
represents labor or goods. You are paid for your labor or your goods,
not in other labor or goods, but in money, which you can carry in your
pocket or keep in the bank. And with this money you can buy whatever
you need.

Money enables you to leave in the bakery the three hundred loaves of
bread you earned, and to buy a loaf as you need it.

Money, then, takes the place of goods, because it can be exchanged for
them. To lose or waste money is the same as losing or wasting the goods
that money will buy.

A family would be considered foolish to throw enough money to buy a
loaf of bread into the river. Yet what difference is there between this
family and the one that wastes a loaf of bread, a slice at a time? To
waste money or goods is just as bad as to throw them away.



When we earn money, there are just three ways in which we can use it
rightly: save part, spend part, give part away. All three uses are very

Money saved should be put in the bank. There it grows by what you add
to it from time to time. It also grows by the addition of the interest
which the bank pays for the use of money. Money saved is always ready
for a rainy day. People who save money always have money to spend.

The spending of money is quite as important as the saving of it. Money
should be spent for food to nourish our bodies, for garments to clothe
them, and for houses to protect them.

When buying by the pound, see that you get full weight; when buying by
the yard or peck, see that you get full measure. The principal thing in
buying is to get all that you pay for. In selling, the principal thing
is to give full value for the money that you receive.

Money should also be spent for education. Money spent in educating the
mind is money well spent. The great successes in life are made by boys
and girls who go to school and learn all they can. Many stories could
be told about children who have earned and saved money to go to school,
and of parents who have sacrificed many pleasures and comforts to help
their children gain an education.

To give money away wisely is quite as important as saving or spending
it. Money should be saved, not only to spend, but to give away. Else
what will you do when Christmas comes and when birthdays come?

Besides, there are the churches, hospitals, orphanages, the Red Cross,
and many other good causes that need our gifts. We give our money to
these, not with the idea of what we can get out of them, but for the
pleasure of helping to make the world a pleasanter and better place in
which to live.


    Do you know that many people start in life without money, and by
    saving little sums become prosperous?

    When you go to the library, will you ask for books that tell about
    successful men, and read about how each of them started in life?

    Do you know anyone who has earned or saved money in order to go to



  “Spend, but do not waste;
   Save, but do not be a miser.”

February third has recently been set aside in many places as Thrift Day.

Thrift means wise management.

A thrifty person never wastes what could be saved by thoughtfulness.

A thrifty person is one who does not waste anything, but gets the full
value of everything.

A thrifty person sets traps to catch the waste, and changes it into
things worth having.

Those who know, say that American people are the most wasteful of all
people in the world.

They tell us that we waste money, food, forests, time, energy, and
thousands of the little daily supplies which we might save.

If we all save what we can, it will be a very large amount when added

It seems like a little thing to throw away one sheet of paper, doesn’t

Suppose you count the number of sheets of paper in your writing pad
at school. Let us say there are one hundred sheets, and that each pad
costs the Board of Education five cents. If there are forty thousand
children who waste one sheet of paper a day, the wasted sheets will
amount to four hundred pads a day. At five cents a pad, four hundred
pads will cost twenty dollars a day. There are about two hundred
school days a year. Multiply twenty dollars by two hundred and you
will find that the wasted sheets would cost four thousand dollars in a
school year!

You would never have imagined that, would you? See how much the school
boys and girls can save for the taxpayers, and for the children who
will come to school later. That is being thrifty.

If there were but ten thousand boxes of matches in our country, think
how careful we would be not to waste one match. But few people think
about so simple a matter. Yet matches are made from wood; and forests
have to be cut down to make the matches we use.

Old rags and old rubber do not seem to be of any value; yet in every
city there are men who grow rich by collecting them.

In some schools the children bring old newspapers on a certain day, and
you would be surprised to learn how much money one school made in this
way for new playground games. That was thrift.

It seems to be a very little thing to play or idle away an evening; yet
it was in odd moments that some of our greatest men studied until they
were well educated.

Abraham Lincoln never “lost sixty golden minutes somewhere between
sunrise and sunset.”


You all know the story of Benjamin Franklin--how he began life as a
poor boy, and how by thrift, he became later in life one of the most
useful and wealthy citizens of America.

Benjamin Franklin learned great wisdom through his experiences, and
he was anxious that other people might learn the same lessons; so he
printed an almanac and put into it many wise sayings, which he hoped
would be remembered.

He called his almanac “Poor Richard’s Almanac.” Here are a few of its
wise sayings:

    “For age and want, save while you may;
     No morning sun lasts all the day.”

    “But dost thou love life? Then do not squander time, for that is
     the stuff life is made of.”

    “A small leak will sink a ship.”

    “Be ashamed to catch yourself idle.”

    “Always taking out of a meal-tub and never putting in soon comes to
     the bottom.”

    “One to-day is worth two to-morrows.”

    “Many a little makes a mickle.”

    “Make no expense but to do good to others or yourself; that is,
     waste nothing.”

    “No pains, no gains.”



    Can you think of some ways in which you can save your clothing?

    Have you ever tried forming a Thrift Club in your class to see what
    and how much you can save?

    What might you do with the money?



[Illustration: FEED THE HUNGRY WORLD?]




When vacation time came, Richard went to visit his Uncle Dick on the

He fed the chickens regularly, and he drove the cows and sheep to
pasture. Indeed, he worked so hard and helped so much that his uncle
promised to pay him.

So one day Uncle Dick handed him a silver dollar. Richard was delighted
to think he had earned so much money. He put the dollar first into one
pocket, then into another. This seemed to amuse Uncle Dick.

“What are you going to do with your money?” he asked.

“I don’t know exactly,” Richard replied. “What would you do with it,

“I think that I should plant it,” said Uncle Dick.

“Plant it!” exclaimed Richard. “Why, will it grow?”

“Yes,” said Uncle Dick, “it will, if it is planted in the right place.”

Just then some one called him away, and he forgot about Richard and his

But Richard did not forget. The next morning bright and early, he was
out digging in the garden.

“What are you going to plant?” asked Uncle Dick when he saw him.

“My dollar,” answered Richard, pulling the money proudly out of his
pocket. Then seeing the smile in his uncle’s face he added, “You know
you said it would grow, uncle, if I planted it in the right place.
Isn’t this the right place?”

“Did you think I meant that pennies would grow on bushes?” said
Uncle Dick. “I didn’t mean that, boy. I’m going to drive over to
Bernardsville after breakfast. If you will go with me, I will show you
the right place to plant a dollar to make it grow.”

Richard hurried with his breakfast because he was greatly excited by
the thought of his ride.

As they drove toward the town, every now and then he put his hand in
his pocket to see if his dollar was safe.


Finally, they reached Bernardsville, and Uncle Dick drew up before a
large stone building. “This is a bank, a place where dollars grow,” he
explained. “Come inside with me and, if you wish, we will plant your

He led the way to a window over a high counter.

“How do you do, Mr. Cashier?” he said. “This young man is my nephew,
and he wishes to plant a dollar so that it may start to grow. Will you
please show him the right place to plant it?”

“Indeed I shall be glad to,” said the man behind the window. “If your
nephew will hand me his dollar, I will plant it for him.”

Richard gravely pulled the money from his pocket and handed it through
the window. The man gave him a card and asked him to write his name.

When Richard returned the card, Mr. Cashier took up a neat little book,
wrote Richard’s name on the cover and made a note inside the book,
which said that Richard had one dollar in the bank. Then he gave him
the book, together with a pretty nickel home-safe, such as savings
banks keep for children who save pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters,
and, sometimes, even dollars.

“This is a home-savings bank,” explained Mr. Cashier. “Your dollar
which you handed through the window will grow in two ways. We will make
it grow by paying you interest. You may make it grow by adding more
money to it. You take this little nickel safe, and put your pennies and
other money into it; when you come again to our bank, bring it with
you. See, here is the key I shall use for unlocking it. I will add what
is in it to the dollar you already have.”

“Don’t we get the key?” asked Richard in a whisper, as other people
came up to the window, and he and his uncle passed on.

“No,” answered his uncle. “If we had it, we might be tempted to open
the safe and use the money; then your dollar wouldn’t grow.”

“What did Mr. Cashier mean by saying, ‘we will make your money grow?’”
asked Richard when they were once more driving toward home.

“He meant that the bank people will pay you three cents for every
dollar you let them use for a year.”

“Isn’t that fine!” exclaimed Richard. Then he opened the box that held
his pretty home-safe.

“The next time we take this to bank,” he said, “when I shake it, it
will jingle.”

“I believe it will!” said Uncle Dick laughing; “and I believe it will
make your first dollar grow big.”

And it did; for Richard worked hard and saved almost all of his money.
When the cashier opened it with the key the next time Richard and Uncle
Dick went to the bank, even he seemed surprised as he counted the money.

“Well, young man,” he said, “I see you know one way to plant a dollar
and make it grow.”




The first dollar is the hardest to save, but not so hard as it seems.

If you save five cents a week you will have your first dollar in twenty

If you save ten cents a week you will have your first dollar in half
the time, or in ten weeks.

If you are able to save twenty-five cents a week you will have your
first dollar in one-fifth of the time, or in four weeks.

When you put this dollar in the savings bank you have started a bank
account, which is something to be proud of.

If you save regularly it will not be long before you have another
dollar to add to the one already in the bank.

Money is saved a little at a time.

A mile is walked one step at a time.

A house is built one brick at a time, one nail at a time.

If you save at the rate of five cents a week for a year, how much money
will you have in the bank?

If at the rate of ten cents a week for a year, how much will you have?

If at the rate of twenty-five cents a week for a year, how much?

Money in the bank keeps on growing because the bank adds interest for
the use of your money.

By and by, you will want a sum of money for some important thing. Then
you will be glad that you have a bank account to help you.

Why not begin saving for it today?



These tables show how money grows when placed at simple interest.


      | $1  | $2  | $3  | $4  | $5  | $6  | $7  | $8  | $9  | $10 | $100 | $1000
1 year| .03 | .06 | .09 | .12 | .15 | .18 | .21 | .24 | .27 | .30 | 3.00 | 30.00
6 mos | .01 | .03 | .04 | .06 | .07 | .09 | .10 | .12 | .13 | .15 | 1.50 | 15.00
3 mos | .00 | .01 | .02 | .03 | .03 | .04 | .05 | .06 | .06 | .07 |  .75 |  7.50


      | $1  | $2  | $3  | $4  | $5  | $6  | $7  | $8  | $9  | $10 | $100 | $1000
1 year| .05 | .10 | .15 | .20 | .25 | .30 | .35 | .40 | .45 | .50 | 5.00 | 50.00
6 mos.| .02 | .05 | .07 | .10 | .12 | .15 | .17 | .20 | .22 | .25 | 2.50 | 25.00
3 mos.| .01 | .02 | .03 | .05 | .06 | .07 | .08 | .10 | .11 | .12 | 1.25 | 12.50


    How much will $1.00 amount to in six months? In one year?

    How much will $10.00 amount to in six months? In one year?

[Illustration: SAVINGS BANK.]



THE HARE (_talking to his neighbors_): Ho, ho, here comes that
slow-poke, Mr. Tortoise! Look at him crawling along! Why, he doesn’t
move faster than a snail! I will wish him good day. (_He goes toward
the tortoise._) Good morning, Mr. Tortoise; you must be tired to travel
so slowly!

THE TORTOISE: Good morning, neighbor. No, I am not tired, and I do move
slowly; but if I keep on moving, I get where I am going.

THE HARE: Oh, you do, do you? Well, if I moved as slowly as you, I
wouldn’t try to get to many places, I am sure.

THE TORTOISE: Oh, I don’t know about that. I guess if we started out
for the same place, I would be there as soon as you.

THE HARE: What a joke! I’ll take that up! Will you race me to the river?


THE HARE: Are you in earnest! Come on; you will soon see my feet fly
when you race with me.

THE TORTOISE: Very well! I will start right away. (_He goes slowly on._)

THE HARE (_moving toward the neighbors_): Listen! Oh, such a joke! The
tortoise is going to race with me to the river.

NEIGHBORS: Oh, what fun! Let us be the judges. We will run over to the
river to mark a goal. (_They go._)

THE HARE (_yawning_): If it isn’t too funny to see the poor old
tortoise jogging along. It will not take me ten minutes to get to the
goal. I guess I will lie down and take a nap, for I am a little tired.
(_He lies down, stretches himself out, and goes to sleep._)

THE TORTOISE (_moving slowly_): Slow--and--steady--slow--and--steady.
One, two, three, four. It is hard work to race, but I will keep
on trying. I will keep on trying--just a little way at a time.

       *       *       *       *       *

THE HARE (_waking up and looking about him_): Why, I must have
overslept! Dear me, I don’t see the tortoise! Why, if that slow
fellow should win the race, I should be the laughing-stock of all the
neighbors. Maybe I should be written down in a fable! But pshaw! I
shall overtake him just around the turn.

THE TORTOISE (_crossing the goal_):

GROUP OF NEIGHBORS (_clapping their hands_): Slow and steady wins the
race. You win, Mr. Perseverance.

THE HARE (_bounding over the goal just a minute too late_): Oh, if I
had only kept on! If I only had not stopped for a nap! Did the tortoise

NEIGHBORS: Ha, ha, ha! just one minute too late! Mr. Tortoise wins!

(_The hare and the tortoise shake hands._)

THE HARE: You have taught me two lessons, Mr. Tortoise--never give up
trying; and, don’t be too sure. I congratulate you upon winning the

THE TORTOISE: Thank you. Sometimes plodders do come out ahead.

NEIGHBORS: “Perseverance wins success.”


    Why do you suppose the hare decided to take a little nap?

    Was it easy for the tortoise to get to the goal?

    Did you ever have something hard to do? Did you keep on until you

    In your class there are some children like the slow and steady
    tortoise, and some like the hare who think they can rest once in a

    Are you like either one?





Once upon a time there was a little girl, named Letty, who had a little
crippled sister.

Letty loved her little sister very dearly and wished that she might be

But her father and mother were so poor that they could not afford to
send for the great doctor who could make their little girl well.

So, during the summer vacation Letty worked for a neighbor and saved
all the money she earned. She hoped that if she kept every penny she
would soon have enough to pay the doctor for curing her sister. But
her little hoard grew very slowly, because, you see, she earned only
fifteen cents a week.

One day there was a heavy thunder storm; and when the storm was over,
a beautiful rainbow appeared in the sky. Letty stood on the neighbor’s
porch and watched the rainbow.

“I wonder what is at the end of the rainbow,” she said to herself; but
Mrs. Harrison--for that was the neighbor’s name--overheard her.

“Why,” she exclaimed, “don’t you know? There is a pot of gold at the
end of the rainbow. I have always heard that. If anyone takes it away,
another pot of gold comes in its place. But no one is permitted to take
more than one pot of gold.”

Letty said nothing, but she began to think very hard. “If I could find
that pot of gold,” she thought, “I could use it to have my little
sister cured.”

And then and there Letty decided to do a very daring thing. So, early
the next morning, just as soon as she could see, she got out of bed and
went noiselessly downstairs. She packed a lunch and started out to find
the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

She remembered quite well where the rainbow had seemed to end--in
the forest half way up the distant mountain. In the bright morning
sunlight, it appeared to be much nearer than it really was. She was
sure she could find the way.

After she had walked a long time, however, she came to a place that she
had never seen before.

It was a swampy, marshy meadow; and her feet sank deep into the miry
mud as she splashed along.

“Oh, dear!” she thought. “I almost wish I hadn’t come! I shall have to
turn back!”



Then suddenly, she thought of the little lame sister who could not run
and play.

“I will go on,” Letty said; “I must!”

Just then, she saw in front of her a grassy little island, or hummock,
quite large enough for her two feet. She managed to step on it;
and--what do you think? She saw before her a whole row of hummocks all
the way across the meadow!

“How nice that will be for any one else who looks for the end of the
rainbow,” thought little Letty, as she sat down on the last hummock to

The next minute, she heard a loud Hiss-s-s!

What do you suppose made that noise? Yes, a big black snake.

My, but Letty was afraid of snakes!

There it lay, all coiled up, not five feet from her.

“Oh, dear!” she thought, shuddering. “Oh, I must run back! I cannot go
on! Snakes are too dreadful!”

Then again she thought of her little sister.

“I must go on!” she whispered. “I cannot go back! I will run on with
all my might.”

So she ran on with all her might; and what do you think happened?

When she turned around to see if she was far enough away from the
snake, she saw, instead of the big black snake, a little curly-haired
dog where the snake had been!

He bounded up to her and barked Boof! Boof! in the friendliest kind of

“Dear little doggy!” exclaimed Letty, patting his head. “How do you do?
I believe you must be hungry! So am I. Let us eat breakfast.”

Boof! Boof! barked the little dog, as much as to say, “Thank you!”

“I haven’t very much,” said Letty, “but I will give you part of what I
have. We must save some for our supper, you know.”


They enjoyed their breakfast and started on again much refreshed.

Pretty soon they came to a place filled with thorny brambles. The
brambles tore Letty’s stockings and they scratched her legs and arms,
and they hurt her so very much that at last it seemed as though she
could go no farther.

“Oh, doggy,” she said with tears in her eyes, “I do believe we shall
have to go back!”

But once more came the thought of her little lame sister.

“We must go on!” she exclaimed. “I know what I can try! I will try to
cut the briers with the knife in our lunch box.”

And what do you think happened then? The little dog ran ahead, and the
brambles opened into a pathway before them. When Letty looked back, she
saw that they did not close again.

“I am so glad,” she thought, “for it will be easy for other people who
try to find the end of the rainbow, and it will be easy for us to come
back, too.”

After a while Letty and the little dog came to a deep dark river.

“Now,” sobbed Letty, “now, I am afraid we shall have to give up! Oh,
dear! Must I go back without the pot of gold for my poor little sister?”


Then she saw a log near the water’s edge.

“Oh, I know what I can do!” she whispered. “I can roll the log into
the water and paddle my way across with my feet! Little doggy can swim

So she rolled the log into the water and sat upon it; and what do you
think happened?

The little dog caught a branch of the log in his mouth and towed her
safely to the other side!

And when she looked back, what else do you think had happened?

There was a narrow bridge across the river!

After Letty and the little dog had rested a while, they went on their
way once more.

It was getting quite dark in the forest, and a heavy storm was

“Oh, little doggy, it is getting late,” said Letty; “and it is going to
rain. We must find shelter.”


Boof! barked the little dog, and ran to the mouth of a cave near by.

Letty was afraid to enter.

“It might be the den of a wolf!” she thought. “I wish I could see

“Come, little doggy,” she said, “let’s look in.” They peered into the
darkness and, suddenly, everything seemed light; for the little dog’s
eyes were so bright that they made the cave as light as a lamp would.

Letty had no sooner lain down on a pile of dry leaves in the corner of
the cave than she heard the growl of a wild animal.

My, she was frightened! She and the little dog ran to the mouth of the
cave, and they saw a big wolf not ten feet away.

And what do you think happened that time?

As soon as the little dog looked into the wolf’s eyes with his own
bright shining eyes the wolf was so scared that he ran away as fast as
he could scamper.

Then Letty and the little dog ate their supper and went to sleep.

Letty was dreaming of how lovely it would be to have her little sister
play with her like other children, when she was awakened by a sweet
voice. “Little Letty,” it said, “you have found the pot of gold at the
end of the rainbow!”

Letty sat up. There before her stood a beautiful lady.

“The pot of gold is in your own loving heart, dear child,” said the
lady. “I am the Lady of Golden Deeds. I have watched you all the way of
your journey, for I feared that you might stop trying; but when I saw
how you persevered, I went to your home and cured your little sister.”

Can you imagine how happy that made Letty?



At first she could scarcely speak, but after a moment, “Oh, thank you!
thank you!” she cried. “I want to go to her right away!”

“That you shall,” said the lady. “Just sit on the back of your little
dog and he will take you in five minutes.”

Then she lifted Letty on the back of the little dog, who trotted and
skipped out of the cave, through the woods, over the bridge, through
the bramble patch, over the hummocks, and up the roadway to Letty’s
home. And there Letty saw her little sister skipping toward them!
Jumping off the little dog’s back, she ran to meet her.

“Where have you been?” cried her little sister, hugging and kissing
her. “The most wonderful thing has happened! See, I can run and jump!”

“I know!” said Letty, laughing. “I know all about it, dear little
sister. I’ve just come from the end of the rainbow!”



    Little Letty had to be pretty brave to start out alone to find the
    end of the rainbow, didn’t she?

    Do you remember how many times she was discouraged?

    Each trouble seemed harder than the last, didn’t it?

    How many people were helped because she didn’t give up?

    Can you remember some time when you had to try and try again?

    Did you succeed at last? Tell about it.


  Let us then be up and doing,
    With a heart for any fate;
  Still achieving, still pursuing,
    Learn to labor and to wait.

       *       *       *       *       *

  “I would if I could,” though much it’s in use,
   Is but a mistaken and sluggish excuse;
   And many a person who could if he would,
   Is often heard saying, “I would if I could.”

       *       *       *       *       *

    If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

    He has not learned the lesson of life who does not every day
    surmount a fear.--_Emerson._



  A crow who with thirst was ’most ready to die,
  Looking upward in vain for clouds in the sky,
  In the road spied a pitcher. Said he, “Well, I think
  Perhaps in that jug is a very nice drink.”

  And there was; but he found the water so low
  His bill wouldn’t reach, though he stood on tip-toe;
  After stooping and straining and trying in vain,
  He stopped to consider the matter again.

  “Surely,” said he, “it is better by far
  To try my best to turn over that jar
  Than to stand here in torture just dying of thirst--
  If I don’t get a drink I am sure I shall burst!”

  His strength insufficient he found it, of course,
  To turn the jar over by using his force.
  Then wise Mr. Crow sat him down for to think;
  “I’ll _have_ to do something to get me a drink!”

  He suddenly started, exclaiming, “How queer
  It took me so long--the solution’s quite clear!”
  Then wise Mr. Crow, in the jar, one by one,
  Dropped stone after stone lying there in the sun.

  Slowly the water rose brimmingly high,
  And Mr. Crow drank till the pitcher was dry;
  Then preening himself, before going to sleep,
  He thought out some things which are surely quite deep.

  Said wise Mr. Crow, “Truly never Intention,
  But Need is the mother of every invention--
  And now I have lived to tell the queer tale,
  _Perseverance_ will win where force often will fail.”


    Our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising
    every time we fall.--_Emerson._

    My son, observe the postage stamp! Its usefulness depends upon its
    ability to stick to one thing until it gets there.--_Josh Billings._

    My idea is this: ever onward. If God had intended that man should
    go backward, he would have given him an eye in the back of his
    head.--_Victor Hugo._

    Diving and finding no pearls in the sea,
    Blame not the ocean: the fault is in thee.
                                --_Alice Cary._


  Drive the nail aright, boys;
    Hit it on the head;
  Strike with all your might, boys,
    Ere the time has fled.

  Lessons you’ve to learn, boys;
    Study with a will:
  They who reach the top, boys,
    First must climb the hill.

  Standing at the foot, boys,
    Gazing at the sky;
  How can you get up, boys,
    If you never try?

  Though you stumble oft, boys,
    Never be downcast;
  Try and try again, boys:
    You’ll succeed at last.

  Always persevere, boys,
    Though your task is hard;
  Toil and happy trust, boys,
    Bring their own reward.

  Never give it up, boys,
    Always say you’ll try;
  You will gain the top, boys,
    Surely, by and by.


  _Of all the beasts he learned, the language,
  Learned their names and all their secrets,
  How the beavers built their lodges,
  Where the squirrels hid their acorns,
  How the reindeer ran so swiftly,
  Why the rabbit was so timid,
  Talked with them whene’er he met them,
  Called them “Hiawatha’s Brothers.”_



There lived once in Arabia a horse so noted for its great beauty that
its fame spread throughout the country.

When the ruler of the country heard of this wonderful creature, he was
filled with a desire to possess him; so he sent for Hamidu, the owner
of the horse.

“I am told that you have the most beautiful horse in all Arabia,” he
said to Hamidu. “It is only fitting that he should belong to the ruler
of this country, which is the home of the most perfect horses in all
the world.”

Poor Hamidu cast himself at the ruler’s feet and spoke in trembling

“Great ruler,” he implored, “spare my horse to me. I love him better
than my life. I raised him from a baby. Never a day has passed since he
was born that I have not caressed him. He follows me about as would a
dog. At night I sleep beside him. He would grieve so that he would die
if we were separated; and so would Hamidu.”

This speech angered the ruler greatly, and calling some of his
soldiers, he ordered them to go with Hamidu to his home and return with
the horse to the palace.

It was a two days’ journey to Hamidu’s home. When the horse saw his
master coming, he broke his halter and ran to meet him with every sign
of deep affection.

The ruler’s soldiers admired the horse greatly, and bade Hamidu mount
him and ride back to the palace with them.

When they stopped for the night they bound Hamidu, hands and feet, and
laid him down on a hillock.

The horse they fastened securely to a tree. Then going to a spot a
short distance away, they lay down to sleep.

Hamidu lay still and helpless, watching the bright stars as they
blinked and twinkled overhead. He tried to loose the bonds that held
his hands, but they were too strong for him.

“Alas,” he thought, “not only shall I lose my beloved horse but also my
life, I fear.”

He could hear the heavy breathing of the sleeping soldiers. Everything
else was quiet.

Suddenly, his ear caught the sound of gentle footsteps.

“I could almost believe it to be my beloved Beauty,” he thought, “if
that were not impossible.”

But it was Beauty, whose soft nose came feeling over Hamidu! and it was
Beauty’s teeth which grasped his girdle and lifted him from the ground.

Swift as a deer, the horse bore Hamidu on and on back to his home.

There a friend loosed his bonds and gave him and the horse food and

Then Hamidu mounted Beauty and rode away, away, away into the distant
hills of another country. And never did the ruler’s men find either
Hamidu or the horse that gnawed loose his own fetters and saved his
master’s life.


    Have you ever seen a picture of an Arabian horse?

    Are they large?

    Why did the horse love his master so much?

[Illustration: BARRY



The Great St. Bernard is a famous mountain pass which crosses over the
Alps from Switzerland into Italy.

Away up on the highest point of the pass there stands a lonely dwelling
place. It is the hospice of St. Bernard.

A hospice, you must know, is a refuge for travelers on some difficult

The hospice of St. Bernard is kept by a company of monks, who live the
year round shut in by lofty mountains covered with snow.

In the winter season the good monks lead a very busy life, for then it
is that they go forth to seek and rescue travelers who have lost their
way in the terrible mountain snow storms.

Every year many lives are saved through their efforts.

I said that many lives are saved through the efforts of the good monks,
but they would tell you that but few lives would be saved were it not
for the help of their great noble dogs.

These dogs are specially trained to accompany the monks, or are sent
out alone to search for people in danger.

You have heard of St. Bernard dogs, haven’t you?

Barry was one of these dogs--a big, intelligent St. Bernard. He was so
big and so intelligent that he was often sent out alone on some errand
of mercy. Up to the time of this story Barry had saved forty lives.

One day, in a blinding snow storm, two travelers, who had lost their
way, were struggling to reach the hospice.

It was frightfully cold, and their strength was almost spent. At
length, one of the men took out his brandy flask.

The other, knowing the great risk his companion ran, begged him not to
drink, and urged him to put forth one more effort.

But the man would not listen. He continued to drink heavily and soon
fell exhausted in the snow.

His friend struggled on, and at last reached the hospice, where he told
the story of his lost fellow traveler.

At once the monks called Barry and sent him forth to find the man.

Through the heavy storm the great dog made his way to where the
traveler lay unconscious in the snow.

Barry pulled and pushed and tugged, and at last aroused him from his
drunken stupor.

The man, dazed by cold and drink, thought that a wild beast had fallen
upon him.

With his little remaining strength, he drew his knife from his pocket
and plunged it into Barry’s neck.

But the faithful dog, undaunted, kept at his task. Too late, the
traveler realized that he had been found by one of the St. Bernard dogs
which had been sent to rescue him.

He struggled to his feet. Half leaning on the dog, whose blood stained
every step of the way, he reached the door of the hospice.

On its threshold Barry fell exhausted. He had given his life in
fidelity to the trust reposed in him.

       *       *       *       *       *

Barry’s beautiful body was buried in a large cemetery in Paris; and
over it was placed a handsome monument. On the monument, in French, are
these words:

“He saved the lives of forty persons; he was killed by the forty-first.”


    Did you ever stop to think that in the great animal kingdom, with
    its thousands of creatures, just one, the dog, has left its kind
    and attached itself to man?

    More than that, have you realized that the dog has accepted man as
    a master, a being to serve, to love, to caress, to suffer for, and,
    if need be, to perish for?

    So whether this dog of yours is big or little, fat or lean; whether
    he looks like a majestic lion, or has a pug nose and curly tail--be
    kind to him--be just to him, and to every other dog.

    Doesn’t a dog when he buries his bone against a rainy day show more
    intelligence than some people?

    Did you ever think that a dog’s life is what his master makes it?

    Do you realize that many other dogs would be just as noble and
    brave as Barry, if they were trained, or had a chance to show their


“I will try to be kind to all living creatures, and will try to protect
them from cruel usage.”

This is the simple pledge taken by the more than three million members
of the many Bands of Mercy in the United States.

The object of the Band of Mercy is to awaken in the hearts of children
a feeling of kindness toward everything that lives.

The members promise to do all they can to relieve the suffering
around them, and to speak for the dumb animals that cannot speak for

There are no dues. The members choose their own name and elect their
own officers.[A]

Mr. George T. Angell, who was a great lover of animals, formed
the first American Bands of Mercy in 1882. Mr. Angell lived to be
eighty-six years old, and spent almost the whole of his long life in
working for the kind treatment of every living creature.


Well, the fact is that horses and dogs do not have any money. They are
poorer than the poorest boy or girl here today. No matter how hard they
work, they cannot buy an apple or a stick of candy, or even a lump of
sugar; and so, because they have no money, I have been in the habit for
a good many years of talking for them.

Ever since I was a boy, I have been very fond of dumb animals. As a
lad, I hardly ever went by a kind, good-looking horse or dog without
stopping to have a talk with him.

Boys who are taught to feed birds, and to pat the horses, and to speak
kindly to all lower creatures become a good deal better fellows.

One English school makes its boast that out of the seven thousand boys
whom it has sent out, all carefully taught to be kind to animals, not
one has ever been proved guilty of any crime. Through an inquiry made
a few years ago, it was found that only twelve out of two thousand
convicts in our prisons had ever had a pet animal in their childhood.

Daniel Webster, the great American statesman, loved cattle. When at
Marshfield, knowing that he was about to die, he requested that all his
cattle should be driven to his window that he might see them for the
last time; and as they came past his window one by one he called each
by name.

Walter von der Vogelweide, a great lyric poet of the Middle Ages, so
loved birds that he gave by his will a large sum of money to the monks
of Wurzburg, on condition that they should feed the birds every day on
the tombstone over his grave.

And so with our modern great men. We find President Lincoln protecting
the little wild birds and their nests. We find President Garfield
taking a poor half-starved, half-frozen dog from the streets of
Washington to his comfortable home.

General Porter says that he never saw General Grant really angry but
twice in his life--and one of those times was when he saw an army
teamster beating a poor horse. He ordered the teamster to be tied up
and severely punished.

The great Duke of Wellington, who won the battle of Waterloo, was so
kind to the lower creatures that he ordered that special protection be
given a toad in his garden.

It may be worth a thousand dollars to you some day, if you remember
what I am now going to tell you.

It is this: if the time ever comes when you feel as though you hadn’t
a friend in the world and wish that you were dead, go and get some pet
that you can talk to and love and care for--if it is only a little
bird. You will be astonished to find the relief and happiness it will
bring into your life.

                                          --_George T. Angell--Adapted._

       *       *       *       *       *

  Blessed are the merciful:
  For they shall obtain mercy.--_Bible._



He was a lonely looking little beggar with a wistful look in his eyes.
Shaggy-haired, with a limp in one leg, and the scars of many stones on
his small body, he was a miserable looking dog as he trotted down the
dusty road. His tongue lolled out and his sides heaved from panting.

But his rough looks hid a heart of gold. Any one could see that by
looking into his eyes, which were pleading and trustful.

But no one looked into his eyes; they looked only at his shaggy coat
and rough appearance, then shouted and threw stones and clubs at him.
The stones hurt cruelly, and it was a club that put the limp in his
leg, for he was a stray dog and unwelcome everywhere.

He was hungry for some one to love, to live for. His eyes told that
every time he met a stranger, or when, with drooping tail and with
fawning side-steps, he presented himself at some new farmhouse.

But rebuffs and kicks had brought a faint light of distrust and caution
to his eyes, and he began to crawl into the weeds along the roadside
when he saw any one approaching; and when he came to a farmhouse he
would stop at the gate, ready to run at the first hostile move.

Sometimes people set well-fed home dogs on him. When these were his
size, or smaller, he would back away with teeth half-bared defensively.
He made no move to fight. It was not in his nature to fight unless
he had some one to defend. When the dogs were larger than himself, he
would run as well as the limp in his leg would allow.

Twice he had been overtaken by dogs--huge, fierce fellows that mauled
him without mercy, while their owners encouraged them. But always they
had allowed the little dog to go with his life. Even dogs have codes of


It was just at sunset one evening when he limped into the yard where
little Nellie was playing. He gazed into her eyes with a pleading,
homesick look, and she smiled. Then she threw her arms around his neck
and caressed him tenderly. He fawned on her in a very ecstasy of joy,
and his scarred, thin little body wagged from end to end. And so the
pact was sealed. He was Nellie’s dog and she was his mistress.

There was just a trace of Airedale blood in his veins, and an Airedale
dog always selects some one person as the idol of his undying love and
faithfulness. Nellie was to him the one person in the world.


Nellie’s father was a big man, and abrupt. He became excited when he
saw her playing with the little dog, and dragged her away. He declared
that she might have been bitten by the cur.

In spite of the little girl’s protests, he kicked the dog from the yard
and stoned him, sending him, a whimpering, heart-broken little piece of
misery, limping down the road.

Nellie cried and declared that she had always wanted a doggy and that
no doggy but the little stray dog would do. But her father was firm;
he would have no stray dogs about the place; there was no telling what
the dog was, or had been--he might be dangerous; for the father had not
looked into the little dog’s eyes as had Nellie.

One day Nellie was taken sick. A raging fever colored her face and sent
her pulses bounding. For many anxious hours her tearful father watched
by her bedside. Then Nellie began calling for her “doggy.”

The doctor, who was already grave, became graver. He told the father
that if Nellie’s doggy was not found he feared that she might not get


A great pain came to the father’s heart, and his face twitched in
misery. He would have given all he possessed to have back the little
stray cur to save her--the little dog that he had stoned and sent
whimpering down the road.

Evening came. The doctor, who had been holding little Nellie’s wrist in
his hand, laid it very gently on the bed, a misty look in his eyes.

Suddenly he turned toward the door. There, just within the threshold,
with drooping tail and a loving, pleading look fastened on the little
figure in the bed, stood a stray dog.

The doctor looked into the little dog’s eyes, and understood. He knew
it was Nellie’s doggy. Swiftly he caught the dog up in his arms and
placed him on the bed.

With a glad cry little Nellie half-raised herself from her pillow, as
her hands found the dog’s shaggy hair and felt the warm touch of his
tongue. Then she lay back on her pillow, a new color in her cheeks and
a new light in her eyes. She breathed easily and sighed contentedly.
The doctor smiled tenderly and her father cried tears of joy.

The little dog curled himself against Nellie and licked her hand
lovingly, for of all the people in the world she alone was his
mistress, and neither kicks nor stones could keep him away.

                                                    --_Robert E. Hewes._

       *       *       *       *       *

  There is joy in caring
  For helpless little things.


If every rat costs the public one dollar per year, what do you suppose
a kitten is worth?

Cats are nature’s destroyers of rats. Rats devour much good food and
carry dreadful diseases.

No trap or poison bait can do pussy’s work, because rats are very wise
and cunning, and after a few are caught they avoid coming near a trap.
As for poisons, it isn’t very pleasant to have a poisoned rat die in or
near a house.

Rats have very large families and become great-grandfathers in a short
time; so you see the cats have plenty of work.

It is foolish to think, though, that cats can live upon mice and rats.
They need other food, and the better fed cats are generally the best

Cats are kept in large postoffices to protect the mail from the rats
and mice. They are so valuable for this purpose that Uncle Sam sets
money aside to be used in feeding them.

In a large city in China there is a law which says that in every house
one or more cats must be kept; for there the rats carry a dreadful
disease or plague, and the cats kill the rats.

                                                       --_H. H. Jacobs._

       *       *       *       *       *

The idea that cats should be poorly fed, in order that they may be good
mousers and ratters, is a very cruel and ignorant one. A cat catches
rats and mice because instinct tells him to do so, and he will do his
work better if strong and well fed.

                                                 --_Mary Craige Yarrow._



At the burning of an apartment house in Kansas City, early one morning,
the firemen and onlookers were astonished to see a cat leap in at the
door, though she must pass through fire and water to enter.

Some one called out, “Look at that cat--she must have gone crazy.”

While they watched she returned, bringing a kitten held up as high as
she could lift it by throwing back her head.

She hurried through the crowd, and after a few moments again appeared,
and dashed once more into the flames. Soon the brave creature came
back with another kitten in her mouth. By this time the people were
watching to see what she would do next, for she was giving a wonderful
exhibition of mother love.

When she tried to enter once more there were many cries of “Stop
her--don’t let her go in--it’s sure death!” But she would not be
stopped; she slipped through the crowd and went in again.

The firemen turned their attention now almost wholly to the part of
the building where she was; but the walls fell, and the noble little
self-forgetting mother was buried beneath them.

A search was made for her kittens; they were found in a place of
safety. There were four of them.

The janitor of the building remembered that there had been five. How
well the mother cat knew the number! and how bravely she had saved
them--all but one! Do you suppose she was with it, to cover it and
guard it to the last moment?

The motherless kittens were taken to the central fire station and
tenderly cared for. The firemen had been very eager to own an Angora
kitten; but when one was offered to them, they decided not to take it.

“It might put these little chaps out if we brought in another cat,”
they said; “and we feel that we ought to take care of them--for their
mother’s sake, you know.”

The little mother had been lifted up to a place of honor with these
men, who knew so well how to value true courage.

                                                       --_H. H. Jacobs._

       *       *       *       *       *

  How far that little candle throws his beams!
  So shines a good deed in a naughty world.


    Is the cat ever a brave animal?

    Do animals know when people are kind? How can you be kind to cats?

    Have cats any value?

    How does it help birds for you to feed cats?

    If you cannot find a home for a stray cat, what should you do?

    Do you know where the S. P. C. A. office is?

    If you were a cat would you like to be left to starve when the
    family moved away?

    How do you suppose a mother who loses all her children feels?

    How do you suppose a mother dog who loses all her puppies feels? A
    mother cat who loses all her kittens?

    Wouldn’t it be better to keep one?

       *       *       *       *       *

  Oh, how dare we ask a just God to bestow
  The mercy we grant not to creatures below!



Henry D. Thoreau, a famous man who lived for some time in a little
cabin in the woods near Concord, Massachusetts, was noted for his
kindness to all God’s harmless creatures.

It is said that even the fishes came into his hand when he dipped it
into the stream.

The little mice would come and playfully eat from his fingers, and the
very moles paid him friendly visits.

Sparrows alighted on his shoulders when he called them; phœbe birds
built their nests in his shed; and the wild partridge with her brood,
came and fed quietly beneath his window, as he sat and looked at them.

After he had been two or three months in the woods the wild birds
ceased to be afraid of him, and would come and perch on his shoulder,
and sometimes on his spade when he was digging.

                                                   --_George T. Angell._


    Did you ever see a buffalo in the park?

    Do you know that there are only a few of them in this country
    because years ago people hunted them for sport, and killed them by

    Do you know that there is danger that the wild duck, reindeer, and
    mountain sheep will disappear in the same way?

    Do you think it is a fair game to hunt animals with a gun? Can they
    take their part?

    Don’t you think that boys and girls who live a hundred years from
    now will be glad if we all try to protect our wild animals?

    Will you bring some of your favorite pictures of animals to school?


“Three balls for five cents, Mister. Have a shot at the monk.”

Young Mr. Williams wondered what the man meant as he held out three
hard balls painted in bright colors. Mr. Williams had gone to Woodlyn
Park with his little niece and nephew for an afternoon of pleasure.

“Oh, look, uncle!” cried the little boy; “don’t you see the monkey?
There! see his face through the hole in that sheet? The men throw the
balls at him.”

Mr. Williams did, indeed, see Pedro’s poor little scared face. Just as
he caught sight of it, bang! a man threw a ball that hit the monkey on
the head.

“Oh, I am afraid they will kill the poor little monkey,” cried the
little girl. “Can’t we make them stop, uncle?”

“There isn’t much use in talking to these men,” said Mr. Williams. “The
best thing to do is to notify the ‘cruelty lady.’ We will do that as
soon as we get home; shall we?”

“Oh, yes, indeed,” cried the children. “Let us go right away.”

The “cruelty lady” started immediately for the park. When she saw how
the little monkey was being abused, she had the two men who owned him
arrested. Although they were very angry, she was not afraid of them.

The poor monkey was taken away from his cruel masters and carried to
the home of a good woman, who cared for the sick little animal.

For days Pedro lay exhausted in the nice soft bed she made for him.

She bathed the many, many bruises on his poor little body, and fed him
good wholesome food.

In about ten days, Pedro began to feel better, and showed how much
he appreciated the kindness of his new mistress by following her
everywhere he could.

He got into mischief, too, by trying to do everything he saw people do.
One day, when his mistress had stepped out into the garden, he turned
the key on the inside of the door, and locked her out.

It was a good thing that one of the second-story windows was open, so
that a young man could climb up and get inside and unlock the door.

The last time I heard of Pedro, he was living happily with other
monkeys in the Zoological Garden.

       *       *       *       *       *

  Let us speak for those
  That cannot speak for themselves.

       *       *       *       *       *

Even the smallest kind act is never lost. It isn’t always the size of
the good deed that counts.




They can speak pleasantly to boys or men who are whipping their horses
and ask them to stop.

They can ask men and boys to blanket their horses in cold weather, to
put them in the shade in warm weather, and to loosen the tight check

They can keep fresh water where their own horses, dogs, cats, and hens
can get it, not once, but at any time during the day or night.

They can feed their dog or cat morning and night, remembering that all
animals and fowls have as good appetites and suffer as much when hungry
and thirsty as boys and girls do.

They can see that all their animals are made comfortable at night and
never turned out in the cold.

They can feed homeless dogs and cats and try to find shelter for them.
They can be careful never to lose a pet animal, or to leave one behind
if they move away, unless they have arranged for some one to take care
of it.

Every kind act that children do, not only makes the world better, but
helps to make them better and happier men and women.

                                     --_Animal Rescue League of Boston._


  Up the hill whip me not,
  Down the hill hurry me not,
  In the stable forget me not,
  Of hay and grain rob me not,
  Of clean water stint me not,
  With sponge and brush neglect me not,
  Of soft, dry bed deprive me not,
  When sick or cold chill me not,
  With bit or rein jerk me not,
  And, when angry, strike me not.

[Illustration: PLEASE BE KIND TO US



If a horse could talk, he would have many things to say, especially
when winter comes.

He would tell his driver how a frosty bit stings and sears his lips and
tongue when it is thrust into his mouth without first being warmed.

He would tell how it feels to have nothing but ice-cold water to drink,
when he is already shivering from the cold.

He would tell of the bitter winds that frost his sides when he halts,
steaming from exertion, and is tied for hours in an exposed place
without a blanket.

He would talk of slippery streets, and the fear of falling on cruel
city paving-stones. He would tell of the bruised knees and wrenched
joints, the tightened straps and the pain of the driver’s lash, and the
horrible fright of it all.

Yes, the horse would say a good many things if he had the power of
speech. And having horse-sense, he would urge his driver to “play
fair,” not merely for the sake of kindness, but for the sake of keeping
a faithful servant in good condition.

                              --_The American Humane Education Society._


  They are slaves who fear to speak
  For the helpless and the weak;
  They are slaves who dare not be
  In the right with two or three.

[Illustration: BE KIND TO ANIMALS

_Sketched from the seal of the Massachusetts S. P. C. A._]


There was a big team, a mighty load, and a long hill, and we watched to
see what the driver would do.

He was brawny and strong, and he had a kind face. He did not use the
whip. He talked to his horses in a friendly way. He said: “Come on,
Jim,” and “Hi, there, Bill,” and when he reached a steep place he
jumped off the load and walked. Once he put on the brake and gave the
panting animals a much-needed rest. At the top of the hill he patted
the noses of his faithful friends, allowed them to breathe a bit, and
then the big load moved along as easily as you please.



The only charm I use, boys, is the Golden Rule. Treat a horse as you
would like to be treated yourself. There is never any need for any one
to beat or abuse a horse, for there is no creature living more faithful
and loving, if you are only kind and patient with him. Teach him to
love and have confidence in you, and give him time to find out what you
want, then he will serve you not only willingly but gladly and proudly.
The best charm any man can use with a horse is kindness. Be kind,
gentle, and considerate, and you will soon win his confidence and can
do anything you like with him.

                                                          --_Uncle Dan._



To you, My Master, I offer my prayer: Feed, water, and care for me,
and, when the day’s work is done, provide me with shelter, a clean, dry
bed, and a stall wide enough for me to lie down in comfort.

Always be kind to me. Talk to me. Your voice often means as much to me
as do the reins. Pet me sometimes, that I may serve you the more gladly
and learn to love you.

Do not jerk the reins, and do not whip me when going up hill. Never
strike, beat, or kick me when I do not understand what you want, but
give me a chance to understand you.

Watch me, and if I fail to do your bidding, see if something is not
wrong with my harness or my feet.

Do not check me so that I cannot have the free use of my head. If you
insist that I wear blinders, so that I cannot see behind me as it was
intended that I should, I pray you be careful that the blinders stand
well out from my eyes.

Do not overload me, or hitch me where water will drip on me. Keep me
well shod.

Examine my teeth when I do not eat; I may have an ulcerated tooth, and
that, you know, is very painful.

Do not tie my head in an unnatural position, or take away my best
defense against flies and mosquitoes by cutting off my tail.

I cannot tell you when I am thirsty, so give me clean cool water often.
I cannot tell you in words when I am sick, so watch me, that by signs
you may know my condition.

Give me all possible shelter from the hot sun, and put a blanket on me,
not when I am working, but when I am standing in the cold. Never put a
frosty bit in my mouth; first warm it by holding it a moment in your

I try to carry you and your burdens without a murmur, and wait
patiently for you during long hours of the day and night. Without
the power to choose my shoes or path, I sometimes fall on the hard
pavements, and I must be ready at any moment to lose my life in your

And finally, O My Master, when my useful strength is gone, do not turn
me out to starve or freeze, or sell me to some cruel owner, to be
slowly tortured and starved to death; but take my life in the kindest
way, and your God will reward you here and hereafter. Amen.

                                  --_Issued by the Ohio Humane Society._




    What animal has been one of mankind’s most faithful servants and
    one of his very best friends?

    Can you explain the difference between the work horse, the saddle
    horse, the race horse, the fire horse?

    Should we have as fine a city if there had never been any horses?

    Can you think of some ways of repaying horses for the work they do
    for us?

    When you grow old, how do you want to be treated, especially if you
    have worked hard all your life?

    How do you think old horses should be treated?

    Did you ever have a hard fall on the ice?

    How did you walk afterward?

    Could you have walked carefully if you had been going down hill
    holding back a heavy load?

    How can we help horses in slippery weather?

    How can we help them up when they fall?

    Why is it harder to _start_ to move a load than it is to keep it
    moving after it is started?

    Do you know that many horses are made blind by being over-driven?

    Tell a story showing how intelligent horses are.

    Have you ever seen the non-slip chains which drivers can put on
    horses’ feet to keep them from slipping?

    Have you ever read “Black Beauty,” or “Beautiful Joe,” or “Our
    Goldmine at Hollyhurst,” or “The Strike at Shane’s”?


    What are the names of some of the great societies founded to
    protect animals?

    How can children help in such work?

    Do children who are kind to animals turn out better than those who
    are cruel to them? Why?

    If you had your choice as to what animal you would be, would you
    choose to be a horse?

    Does it make any difference to you whether any one else is cold and
    hungry and tired and suffering? Whether an animal is suffering?

    Will you tell your teacher the next time you help some animal?

    Tell some of the things you think a horse would say if he could
    talk. A dog. A cat. A monkey. A bird.

    Where does a horse get his strength? Should he not be well fed?

       *       *       *       *       *

Children should never feel that their hands are too small and weak to
help toward making the world a happier place for all to live in, for
the world needs their work quite as much as it does that of the older

                                                       --_M. C. Yarrow._

[Illustration: A BIRD VILLAGE]



“Just listen, Mary Frances!” said Billy, pulling a paper out of his

“‘One robin has been known to feed his family five yards of worms a day.

“‘A chickadee will dispose of 5,500 eggs of the canker-worm moth in one

“‘A flicker eats no less than 9,000 ants a day.

“‘A pair of wrens have been seen to carry one hundred insects to their
young in an hour. They are especially fond of plant-lice and cutworms.

“‘Little humming-birds lick plant-lice off foliage with lightning

“‘The yellow-billed cuckoo eats hundreds of tent caterpillars in a day.

“‘Seed-eating birds destroy millions of seeds of troublesome
weeds--actually eating hundreds of tons of seeds.’

“How do people know what the different birds eat?” asked Mary Frances.
“Did some one watch to see what each different bird took for a meal?”

“No;” Billy referred to his clipping. “Scientists have examined the
contents of the stomachs of the birds, and have learned what food each
kind of bird uses. There was a time when people imagined that robins
stole so many cherries and berries that it was a good deed to kill
them. Now they have found that they destroy so many injurious insects
that they do not begrudge them a few cherries. Besides, if mulberry
trees are planted nearby they will prefer their fruit to the cherries.”

“Oh, Billy,” cried Mary Frances, “isn’t it wonderful! Not only do
birds help us by destroying harmful insects and seeds, but they help
us by their beauty. I believe they are the most beautiful of living
things! They could have helped us just as much and have been as ugly

“Yes,” replied Billy, “I believe that is so; but it takes a girl to
think such things out. The strangest thing to me, however, is that
without birds we should die of starvation. This paper says that if the
birds disappeared entirely, agriculture and farming would be impossible
within a few years.”


“Bees and birds,” said Mary Frances softly, “keep us from starving. How
wonderful it all seems. Why, Billy, it must have all been planned out
when God made the world!”

“I have thought of that myself, Mary Frances,” said Billy; “it’s one of
those thoughts a fellow doesn’t often speak out loud. I don’t know why.”

“Everybody ought to take care of birds,” went on Mary Frances. “Surely
the reason they don’t is because they do not understand how wonderfully
they help us. Birds and bees keep us from starving. Oh, Billy, let’s
have lots of birds in our garden!”

“Why, how?” asked Billy. “Perhaps we could put food out for them.”

“Yes, but I wasn’t thinking of that. I thought maybe we could put
houses where they would build their nests.”

“Of course,” replied Billy; “and we could keep a small bathtub full of
water for them.”

“What fun!” cried Mary Frances. “Billy, do you know how to build the
right kind of houses for each different kind of bird?”

“No, I do not,” answered Billy; “I know of only a few. They are the
ones our manual training teacher showed us. I have some pictures right
here in my book. It’s queer I didn’t think of them!”

“Let me see them,” cried Mary Frances. “Oh, will you make some later

“I am to make them in school next term,” explained Billy. “Let me show
you these pictures.”


Robin Redbreast will not live in an enclosed house, but desires merely
a shelter where the family can have plenty of fresh air.

“I believe in living out-of-doors,” says Mrs. Robin Redbreast, “and I
shall not keep my children indoors, no matter how sanitary the house
may be. They shall be educated in the open air. There is as much to be
learned outdoors as indoors.”



Jenny Wren and her husband like a little perch to rest upon before
entering their home. In order to keep the English sparrow from being
inquisitive and troublesome, make the entrance only one inch across so
that Mr. and Mrs. Sparrow cannot enter.

“Sparrows are not a bit nice neighbors,” fusses gentle Jenny Wren.
“They pick a quarrel over nothing, then peck our family to pieces if
they can.”


Do not charge Mr. and Mrs. Martin for lodgings. Instead, be thankful
that they bring their friends and relatives with them, for martins come
in companies and love to linger where invited. They destroy millions of



These heavenly bluebirds, with pinkish plumage on their breasts, add
great beauty to our home gardens; and fortunate is the owner of the
bird house which they select “rent free.” They are terribly afraid of
English sparrows, or more of them would live in the houses around about
the home garden. Bluebirds eat up whole families of garden pests at a

                                  --_From The Mary Frances Garden Book._


    Have you ever built a bird house?

    Do you know that if you place a basin upside down on the post
    before putting the house on, cats cannot climb over it?

    Will you keep an account of the birds you see every day?

    Why are birds necessary to man?

    Name some of the most useful birds?

    How can we help birds?

    Why is it not right to cage wild birds?

    Why do many birds fly south in the fall?

    Will you bring some pictures of birds to put on a chart?

    If you build a bird house, will you bring it for the class to see?

       *       *       *       *       *

The birds of one of our large cities are being provided with homes by
the pupils of the city’s public schools. These homes are bird houses,
made by the children in the manual training classes.

The president of the city’s Humane Society offers a prize every spring
to the child who first has a bird tenant in the houses newly set out.
The prize is a book about birds and their habits.

You can imagine how eagerly the boys and girls watch the houses to be
sure of noting the exact time when a bird family moves in.

                                            --_National Humane Journal._



Many years ago there lived in the city of Rome a rich man who owned a
great number of slaves.

One slave, named Androclus, grew very weary of the hard work he was
forced to do, and upon a dark night ran away from his home.

At first he did not know where to go, but ran blindly through the
streets until at length, when almost breathless, he found himself
outside of the city.

There he could travel more slowly; but he must, nevertheless, go
steadily on or he would be caught and fed to the lions. For this was
the law; a runaway slave was cast into the arena into which hungry
lions were driven.

Poor Androclus was very much frightened as he went on his way thinking
how dreadful it would be if he were found.

Just as the morning light broke gently over the hills, he came to the
edge of a thick woods.

“This is the very place to hide,” he thought; and plunged into the
dense thickets.

On and on he stumbled; on and on, even though he was so tired and
thirsty that he feared he would faint.

At last, just when he thought he could not take another step, he heard
the sound of running water, and in a minute or two, he came to a
beautiful little brook.

By its side he knelt and drank; but although the cool water refreshed
him, he found that he had not strength to go on.

“What shall I do?” he wondered.

Then he saw the mouth of a cave not far away.

“I will crawl into that cave and rest,” he thought.

It was very comfortable in the cave, for there was a bed of loose
leaves on which to lie.

So Androclus lay down and was soon fast asleep.


Suddenly he was awakened by the deep roar of a lion! Nearer and nearer
it came--nearer and nearer!

Androclus, terribly frightened, drew back as far as he could into the
darkest corner of the cave, hoping that the lion would not see him; but
on it came right into the cave!

Then Androclus saw that the lion was lame. It held up its front paw
very much as a kitten might have done had its paw been sore.

Androclus took courage.

He crept softly toward the great beast, which, seeming to know that the
man could help him, allowed him to take hold of his paw.

It required but a moment for Androclus to pull out the large thorn
which was causing the pain.

The lion was so pleased that he rubbed his head against the man’s
shoulder, and purred loudly.

After that, Androclus was never afraid of the lion; and the lion to
show his gratitude shared his food with him. In this way these strange
companions came to live together in the cave.

One day when the slave was walking in the forest, some soldiers spied
him. They knew that he must have escaped from his master, so they
bound him and took him back to Rome.

Poor Androclus knew that the thing which he had so dreaded was about to
happen. He would be fed to the hungry lions.


The day came. Great crowds of people had gathered, as people gather
nowadays to see a ball game.

Androclus, weak with fear, was pushed into the arena. He could hear the
roar of the hungry lion as it came tearing from its cell.

Right toward Androclus rushed the great beast; the people expected to
see the slave torn into pieces. Imagine their surprise when the lion
suddenly stood still, and Androclus sprang toward him with a cry of
joy; for it was his friend, the lion of the forest!


And the lion was just as glad as Androclus. He acted like a big pleased
kitten, purring and licking Androclus’s hands and feet lovingly.

The people wanted to know how such a strange thing could happen; and
Androclus, with his hand on the head of his pet, told about his flight;
about the lion’s hurt paw; about their life together in the cave; and
about the lion’s sharing his food with him.

Before he was through many voices cried, “Let them live! Let Androclus
and his lion live!” And they were both given their freedom.

For many years, Androclus and his pet were one of the most interesting
sights in the great city of Rome.

                                                        --_An Old Tale._


  Black Beauty                    Anna Sewell.
  Our Gold Mine at Hollyhurst }
  Beautiful Joe               }   American Humane Education Society,
  Lessons about Animals       }        Boston, Mass.
  The Strike at Shane’s           A Prize Story of Indiana.
  For Pity’s Sake                 Dedicated to my Horse, my Dog, my Cat.
                                     --Sarah Nelson Carter.
  Our Dumb Animals (Magazine)     Norwood, Mass.
  Mary Frances Garden Book        Jane Eayre Fryer.
  Concerning Cats                 Helen Winslow.
  Dogs of All Nations             Conrad J. Miller.
  Stories of Brave Dogs           M. H. Carter.
  The Bell of Atri                Henry W. Longfellow.



The Policeman. The Fireman. The Postman. The Street Cleaner. The
Garbage Collector. The Ash and Rubbish Collector.

[Illustration: POLICEMAN’S MOTTO



    To carry out the will of the people as expressed in law is one
    duty of the police; to protect the city from crooks and thieves is
    another duty; to shelter refugees and give them food and clothing
    in times of great emergency is a third duty.

    “A competent policeman to-day should be sanitary officer, guide,
    counsellor, thief-catcher, peace-officer and soldier, all rolled
    into one.”--_Arthur Woods._

Could we do without these splendid public servants one day?


This story began at a big public-school crossing on one of the busy
avenues of upper New York.

School had just been dismissed and the children were flocking to the

Patrolman Smith of the mounted police was on duty at the crossing,
seeing his charges safely across the street.

His horse, Bob, stood saddled at the curb. Bob kept one eye on his
master, and one on the children who stopped to pat his nose. Both Bob
and his master were great favorites with this school.

“Hurry now, you youngsters; move along there, or you’ll be run over,”
ordered Patrolman Smith.

He pretended to be angry, but he wasn’t, not while he smiled so

Suddenly, people were heard shouting a block away. Patrolman Smith saw
a runaway horse coming down the avenue, directly upon his flock.

Quickly he got the children to the safety of the sidewalk, just as the
horse, attached to a light delivery wagon, dashed madly by.

The next moment, he jumped on Bob’s back and started in pursuit of the
runaway horse.

The light wagon bounded over the roadway and swayed from side to
side, almost turning over. People lined the sidewalks and shouted
encouragement to the pursuer.

Slowly the police horse gained. Bob had pursued runaways before and
knew his business. After a chase of three blocks he was almost
alongside. Then something happened.

An automobile, running out of a cross street, struck Bob full in the
side and nearly knocked him over. As it was, Officer Smith was thrown
to the roadway, fracturing his skull.


Bob was not frightened; he was a police horse. Quietly he took his
place by his fallen master and waited.

In spite of his injury, Patrolman Smith quickly remounted and again
took up the pursuit. With the aid of another officer he soon stopped
the runaway. Then almost before he knew what had happened, he slipped
unconscious off Bob’s back into the street.

The other officer took charge of the runaway horse, which was covered
with foam and trembling with fright.

Still another officer who came up took care of Bob and saw that he was
safely returned to his station.

An ambulance drove up and carried the unconscious Patrolman Smith to
the hospital. He was found to be severely injured and had to undergo a
serious operation.

On recovering consciousness, as he lay on the hospital cot, his first
question was, “Did we get that runaway?”

What do you suppose his second question was?

“Is Bob all right?”

When the nurse answered “yes” to both his questions, he went to sleep
again satisfied. He had performed his duty.

His head proved to be so badly hurt that the doctors had to patch it,
using for this purpose a little plate of silver.

The thing that pleased him most while he was getting well was the big
bouquet of flowers that came from his school.

Some weeks later, the brave officer was discharged from the hospital,
cured. One day, to the children’s delight, he appeared again on duty at
the crossing.

It was the same Patrolman Smith, spick and span, but thinner and paler.
He had lost his sunburn in the hospital.

“Tell us all about everything,” the children cried, crowding around him.

“Take off your cap, please,” said one little fellow, who wanted to see
the silver plate the doctors had put in the top of his head.

“Aw, run along now; don’t bother me,” he replied, with a broad smile of

His injury was such as might occur to any policeman in his daily work
of protecting the people of the city. To him his act of bravery seemed
nothing. He had only done his duty as an officer. But the boys and
girls knew that their crossing policeman was a hero.


  Who guards every home at night,
    And watches out for danger?
  Who forbids rough men to fight,
    And helps the anxious stranger?
                    Our policeman.

  Who turns in the fire alarm
    Soon as the fire is sighted?
  Sees that no one comes to harm,
    And many wrongs are righted?
                    Our policeman.

  Who patrols his daily beat,
    Our friend so true and steady?
  Guards the children on the street,
    A soldier ever ready?
                    Our policeman.
                                  --_J. E. F._


    The policeman protects our homes from danger. He is a soldier of
    peace, a home-guard, always on duty day and night to guard the
    peace and safety of the families in his care. He often risks his
    life, and sometimes loses it, in performing his duty.

    The policeman protects our property. He acts as watchman for the
    houses and stores on his beat, whether the people are at home or
    away. Careless people often leave doors and windows unfastened.
    The officer discovers them and protects the tenants from their own

    If a fire breaks out, the policeman turns in an alarm. If a robbery
    is committed, he catches the thief and locks him up in the police

    The policeman preserves order and prevents crime. If people quarrel
    on the street, disturb the peace, or commit other crimes, he
    interferes and arrests the guilty persons when necessary.

    The policeman prevents accidents from fallen wires, holes in the
    street and pavement, broken store windows, runaways, and other

    The policeman regulates traffic at street corners and busy
    crossings. He protects foot-passengers from horses, automobiles,
    and street-cars. He sees timid people and children safely across
    the street, and gives information to strangers who are not familiar
    with the city.

    The policeman renders first-aid.

    If any one is sick or injured on the streets, he calls the
    ambulance, sends for the doctor, and renders first-aid himself
    until help arrives. When children or older people are lost or
    missing, it is the policeman’s duty to help find them.

    Any person in trouble on the street will find a friendly helper in
    the nearest policeman. His duty is to guard the safety and comfort
    of all the citizens of his city, to protect them and their homes
    at all times, so that they can be free to go about their business
    without fear of harm.


We should treat him with the respect due to an officer. When speaking
to him, we should always address him in a courteous manner as “Mr.
Officer,” or “Mr. Policeman.”

We should obey his directions when on the street and at the crossings.
These are given for our safety, and not because he likes to order us

We should notify him at once in case of theft, fire, or danger of any
kind. If we cannot find the officer on the beat at once, we should
notify the police station. If we do this by telephone, we should call
the operator and ask for “Police.”

We should regard the policeman as a friend, and be ready to aid him at
all times in the performance of his duty.


Can you tell a story about the lost child?]

[Illustration: FIREMAN’S MOTTO




1. In case of fire:

    Protect life and property.

    Make speedy rescues and convey persons to places of safety.

    Extinguish fires and prevent their spreading to other property.

2. When buildings collapse:

    Rescue persons and recover bodies.

    Clear away débris and remove weak and dangerous parts of buildings.





Jack Hillman was a newspaper carrier before breakfast, a school-boy
after breakfast, and his mother’s right-hand man generally.

On the morning of this story, Jack had finished his newspaper
route--all but three papers. It was about six o’clock and daylight was
just breaking through the dampness and fog. The place was a quiet back
street of three-story houses.

As Jack passed the third house from the end of the row, he happened
to glance at the cellar window. A thin wisp of smoke-like vapor was
slipping out between the sash and the frame of the window.

“It must be fog or steam,” thought Jack to himself.

He watched it a moment, and then ran to the window. It came out in a
thicker volume. Quickly he stooped down and put his nose into it.

“It’s smoke! It’s smoke!” he cried, and peered in. The whole cellar was
full of smoke.

Jack looked up and down the quiet street. No one was in sight.
Something must be done quickly. He ran up the steps of the house,
pounded on the door with his fist and pushed the bell button; but no
one answered.

Then he ran down the middle of the street and began to cry:


By this time the smoke was pouring out of the cellar window thicker
than ever.

A man put his head out of a door half way up the block. Jack ran to him
and pointed back to the smoke.

Just then he remembered the red fire-alarm box on the next corner. In
his excitement he did not think about telephoning.

“You get the people up!” cried Jack to the man. “I’ll turn in the
alarm!” And he ran as he had never run before.

It seemed miles to the alarm box; but, as a matter of fact, he was not
more than two minutes in reaching it.

Jack had never turned in an alarm, but he had often read the directions
beside the little square of glass on the red alarm box


  To give alarm
  break glass
  open door
  pull hook down once
  and let go.]

Jack looked about for a stone to break the glass; but there was no
loose stone in that smooth-paved street.

Using his elbow for a hammer, as he had often done before, he struck
the glass a sharp blow.

Crash went the thin glass to the pavement, and the little handle was in
reach. Grasping it firmly, Jack turned it to the right and the red door
flew open. Inside he saw a long curved slot and a knob or hook at the
top of it, and the directions:

“Pull the hook all the way down and let go.”

For a moment Jack was frightened. Perhaps there wasn’t any fire after
all, and to turn in a false alarm was against the law. Hesitating, he
looked about for help; but the street was empty.

“But the house is on fire; I saw it; I know it,” he said to himself.

Trembling with excitement, Jack pulled the hook to the bottom of the
slot and let go:

Instantly the bell began to ring: Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling-a-ling!
Hurrah--the alarm was in!

Again, Jack looked up and down the street. To his relief, he saw his
friend the policeman on the beat, about a block away, hurrying towards

Quickly Jack told his story. “Good work, Jack, good work! You stay
right here and direct the firemen where to go;” and the policeman
vanished around the corner on a run to the fire.

Still the bell in the box was ringing merrily, but no firemen were to
be seen. “Will they never come?” thought Jack. It seemed hours to wait.
Clang! clang! a little red automobile came dashing down the street. As
a matter of fact, it was just three minutes since Jack had “pulled the

Jack knew the man in the car--one of his heroes, the battalion chief.
Right behind came engine number 29, smoking and puffing, and hosecart
number 21, and ladder-truck number 12, crowded with men. The clanging
gongs echoing through the quiet street sounded like sweet music to the
anxious boy.

“Right around the corner, Seventh and Poplar!” shouted Jack, pointing
the way and not waiting for the question.

“Seventh and Poplar! Seventh and Poplar!” he cried, as they dashed by;
and then, his duty done, he ran after them.



When Jack arrived, breathless and panting right after the firemen, he
saw that the fire was spreading so rapidly that the whole house was in
danger. The cellar was blazing and smoke was pouring out of the first
and second story windows.

On the order to “search the house,” three firemen broke the door open
and rushed in to search for the occupants and bring them to safety. As
they entered, a thick volume of smoke came pouring out.

Already the hosemen were shooting great streams of water into the
cellar. The chief in command was giving his orders in a quick, cool
voice, the men obeying them almost before they were issued. There was
no confusion; every man knew exactly what to do and did it.

“Is there anybody in the house?” inquired Jack eagerly of the man who
lived half way up the block.

“I hardly think so; I pounded the door and shouted with all my might
until the firemen came, but could not make anybody hear. Nobody seems
to know whether the family is home or not,” he replied.

Just then the chief cried, “Look out! here comes Jim!” Through the
flames and the stream of water one of the firemen dashed out, his
clothing afire with sparks, and his coat tightly wrapped over something
in his arms. He would have fallen had not the chief caught him.

Quickly the men smothered the fire on his clothing. Then he opened his
coat. Inside was a plump baby, safe and clean in its little nightgown,
just as it came out of its crib.

How the crowd cheered when they saw it! A woman broke through the fire
lines. The brave fireman quickly placed the rescued baby in her arms
and started for the doorway again; but the chief grasped him by the

“You can’t go back, Jim! Stay here!” he ordered.

“There are a woman and two children in there; let me go!” cried Jim,
pulling away from the chief.

“Shorty and Charlie can take care of them. You stay here!” commanded
the chief. His practiced eye told him that no man, however brave, could
go in through that blazing doorway and come out again alive.

The chief anxiously scanned the upper windows for signs of the two
men who were inside, heroically fighting their way with the woman and
children to the upper floors for safety.

Suddenly a whole third-story window was wrenched out with a crash of
broken glass.

“There they are! There they are!” shouted the crowd.

Charlie was leaning out of the window, and beside him a woman was
waving her arms wildly and shrieking, “Help! Help! Help!”

“Make a rescue!” ordered the chief.

“Rescue!” repeated the firemen.

Already the laddermen had their long three-story ladder standing erect
in the air; and almost before its top swung against the window-sill a
ladderman was nimbly running up, hand over hand, and a second man was
following him.

Charlie could be seen lifting a small boy out of the window into the
arms of the first ladderman, who quickly carried him down to safety,
while the crowd hurrahed.

Now those who could see well had an interesting exhibit of one way in
which a fireman carries a person down a ladder. The second ladderman
grasped firmly each upright of the ladder, while Charlie lifted out a
twelve-year-old girl and laid her across the life-saver’s bent arms.

Carefully he began to descend with his burden, step by step, while the
mother watched fearfully out of the window, and the people below held
their breath.

In less time than it takes to tell it, he reached the bottom. The
people shouted in relief, and a voice cried, “All the children are
saved! Hurrah!”

As the fireman again quickly ascended the ladder, the woman was seen to
topple over. She had fainted when she knew that the children were safe.

In a few seconds the ladderman stood at the top, his arms bent and
braced as before. Quickly Charlie laid across them a long bundle.
It was the unconscious mother wrapped in a blanket. Swiftly, yet
cautiously he came down.

It is no easy task to carry a heavy woman down a three-story ladder,
with smoke blinding the eyes and fire scorching the face and hands. But
the life-saver on the ladder does not think of that. His only thought
is to save life and to put out the fire.

Soon the ladderman reached the ground and tender hands relieved him of
his charge.



“Where’s Shorty?” asked the chief of the man who had just come down.


“He’s ‘all in’; lying up there on the floor unconscious. Charlie is
ready to keel over, too,” he replied.

“I’ll bring Shorty down,” cried Dick, a fireman who heard the chief’s

As he sprang up the ladder the chief shouted up after him, “Tell
Charlie to come down, Dick!”

Meanwhile, the smoke began to pour out of the rescue window at the top
of the ladder, and the fire was creeping slowly up through the wooden
floors, in spite of the heroic efforts of the fire-fighters. Charlie
had disappeared from the window. There was not a second to lose.

As Shorty’s rescuer reached the top of the ladder, the watchers saw
him jump through the smoke into the window. In a moment, he was seen
pushing Charlie toward the ladder and urging him to go down; but
Charlie wouldn’t budge.

“He won’t come down without Shorty,” muttered a fireman.

“Come down, Charlie! Come down!” shouted up the chief, using his hands
as a trumpet.

Obeying orders, Charlie climbed out of the window on to the ladder
and began slowly and painfully to descend, like a man in a daze. The
smoke and flames poured out of the windows and scorched his flesh and
clothing, while the firemen below played a stream of water between him
and the wall for protection, and shouted words of encouragement.

His comrades reached up for him as he neared the bottom; and it is well
they did, for brave Charlie could stand no more and fell unconscious
into their arms. They carried him to a safe place and used first-aid

Now the citizens outside the fire lines were to see what their firemen
were capable of in an emergency; a thrilling deed that takes strength,
courage, presence of mind and all the qualities of true manhood to
perform--the rescue of Shorty.


Through the smoke they saw Dick climb out of the window on to the
ladder--but not alone. Hanging suspended over Dick’s back was the
unconscious Shorty, his arms around Dick’s neck, with wrists securely
tied in front.

In this manner Dick began to descend, rung by rung, bearing his heavy
load. The wicked flames shot out from the windows, and the suffocating
smoke almost hid the men from view. Breathless, the people watched them
on the slender ladder, high in the air, surrounded by smoke and flame,
one man unconscious, a dead weight on the other man’s back.

The only sounds heard were the crackling of the flames and the swish of
the water as it played and sizzled on the fire. Then the silence was
broken by a great crash--one of the floors had fallen in.

But Dick came quickly down, lower and lower, nearer and nearer to
safety. What if his hands and face were scorching and his clothes
catching fire, his heart did not flinch. To save life--that is the
fireman’s first duty, and well was Dick performing it.

But Dick was not thinking of that; he had only one thought--to get
Shorty to the foot of the ladder and safely off his back.

A few steps more and the deed was done. Upstretched hands supported
him; his feet touched the ground--Shorty was saved.

Then the people cheered and cheered again; and well they might, for
they had witnessed a thing that makes every heart beat high with
pride--the speedy rescue of lives by heroes who freely risk their own
in the performance of duty.

By this time the efforts of the firemen began to tell; the water began
to conquer the flames, the fire was soon under control, and the danger
was over.

The chief, who now had time to look about him, spied Jack at the fire

“Come here,” he called.

Jack came running, proud to be thus singled out.

“Hello,” he said, “you are the boy who turned in the alarm, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jack.

“Go to school?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work, my boy, good work! Come around to the fire station and see
me after school today.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jack.

For the first time since the excitement began, Jack realized that he
still had three papers under his arm undelivered. These he delivered
quickly, and ran home to tell his mother all about the fire.


1. The telephone is usually the best and quickest means of sending in
an alarm. When a fire breaks out run to the nearest telephone.

2. Call the operator and tell her where the fire is, giving the street
and number. Do not say, “Come up to my house quick.” The telephone
operator will call the nearest fire station at once.

3. Locate the fire alarm box near your home. If you cannot reach a
telephone quickly, ring the box in case of fire.

4. Stay near the box when it has been pulled for fire in order to
direct the firemen.

5. Stay on the sidewalk when engines are going by.

6. Send in the alarm quickly if you discover a fire. The fire
department is ready at all times to respond to fires within thirty
seconds after any alarm is sent in. Delay in sending in an alarm is
responsible for nearly every large fire that occurs. When there is snow
on the ground or the run is up hill, the department must be notified
quickly to be of any service.


7. Have two six-quart pails always handy.

8. Use fire-proof metal cans for waste.

9. Look for exits in halls and public buildings.

       *       *       *       *       *

Fire is a good servant, but a bad master.

It is the patriotic duty of every American citizen to prevent fires.


1. Don’t go into closets with a lighted match to look for clothing. Why?

2. Don’t use kerosene oil to kindle fires in stoves.

3. Don’t put hot ashes into wooden boxes. Why?

4. Don’t allow lace curtains near gas brackets.

5. Don’t allow oily rags near stoves or about the house.

6. Don’t keep matches in paper boxes or lying about carelessly. Use a
covered metal box.

7. Don’t forget that matches are the beginning of many fires.

8. Don’t hang clothing near open fires or stoves.

9. Don’t fill lamps after dark, and never when lighted.

10. Don’t allow rubbish to collect in hallways or on fire escapes.

11. Don’t burn leaves and dead grass on windy days.

12. Don’t fail to look twice at everything that looks like fire. Every
day is fire prevention day.


    Have you ever visited a fire house? Tell about it.

    When a fire occurs out in the country where there is no fire
    department, what has to be done?

    Why is it necessary to have a fire department in the cities?

    Can you think of some way in which fires start?

    How can we prevent fires?

    If you discovered a fire, what would you do?

    What do you think of a person who would turn in a false alarm?

    Do you have a fire drill in your school?

[Illustration: THE POSTMAN


Every boy and girl is saved many a long tramp by the faithful services
of the postmen. How?

    Did you ever stop to think that we may help the postmen:

      by addressing letters properly;

      by writing plainly in addressing letters;

      by placing the stamp in the upper _right-hand_ corner;

      by answering the bell promptly for the postman; or, better,

      by saving time for the postman by having a mail-box.




“There is the postman’s whistle,” said Mrs. Cameron.

Edith hurried to the door, for a letter was expected from Uncle
Charles, who was in Alaska. Soon she scampered back into the room,
waving an envelope in her hand. “Is it from Uncle Charles?” she asked,
as she handed the letter to her mother.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Cameron, having opened the envelope, “it is from
your uncle.”

Grandpa, Mr. Cameron, and Edith prepared to listen; for receiving a
letter from Uncle Charles was always a very interesting event. The
letter was as follows:

                                       FORT YUKON, ALASKA, July 4, 19--.

    MY DEAR SISTER: Even in far-off Alaska this is a holiday, although
    it is not such a day as you are having in Boston. This morning some
    of the men fired off revolvers and rifles; but as there are few
    children in the camp, we have no fireworks.

    Fort Yukon is on the Yukon River, about six hundred fifty miles
    from the mouth, and almost exactly on the Arctic Circle. The fort
    was established by an agent of the Hudson Bay Company one hundred
    sixty years ago, but it is still a small place.

    Although we lack many things, we have one thing that Boston people
    do not have--sunshine night and day; that is, at this time of the
    year. It would seem very strange to you to see the sun shining at
    midnight; but that is what we see here on June twenty-first. During
    the winter we see the sun but a short time each day.


    The summer weather is warm and pleasant, and our gardens grow
    rapidly. But the summer season is short, and we cannot grow many
    things which need a long time to ripen. The winters are long and
    bitterly cold. At a few feet below the surface the ground is frozen
    all of the year.

    This letter will leave here to-morrow morning on a little steamboat
    and go down the Yukon to its mouth, and from there to St. Michael,
    where the mail will be transferred to a larger ship. That ship
    will carry it to Seattle, and it will then be carried across the
    continent by a swift railway train.

    About the middle of October the river will freeze and remain frozen
    until about the first of May. Probably you will not hear from me
    more than once or twice during that time, for our winter mail
    trains are slow because they are drawn by dogs.

    A team often consists of six or seven dogs hitched tandem. They
    come in from Valdez, far to the south. The trail follows the
    ice-covered rivers and lakes and crosses high mountains.

    There is always great excitement when the mail reaches Fort Yukon.

    Our nearest telegraph station is at Rampart, more than one hundred
    fifty miles southwest; so you see we are shut off from the rest of
    the world.

    I must tell you how the mail is delivered between Kotzebue and
    Point Barrow. Kotzebue is west of this place, on the coast, and
    Point Barrow is on the Arctic coast. A Mr. S. R. Spriggs has a
    contract with the United States government to carry the mail. This
    he does during the winter by means of reindeer. The route is about
    two hundred fifty miles long.

    I expect to receive a letter from you by the next boat that comes
    in. Tell Edith that I am looking for a letter from her, also. With
    much love,

                                                       Your brother,

“I hope that you will never go to Alaska, papa,” said Edith, when her
mother had finished reading the letter.

“Why?” asked Mr. Cameron.

“Because we should have to wait so long for letters from you,” replied
the little girl. “I don’t see how people can get along without having
mail once a day at least. The postman comes here three times a day, you
know. Uncle wrote his letter on July fourth, and this is August second.”



“Perhaps,” said grandpa, taking Edith upon his lap, “I can tell you a
story about the delivery of mail.”

“Oh, please do!” said Edith.

“The custom of sending messages from person to person has been followed
for thousands of years,” began grandpa. “We read in the Bible of a
letter which King David wrote from the city of Jerusalem to one of his
generals named Joab. This letter was placed in the hands of a messenger
who carried it to the general.

“There were no trains in those days and so all letters were delivered
by men on foot, men on horseback, or by carrier pigeons.”

“By carrier pigeons!” cried Edith. “How could a pigeon carry a message?”

“The birds were trained when young,” replied her grandpa. “They were
taken a short distance from home and then set free. The pigeons would
of course fly home. The next time they were taken a greater distance.
This training was repeated many times, the distance always being

“A man going on a long journey would sometimes take several pigeons
with him. When he wished to send a message home it was fastened to one
of the birds, which was then set free.

“The carrying of messages was established for the use of kings and
others of high rank. In time the common people began to send letters by
post, or messengers. You have often heard the expression ‘post haste.’
Years ago, people in England used to write on their letters, ‘haste,
haste, post haste.’


“In early colonial days, the colonists were anxious to hear from home,
which in most cases meant England.

“When a ship from the mother country landed on our shores, there were
always people waiting to see if it brought them news from the loved
ones left behind. Some of the letters were not called for. These the
captain of the vessel took to the nearest coffee-house where their
owners called for them.

“As the country was settled, men were employed to carry the mail
between the different towns and cities. Usually the postmen did not
start out until they had letters enough to pay the expenses of the
trip. They would carry packages and even lead horses from town to town
in order to earn a little money. It is said that one Pennsylvania
postman used to knit mittens and stockings as he jogged along.

“The first regular mail service between Boston and New York was
established in 1673. The round trip in the winter required about a

“As late as 1704 there was no regular postoffice west of
Philadelphia. In 1775 the colonists appointed Benjamin Franklin as
postmaster-general, paying him a salary of one thousand dollars a year.”



“Here,” continued grandpa, “is a letter that I received yesterday from
Lynn, only a few miles away; you see that there is a two-cent stamp
upon it. Please bring me Uncle Charles’ letter.”

Edith ran to the table and returned with the letter.

“You see,” said grandpa, “that this letter also bears a two-cent
stamp, although it was carried several thousand miles. Did you ever see
letters that came from a foreign country?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Edith; “sometimes they have five-cent stamps on

“In 1792,” continued grandpa, “the Congress of the United States fixed
the rate of postage in this country. In some cases it cost ten cents to
send a letter only a short distance. The cost depended upon how thickly
settled the country was, as well as upon the nature of the roads.

“Although, in the days of our early history, people paid for having
their letters delivered, there were no postage stamps in use. The
charges were generally paid by the person who received the letter. The
amount due was stamped on the outside.

“In 1834 James Chalmers, at Dundee, Scotland, made the first adhesive

“What are adhesive stamps?” asked Edith.

“They are stamps that are made to adhere or stick to the envelopes by
moistening them,” her grandpa replied.

“In 1847 the United States government commenced issuing postage stamps.
Before this time, some of the postmasters were allowed to make stamps;
but this is not permitted today. At first only five and ten cent
stamps were made by the government. The five-cent stamps bore the head
of Franklin, while the head of Washington appeared upon the ten-cent

“In 1885 special delivery stamps were issued. These cost ten cents
each. When a special delivery stamp is placed upon a letter it is
delivered by a special messenger from the postoffice.


“Another interesting thing about letters written many years ago is that
they were not placed in envelopes.”

“Why not?” asked Edith, in great surprise.

“Because,” replied grandpa, “there were no envelopes. When a letter was
finished it was folded into the form of an envelope and fastened by
means of sealing wax.”



“You know,” he continued, “that our mails are now carried across the
country on fast railroad trains. A letter can be sent from Boston to
San Francisco, a distance of over three thousand miles, in about four
days. But when I was a young man there were no railroads in the far
West, and the mails traveled very slowly.

“In those days many people were moving into the western country, and
they felt the need of a better mail service. Some wealthy men talked
the matter over and decided to use swift ponies to carry the mails. So
in 1860 they planned the Pony Express.

“This was a very daring thing to do, because those were the days of
Indians and outlaws, and the brave riders would have to meet many

“The ponies with their riders traveled between the town of St. Joseph,
Missouri, and San Francisco, a distance of nearly two thousand miles.
About eighty riders and over four hundred horses were needed.

“The riders rode day and night, stopping only to change horses at the
stations along the route. Every seventy-five miles the mail was turned
over to a fresh rider on a fresh horse, who carried it on to the next
stopping place. The mail was carried in a sort of blanket with pockets
in the corners which were locked and unlocked by the station keepers.

“At noon on April 3, 1860, the start was made from each end of the
line. The first trip was made in ten days. Later, it took but eight or
nine days. President Lincoln’s first inaugural address was carried in
seven days and seventeen hours.

“For some time the postage was five dollars for a half ounce, but later
it was reduced to one dollar.

“The longest ride was made by William F. Cody, afterwards known as
‘Buffalo Bill,’ who was then but fifteen years of age. The boy rode
steadily for nearly thirty-six hours, covering a distance of three
hundred and eighty miles. During all of that long ride he stopped for
only one meal.

“The Pony Express was kept up for less than two years, for in October,
1861, a telegraph line connecting the East with the West was finished,
making it easy to send messages across the continent by wire.”



“The postal service has grown and improved wonderfully in our country,”
continued grandpa. “At first the mail was carried by men on horseback,
then by stage-coaches, and now by trains.

“Formerly, people went to the nearest postoffice for their mail; now,
in all cities, the mail is delivered by postmen, just as the letter
from Uncle Charles was delivered to-day.

“In almost all parts of the country there is a rural free delivery. By
the roadside in front of each farmer’s house is a mail-box, having the
name of the owner upon it.

“A letter carrier drives through the neighborhood with the mail. When
he leaves mail in a box he raises a little signal which is attached to
it in such a way that it can be seen from the farmhouse. This, you see,
takes the place of the postman’s whistle.

“To-day, some trains are given up entirely to the carrying of mail, and
all passenger trains that cross the continent carry tons of mail. Not
only is the mail carried on trains, but it can be posted on them as
well. It is also sorted on the mail-cars; and sacks of mail are thrown
off the mail-car and others taken on while the train is going at full

“I don’t see how mail can be put on a train when it is in motion,” said

“Beside the track, at the places where mail is to be exchanged, there
is a post of wood or iron,” said grandpa. “Fastened to the post there
are two cross-arms as far apart as a mail-sack is long. A sack is
suspended on hooks between these arms.

“Beside the door of each mail-car there is an arm, or hook of iron.
Just before the mail-car reaches the spot where a mail-bag is hanging,
the mail clerk inside the car raises this arm. As the train rushes by,
the arm pulls the sack from the hooks and holds it.

“The sack is then opened by the mail clerk, and its contents sorted. At
the same time that the sack is taken on board, another sack is thrown
from the door of the car.

“In 1790 there were but seventy postoffices in the United States. In
1916 the number had increased to over 56,000.

“Our wonderful postal system makes it possible for us to send letters
to any part of the civilized world. If properly addressed and stamped
they are almost certain to reach their owners safely and promptly, just
as Uncle Charles’ letter came all the way from the Arctic Circle to our

          --_From “How We Travel,” by James F. Chamberlain_ (_adapted_).



    How many of you like to receive a letter?

    Did you ever think how wonderful it is that such a little thing as
    a letter can travel thousands of miles and find its owner within a
    certain time?

    What kind of “ticket” must your letter have in order to reach its

    What does it cost to mail a letter to-day?

    After you stamp your letter and drop it into the postbox, what
    happens next?

    How often is mail collected from your nearest box?

    Where is it taken?

    Do you know where the sub-station for your neighborhood is?

    To what place is your letter taken from the sub-station?

    How does it travel?

    How are the mails sorted on trains?

    When your letter reaches the city where its owner lives, who helps
    to find its owner?


    How often does the postman deliver mail in your neighborhood?

    Is your postman an honest, punctual, careful man? Why should he be?

    Is his work easy? Why not?

    Is the life of a rural letter carrier easy?

    Tell something about parcel post.


    Did you ever visit the postoffice?

    What did you see?

    Why do the clerks have to be careful?

    Why are stamps cancelled?

    Imagine that you are a letter traveling from one person to another
    and tell about your journey. Did you go by train or airplane?

    Can you tell something about mail service by airplane?


[Illustration: THE STREET CLEANER]

In many cities blockmen in white uniforms are required to be constantly
at work in certain fixed areas from 7 A. M. to 6 P. M., except during
the winter months, when their hours are from 7 A. M. to 5 P. M.

       *       *       *       *       *

Should not every boy and girl be glad to help such faithful public
servants as the street cleaners?

       *       *       *       *       *

  When our streets are clean and neat,
  More healthful is the air and sweet;
    More beautiful our city.



Benjamin Franklin wrote a story about himself for his son to read. In
this story, or autobiography, he tells a great deal about the streets
of Philadelphia in 1755. As may be imagined, they were very unlike the
streets of that city to-day.

You may read below in his own words, which seem quite old-fashioned
and quaint to us now, what he says:

“Our city, though laid out with a beautiful regularity, the streets
large, straight, and crossing each other at right angles, had the
disgrace of suffering those streets to remain long unpaved.

“In wet weather the wheels of heavy carriages plowed them into
quagmire, so that it was difficult to cross them; and in dry weather
the dust was offensive.

“I had lived near what was called the Jersey Market, and saw with pain
the inhabitants wading in mud while purchasing their provisions.

“A strip of ground down the middle of the market was at length paved
with bricks, so that being once in the market, they had firm footing;
but were often over shoes in dirt to get there.

“By talking and writing on the subject, I was at length instrumental in
getting the streets paved with stone between the market and the brick
foot pavement that was on the side next the houses.

“This for some time gave an easy access to the market dry-shod; but the
rest of the street, not being paved, whenever a carriage came out of
the mud upon this pavement, it shook off and left dirt upon it, and the
pavement was soon covered with mire, which was not removed, the city as
yet having no street-cleaners.

“After some inquiry I found a poor, industrious man who was willing
to undertake to keep the pavement clean by sweeping it twice a week,
carrying off the dirt from before all the neighbor’s doors, for the sum
of sixpence per month, to be paid by each house.”

The people soon saw how much better it was to have clean streets.
Franklin’s arrangement for sweeping them finally led to the paving and
regular cleaning of the principal streets.

       *       *       *       *       *

Does it not seem strange that the great cities of the country once had
the same troubles that any little village in the United States has


Why is the rubbish in this cellar a source of danger to the people who
live in the house?

Why is it dangerous for the entire city?



To-day it is a common sight to see the street cleaners. Many men are at
work from sunrise to sunset, cleaning away the dirt and helping to make
our city healthful and pleasant to live in.

From whom does the money come to pay these men? It is not from the
mayor or those who are in charge of the work. The money really is paid
by the people who own property in the city. The men working for the
city are public servants. They are working for every man and woman, for
every boy and girl in the city.

There is a word much in use nowadays. It is “coöperation.” It means
working together. Have you ever seen a group of men help push a heavily
loaded wagon? They all push together in the same direction, and the
horses pull at the same time, and so they get the wagon started on its
way. This is coöperation, or working together.

Everybody should want clean streets and well-kept sidewalks. They mean
a more beautiful city, and what is better, a more healthful city.

We know there must be a successful coöperation if we ever are to have
a clean city. Now, coöperation means that every one must do his or her

Hundreds of boys and girls used the streets this morning on their way
to school. Many of them will play on these same streets this afternoon.

Children are entitled to clean streets, but they must be willing to
coöperate with the Bureau of Street Cleaning in order to get them. Do
you know how they can do this?


Two kinds of dirt soil our city streets--that which is the result of
daily traffic and that which comes from carelessness.

If there were only the dirt which comes from the use of the streets,
the paid cleaners could easily remove it. Most of the dirt, however,
comes because people do not think or care. One little piece of paper, a
banana peel, an apple core--how trifling they seem! Yet, suppose each
boy and girl of thousands of boys and girls should forget, and should
throw something into the street, how littered the streets would be!

The most important of all the things we can do is to remember. “But if
I remember and some one else forgets, what then?” you ask. Why, simply
remind that person.

The streets of the city belong more to the boys and girls than to the
grown folks, because they will use them longer.

If this city is our home, we should keep the streets clean; for the
streets are like the hallways of the home, and everyone likes to have a
clean home.


Every time we go to school, to the store, to church or Sunday-school,
or out to play, we go on the street. The streets are as important as
the houses. We could not have our city consist entirely of streets, nor
could we have it consist entirely of houses.

Many things have to be built and used together, or in coöperation, to
make a city.


All over the country, boys and girls are coöperating with grown people
and with city governments in the fight for good, clean streets. Boys
and girls are remembering and reminding--they are street inspectors
keeping watch over what is their own.

They are learning about these things and thinking about them; when they
grow up, they will know how such work should be done.

They are getting their parents interested in the fight for clean


They are seeing that the paper from their own homes is tied up so that
it will not blow over the streets, that ashes are not piled up in
boxes, and that covers are kept on garbage pails.

There are many ways in which they can help. They can see that papers
are thrown in the waste cans, or in cans in the school-yard. When they
buy candy they can remember not to throw the wrappers in the street.

       *       *       *       *       *

Can you tell why clean, well-paved streets make it easier to have
cleaner houses and cleaner clothes and better health?



As you go home notice something that you think will bring about an
improvement in the condition of your streets.


A large city street-cleaning department uses:

Sprinkling wagons, flushing machines, machine brooms, dirt wagons and
carts, rubbish wagons, tightly-built ash wagons, covered garbage wagons.

The workmen needed are: drivers, collectors and cleaners.

All employees should be required to wear uniforms and numbered badges.

Each “blockman” is usually provided with the following:

A bag carrier, bags, scraper, broom, sprinkler, fire-hydrant key,
shovel, tools.



    All sweepings are placed in dust-proof bags. Why?

    Sweepings are not allowed to remain in piles on the street. Why?

    Snow, ice, and mud should be removed from street crossings,
    fire hydrants, sewer inlets, and footways of public bridges in
    reasonable time. Why?


We may all help to keep the streets of our city clean if we observe the
following “Don’ts”:

1. Don’t fail to keep all rubbish in tight receptacles, or to tie it
securely into bundles. Why?

2. Don’t fail to use tight metal receptacles for ashes.

3. Don’t forget to leave at least three inches of clear space at the
top of receptacle to prevent the contents from being spilled or blown
into the street.

4. Don’t fail to provide a covered, leak-proof metal can for garbage,
and to keep it covered at all times.

5. Don’t sweep or throw dirt, rubbish, waste-paper, grass-cuttings,
fruit-peelings, or anything else into the street. Put them in tight
rubbish receptacles or tie them into bundles to be taken up by the

6. Don’t forget that all dirt or rubbish, and every scrap of paper
carelessly thrown into the street must later be picked up and removed,
and that the taxpayer must pay for having this done. Why?


    How do streets become dirty?

    Who pays for having these city hallways cleaned?

    How can every boy and girl help reduce the taxes?

    How can each become a street-cleaning inspector?

    How often in a week is your street cleaned?

    Why is the work in crowded districts done at night, except in
    severe weather?

    Will you try to coöperate with the street cleaner to keep the
    streets of your city clean? How?





In some of the cities of the Far East, animals are depended upon as
garbage collectors. Hungry dogs and cats, and in some places, even
pigs, rove the streets, picking up for food the refuse which is thrown

It is no wonder that dreadful diseases break out among the people,
is it? How unhealthful our own cities would be if we had no garbage

       *       *       *       *       *

What is garbage?

How does the garbage collector help the street cleaner?

Why is the garbage collector one of our important city servants?



One day as Robert was going through the kitchen, he heard his mother
talking to the maid. “Nora,” she said, “I wish that you would be
careful to keep the garbage can covered.” Robert hurried away to school
and thought no more about it.

That night, after he fell asleep, he dreamed that he was visiting at
his cousin’s house. He thought that he was going down the back steps
when suddenly he heard a weak little voice.

“Oh, dear,” it was saying, “I feel so wretched! Oh, dear! can you get a
doctor, please?”

Robert looked around, but there was nothing in sight.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” came the weak little voice again. “Oh, can’t
somebody help me!”

“Why, who’s talking?” asked Robert. “I don’t see anybody. I’d like to
help you, if I knew who you were.”

“It’s I--Garbage Can,” answered the voice. “Here I am--look down,

Robert looked down, and there sure enough stood the garbage can,
which he had failed to notice, looking up at him. You can imagine how
surprised he was.

“Why, I didn’t know you could talk!” he exclaimed.

“If you knew how miserable I feel, you would not bother about that, but
would take off my lid,” said the garbage can.


Then Robert saw how really ill the garbage can looked.

“You poor thing!” he exclaimed; “why, certainly I will lift your lid if
that will help you.” As he raised the cover, a loaf of stale bread, a
pork chop, and some apple parings fell out.

[Illustration: OH, THANK YOU! THAT IS BETTER.]

“Oh, thank you! That is better,” sighed the garbage can. “What a

“Shall I get a doctor?” asked Robert anxiously.

“Oh, no, thank you; I don’t need a doctor now. I feel almost like
myself again,” he answered.

“If folks only wouldn’t fill me so full of rich good food,” he
complained, “how much better off everybody would be!”

“Too full of rich good food!” laughed Robert. “Why, I never knew that
any rich good food was thrown away.”

“We get entirely too much of it,” said the garbage can. “Waste food is
the only kind that is good for garbage cans.”

“Do many people waste good food?” asked Robert.

“What some folks throw away makes me sick!” declared the garbage can
confidentially. “I could tell you some things, young man, that would
certainly surprise you.”

“Please tell me, if you feel able,” begged Robert.

“Very well,” agreed the garbage can, settling down comfortably. Anyone
could see that he was pleased.


“In the first place,” he began, “do you know that we American garbage
cans are the hardest worked of all garbage cans in the world?”

“No,” Robert shook his head.

“It’s a fact, though,” went on the garbage can. “The American garbage
can is the fattest in the world,--a United States senator first said

“Why, what did that mean?” asked Robert. “American garbage cans don’t
look any fatter than those in other countries, do they?”

“The senator referred to the rich food that is thrown into the American
garbage can,” explained the speaker patiently. “He meant that the
American people are the most wasteful people in the world. They do not
save little things. Few people stop to think how long it takes grains
of wheat to grow into a loaf of bread. Did you ever think how hard
somebody had to work to get the wheat grains ready to make the bread?”

“No,” acknowledged Robert, “I don’t believe I ever did.”

“If people did think, we should not be stuffed every day with bread
enough to feed many a poor family.”

“Oh, not that much, surely?” questioned Robert in surprise.

“Yes, sir,” declared the garbage can, “that much. I ought to know! I
have been a garbage can all my life.”

“Yes, you ought to know,” agreed Robert.

“Not only bread,” went on the garbage can, “but meat, too. Now, that
does surprise you, doesn’t it! It takes four years to grow a beefsteak,
yet there are garbage cans which are fed nice big pieces of beefsteak
every day or so.”

“I don’t believe--,” Robert started to say.

“Don’t believe what?” snapped the garbage can. “Don’t believe! Why, I
haven’t begun to tell you about the value of garbage!”

“Please excuse me,” explained Robert; “I was going to say that I don’t
think my mother allows such waste.”

“Oh, was that it? I beg your pardon,” apologized the can. “I get so
excited when I think about what is wasted, and so nervous when I see
little children and even animals who need what is thrown away, that I
sometimes forget my manners, I fear.”

Robert could not help smiling at the thought of the manners of a
garbage can; but the can evidently thought that he was smiling about
some of the facts he had been told, and continued to talk.

“Watch when you have a chance, and notice what good meals could have
been made from the food wasted on garbage cans if a little thought had
been used.

“It has been estimated that the garbage cans get one-third of the food
which is bought and prepared for the American people.

“This food, if used rightly, would feed all the poor. It would build
many battleships. It would pay for all the land in some states. It
would run the government for weeks.”

“Would it make any difference in the cost of food if people were not
wasteful?” asked Robert, as the speaker paused for breath.

“Of course,” answered the can. “You see, if food is very plentiful it
does not cost so much because there is enough for everybody; but when
it is scarce it costs more because there is only enough for those who
can afford to pay a high price.”

“Oh, so people who buy food and waste it make it scarcer, and prevent
the poorer people from getting it at a lower price,” said Robert.

“Good! I see you understand!” cried the garbage can. “Not only is what
you say true, but the fact is that the poor people who waste food are
often kept poor because they throw away what they could save. A slice
of bread a day amounts to about a dollar and fifty cents a year! Better
to watch the garbage can!”

The can stopped suddenly as the rumble of a wagon sounded in the street.

“It is the garbage collector!” he exclaimed delightedly. “If it were
not for him, I am sure I don’t know what I should do!”

“Good-by,” said Robert, who did not care to have the collector see him
talking with a garbage can. “I thank you for the lesson, Mr. Can.”

“Good-by,” muttered the garbage can; and then his face melted away and
Robert woke up.


    Why would doctors have to work many times as hard as they do if
    there were no garbage collectors?

    How do the garbage collectors help in keeping people well?



The next evening, after Robert had finished studying his lessons, he
surprised his father by asking, “What becomes of garbage, father? Where
does a collector take it?”

“What kind of a collector, Robert?” asked his father with a twinkle in
his eye.

“What kind!” Robert was puzzled. “I didn’t know there were more kinds
than one--the men who wear the city uniform and collect our garbage
every other day,” he declared.


“There are several different kinds,” said his father. “One kind is
especially anxious and active in warm weather if the lid is left off
the garbage can.”

“Oh, I know,” said Robert; “you mean flies!”

“Yes, flies are the collectors I mean; and they do a great deal of
harm, not because of what they take, but because they carry germs of
disease on their feet.”

“Yes,” said Robert, “I know they do; our teacher showed us a picture of
a fly’s foot and tongue magnified many times.”

“Then you understand why mother found fault with Nora for leaving the
cover off our garbage can yesterday?”

“Yes, father; but I never thought before today how unhealthful a city
would become if it were not for the garbage collectors--the real ones,
I mean,” Robert remarked.

“Indeed, we ought to appreciate what they do for us,” his father said.
“You see, they are really just one set of the public servants of our
large city family. They are useful men and do their work well.”

“I shall certainly think more of them after this,” said the boy. Then,
suddenly, he asked again, “But, father, what do our garbage collectors
do with the garbage? Where do they take it?”

“Let me see,” answered his father; “they take it--I think they drive
down to some river wharf, and dump it into scows.”

“And then where do the scows take it?”

“They are drawn by tugboats down the river to the disposal plant. To
tell the truth, Robert, I do not know just what is done with it there;
but in some way it is made into fertilizer, which is sold to farmers.”

“I wish I knew how it is done,” said Robert after a minute.

“Why, if you are interested in that, we will take a trip down to the
plant some day soon,” promised his father. “I should like to know more
about it myself.”

“Oh, that will be fine, father. Can we go on Saturday?”

“I think so. I will see if I can get permission of the disposal people
to make a visit on that day.”

“I guess it must pay to make garbage into fertilizer.” Robert was
thinking aloud.

His father took up the thought. “Indeed it does, my boy. Garbage, or
waste food, is very valuable; that of some big cities being worth a
million dollars a year.”

“So much? Isn’t it splendid that it can be used? I wonder how any one
thought of making it into fertilizer.”

“Well, I imagine it came about in this way: farmers and people who
live in the country where they can observe, have found out that the
thriftiest of all creatures is Mother Nature. She never lets anything
go to waste; she is so very thrifty that when men help her she uses
waste so fast that it pays a thousand fold.

“So the men who buy the fertilizer made from city garbage are buying it
for thrifty Mother Nature to use as food for plants. But we have talked
too long, son; so good night, for you know

  ‘Early to bed and early to rise
  Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.’”


Robert was scarcely asleep before he dreamed that he was in charge
of all the garbage collectors in the city, and that he needed a new
collector for a certain ward.

“Two applicants are waiting to see you, sir,” said his office boy; and
Robert stepped out to see them.

One of the applicants was a strong young man, and the other was an
enormous fly!

In his dream this did not seem strange to Robert.

Turning toward the fly he asked, “Have you had experience in this line
of work?”

“Yes, sir!” answered the fly. “Let me tell you what I did yesterday.

“I spent the night in a garbage can that some one had neglected to
cover. I ate breakfast from some fruit on a fruit stand; stopped in the
gutter to get a drink of water; then drank some milk off the edge of
a milk bottle which was standing in a doorway; and had dessert off a
baby’s cheek and mouth. See how experienced I am! You ought to give me
the job, I think.”


“Oh, no,” cried Robert making a leap toward the fly. “Get out of here,
you dirty--” but he never finished, for the leap he gave landed him
down so heavily in bed that it woke him up.


When Robert and his father reached home after their visit to the
garbage disposal plant, the boy told his mother about what they had

“Mother, it was so interesting!” he exclaimed. “The garbage was thrown
on broad belts which moved slowly forward on very long tables. Men were
seated on each side of the tables, and they raked the garbage over with
little rakes.”

“I should think that would be unpleasant work,” said his mother.

“That is what I thought, too; but the guide who took us through the
plant laughed when I said so. ‘The men like that work,’ he said,
‘because they can have whatever they find. Sometimes they find silver
spoons; sometimes things of more value. One man last year found a
diamond ring which he sold for two hundred dollars.’”

“That does make it seem different, doesn’t it, Robert?” said his
mother. “But how careless some people must be to lose such valuable
things! Where do the moving belts take the garbage?”

“To great vats where steam is driven through it, and the grease is
melted down. The grease is sold for making oils and soap; the other
part is made into fertilizer,” explained Robert.

“I am glad to know about it, for I have never given the matter much
thought,” his mother said. “I wish every one knew how much is done for
us when we put the garbage can out for the collectors.”





“Joe Lockery told us the funniest thing this afternoon, mother,” said
Walter as he came in from school.

“Tell me about it,” said Mrs. Homer, with interest.

“Joe asked us if we had ever heard of a fire that started itself. We
thought he was joking, but he wasn’t.”

“A fire that started itself! Why, Walter, I can’t see anything funny
about that!” replied Mrs. Homer.

“Well, we thought it was funny,” declared Walter. “Wait a minute till
you hear about it, mother. Joe was telling us about a fire in his
father’s furniture factory. The night watchman saw smoke coming out of
a fourth story window.

“The watchman rang the fire alarm and then ran upstairs. The varnish
room was full of smoke. Flames were bursting out of the top of a large
metal can, into which the workmen threw the sweepings and dirty rags
that had been used in polishing the furniture. The watchman soon put
the fire out with the water in the fire buckets.

“When the firemen arrived, they said that the fire had started itself.
The can had been left uncovered, and the rubbish and rags had caught
fire from their own heat. I never heard of such a thing, did you?”

“Yes, I have often heard of such things,” said Mrs. Homer. “I am glad
that nothing serious happened. It is very fortunate that the factory
did not burn down. I suppose those rags were soaked with varnish and
turpentine. I should think that the men would have known of the danger
of their starting a fire.”

“Joe’s father said that the men had orders to keep the can covered and
to remove it from the hot room at night. But I don’t see how oily rags
could start a fire alone, do you, mother?”

“They certainly could do so,” Mrs. Homer replied. “You remember the
fire in the Park Garage, don’t you?”

“I think I do. That was the fire that burned up so many automobiles,
wasn’t it?”

“Yes; I heard afterwards that that fire was caused in the same way. A
lot of oily rags which the workmen had used were thrown into a corner.
During the night when the garage was closed, they became very hot and
burst into a flame.”

“Without a match or light?” exclaimed Walter.

“Yes, without a match or a spark of light. When things are set on fire
by the heat within themselves, it is said that the fire was caused by
spontaneous combustion.”

“Oh, yes; that is the word Joe used. Then it is true. Lots of us boys
didn’t believe that such things could happen.”

“They do happen and would happen very much oftener if the city did not
have public servants who come to carry such dangerous things away.”

“Public servants--oh, mother, do you mean the ash and rubbish

“Yes, Walter; you know they come regularly for ashes and rubbish. If
they did not, there would be many more fires, I fear.”

“I should think that if people knew of the danger they wouldn’t keep
such things.”

“What would they do with them, Walter?”

“Why--I didn’t think about that. I don’t suppose that each family could
have such things carted away for themselves, could they?”

“No, it would be impossible to keep our cellars and yards in good order
without the system that the city uses. How untidy and unsafe we should
all be. Besides the danger of spontaneous combustion, the rubbish would
make hiding places for rats and mice, and would become a source of
disease and uncleanliness.”

“Isn’t it splendid that the city attends to such things!” cried Walter.
“Why, I never expected to say, ‘Three cheers for the ash man! Three
cheers for the rubbish collector!’”



    Why should ashes be kept in a metal receptacle?

    Would there be danger in mixing ashes with rubbish? Why?

    Is there any danger in allowing rubbish to accumulate? Why?

    How might it affect health?

    How often do the ash and rubbish collectors come to your home?

    What is done with the ashes? With the rubbish?

    What kind of wagons are used?

    Why should every family be particular to observe the city

    Suppose every family had to dispose of its own ashes and
    rubbish--what would they do?

    How should we treat the ash and the rubbish collectors? Why?

       *       *       *       *       *


With the help of all your good public servants who save your strength,
guard your safety and save your time, what kind of people should you
grow to be?




  “The good citizen thinks of Safety First as a patriotic duty.”


I am more powerful than the combined armies of the world.

I have destroyed more men than all the wars of the nations.

I am more deadly than bullets and I have wrecked more homes than the
mightiest of siege guns.

I steal in the United States alone over $300,000,000 each year.

I massacre thousands upon thousands of wage-earners a year.

I lurk in unseen places and do most of my work silently.

You are warned against me, but you do not always heed.

I am relentless.

I am everywhere--in the house, on the streets, in the factory, at the
railroad crossings, and on the sea.

I bring sickness, degradation and death, yet few people seek to avoid

I destroy, crush, or maim; I give nothing, but take all.

I am your worst enemy.

I spare no one, and I find my victims among the rich and poor alike,
the young and old, the strong and weak. Widows and orphans know me.

I cast my shadow over every field of activity, from the turning of the
grindstone to the moving of a railroad train, from the rocking of a
boat to the spinning of a top.

Do you know who I am?

Are you anxious to be a friend of mine?

You will have to _think hard_ not to help me, for I am CARELESSNESS.

It is only Thoughtfulness or Safety First that keeps me from doing more.

I started the great fire that swept away the greater part of the city
of Chicago. You see Thoughtfulness or Safety First wasn’t working, so
I let the woman who was milking a cow set a lantern too near the cow’s

If Thoughtfulness or Safety First had been on board the _Titanic_, the
Captain would have listened when the wireless warned him of icebergs

I was there! You remember what happened.

I help in every accident. If Thoughtfulness or Safety First were “on
the job,” almost every accident would be avoided. I don’t like SAFETY
FIRST. Do you? I wonder why?



Safety First is a policeman guarding our bodies from accidents.

Do you know that the word accident grew out of Latin words which mean
_to fall_? When anything happens suddenly and unexpectedly, we say it
happened accidentally or fell upon us.

Safety First means preventing accidents. Almost all accidents happen
from the carelessness of somebody. Safety First means Thoughtfulness.

Safety First is your friend.



Did you ever stop to think how many brave men are employed to look
after our safety and protect us from danger?

Soldiers and sailors are safety-first men who look out for the safety
of all the people of the nation. Can you tell how?

The policemen are safety-first men, as all children know. Can you tell
something about some safety-first work that they do?

The railroad engineer thinks only of the safety of his passengers. He
knows safety first through and through.



The crossing watchman’s motto is safety first for the careless people
who drive and walk across the tracks where he stands guard.


The building watchman walks from room to room of the great store or
manufacturing plant all night long. If fire breaks out or thieves break
in, he knows just what to do. The track-walker is the special guardian
of the railroad tracks. His watchword, like the engineer’s, is safety

These are only a few of the brave men who believe in safety first and
who often risk their lives in serving us. Can you name others?




Patrick W. Mulligan, a crossing watchman of Norristown, Pennsylvania,
has been awarded a medal of honor by the President of the United States
for risking his own life to save the life of a little child.

With the medal of honor there came a letter from President Wilson to
Mr. Mulligan, telling of the President’s appreciation of his bravery.

August 19, 1914, Mr. Mulligan was on duty at the Mill Street crossing
in Norristown. He had lowered the gates for an oncoming train when a
little Italian child, about two and a half years old, ran under the
gates out on the tracks.

The train was only a short distance away, but Mr. Mulligan jumped and
caught the little one just in time to save her from going under the
wheels. Both were struck by the engine.

When the train had passed, people ran to the spot. They found the brave
watchman unconscious from a deep wound in his head, and from many
bruises. The little girl’s foot was injured, but her life was saved.

That is why the medal and letter were sent to Mr. Mulligan.

A number of such medals have been given by the United States Congress
to persons “who, by daring, endanger their own lives in saving, or
endeavoring to save, the lives of others; or in preventing accidents
upon any railroad.”


    The little girl was not very much to blame. Why?

    If you had attempted to cross and been hurt you would have been to
    blame. Why?



You have often seen this sign. It stands at unprotected railroad
crossings to warn of danger. It says to everyone: Stop a moment before

Look up and down the tracks!

Listen for the engine!

If these three words were heeded, very few accidents would happen at
the crossings.

Think what railroad tracks are for. They are made for trains to run
over, and not for people to walk on. If people remembered this and kept
off the tracks except at crossings, many lives would be saved.

Hard as it is to believe, it is a fact that over 5,000 people lose
their lives each year by trespassing on railroad tracks. To trespass
means to go where you have no right to go.

[Illustration: Posted by the Pennsylvania Railroad in the Interest of


_Do Not Risk Your Life_ by Trespassing on the Railroad

More than 5000 men, women and children are killed every year, in
this country, while taking “short cuts” over the Tracks or otherwise
trespassing on Railroad property.

_Don’t take this chance_]

Did you ever see 5,000 people together at one time? They form a great
crowd--a small army. If some terrible accident should happen, a great
fire or an earthquake, and 5,000 people should all be killed at once,
we should call it a catastrophe. The country would be filled with
horror, and plans would be taken to prevent such a thing from ever
happening again.

Yet when 5,000 people are killed one at a time, no one seems greatly

Don’t you think that something should be done about it?

Will you yourself stop, look, and listen?




It is said that by street accidents alone in New York City one person
is killed every 14 hours, and one person is injured every 23 minutes.

Would you give your eyes or your life for all the money in the world?
One of your legs is worth a whole woodpile of crutches, isn’t it?

Two out of every three accidents can be prevented by Safety First;
by keeping your eyes open and your wits about you. Prevention and
foresight are Safety First.


    _Never_ cross a street except at crossings. Always stop and look
    both ways.

    _Never_ try to run or dodge if you are caught in the middle of a
    street with vehicles coming in both directions. Stand still so that
    the drivers will be able to go around you safely.

    _Never_ play games in the middle of the street. Do not chase your
    ball before first seeing that no wagons or automobiles are coming.
    It is better to save your life than your ball.



    _Never_ jump on or off a moving elevator, trolley, or train. It
    is better to be a few minutes late than to go through life as a

    _Never_ ride a bicycle on the left side of the street. Keep to
    the right. Never try to dodge in front of a street car or an
    automobile, or to catch hold of either of them for the sake of a

    _Never_ steal rides by hanging on the back of wagons, trucks,
    automobiles, or street cars. You may jump or fall off directly in
    front of a passing vehicle.


More children suffer from accidents than grown people because they are
the most thoughtless. Here are some of the ways in which hundreds of
boys and girls are killed or hurt every year:




    By hitching on backs of wagons or street cars; by roller skating
    in the roadway; by sliding on push-mobiles in the roadway; by
    daring each other to run across the street in front of vehicles;
    by engaging in street fights; by building bonfires; by playing on
    the fire-escapes and unprotected roofs; by riding bicycles in
    heavy-traffic streets; by climbing poles on which there are “live


Do not do these things. Be careful and urge your friends to be careful
too. Help to save their lives as well as your own.


    Why does your city spend great sums of money for the services of
    Safety-first men?

    Do you think it is a wise thing to do? Why?

    Name some things which might help the safety-first of your school.


Some time ago little card book-marks were given to the school children
of Dallas, Texas, by the Board of Health. On the cards were printed
these words:

Spring is here. It is time to clean up. Let us all help to make Dallas
a more attractive and healthful city.

Keep your yard, in front and rear, neat and clean. Ask your neighbors
to do likewise.

Plant trees, shrubs, vines and flowers. Destroy weeds.

Put garbage and rubbish in covered fly-tight receptacles. Such refuse
breeds flies and insects which are dangerous because they spread
disease. Cleanliness is cheaper than sickness.

Spare the birds. They destroy worms and insects, thus preserving the
flowers and trees and helping to make the city beautiful.


    Do you think that the doing of these things would be of help to the
    street cleaners of your own city?

    How does a clean city mean safety first?

    Name some of the things which should be done in your neighborhood.


Fire-Prevention Day and the Fire Drill mean Safety First.

October 9th has been set aside as Fire-Prevention Day.

Fire-Prevention Day is really a safety-first day. Can you tell why?

Fire-Prevention Day means a cleaner city. How will that mean safety
first to all the children?

The fire drills in school are safety-first drills.

One of the greatest dangers from fire is that people will crowd
together in the doors in trying to escape from a burning building, and
will be injured or killed.

Many little children have lost their lives in this way.

Children who have been accustomed to fire drills are not frightened
when the bell rings to form in line for the drill; and they move onward
in an orderly way until all are out of the building.

If the building were on fire, there would be no better way of helping
all the children to safety.

In helping anyone whose clothing has caught on fire, smother the flames
with rugs and heavy wraps.

Remember this


If your clothing should catch on fire, do not run; lie down and

    Roll! Roll! Roll!

Smother the flames!

[Illustration: _Courtesy of the Farm Journal_



    Do you know that in some states a certain day in the year is set
    aside as Rat-Prevention Day?

    What can people do to keep rats away?

    Why is Rat-Prevention Day really a fire prevention?

    How does Rat-Prevention Day mean safety first?

    How do Fire-Prevention Day and Rat-Prevention Day help give us a
    clean city?

    Cleanup Day keeps rats and mice away. How?

    Why are they dangerous to health?

    Do you keep a cat or dog policeman?


Sickness and death are traced directly to the fly. The story is
disgusting, but it is true. It lies within your power to guard your
family and yourself from this known carrier of disease. Will you not
protect yourself and help in fighting this menace to health?

First, destroy the breeding places of flies. The fly cannot develop
from the egg, which must have undisturbed filth to grow in, in less
than eight days; therefore if all filth is cleaned up or destroyed at
least once a week, the eggs will not have time to develop and there
will be no flies.

Screen windows and doors. Wire screens are the best, but cotton
mosquito netting can be used. Keep flies away from the sick, especially
those ill with typhoid fever or consumption. Kill every fly that enters
the sick-room. Kill the flies as fast as they appear in the spring. The
early flies will multiply into millions in a season.

[Illustration: BREEDING PLACE]

When you see flies gathering on anything in your house or yard remove
it. The most flies are always found wherever there is most filth and
dirt. A bad odor will attract flies, and a clean odor, such as the
fragrance of flowers, will drive them away. Keep everything clean, and
starve at least some of them to death.


Don’t tolerate flies.

Don’t allow them in your house.

Don’t allow them on your premises.

Don’t allow garbage, rubbish, or manure to collect on your lot or near

Don’t allow dirt in your house. Look in the corners, behind the doors
and furniture, under stairs and beds. In brief, keep the house clean.

Don’t allow flies near food, especially milk.

Don’t buy food of any kind where flies are allowed.

Don’t buy milk where flies are on the cans or bottles.

Don’t eat where flies are found.

Don’t forget the screens.

Don’t forget to write to the Bureau of Health if there are any breeding
places for flies in your neighborhood.

Don’t Forget--No Dirt--No Flies.

“If you don’t kill me, I may kill you,” said the fly.


    Why are flies among our worst enemies?

    How does fighting flies mean safety first?

[Illustration: BREEDING PLACES]


If you have mosquitoes in your own home you may be sure that there is a
mosquito breeding place very near you. Perhaps it is in your own house
or yard, or at least within your own block. Such places are overlooked
because people do not know that any puddle of water, no matter how
small, makes a fine breeding place for these midget murderers.

Mosquitoes must have still water to breed in. Therefore if there is no
standing water there will be no mosquitoes.

Any water left standing in clogged sinks, toilet fixtures, water
pitchers in the guest room, buckets, tubs, aquariums without fish, or
in anything which will hold a few teaspoonfuls of water may be used
by the mosquito as the place to deposit eggs. If you are neglecting
such things, the chances are that you are raising your own crop of


Kill every mosquito you see about your house. Every mosquito killed in
winter or spring will lessen the number of mosquitoes in the summer by
thousands. Why?

Where it is necessary to have water standing in tanks, barrels, or
other such vessels, keep them closely covered with fine wire screens,
or with a piece of cheese-cloth.

Where it is impossible to drain or screen, you should cover the surface
of all standing water with a film of kerosene oil. By putting oil on
the water you cut off the air supply of the “wrigglers” and “tumblers.”
After leaving the eggs the young mosquitoes must have air in order to
live. A film of oil prevents them from getting the air, and they choke
to death.

Two tablespoonfuls of oil are sufficient to cover fifteen square feet
of water. Fresh oil should be put on the water once a week during the
summer season.


  No Standing Water--No Breeding Places;
  No Breeding Places--No Mosquitoes.


Mosquitoes generally settle on the ceiling above reach. If one climbs
up and kills them it soils the paper or plaster. A simple trap can be
made with which you can destroy them without defacing the ceiling.

Materials needed: the shallow cover of a tin can about five inches in
diameter. A broomstick about four feet long.

Nail the cover through the center to the broomstick.

To use: Pour a little kerosene oil into the cover. Raise it gently
under the mosquito and press it against the ceiling.

The mosquito will try to fly away and will fall into the oil. The
kerosene fumes will fill its “breathers,” and it will be suffocated.

[Illustration: MOSQUITO TRAP]


    How does the fighting of mosquitoes and flies help make a clean

    How does it mean safety-first?

    Do you think that all good citizens should take part in such
    fighting? Why?

    Why would you prefer to live in a city which does such fighting
    than in one which pays no heed to flies and mosquitoes?

    Should everyone value the good health of everyone else? Why?

[Illustration: The Good American Tries to Gain and to Keep Perfect

_Courtesy F. A. Owen Publishing Co_]


    Why is good health your most valuable possession?

    Why is your good health valuable to your country?

    How does your caring for your health show your love for your flag?

    Why does the good American try to gain and keep perfect health?

    Name some of the things which you should do every day in order to
    keep well.



Junior Membership and School Activities Patriotic Service



In September, 1917, President Wilson sent out a letter from the White
House in Washington to the school children of the United States. He
called this letter a proclamation. To proclaim anything is to tell it
to everybody.

So in this proclamation, President Wilson told the children that he was
also president of the American Red Cross, and that he would like to
have them all join the Red Cross as Junior Members and help in the work.


This letter meant that the twenty-two million school children of the
United States would not have to wait to grow up before doing actual Red
Cross work, but would be able to begin right away to take their part as
young citizens. If a story were written telling of the services of the
children during the war, it would fill a book larger than the biggest
dictionary. Two years later, the president sent out a new proclamation,
urging the children to continue the work of the Junior Red Cross.


    _To the School Children of the United States_:

    Two years ago, as President of the United States and as President
    of the American Red Cross, I addressed to you a letter in which I
    advised you to enroll in the newly organized Junior Red Cross, and
    I explained to you some of the ways in which the Junior Red Cross
    would help you to be useful to your country and to the children
    of those countries which were associated with us in a great war
    against a powerful enemy. Millions of you did join the Junior Red
    Cross and worked hard, and what you did is warmly appreciated by
    the whole country.

    Now, by the blessings of God and through the faithful performance
    of duty by our soldiers and sailors and the soldiers and sailors
    of the countries by whose side we fought, a great victory has been
    won and the war is over, but I am sure that you wish to continue
    to be useful to your country and to children less fortunate than
    yourselves. Therefore, I am writing to you at the opening of the
    new school year to advise you again to join the Junior Red Cross,
    which has planned a work for peace times even larger and more
    systematic than the work done during the war.

    The Junior Red Cross will instruct you in ideals and habits of
    service, will show you how to be useful to your school, how to aid
    the older people in your community in their efforts to promote the
    health and comfort of the people among whom you live, and how to
    help children who are still suffering from the effects of the great
    war in foreign lands invaded by the enemy.

    The recent war was the greatest of all wars, not only because
    more men and nations were engaged in it than in any other war of
    history, but also because, as a result of it, people have seen a
    vision of a different kind of world from the world of the past,
    a world in which nations shall unite for purposes of peace and
    good will as they formerly united only for war against an armed
    foe. In working for the children of other nations you will come to
    understand them better and they will understand and appreciate you

    Your education will not be complete unless you learn how to
    be good citizens, and the Junior Red Cross plans to teach you
    simple lessons of citizenship through its organization and its
    activities. It is your generation which must carry on the work of
    our generation at home and abroad and you cannot begin too soon to
    train your minds and habits for this responsibility. By doing what
    you can to make happier the people of your own neighborhood, your
    state, your country, and also the people of other lands, you will
    make yourselves happier.

                                     (Signed) WOODROW WILSON,

  September, 1919.



You know what they did.

They helped in the great work that the Red Cross was doing in the World

They made bandages and splints and clothing for the wounded soldiers
and sailors.

The girls knitted sweaters and mufflers and mittens to keep them warm.

The boys made stretcher poles, knitting needles, packing cases, and
many, many other useful articles in their manual training classes.

All the children stopped wasting food.

Many gave up some foods, of which they were very fond, in order to save
them for the army.

Indeed, one could talk all day about what the children did.

They helped by sending to the Red Cross what they made and what they
saved, to be used in the work of the Red Cross.


This work is:

First.--To care for and nurse the wounded among our own soldiers and
sailors, and even the wounded of the enemy who fall into the hands of
the Red Cross.

Second.--To care for the families of the soldiers and sailors who have
given their services to their country.


But happily wars do not last all the time.

Some day we hope wars will be done away with, but we cannot expect wars
to cease while kings and their friends make the laws for the people.

When the people make their own laws, wars will cease because the people
know best what is good for all.

What golden deeds then does Red Cross do in times of peace?

Always, in times of war or in times of peace, the work of the Red Cross
is helping people who are suffering.

How do people suffer in times of peace?

Perhaps from disease. In many cities Red Cross nurses go about from
home to home taking care of sick people, showing mothers how to take
care of babies, and helping in every way they can.

Perhaps floods or fires come, bringing suffering. The Red Cross is the
first to send out help to the sufferers.


Can you tell about what happens during a flood? What work can the Red
Cross do?

How does the Red Cross help the people whose homes have been destroyed
by fire? Can you tell about the San Francisco earthquake in 1906?

[Illustration: THE EXPLOSION AT HALIFAX IN 1917.]

Who were the first to send doctors and nurses, and medicine and food to
the suffering people of Halifax?

Yes, the Red Cross. I think if the great Red Cross could be made into
one picture it would be a picture of the good neighbor. The good
neighbor takes what is needed to a neighbor who is hurt, or sick, or in
need, and stays to do what can be done for the sufferer. Is that the
kind of a picture you have in your mind of the Red Cross?


Now, just imagine a city made up entirely of people who are good
neighbors. What kind of a place would it be? Wouldn’t you like to live
in such a city?

Such people would show by their deeds that they loved their country,
wouldn’t they? How can we show that we love our country?

When we say we love our country, we do not mean only the land on which
we live. We mean the people who live on the land, and the land on which
the people live. The people and the land make up “our country.”

       *       *       *       *       *

  America! America!
    God shed his grace on thee,
  And crown thy good with brotherhood
    From sea to shining sea!
                      --_Katherine Lee Bates._


What they stand for--

[Illustration: FOR HUMANITY]

[Illustration: FOR GOD AND COUNTRY]

What does Humanity mean?

Do you have two flags?

Do you wear the Red Cross button?

Do you ask your friends to join the Red Cross?

Has your school an American Red Cross Auxiliary banner?


When we say we love our American flag, we mean that we love what our
flag stands for. We mean that we love our people and the land on which
we live.

But there is a flag which means that we love all people who need us as
good neighbors, no matter where they live, no matter who they are.

May that flag some day fly in every country of the world to show that
all boys and girls have learned to be Good Neighbors.

The Red Cross flag is the second flag of American citizens. Do you know
how many members the American Red Cross would have, if every American
citizen were a member?

One of the best ways to show how much you love your country’s flag is
to enlist in the services of your country under the Red Cross flag.

Of course you are wondering how we came to have a second flag, and how
our American Red Cross came to be.

Before you can learn about that, you must find out how the Red Cross
first came to be. You must think about two people. One is Florence
Nightingale; the other, Henri Dunant.


You have heard about the little English girl, named Florence
Nightingale, who loved to play she was a nurse.

You remember that when she grew up she went in a ship all the way to
the Crimean peninsula to nurse the soldiers during the dreadful war
between England and Russia in 1854.

You remember, too, that when she wanted to go, the men in charge of the
army told her that it was a foolish idea.

They said that no one had ever heard of such a thing--that women would
not be able to do any good in such a dreadful place.

But Florence Nightingale was not the kind of person to be discouraged
by such talk.

She managed to go; and she did so much for the wounded and sick
soldiers that they called her the “Angel of Mercy.”

Do you remember that the very men who had discouraged her found out
that the work she and her nurse friends did was the most wonderful help
they ever had?


When Florence Nightingale was eight years old, a little boy was born in
Geneva, Switzerland.

His name was Henri Du-nant.

Little Henri grew up like other boys; he was full of sport, but he was
always sorry for any creature which suffered.

After he grew to be a man, he was made very sad because of the
sufferings of wounded soldiers. He knew the story of Florence
Nightingale, and often wondered if something could not be done to help
all soldiers.

After seeing a terrible battle in which nearly forty thousand men were
killed and wounded, he wrote a story about it. In the story he asked
the question, “Why couldn’t people of all countries make plans to care
for the sick and wounded during wars?”

And from his thought came the great Red Cross work.

That work began before there was an American Red Cross.

Now we are ready to find out about our own Red Cross.


It makes you glad to think how proud the English people must have been
of Florence Nightingale, doesn’t it?

You will be very happy to know that an American woman did just the same
kind of work for American soldiers as Florence Nightingale did for
English soldiers. Her name was Clara Barton.

I. The Christmas Baby

Clara Barton was a Christmas baby.

The Barton family lived in a farmhouse on a hill near Oxford,

There were four other children, two boys and two girls.

On Christmas morning of 1821, the four children woke to find a lovely
Christmas present--a baby sister whom they loved from the minute they
saw her. This was Clara Barton.

Little Clara grew up very happily. In winter she loved to coast on the
snowy hills and to skate on the ice-ponds, and to take the long walk to
and from the country school house.

In summer she played in the green fields and waded in the cool brooks.


She and her brother David used to do many daring, dangerous things.

They would ride upon the bare backs of unbroken colts. They would climb
high places.

II. The Little Nurse

One day David climbed high into the peak of the roof of the barn.
Suddenly a board gave way and David fell.

He was dreadfully hurt.

Although Clara was only eleven years old when this happened, she would
not let any one but herself nurse David. For two years she took care of

“You will get sick yourself,” her mother told her, but Clara said that
she could not leave her brother.

“I would rather nurse sick people than play,” she said.

It was because of her tender care that David got well.

“Clara is a born nurse,” he would say. “She knows just the right things
to do.”

III. Clara Grows Up

You would think that when she grew up, Clara would have studied to be a
trained nurse, wouldn’t you?

If there had been trained nurses in that day no doubt she would have
done so, but there were none.

Instead, she became a school teacher.

[Illustration: CLARA BARTON]

When she was only sixteen, she began to teach in a little district
school near her home in Oxford, Massachusetts.

Afterward she taught the first public free school in New Jersey.

She worked so hard in her teaching that her strength gave out, and she
decided to do some other kind of work.

You see, she could not bear to be idle.

So she went to Washington.

As you know, Washington is the capital of the United States.

Most of the business of our national government is attended to in this

Soon after Clara Barton went there she was asked to take charge of the
Pension Office of the government.

She was asked to do this because she could be trusted to do her duty.

IV. The Civil War

When she had been in Washington about three years, the terrible Civil
War broke out.

You remember what the quarrel was about, don’t you?

There were fierce battles, after which wounded soldiers lay on the
battlefields without help.

The thought of their sufferings touched Miss Barton’s tender heart.

“Oh, if I could only go nurse them!” she thought. She knew that many
other kind women were having the same thoughts.

“I will go!” she finally decided.

At first the men in charge of the army did not want her to go, and said
that such work was too hard for women.

But Clara Barton, like Florence Nightingale, was not the kind of person
to be discouraged by such talk.

She managed to go.

And the very men who had discouraged her found out that the work she
did was the most wonderful kind of help.

V. The Army Nurse

I wish I could tell you about the noble deeds she did, but this book
would not hold all the stories.

She carried food and medicine to the soldiers.

She bound up their wounds and put on their bandages.

Sometimes as she was dressing the wounds of a soldier in the open field
a bullet would come whizzing by.

Once one passed between her arm and her body.

She wrote letters for the men to their families, that their loved ones
might know where they were.

In the cold winter weather, in the heat of summer, she did everything
she could for the wounded and sick soldiers.

You do not wonder that they called her “The Angel of the Battlefield,”
do you?

After the war was over she was so tired and worn out that the doctors
said she would have to take a long rest. So she went across the ocean
to Switzerland.

VI. Miss Barton Hears of the Red Cross

The story of Miss Barton’s great work had reached Switzerland before
she left home.

While she was there in Geneva some gentlemen who had heard the story
went to call upon her.

They talked with her about Henri Dunant and Florence Nightingale and
about the relief work done in our own Civil War.

They told her that they had formed a society called the Red Cross.
The work of the people of the Red Cross was to care for the wounded

They said that the people of the Red Cross wore a certain badge, a red
cross on a white ground. On the battlefield persons wearing this badge
were allowed to give help to the wounded soldiers.

They said that twenty-two different countries in Europe had joined
in this work, and they asked Miss Barton if she would try to get the
United States to form a Red Cross Society in America.

Miss Barton was very thankful to learn about the Red Cross and promised
to do all that she could, for she could understand better than many
other people how great a good could come from such work.

VII. The American Red Cross

When Miss Barton returned from Europe she kept her promise and tried to
interest the American people in the Red Cross. But many years of weary
waiting and hard trying passed before anything was done.

At last, in 1882, President Arthur signed the Red Cross Treaty and
enrolled the United States with the other nations under the Red Cross

This is the story of how the American Red Cross came to be.


In the year 1859 a wounded soldier lay upon a European battlefield. The
battle was over and night was coming on. Only the dead and dying were
left on the field.

“Water! Water!” the soldier moaned, but no one heard him.

His severe wound brought on a high fever and his lips became parched
with thirst.

“Water! Water!” he cried again. “If I only had a drink of water!”

Then he heard a sound as if some one was creeping towards him.

Opening his eyes, he saw in the falling darkness another wounded
soldier lying by his side.

This soldier reached over and held his water bottle to the feverish
lips of his suffering comrade.

Eagerly he drank and then asked, “Have you enough for us both?”

“Yes, yes, drink!” was the answer. “You need it more than I!”

Again he drank and then fell back exhausted.

“I wonder if they will find us?” the second man said, and he too fell
back exhausted with the effort he had made.

All that night they lay there, and all the next day; but no relief
came. As the weary hours dragged by they tried to help each other; but
it was little they could do, except to lie there and suffer.

The second night the severely wounded man died, and the one who had
brought him water was left alone.

In the morning a kind farmer, who had been searching for the wounded,
found him and carried him to his home. The farmer’s wife bound up
his wounds with clean bandages and nursed him until the army surgeon

If help had been at hand, the lives of thousands of heroes who lay on
that great battlefield would have been saved. But there were no plans
of rescue and no care for the wounded such as we have to-day; there was
no Red Cross.


In 1918 an American soldier was wounded in the Great War. As soon as he
was able, he opened his first-aid kit and poured iodine into his wound.

“Oh, how I wish I had a drink of water,” he moaned. He lifted his
canteen to his lips, but it was empty.

He lay back and closed his eyes. Quite soon he was roused by the touch
of something cold and soft against his face.

He knew what it was.

Yes, it was a Red Cross army dog, which had been sent out to search for
the wounded.

To the dog’s neck was tied a canteen full of water, and from his collar
hung a short strap.

While the soldier loosened the bottle the dog stood still. Then he
grasped the end of the strap in his mouth and speeded away.


Like all Red Cross dogs, he had been taught to seize the strap in his
mouth whenever he found a wounded man, and to return home with the news.

When the Red Cross workers saw him coming with the strap held in this
way, they knew that a man lay out on the battlefield in need of help.

It was not long before the brave dog was again standing by the side of
the wounded soldier, this time with the helpers he had led to the spot.

With gentle hands two Red Cross orderlies lifted the rescued man into
the Red Cross ambulance which was waiting near by.

Very soon he found himself in a clean hospital bed with an army surgeon
using all his knowledge and skill in dressing his wounds.

When his wounds were dressed, he looked up to see a quiet, cheerful Red
Cross nurse standing by his bedside with a bowl of warm broth for him
to drink.

His life had been saved by the Red Cross.


    Which soldier would you rather have been?

    Who was to thank for the comforts of the second soldier?

    Do you not think that every child in the United States should
    belong to the Red Cross?

    What kind of men and women will they grow to be if they try to do
    the kind things that the Red Cross does?

    What kind of a country will they have? Why?

    How can they help do away with wars?

    What does this mean--“Boys and girls, you are the hope of the


  Wherever war with its red woes,
  Or flood, or fire, or famine goes,
      There, too, go I;
  If earth in any quarter quakes,
  Or pestilence its ravage makes,
      Thither I fly.
                            --_John H. Finley._

[Illustration: SONNY]


Sonny, a big, gentle, and affectionate dog was offered as a prize
to the members of the Junior Red Cross by one of the large woman’s
magazines of this country. Sonny was to be given to the school children
who sent in the best account of the work they had done during the first
year of the life of the Junior Red Cross.

The prize dog was sent to the children of Maplewood School, Maplewood,
New Jersey, in time to march in their Fourth-of-July parade, and he and
the children were very, very proud of themselves and of each other.
Everybody cheered them and they had a delightful time.

The Maplewood children decided to send the prize dog to serve in the
trenches during the World War. As he was a real police dog, with plenty
of courage, this just suited Sonny.

Here is a part of the prize essay:

“We have had a most interesting year of Red Cross work in the Maplewood
Grammar School, and we believe that the results have been worth while.

“Our work as a Junior Red Cross unit began twenty-four hours after
President Wilson had issued his proclamation.

“In that short time, every child in the school of five hundred and ten
pupils had been enlisted in the Junior Red Cross army, dues of one
hundred and fifty dollars had been paid, and our officers had been

“We have given our school sewing-periods to the making of games, and
posters for Victory Gardens and War Savings Stamps campaigns. On
Wednesday afternoons, the whole school is dismissed at two-thirty, and
we all do Red Cross work until five o’clock. In addition, we take home
extra work and return it completed. As the result of our efforts, we
have made 14,975 articles. All of the articles have been made since we
became part of the National Junior Red Cross army. We were notified
that many of our first articles had been sent to other units to be used
as models.

“This is a record of what we have done for the Junior Red Cross. It is
only a little compared with what the Junior Red Cross has done for us
in teaching us perseverance, thrift and thoughtfulness, and in giving
us a fine chance to prove ourselves patriotic.”

                                                 --_From the Delineator_


When the Junior Red Cross was one year old, 8,000,000 children had
become members.

50,000 refugee garments had been made by the members in the first six
months of its existence.

3,004 pieces of furniture had been made by school children for Red
Cross convalescent houses.

A fund of more than $10,000,000 had been raised by the Junior Red Cross
before its first birthday.

Crop harvesting, berry picking, and gardening are some of the ways
in which the 8,000,000 members saved money and made money for their
country--for their United States.


[Illustration: RED CROSS EMBLEM]

The cutting of a Red Cross emblem with one stroke of the scissors is
a thing quite easy to master. Fold over a piece of paper six inches
square until the lower left-hand corner meets the upper right-hand
corner, and the paper forms a triangle measuring 8 × 6 × 6 inches. With
the longest side toward you, fold the lower right-hand point until it
rests on the lower left-hand point, making a triangle 6 × 4-1/4 × 4-1/4
inches. Repeat the process, making a triangle 4-1/4 × 3 × 3 inches.
From the point marked A in the illustration measure one inch toward B.
From this point draw a line parallel with the fold marked A--C. Using a
pair of sharp scissors, cut along this line, unfold the paper and you
will have a perfect cross. For emblems varying in size merely increase
or decrease the measurements.


In a certain company fighting in the World War were two brothers, one a
captain and one a private.

As their company stormed the ragged top of the mountain opposite where
they were stationed, the young captain was mortally wounded. Covered
with blood and terribly hurt he dragged himself to the shelter of a
shell crater where he lay protected under heavy machine gun fire. His
company was forced to retire to a shelter a few hundred yards back
where the lines were re-formed and they were waiting orders.

Saluting his commanding officer, the young private requested the
privilege of going back for the body of his wounded brother. The
officer objected. Would it be wise to risk a life in the face of such a
rain of fire? The captain was mortally wounded and probably dead.

Finally he gave his consent and the lad crawled out to the shell crater
on his hands and knees. Tenderly raising the body of his captain
brother he started to crawl back towards his company lines. As he
reached their shelter the life of his brother passed out and he laid
the body tenderly upon the ground.

The commanding officer came to him and as the private saluted, “Well,”
said the officer, “your brother is dead. Your trip was useless. Was it
worth while for you to run such a risk?”

The young soldier replied as he smiled into the face of the superior
officer, “Yes, sir; it was worth the risk. As I crawled down over the
top of that shell crater and looked into the pale face of my brother,
his eyes were closed and I knew he was going to die. When I touched him
he roused and slowly opened his eyes. He recognized me and said, ‘I
knew you’d come, Tom. Oh, I knew you would come.’ All the risk I ran
was paid for, because he believed in me--and I am glad, sir, that I was
able to prove myself, in that moment, worthy of that belief.”

                                     --_Adapted from “Association Men.”_


    Aren’t you glad that you can help the Red Cross to help brave men
    like these?

    How did they show their love for their country’s flag?


      Here are my lands!
    They are my country’s, too.
  For her fields were won by valiant men,
  And all they yield is hers to take again.

      Here are my hands!
    They are my country’s, too.
  Ungrudged, unweighed, their works and gains belong
  To her who lent them skill, who made them strong.

      Here is my life!
    It is my country’s, too--
  A life to live for her who made me free,
  A life to give for her, if need shall be.

[Illustration: Motto on the Liberty Bell

Proclaim Liberty Throughout All the Land unto All the Inhabitants


I pledge allegiance to my Flag, and to the Republic for which it
stands--one Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for all.


  Here’s to the flag! How we love every thread of it!
  Love every stitch from the foot to the head of it,
  Loving the blue and the white and the red of it,
        Floating so free!
  Well may the traitor and spy have a dread of it,
        Guardian of you and of me.

  Here’s to the flag! How we thrill at the sight of it!
  Thrill at the color, the glory, the might of it,
  Thrill at the red and the blue and the white of it,
        Flag of the free!
  Resting our cause in the justice and right of it,
        Flying for you and for me.

  Here’s to the flag! How we gaze at the hue of it!
  Glowing with pride at the incidents true of it,
  Proud of the red and the white and the blue of it,
        Floating o’er land and o’er sea!
  Let our thoughts ever be worthy and true of it,
        Floating for you and for me.

  Here’s to the flag! How we reverence the whole of it!
  Red stripes and white stripes, stars, field and pole of it,
  Liberty, freedom, the ultimate goal of it,
        Flag of the free!
  Loyal we’ll be to the heart and the soul of it,
        Flag dear to you and to me.
                                  --_Edward B. Seymour._


The American Flag is a symbol of the brotherhood of man; it stands for
courage, for chivalry, for generosity and for honor.

To bear the “Star Spangled Banner” is an honor; to own one is a sacred
trust, for it is the emblem of freedom, equality and justice for all.

The flag should not be hoisted before sunrise, nor allowed to remain up
after sunset. When being raised or lowered, it should not be allowed to
touch the ground.

When the national colors are passing on parade or in review, and when
they are being lowered at sunset, and the “Star Spangled Banner” is
being played, spectators should, if walking, halt, and if sitting, rise
and stand at attention with hats off.

When the flag is used as a banner, that is, suspended across a street,
the union, or field, should fly to the north in streets running east
and west, and to the east in streets running north and south.

When the flag is hung against a wall or in decoration, so it can be
viewed from one side only, the blue field should be at the upper right
corner as one faces it. When hung horizontally, the field should be at
the upper left corner.

When a flag is displayed on a rope, the field should be away from the
residence of the one displaying the flag, in the same position as it
would be if attached to the staff.

The flag at half staff is a sign of mourning. In placing the flag at
half staff, it first should be hoisted to the top of the staff and then
lowered to position; and preliminary to lowering from half staff, it
should be raised to the top. On Memorial Day, May 30, it should fly at
half staff until noon and at top of staff from noon until sunset.



Edward Everett Hale’s Story, “_The Man Without A Country_,” retold by
Edna S. Knapp.



Once there was a man, an officer in the American army, who said
something dreadful, when he was only a mere boy; he cursed his native
country! He pretended for a while that he did not care when he was
punished, but in the end he was very, very sorry. Because he wore his
uniform without the official buttons, the sailors on the ships where he
spent his life called him “Plain Buttons.”

His name was Philip Nolan. He had been brought up on a southern
plantation where the most welcome guests were Spanish or French
officers. He spent half his time with an older brother hunting horses
in Texas. The “United States” meant almost nothing to him.

Still, when he grew up he became an officer in the army of the “United
States;” he swore, on his faith as a Christian, to be true to the
“United States.” Nolan was a lieutenant in the “Legion of the West,” as
our western army was called in those early days, one hundred years ago.

At that time the Mississippi valley was the “far West” to most people,
and seemed a very distant land indeed. We had a number of forts along
the river bank and Nolan was stationed in one of these. Nolan’s idol
was the brilliant and dashing Aaron Burr, who visited the fort several
times between 1805 and 1807. He paid some attention to Nolan and
obtained a very strong influence over him.

Burr got into trouble and some of his friends were tried for treason,
Nolan among them. It was very plain that Nolan would do anything Burr
told him; that he would obey Burr far quicker than his country, in
spite of his oath.

So when the President of the court asked Nolan, at the close of the
trial, whether he wished to say anything to show that he had always
been faithful to the United States, he cried out in a fit of frenzy,
“Curse the United States! I wish I may never hear of the United States

Colonel Morgan, who was holding the court, turned white as a sheet.
Half the officers who sat in it had served through the Revolutionary
War and had risked their lives, not to say their necks, cheerfully and
loyally for the country which Nolan so lightly cursed in his madness.
Colonel Morgan, terribly shocked, called the court into his private
room and returned in fifteen minutes to say:

“Prisoner, hear the sentence of the Court! The Court decides, subject
to the approval of the President, that you never hear the name of the
United States again.”

Nolan laughed, but the whole room was hushed dead as night for a
minute. Then Colonel Morgan added, “Mr. Marshal, take the prisoner to
Orleans in an armed boat and deliver him to the naval commander there.
Request him to order that no one shall mention the United States to the
prisoner while he is on board ship.”


Colonel Morgan himself went to Washington and President Jefferson
approved the sentence, so a plan was formed to keep Nolan constantly
at sea. Our navy took few long cruises then, but one ship could carry
the prisoner as far away as it was going, then transfer him to another
vessel before it sailed for home.

Nolan wore his uniform, but with plain buttons. He always had a sentry
before his door, but the men were as good to him as his sentence
permitted. No mess wanted to have him with them too steadily because
they could never talk about home matters when he was present,--more
than half the talk men liked to have at sea. They took turns inviting
him to dinner, and the captain always asked him on Mondays. He could
have any books or papers not printed in America. Newspapers having any
mention of America had to be gone over, and the allusions cut out. He
used to join the men as they were reading on deck and take his turn in
reading aloud. Once, when they were cruising around the Cape of Good
Hope, somebody got hold of Scott’s “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” which
was then new and famous. Nolan was reading when he came to this passage:

  “Breathes there the man with soul so dead
   Who never to himself hath said,
     This is my own, my native land?
   Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned,
   As home his footsteps he hath turned
     From wandering on a foreign strand?

   If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
   For him no minstrel raptures swell;
   High though his titles, proud his name,
   Boundless his wealth as wish can claim,--
   Despite those titles, power and pelf,
   The wretch, concentred all in self”--

Here the poor fellow choked, and could not go on, but started up and
flung the book into the sea and fled to his stateroom. It was two
months before he dared join the men again.

There was a change in Nolan after this. He never read aloud from
anything unless he was sure of it, like the Bible or Shakespeare. He
was always shy afterwards, and looked like a heart-wounded man.

Sometimes he tried to trap people into mentioning his country, but he
never succeeded; his sentence was too well known among the men who had
him in charge. I think there was only one day that he was really happy
except when he knew his lonely life was closing. Once, during the war
of 1812, the ship on which he was staying had a fight with an English
frigate. A round shot entered a port and killed the officer of the
gun and many of the gun’s crew. The surgeon’s people carried off the
wounded and then Nolan appeared in his shirt-sleeves with a rammer in
his hand and took command. He finished loading the gun with his own
hands, aimed it and bade the men fire. There he stayed until the enemy
struck, getting that gun loaded and fired twice as often as any other
gun on the ship. The old Commodore thanked Nolan publicly, gave him his
own sword, and mentioned him in the dispatches.


At another time Nolan went with a young officer named Vaughan to
overhaul a dirty little schooner which had slaves on board. Nolan
was the only one who could speak Portuguese, the language used by
the slavers. There were but few of the negroes. Vaughan had their
hand-cuffs and ankle-cuffs knocked off and put these on the rascals of
the schooner’s crew. Then Nolan told the blacks that they were free and
that Vaughan would take them to Cape Palmas.

Now, Cape Palmas was a long way from their native land, and they said,
“Not Palmas. Take us home, take us to our own country, take us to our
own pickaninnies and our own women.” One complained that he had not
heard from home for more than six months. It was terribly hard for
Nolan, but he translated these speeches, and told the negroes Vaughan’s
answer in some fashion.

As they were rowing back he said to a young midshipman of whom he was
fond, “Youngster, let that show you what it is to be without a family,
without a home, and without a country. And if you are ever tempted to
say a word or do a thing that shall put a bar between you and your
family, your home and your country, pray God in His mercy to take you
that instant home to His own heaven.

“And for your country, boy, and for that flag, never dream a dream but
of serving her as she bids you, though the service carry you through a
thousand hells. No matter what happens to you, no matter who flatters
you or who abuses you, never look at another flag, never let a night
pass but you pray God to bless that flag. Remember, boy, that behind
all these men you have to do with, behind officers, and government, and
people even, there is the Country Herself, your Country, and that you
belong to Her as you belong to your own mother.”

And then Nolan added, almost in a whisper, “Oh, if anybody had said so
to me when I was of your age!”

Years passed on, and Nolan’s sentence was unrevoked, though his friends
had once asked for a pardon.

The end came when he had been nearly fifty years at sea, and he asked
the ship’s doctor for a visit from another midshipman, Danforth, whom
he liked. Danforth tells us about Nolan’s last hours and calls him
“dear old Nolan,” so we know his love was returned.

The boy saw what a little shrine poor Nolan had made of his stateroom.
Up above were the stars and stripes, and around a portrait of
Washington he had painted a majestic eagle with lightnings blazing from
his beak, and his foot just clasping the whole globe. Nolan said, with
a sad smile, “Here, you see, I have a country.” Over the foot of the
bed was a great map of the United States, drawn from memory. Queer old
names were on it, names such as he had learned, like “Indian Territory”
and “Louisiana Territory.”

“Danforth,” he said, “I know I am dying. I am sure that you know that
there is not in America,--God bless her!--a more loyal man than I.
There cannot be a man who loves the old flag as I do, or hopes for it
as I do. Tell me something,--tell me everything before I die!”

Then the young midshipman redrew the map and tried to tell all that had
happened to our great and growing country in fifty years. Only he could
not wound his friend by mentioning the Civil War.

Nolan drank it all in and enjoyed it more than we can tell. After that
he seemed to grow weary and asked for his Bible, telling Danforth to
look in it after he was gone. This is the text he had marked: “They
desire a country, even a heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be
called their God: for He hath prepared for them a city.”

On a slip of paper he had written, “Bury me in the sea; it has been my
home, and I love it. But will not some one set up a stone for my memory
at Fort Adams or at Orleans, that my disgrace may not be more than I
ought to bear? Say on it:

  _In Memory of_
  _Lieutenant in the Army of the United States_

“He loved his country as no other man has loved her; but no man
deserved less at her hands.”


  There’s no place like my homeland,
    Dear land of liberty,
  Where all mankind are equal,
    And all the people free.
  I can see a glorious future
    For which my land awaits,
  A future filled with triumph
    For my own United States.

  America, my homeland!
    What glorious future thine,
  When all the peoples of the earth
    For freedom shall combine;
  When liberty and justice
    Shall rule within their gates,
  As here within my homeland,
    My own United States.


  Behind him lay the gray Azores,
    Behind, the Gates of Hercules;
  Before him not the ghost of shores,
    Before him only shoreless seas.
  The good mate said: “Now must we pray,
    For lo! the very stars are gone;
  Brave Admiral, speak; what shall I say?”
    “Why, say, ‘Sail on! sail on! and on!’”

  “My men grow mutinous day by day:
    My men grow ghastly wan and weak.”
  The stout mate thought of home; a spray
    Of salt wave wash’d his swarthy cheek.
  “What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,
    If we sight naught but seas at dawn?”
  “Why, you shall say, at break of day,
    ‘Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!’”

  They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
    Until at last the blanched mate said:
  “Why, now not even God would know
    Should I and all my men fall dead.
  These very winds forget their way,
    For God from these dread seas is gone.
  Now speak, brave Admiral; speak, and say--”
    He said: “Sail on! sail on! and on!”

  They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
    “This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
  He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
    With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
  Brave Admiral, say but one good word:
    What shall we do when hope is gone?”
  The words leapt as a leaping sword:
    “Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!”

  Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
    And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
  Of all dark nights! And then a speck--
    A light! A light! A light! A light!
  It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
    It grew to be Time’s burst of dawn.
  He gained a world! he gave that world
    Its grandest lesson: “On! sail on!”
                                --_Joaquin Miller_.


    1. Do you know what is meant by the Gates of Hercules?

    2. Suppose that Columbus had become discouraged and had allowed the
    men to turn the ships toward home, what would have happened?

    3. When we celebrate Columbus Day on October 12th, what are you
    going to think about?

    4. In what way can you be like Columbus?

[Illustration: Democracy means Government of the people, by the people,
for the people.]


    Why is America the greatest democracy in the world?

    Why do the children of a democracy have a better chance than those
    of a country governed in any other way?

    Why should American children be the best young citizens in the

    How can they show that they are good citizens?

    How will this help the children who will come after them?

[Illustration: THE FUTURE


  Ark of freedom! Glory’s dwelling!
    Native land, God makes thee free!
  When the storms are round thee swelling,
    Let thy heart be strong in thee!






    1. Physical--through stories of heroic acts.

    2. Moral--in truthfulness and honesty.

II. SELF-CONTROL--In Act and Speech

    1. At home.

    2. At school.

    3. At play.

    NOTE.--In the treatment of this, as of other topics, the teacher’s
    example is of great importance.


    1. Care in the use of school supplies: the economical use of paper,
    books, pencils, crayons, pens.

    2. Care of clothing: those who provide our clothing for us; how we
    should take care of it.

    3. The spending of money: what money is for; the wise use of money.

    4. The saving of money: the home bank; the school bank; the savings
    bank; encourage the children to save for some definite object a
    part of the money which is given to them or which they may earn.

    5. The saving of time.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to Care of Property, Punctuality.


    1. In work: at home; at school.

    2. In well-doing.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to Thoroughness.

A Class-room Society for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

Extract from a letter from a teacher: “... I work the class-room S. P.
C. A. in this way: after a lesson on Kindness to Animals, I mention
forming a Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals.

“A part of the blackboard is devoted to the society, and the children
are encouraged to bring in pictures of animals, which I paste on the
board. I start the collection with one picture I have found.

“From day to day the children report any kind act they have done for
animals, and I record them briefly on the board without names.”

Special particulars as to the formation of a S. P. C. A. or Band of
Mercy may be had by addressing the nearest city organization for such
humane work, or by reading the laws which appear on the last few pages
of the book “Black Beauty”; or by addressing the American Humane
Education Society, 170-184 Longwood Avenue, Boston, Mass., from whom
valuable literature on the subject may be obtained.



    1. Stories of police heroism.

    2. What the policeman does for us: Protects our homes; sends
    in alarm in case of fire; keeps watch while we are away, etc.
    Protects us on the streets by reporting cave-ins and putting up
    warning signals, etc. Protects us at street crossings from horses,
    automobiles, cars, etc.

    3. How we may aid the policeman.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to _Obedience_, _Helpfulness_, _Care of
    property_, _Respect_, _Self-control_, _Courage_, _Fair Play_,


    1. The story of a fire: The alarm; the race to the fire; how the
    firemen fight the fire; stories of heroic acts of firemen.

    2. A visit to a fire station: The engines; the firemen always ready
    to respond to an alarm; the horses; the automobile service; what
    takes place when an alarm of fire is sounded.

    3. Prevention of fires: Care in the use of matches--the rule of the
    United States Forestry Service: Break your match before throwing it
    away; the danger of playing with fire; the uses of fire when it is
    man’s servant; its dangers when it becomes master; stories of great
    fires, loss of life, property, etc.

    4. Giving alarms in case of fire: How alarms are sent in; false

    5. Precautions to insure personal safety: Care in the use of
    inflammable or explosive materials; keeping hallways, fire escapes
    and other exits clear of obstructions; noting location of exits;
    keeping cool in case of fire--how easy it is for every one to get
    out if all keep cool--danger from panic--aiding the weak.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to _Safety_, _Self-Control_, _Courage_.


    1. The story of a letter: How it is posted; the collection; the
    sub-postal station or the post-office; how a letter travels; the
    letter ready for delivery.

    2. The postman: How often he delivers mail in your neighborhood;
    some of the things which he has to do; rural free delivery service.

    3. A visit to the post-office: What we see; the sorting; stamping,

    4. How we may help the postman: Addressing letters properly;
    writing distinctly in addressing letters; placing the stamp
    properly; answering the bell promptly for the postman; saving time
    by having a letter box.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to _Helpfulness_.


    1. Our streets-the hallways of the city.

    2. The people who use the streets.

    3. How the streets become dirty: The dirt caused by carelessness.

    4. The story of the men who clean the streets: How the streets are

    5. How clean streets make for health.

    6. How we may aid in keeping our streets clean.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to _Cleanliness_, _Helpfulness_, _Safety_,


    1. Garbage--waste food: Care not to throw away any food that can be

    2. The garbage can covered. Why?

    3. The relation of decayed garbage to health--flies.

    4. The garbage collector: What he does for us; when and how he
    makes his collections--the covered iron wagon; what is done with
    the garbage.

    5. Importance of observing city regulations.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to _Cleanliness_, _Helpfulness_, _Safety_,
    _Respect_, _Thrift_.


    1. The ashes in our houses: Keep in metal receptacles if possible
    to avoid fire.

    2. The rubbish in our houses: Danger of allowing rubbish to
    accumulate--fire--health; danger of fire from mixing ashes and

    3. The ash collector and the rubbish collector: What they do for
    us; when and how they make their collections; the wagons they use;
    what is done with the ashes.

    4. Importance of observing city regulations.

    NOTE.--Relate this topic to _Cleanliness_, _Helpfulness_,
    _Safety_, _Respect_.

(Parts I and II of this outline are from the Course of Study in Civics
for the Public Schools of Philadelphia).



1. The value of safety first: Accidents from carelessness; sources of

2. How to protect ourselves from danger: Chance-taking; being on guard.

NOTE.--Relate this topic to _Our Public Servants_.



1. Stories about the work of the Red Cross.

2. Stories about Red Cross heroes and heroines.

3. Work of the Junior Red Cross.


On the Division Organization Map below, find the city indicated as
Headquarters of the Division in which you are situated.



                       The Junior Red Cross

  (Name of your Division City)......................................
  (Name of State)...................................................
        Offices of (Name of your Division)..........................
                       American Red Cross

    For example:

    Suppose you live in Montana. The name of the Division in which you
    are situated is “Northern.” The offices of the Headquarters of your
    Division are in Minneapolis.

    You would address your inquiry as follows:

                    The Junior Red Cross
                             Minneapolis, Minn.

  Offices of Northern Division
      American Red Cross.

List of books telling about the Junior Red Cross:

    “Story of the Red Cross” (free of charge). Ask for ARC 601.

    “Manual of Junior Red Cross Activities” (free).

    “Red Cross Stories for Children,” by Georgene Faulkner, with
    introduction by Doctor H. N. MacCracken.

    This little volume is the property of the American Red Cross.

NOTE.--These books may be obtained from your Division Headquarters.


  The Mary Frances First Aid Book.
  The Mary Frances Cook Book.
  The Mary Frances Sewing Book.
  The Mary Frances Knitting and Crocheting Book.
                      Published by the John C. Winston Co.


  [A] For further information, see Outline of Work.

  [B] ©1917, by C. H. Miller. Courtesy of the Harr-Wagner Publishing Co.

      *      *      *      *      *      *

Transcriber’s note:

  Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been preserved.

  Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

  This eBook is dedicated to the memory of Emmy Miller.

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