FOR THE 
 CHILDREN'S HOUR 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY 
 
 . 
 
DL.nd 
 
 ^4 /i.:..,^-.^^^ '^f^^^--^ ^cU<M^ 
 
 V.5 
 
CORNELL UNIVERSITV LIBRARY 
 
 924 075 
 
 874 846 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tliis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924075874846 
 
FOR THE 
 CHILDREN'S HOUR 
 
 BOOK THREE 
 By CAROLYN SHERWIN BAILEY 
 
 AUTHOR OP 
 
 Daily Program of Gift and Occupation Work, For the Children's Hour, 
 
 Firelight Stories, Stories and Rhymes for a Child, Songs of 
 
 Happiness, For the Story Teller, Every Child's Folk 
 
 Songs and Games, Stories Children Need, 
 
 and Tell Me Another Story. 
 
 1918 
 
 MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY 
 
 SPRINGFIELD. MASS. 
 
CovyilKbt, 1917, by 
 
 MILTON BRADLEY COMPANY 
 
 SPRINGFIELD, MASS. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 The Boy Who Loved Justice, Marcus Aurelius 7 
 
 The Boy Who Could Give Up, William the Conqueror.... 14 
 
 The Man Who Obeyed the King, Robin Hood 20 
 
 The Little Poor Man, Francis of Assisi 25 
 
 The Shepherdess Whose Dream Came True, 
 
 Jeanne D'Arc 35 
 
 The Boy Who Conquered Fire, Palissy 46 
 
 The Boy Who Trusted His Father, Walter Tell 56 
 
 The Boy Who Could Not Be Bribed, A Story About the 
 
 Duke of Wellington 60 
 
 The Girl Who Saved Her Father, Prascovia 64 
 
 The Boy Who Liked Geography, Christopher Columbus.. 73 
 The Man Who Captured Lightning, Benjamin Franklin. ... 79 
 
 The Boy Who Was True, George Washington... 85 
 
 Paul Revere's Ride 93 
 
 The Log Cabin Boy, Abraham Lincoln 100 
 
 Barbara Frietchie 108 
 
 The Girl Who Wrote Uncle Tom's Cabin, Harriet Beecher 
 
 Stowe 112 
 
 The Blue and The Gray 119 
 
 The Boy Who Wanted to Be a Sculptor, Antonio Canova..l22 
 
 The Village Blacksmith 128 
 
 The Girl^Vho Liked to Play Nurse, Florence Nightingale.. 131 
 
 Apple Seed John 139 
 
 The Girl Who Was a Loving Sister, Louisa M. Alcott....l44 
 
 The Boy from the Hatter's Shop, Peter Cooper 152 
 
 A Boy Who Wanted to Learn, Booker T. Washington.. ..159 
 The Girl Who Worked Hardest to Learn, Helen Keller. 168 
 The Boy Who Was a Wizard, Thomas Alva Edison 177 
 
For the Children's Hour 
 
 BOOK III 
 
 THE BOY WHO LOVED JUSTICE 
 
 MARCUS AURELIUS OF ROME 
 
 It was our first century, A. D., and the 
 birthday of Marcus "Verus, a boy of old 
 Rome. 
 
 The Roman lad and his mother stood 
 in the courtyard of their home. Prom the 
 living room of the house where Marcus and 
 his little sister, Annia of thirteen, lived there 
 came the busy hum of the maids' spinning 
 wheels. The white wool from the sheep 
 that petstured on the green hills of Rome 
 was to be made into soft cloth in this care- 
 ful household. Yet Marcus was a boy 
 of riches and of honor, a magistrate of 
 the city while still in his teens, and a 
 relative of the great Emperor Hadrian of 
 Rome. 
 
 7 
 
8 THE BOY WHO LOVED JUSTICE 
 
 A band of burnished gold held back the 
 straight dark hair from Marcus' forehead. 
 He had put aside the coarse mantle that he 
 wore at the hard school of the Stoics and 
 in its place he wore a holiday tunic of white 
 wool. It scarcely reached his knees and 
 showed his well buUt frame and tough, sun 
 burned skin. Marcus could play ball as 
 well as a boy of to-day. He was walking 
 home from a game of ball on one of the 
 grassy plains outside the city the year 
 before when runners met him bearing the 
 news that he had been chosen as a magis- 
 trate to sit in the courts of law with the 
 men of Rome. Marcus, though a boy and 
 a ruler, knew what justice was and how to 
 dispense it ! 
 
 His mother put her hand on his shoulder, 
 and he looked up into her sweet face. 
 Lucilla, the mother of Marcus, was very 
 like a mother of to-day. She wore the long 
 tunic and outer robe that was the fashion 
 in this long ago time, but her face was full 
 of love and pride as she smiled down at 
 her son. 
 
THE BOY WHO LOVED JUSTICE 9 
 
 "How are you going to celebrate yoiir 
 birthday, my Marcus?" she asked. 
 
 For a moment the lad was silent. He 
 was thinking of the many happy birthdays 
 of his past. Every one loved to give in 
 those days of long ago, on New Year's day, 
 on the feast days, and on the day when 
 the sun was highest and shone longest on 
 the gardens and palaces of the Romans. 
 On his birthday, the neighbors had always 
 come to Marcus' home with rich gifts : bou- 
 quets of flowers, carved brass bowls of fruit, 
 and rich sweets. 
 
 Marcus remembered a costly toy chariot 
 that had been given him. It was a gilded 
 model of those in which the charioteers 
 rode in the Colosseum. There had been 
 his gifts of painted balls and carved stone 
 marbles and a small javelin in other years. 
 
 It was different, though, this year. 
 Marcus was too old for toys. He looked 
 across the marble pavings of the court. 
 Blooming orange and oleander and lemon 
 trees stood all about it in great stone tubs. 
 There was a fountain whose waters sang 
 
10 THE BOY WHO LOVED JUSTICE 
 
 as they fell into a marble basin. At on© 
 end of the court there was a cage of p©t 
 doves cooing in tune to the playing of the 
 fountain. Annia, Marcus' little sister, had 
 climbed upon the cage and was feeding the 
 doves from her slim brown fingers. 
 
 Marcus' mother repeated her question. 
 
 "What will you do on this, your birth- 
 day, my son?" she asked. "There is little 
 that I can offer you now that all the wealth 
 of the family is yours. You are very rich, 
 Marcus," she added, sighing a little as she 
 looked at her winsome little daughter. 
 
 Marcus straightened himself proudly. 
 With his mother's words there had come 
 a plan to his mind which was always keen 
 where justice was concerned. 
 
 "I will celebrate my birthday by break- 
 ing a Roman custom," Marcus announced. 
 Then, as his mother looked surprised, he 
 explained. 
 
 "It is not just that a Roman son should 
 receive all the riches of his family and that 
 the daughter should be dependent upon 
 his bounty. I shall divide my father's 
 
THE BOY WHO LOVED JUSTICE 11 
 
 estate to-day and give half to my sister, 
 Annia." 
 
 "Give half of your wealth to Annia! 
 Oh, Marcus, that is like your kindness 
 of heart, but should you?" his mother 
 asked. 
 
 "I can and will do anything that is just," 
 Marcus answered, reaching out his arms to 
 Annia as the little girl came running across 
 the court to him. 
 
 The blood of the ancient kings ran 
 in the veins of Marcus, this Roman boy 
 of so many centuries ago. He was rich, 
 beloved, handsome, but the qualities that 
 have brought his name down to us through 
 all the centuries are his unselfishness, his 
 simplicity and his justice. 
 
 It was not easy for him to become a 
 knight of the Equestrian Order when he was 
 only six years old. That meant strenuous 
 training in horsemanship that would have 
 tried the strength of a much older lad. 
 When he was eight years old, Marcus was 
 made one of the priests of Mars, which 
 meant that he must perform many duties 
 
12 fttE BOY WHO LOVED JUSTICE 
 
 and carry messages in the temple without 
 neglecting or forgetting one. 
 
 "When Marcus was twelve years old he 
 went to school to the Stoics. They formed 
 an order of the ancients who believed that 
 hardships were more important in life than 
 anything else. So little Marcus put on the 
 Stoic's rough dress. He slept on the hard 
 floor or on the bare ground, denjring himself 
 a bed. He refused even the quilt that his 
 mother offered him. Yet Marcus loved to 
 play. He was a better gymnast than most 
 of the other boys, and he was far above 
 them in scholarship. 
 
 It was all these qualities of Marcus 
 which caused him to be made a magistrate 
 of Rome when he was barely sixteen years 
 old. 
 
 Perhaps you have seen a picture of 
 the old Roman Forum and remember how 
 grand and great it is. Even the ruins of 
 its stone walls seem to rise to the sky. 
 Can you imagine haw small you, a boy or 
 girl, would feel in the Roman Forum? 
 
 If you can look back in imagination to 
 
THE BOY WHO LOVED JUSTICE 13 
 
 the time of this story you may see the boy 
 Marcus there the day of his birthday. He 
 is seated in one of the law courts wearing 
 the rich gown of his office, the official ring 
 and the purple badge. Twelve attendants 
 surround his chair as he listens to the cases 
 that come before him and makes a wise 
 decision in the case of each. His eyes see 
 in dreams the ball grounds on the Roman 
 plains where the other boys are at play, 
 and he hears in fancy the roars of the lions 
 at the Circus, where he would like to be, 
 but he never once turns from the business 
 at hand. 
 
 Marcus grew up to be the great Emperor 
 Marcus Aurelius Antonius of Rome. He 
 was always kind and just and the best 
 loved of all the Roman rulers. He began 
 being Emperor, though, when he was a 
 boy just as all great men are usually great, 
 first of all, in their boyhood. 
 
THE BOY WHO COULD GIVE UP 
 
 WILLIAM THE CONQUEROR 
 
 It seems like a fairy tale come true 
 when we go back to the beginnings of 
 French history and see a little boy only 
 twelve years old the lord of a great castle. 
 He was the Duke of Normandy, a troubled 
 little lad with no mother or father. His 
 name was William, and that is what we will 
 call him, for he was a real boy at heart. 
 
 It was a gloomy old castle at Rouen. 
 It was a hundred years old when William 
 came to be its lord, and it was so full of 
 great rooms and treasures of armor and 
 plate that the lad hardly knew all his 
 possessions. There were great stables, a 
 huge banqueting hall, guest rooms hung 
 with rich but dingy old tapestries, and an 
 audience room in which the little Duke 
 seemed lost as he sat on the great throne. 
 
 There was a fortress, too, a stout stone 
 fort that stood to guard the entrance to 
 the castle grounds. Those were times of 
 
 14 
 
THE BOY WHO COULD GIVE UP 15 
 
 great stress in Prance. The country was 
 divided into fiefs, small portions of land 
 that were ruled by lords and barons. King 
 Henry of France ruled all the fiefs, in a 
 way, but there were quarrels all the time 
 about ownership and boundary lines. The 
 King had begun to feel that he was not 
 sufficiently respected in Normandy, and he 
 suddenly decided to invade its territory 
 with an army thousands strong. 
 
 William, Duke of Normandy, knew of 
 the struggles and conflicts that were 
 coming nearer and nearer his border lands. 
 He worried about it, but he loved to hunt, 
 and there was nothing that made him so 
 happy as to ride a fleet horse like the wind 
 over the sweeping plains of his land. 
 
 Gilbert of Crispin, who had been warden 
 of the castle for many years, guarded it 
 with his yoemen when William wanted to 
 go away to ride or hunt, and no one 
 thought that the King of France would 
 invade the duchy of a little boy of twelve. 
 
 That was why William was away, and 
 old Gilbert^ had few men to meet such an 
 
16 THE BOY WHO COULD GIVE UP 
 
 army of invaders, when King Henry of 
 France descended upon the castle of the 
 Duke of Normandy and demanded it with 
 all its men and land for himself. 
 
 Even the oldest servants of the little 
 Duke, the kitchen helpers and the stable 
 boys rallied and armed themselves to try 
 to hold the castle for their master. The 
 Knights of the King of France were tried 
 in warfare, though, and they greatly out- 
 numbered the force of the castle. Their 
 shields and lances flashed in the sunshine 
 and they shouted: 
 
 " Give us the keys of the castle. If you 
 refuse we will raze the walls to the ground 
 and kill the Duke and all his followers ! " 
 
 "The Duke of Normandy defies you!" 
 shouted old Gilbert as he rallied his men 
 to a brave attack in resistance of the 
 invaders. They were sorely outnumbered, 
 though. It would have gone very badly 
 with plucky old Gilbert and the castle 
 would have been destroyed if, just then, 
 they had not heard a shrill trumpet peal 
 ring out above the clash of swords. 
 
THE BOY WHO COULD GIVE UP 17 
 
 " Make way ; make way for the Duke ! " 
 came a shout. 
 
 The contending forces of the castle and 
 the King stood aside. The great draw- 
 bridge fell, the portcullis rose creakingly, 
 the gate opened, and the Duke of Normandy 
 rode into the court-yard. He rode like a 
 man and his muscles were iron. The wind 
 blew his waving brown hair from his face 
 and showed his high forehead and clear 
 eyes. Gilbert rode up to his young lord, 
 pointing angrily toward the King and his 
 army, but William beckoned him aside and 
 addressed his retainers. 
 
 " Cease resisting the King of France ! " 
 the boy shouted. " I was only seven years 
 old when my father put my hand in the 
 hand of this same Henry of Prance and 
 made me swear to be his man and loyal to 
 him always. I never thought that my 
 loyalty would be put to so great a test as 
 this, but I must keep my promise and give 
 up my castle to my King. It is yours for 
 the asking, my lord, if you feel that this 
 will be best for Normandy and for you." 
 
18 THE BOY WHO COULD GIVE UP 
 
 And William dismounted and bowed before 
 his King. 
 
 There was a silence then and the castle 
 followers stepped back as the little Duke 
 had commanded to allow the King to take 
 possession of the castle. But the voice of 
 the King suddenly rang out: 
 
 "Kneel before your lord, William of 
 Normandy," he commanded, and the boy 
 did as he was bade. The King drew his 
 sword and struck the little Duke three 
 times on his shoulder with the flat blade 
 and once on his cheek after the fashion of 
 the accolade. Then the King said: 
 
 " Wilham of Normandy, in the name of 
 God, of Saint Michael and Saint G-eorge, I 
 dub thee Knight. Be valiant and loyal. 
 Speak the truth; do only what is right; 
 protect the defenceless; succor those who 
 are distressed; champion all ladies; prove 
 thy knighthood by bravery and endurance 
 and perilous adventures and valorous deeds. 
 Fear God ; fight for the faith and serve thy 
 land faithfully and valiantly." 
 
 So the little Duke William was made a 
 
THE BOY WHO COULD GIVE UP 19 
 
 knight at the youngest age ever a boy had 
 been knighted. He went into the castle 
 with great honor although it was now his 
 King's, and it was a day of joy and feasting 
 for every one, down to the meanest 
 scullery lad. 
 
 There was terrible work for the boy to 
 do before many months. Traitors in the 
 camp of the King of France turned some 
 of William's own subjects against him, and 
 when the little knight was only thirteen he 
 led an army that won back for him the 
 castle in. which he had lived so long. 
 
 Battle after battle "WilHam won, but 
 they were all good fights, and his record 
 comes down to us as almost the greatest 
 of princely virtue. He rode from one con- 
 quest to another until he was William, the 
 Conqueror, King of England. 
 
 More than anything else, though, was 
 William the conqueror of himself, the boy 
 who could give up when this was the 
 better part. 
 
THE MAN WHO OBEYED THE KING 
 
 ROBIN HOOD 
 
 Now the King had no mind that Robin 
 Hood should do as he willed, and called 
 his Knights to follow him to Nottingham, 
 where they could lay plans how best to 
 capture the felon. Here they heard sad 
 tales of Robin's misdoings and how, of the 
 many herds of wild deer that had been 
 wont to roam the forest, in some places 
 scarcely one remained. This was the work 
 of Robin Hood and his merry . men, on 
 whom the Kmg swore vengeance with a 
 great oath. 
 
 "I would I had this Robin Hood in my 
 hands," cried he, "and an end should soon 
 be put to his doings." So spoke the Khig ; 
 but an old Knight, full of days and wisdom, 
 answered him and warned him that the 
 task of taking Robin Hood v/ould be a 
 sore one, and best let alone. The King, 
 who had seen the vanity of his hot words 
 the moment he had uttered them, listened 
 
 20 
 
THE MAN WHO OBEYED THE KING 21 
 
 to the old man, and resolved to bide his 
 time, if perhaps some day Robin Hood 
 should fall into his power. 
 
 All this time and for sis weeks later 
 that he dwelt at Nottingham the King 
 could hear nothing of Robin, who seemed 
 to have vanished into the earth with his 
 merry men, though one by one the deer 
 were vanishing too! 
 
 At last one day a forester came to the 
 King, and told him that if he would see 
 Robin he must come with him and take 
 five of his best Knigl^ts. The King eagerly 
 sprang up to do his bidding, and the six 
 men, clad in monks' clothes, mounted their 
 horses and rode down to the Abbey, the 
 King wearing an Abbot's broad hat over 
 his crown and singing as he passed through 
 the greenwood. 
 
 Suddenly at the turn of a path Robin 
 and his archers appeared before them. 
 
 " By your leave. Sir Abbot," said Robin, 
 seizing the King's bridle, "you will stay a 
 while with us. Know that we are yeomen, 
 who live upon the King's deer, and other 
 
22 THE MAN WHO OBEYED THE KING 
 
 food have we none. Now you have abbeys 
 and churches, and gold in plenty; so give 
 us some of it in the name of charity." 
 
 "I have no more than forty pounds 
 with me," answered the King, "but sorry 
 1 am it is not a hundred, for you should 
 have had it all." 
 
 So Robin took the forty pounds and 
 gave half to his men, and then told the 
 King he might go on his way. "I thank 
 you," said the King, "but I would have 
 you know that our King has bid me bear 
 you his seal, and pray you to come to 
 Nottingham." 
 
 At this message Robin bent his knee. 
 
 " I love no man in all the world so well 
 as I do my King," he cried, " and. Sir Abbot, 
 for your tidings, which fill my heart with 
 joy, to-day thou shalt dine with me for 
 love of my King." Then he led the King 
 into an open place and Robin took a horn 
 and blew it loudly. At its blast seven- 
 score of young men came speedily to do 
 his will. 
 
 "They are quicker to do his bidding 
 
THE MAN WHO OBEYED THE KING 23 
 
 than my men are to do mine," said the 
 King to himself. 
 
 Speedily the foresters set out the dinner, 
 venison and white bread, and Robin Hood 
 and Little John served the King. 
 
 "Make good cheer, Abbot," said Robin 
 Hood, " and then you shall see what sort of 
 life we lead, so that you may tell our King." 
 
 When he had finished eating the archers 
 took their bows, and hung rose garlands 
 up with a string, and every man was to 
 shoot through a garland. If he failed he 
 should have a blow on the head from 
 Robin. 
 
 Good bowmen as they were, few man- 
 aged to stand the test. Little John and 
 Will Scarlet and Much all shot wide of the 
 mark, and at length no one was left in 
 the contest but Robin himself and Gilbert 
 of the White Hand. Then Robin fired his 
 last bolt, and it fell three fingers from the 
 garland. 
 
 "Master," said Gilbert, "you have lost. 
 Stand forth and take your punishment." 
 
 "I will take it," answered Robin, "but. 
 
24 THE MAN WHO OBEYED THE KING 
 
 Sir Abbot, I pray that I may suffer it at 
 your hands." 
 
 The King hesitated. It did not become 
 him, he said, to smite such a stout yeoman, 
 but Robin bade him smite on. So he turned 
 up his sleeve and gave Robin such a buffet 
 on the head that he rolled upon the ground. 
 
 "There is pith in your arm," said Robin. 
 "Oome, shoot with me." And the King 
 took up a bow and, in so doing, his hat 
 fell back and Robin saw his face. 
 
 "My lord, the King of England, now I 
 know you well," cried he, and he fell on 
 his knees and all the outlaws with him. 
 "Mercy I ask, my lord the King, for my 
 men and me." 
 
 "Mercy I grant," then said the King, 
 "and therefore I came hither to bid you 
 and your men leave the greenwood and 
 dwell in my Court with me." 
 
 "So shall it be," answered Robin. "I 
 and my men will come to your Court and 
 see how your service liketh us." 
 
 From "The Book of Romance," by Andrew Lang. Copyright by 
 Longmans, Green & Company. 
 
THE LITTLE POOR MAN 
 
 BROTHER FRANCIS OF ASSISI 
 
 If we could have lived seven hundred 
 years ago in Assisi, a little city of Italy, 
 built on a mountain side, we would have 
 known a boy, Francis Bernardino. 
 
 There was sunshine everywhere in 
 Assisi. Above the brown tiled roofs of the 
 tiny stone houses there were tall green 
 "^cypress trees. Bright flowers bloomed at 
 the windows, and in the squares of Assisi 
 farmers sold leaf lined baskets of grapes 
 and plums and figs. 
 
 Outside of Assisi the fields were yellow 
 with grain and sweet with orange groves. 
 In the shadow of the vines, great white 
 oxen drew ploughs, and there were deep 
 forests full of birds, and wild blossoms. 
 
 Francis loved the little walled town of 
 Assisi; he loved, too, the country that lay 
 outside, but there was so much to interest 
 him at home that he did not often go 
 farther than the gate of the city. 
 
 25 
 
26 THE LITTLE POOR MAN 
 
 Piero Bernardino, the little boy's father, 
 was a very wealthy merchant of Assist. 
 When he came home after buying his rich 
 cloth and brocades it was like the home- 
 coming of a prince. Francis and his mother, 
 with crowds of the townsfolk of Assisi, 
 waited for him at the gate. Piero would 
 ride ahead, surrounded by soldiers, and 
 next came the pack-horses loaded with the 
 goods. There was usually another troop of 
 soldiers at the end of the procession. 
 
 As Francis followed his father to the 
 great house where he lived, he thought 
 how pleasant it was to be rich. He was 
 happy to be known as the son of the 
 wealthiest man in Assisi. Nothing seemed 
 to him so good as to have more riches 
 than the other boys with whom he played. 
 
 So Francis grew up, careless and gay 
 and thoughtless. His friends were boys 
 whose fathers were counts and dukes. 
 They were vain, and proud of the palaces 
 in which they lived. Francis' mother was 
 sad as she heard him shouting and boasting 
 as loudly as the others. But she thought, 
 
THE LITTLE POOR MAN 27 
 
 also : " No matter how careless and wild 
 Francis is, he has a kind and loving heart." 
 
 And this was true, because he was 
 always quick to be sorry for any one who 
 was ill or in need. 
 
 The other boys jeered at Francis for 
 this. When he would rather give his purse 
 of gold to a beggar than use it to buy 
 sweets and toys; and when he wrapped 
 his own rich cloak about a man who had 
 none, they laughed at him. 
 
 Then there was a war and Francis, 
 grown older, went from Assisi to help fight 
 the Perugian army. There he saw men 
 terribly hurt and dying, and war seemed 
 to him cruel instead of glorious. He was 
 not afraid; he fought bravely. But he 
 went home to Assisi with a strange, new 
 desire in his heart. 
 
 One day in a little square of Assisi there 
 was a strange sight. The same crowds that 
 had watched the rich merchant come home 
 with his wealth saw a barefooted figure, 
 dressed in a long dust colored robe and 
 wearing a rope knotted about the waist. 
 
28 THE LITTLE POOR MAN 
 
 It was Francis, who had heard the Captain 
 of his soul calling to him. He was going 
 away from Assisi. 
 
 "Brother Francis, you must be poor, 
 not rich," the voice had said to him. "You 
 must no longer wear soft clothing and 
 feast with princes. You must go through 
 the lanes and city streets taking care of 
 the sick, the helpless and the poor." 
 
 So Brother Francis started away with- 
 out food, or money, or a home. But he 
 was, all at once, happier thap he had ever 
 been in all his life. If he saw a poor little 
 church being erected by the side of the 
 road he wanted to help build it with stones 
 that he brought in his own hands. Who- 
 ever he met with a heavy load, he helped 
 with the burden. If anyone gave him food, 
 he shared it with hungry children. Doing 
 this, Brother Francis began to feel richer 
 than he ever had in his father's house. The 
 wind spoke to him and the birds sang in 
 his ears. The silver leaves of the olive trees 
 whispered stories to him, and wherever he 
 went people loved him. 
 
THE LITTLE POOR MAN 29 
 
 One by one, others followed Brother 
 Francis. They lived as he lived. They wore 
 dust colored robes and went barefooted. 
 They worked as he did for the helpless and 
 those in pain. They were a company of 
 Little Poor Men, and they gave service to 
 whoever needed it, even when they had not 
 a loaf of bread or a penny. 
 
 In those long ago days strange and won- 
 derful things sometimes happened. Such 
 things happened after a while to Brother 
 
 Francis. 
 
 IL 
 
 In the little city of Gubbio, to which 
 there is a wild mountain road, everyone 
 was in terror of a huge, gray wolf. It ate 
 the sheep and the goats. It killed the 
 shepherds. No one dared to go outside of 
 the city, for the wolf stayed close to the 
 gates, and it had the strength of three men. 
 Hunters were not able to kill the wolf. 
 They often saw the great gray creature 
 skulking through the dark, or a pile of 
 bones that it had left. They never caught 
 it, though, and night after night people 
 
30 THE LITTLE POOR MAN 
 
 lay in bed and trembled, hearing the soft 
 pad of the wolf's feet coming nearer and 
 nearer. 
 
 Then Brother Francis came to Gubbio. 
 He horrified the city when he said that he 
 would go out, alone, and meet the wolf. 
 
 They begged him not to, but he would 
 not heed them. He went, as a soldier goes 
 bravely to meet the enemy, out of the city 
 gate and down the road to the wood where 
 the wolf lurked. 
 
 There he met the wolf, loping swiftly 
 along with his great jaws open. 
 
 But Brother Francis called : 
 
 "Oome, Brother Wolf. Do no harm to 
 me, or to any one." 
 
 The crowd that had followed Brother 
 Francis saw the wolf come gently up and 
 lie down like a lamb at Brother Francis' 
 feet. Even the children could come close 
 and listen as Brother Francis spoke to 
 him: 
 
 " If you will stop killing men and beasts. 
 Brother Wolf," he said, "and make peace 
 with the city, we will forgive you all the 
 
THE LITTLE POOR MAN 31 
 
 harm that you have done. As long as you 
 live, the people of Gubbio shall give you 
 food so that you may never be hungry. 
 Show me, Brother "Wolf, that you promise 
 to do no more harm." 
 
 Brother Francis held out his hand, and 
 the wolf stood up and put his paw in it. 
 Then Brother Francis turned back to the 
 city, the wolf walking like a great pet dog 
 at his side. After this Brother Wolf lived 
 in the city, going peacefully from door to 
 door for his food. He was well fed, no 
 dogs were allowed to^bark at him, and he 
 kept his promise to Brother Francis until 
 he died of old age. 
 
 There was another wonder in Brother 
 Francis' life. People have liked to remember 
 it, and paint beautiful pictures of Brother 
 Francis with his little friends, the birds. 
 
 Brother Francis often stopped by the 
 fields and along the roadsides to talk to the 
 people. He told them stories and tried to 
 make them understand how much happier 
 the poor are than the rich. The birds 
 seemed to want to listen, too. By hundreds 
 
32 THE LITTLE POOR MAN 
 
 they flew, perching on the trees and low 
 branches, and even on the shoulders of 
 Brother Francis' dust colored robe. Wher- 
 ever Brother Francis went the birds flocked 
 too. 
 
 Once he suddenly turned and said: "I 
 am going to speak to my little brothers, 
 the birds," and he did, telling them how the 
 fields fed them, and the rivers gave them 
 drink, and they were beautifully clothed in 
 their coats of feathers with no thought or 
 care on their part. 
 
 The birds had been twittering and sing- 
 ing when he began. As he spoke they 
 were quiet and folded their wings and bent 
 their heads. They understood what he 
 said, and when he had finished they rose 
 in the air and flew away, north, south, east 
 and west, singing more sweetly than they 
 had ever sung before. They were Little 
 Poor Brothers of the air, flying to carry 
 over all the earth the message of Brother 
 Francis. 
 
 So Brother Francis lived all his life, poor, 
 and giving comfort, and happy. Nothing 
 
THE LITTLE POOR MAN 33 
 
 was too small or too humble for him to 
 try to help. Once he rescued a pair of 
 doves from being sold in the market place. 
 Once he came upon a frightened little hare 
 that was caught in a trap. 
 
 "Come with me, Brother Hare," said 
 Brother Francis, and the hare slipped out 
 of the trap and ran to him, following him 
 through the woods. 
 
 And Brother Francis nursed the poor, 
 and was wilHng to touch lepers of whom 
 everyone else was afraid. 
 
 During all these years Brother Francis 
 had lived most of the time with only the 
 sky for a roof and no bed but the grass. 
 He had never been sorry for being poor, 
 but he loved the mountains, and he thought 
 when he looked at them, their shining tops 
 bright with the sunset, that they were 
 more beautiful than any palace in the 
 world. 
 
 Someone must have read his thoughts. 
 When Brother Francis was quite old and 
 worn, a Count who loved him gave him a 
 mountain. 
 
34 THE LITTLE POOR MAN 
 
 It was a wild, beautiful mountaiii in 
 Tuscany. The Little Poor Men climbed it 
 until they found a level place, full of birds 
 and flowers, and fit for Brother Francis to 
 live. Then they cut great, sweet smelling 
 branches of fir and cedar, and built huts, 
 and when they were done they brought 
 Brother Francis up. 
 
 The stories say that one morning very 
 early the shepherds, just awake on the 
 plains below Brother Francis' mountain, 
 saw a great Ught. All the mountain was 
 glorious with a rosy light. It looked as if 
 it were on fire, and the light spread down 
 the sides and filled the windows of the 
 little houses where the peasants lived. It 
 was too early for the sunrise. Everyone 
 was awakened and wondered very much 
 about the light. 
 
 When it had faded and it was time for 
 the sun to rise, they could see only the hut 
 of Brother Francis on the mountain. 
 
 So his life shines down to us, a bright 
 light through all the years. 
 
THE SHEPHERDESS WHOSE DREAM 
 CAME TRUE 
 
 JEANNE D'ARC 
 I 
 
 "Now that the fairy tree is decorated 
 we may sit under it and eat our cakes," 
 said Jacques. "Oome on, Pierre; open the 
 basket," and the two little French boys 
 motioned to Catherine to join them as they 
 seated themselves for their feast beneath 
 the wide spreading branches of the tree. 
 For a while there was no sound except 
 the whispering of the wind in the branches. 
 
 It was five centuries ago in France, and 
 Pierre and Jacques and Catherine were 
 children of the little village of Domremy 
 in the province of Lorraine. Everyone, 
 children and grown ups, for miles about 
 on the country side knew about the fairy 
 tree. The old beech had stood for many 
 years on the banks of the river Meuse 
 holding, so the peasants believed, the shapes 
 of fairies in its shadows. They had done 
 
 35 
 
35 THE SHEPHERDESS 
 
 everything they could to make it beautiful. 
 There was a fountain at its base and the 
 children at holiday time made wreaths of 
 flowers to trim its branches and sat beneath 
 it to eat their feast of sweets. It had come 
 about that they were called the Children 
 of the Tree, They talked about it now as 
 they cast timid glances beyond the tree to 
 the dim forest of oaks so short a distance 
 ahead. 
 
 "Do you suppose she will come to-day?" 
 Catherine whispered. 
 
 " Who ? " asked Pierre. 
 
 " Pierre doesn't know ; he was too small 
 to come here with us on the last holiday," 
 Jacques said. "They say that some day 
 when we have trimmed the fairy tree as 
 we have to-day and sit under it, waiting, 
 a strange thing will happen. A fairy child 
 will com,e through the wood, and she will 
 do wonders." 
 
 "Oh, if we might only see her!" Cath- 
 erine said, her dark eyes shining. 
 
 As if it were in answer to the children's 
 wishes, the branches of the woods parted. 
 
THE SHEPHERDESS 37 
 
 The leaves rustled, and they heard footsteps 
 along the forest path. They rose to their 
 feet, startled. 
 
 "She is coming!" they cried as a little 
 girl of their own age came slowly from out 
 of the shadows and stood in the sunlight 
 beside the fairy tree. 
 
 She was a peasant girl as they were. 
 She wore a coarse smock and wooden 
 shoes, and she carried a shepherd's crook 
 in her hand. But her eyes were full of a 
 deep longing and she held her little head 
 high, her long hair streaming out behind 
 her like a veil. 
 
 " I had a dream," she said. " It came to 
 me when I was tending the sheep, on the 
 hillside. I shall not always be in Domremy. 
 This is my secret, and I am telhng it to 
 you because I love you all, and you have 
 been my playmates. Our beautiful France 
 needs me and she will call me soon to go 
 away and help her. The foes of France 
 must be conquered, and I shall help so 
 that the Dauphin may be crowned at 
 Rheims. When he is crowned I shall be 
 
38 THE SHEPHERDESS 
 
 there. I must leave you to help my coun- 
 try." 
 
 For a second the children were silent. 
 Then laughter came from the lips of the 
 gay little Catherine. 
 
 "Jeanne Romee!" she laughed. "The 
 little shepherd girl of Domremy— not the 
 fairy child at all ! And she thinks that she 
 is going to save her country; that was a 
 silly kind of dream ! " 
 
 The others laughed too. They all knew 
 Jeanne. They had gone to school with her 
 and had watched her tend the little ones 
 at home. They had left her behind for play 
 when she must tend the flock of sheep. 
 Jeanne never had much time for play. She 
 knew a great deal about the birds and the 
 flowers and the trees. 
 
 Sometimes when she was alone with 
 the sheep she thought that she heard 
 voices calling to her to go and help her 
 stricken country. But everyone laughed 
 at Jeanne and she seldom spoke of the 
 voices now. The children's laughter hurt 
 her. They gathered up the fragments of 
 
THE SHEPHERDESS 39 
 
 their feast now and ran off home, leaving 
 Jeanne alone. 
 
 She stood a moment, looking off into 
 the distance. As she did so the blue riverj' 
 the white clouds, and the tree with its 
 garlands of flowers seemed to melt away, 
 and she saw a picture instead. She saw a 
 warrior maiden, all in white armor, and 
 riding on a white charger. She carried a 
 floating white banner, and she was riding to 
 lead the armies of the Dauphin to triumph 
 over their English foes. Then, as quickly as 
 it had come, the vision was gone. Jeanne 
 could hear the echoes of the children's 
 laughter. She dropped her eyes to the 
 ground and started slowly to the httle 
 village on the edge of the wood where she 
 lived. There were her sheep to tend, and 
 the spinning to do, and a great deal beside 
 to help her mother. 
 
 The peaceful life of the little girl at 
 Domremy was soon broken. There came a 
 storm of war, for the English were fighting 
 in France. The distress came as far as the 
 peaceful little village on the Meuse and 
 
40 THE SHEPHERDESS 
 
 thousands of wounded and outcasts passed 
 the door of Jeanne's cottage. Jeanne was 
 older now and could do much to help 
 them. She nursed the wounded and fed 
 the hungry, and gave up her own bed to 
 those who had none. Many times she 
 saw again the vision of the warrior maid in 
 white armor, riding on the great charger 
 and leading the army of the French to 
 victory. 
 
 At last Jeanne made up her mind that 
 her dream must come true. 
 
 II. 
 
 "I must go to the King," Jeanne told 
 her parents. "I may die, but I must go." 
 So she left the quiet little village and her 
 sheep. 
 
 The captain of her village was a rough 
 man, but he went with the girl to the court 
 of France. He led her by her hand into 
 the presence of the Dauphin, the son of 
 the King of France. 
 
 "My Heavenly Father sends me to tell 
 you that you shall be crowned at Rheims," 
 
THE SHEPHERDESS 41 
 
 she said as she knelt before him. "I am 
 come to help you." 
 
 The Dauphin was so touched by Jeanne's 
 earnestness that he gave orders that she 
 should be allowed to do as she wished. 
 She was given a suit of shining white 
 armor, and a great white charger like the 
 one that she had seen in her dream. She 
 carried a white banner and rode at the 
 head of the army. It seemed to the soldiers 
 that Jeanne had really been sent from 
 heaven to help them. Following the white 
 warrior maid, who was at their head, they 
 fought like madmen. They battled as they 
 never had before; they had lost all fear. 
 Jeanne d'Arc, as she was now called, rode 
 at their head like a flying angel. Nothing 
 hurt her, and she did not know fear. 
 
 Seeing her, the English were terrified. 
 They, too, thought that Jeanne d'Arc could 
 not be of the earth but was an angel, 
 leading the French to victory. The English 
 fell back in their fear, and the French burst 
 through their lines. Again and again the 
 English were defeated. Jeanne led the 
 
42 THE SHEPHERDESS 
 
 French army to Rheims for the crowning 
 of the Dauphin as King of France. 
 
 Everyone had missed Jeanne at Dom- 
 remy. The sheep had a new shepherdess, 
 and the wishing tree stood on the edge 
 of the w<5od holding the children's faded 
 wreaths on its branches. Catherine and 
 Jacques and Pierre were older now, and 
 they were all to go to Rheims for the 
 coronation. They had heard reports of this 
 strange white warrior maid. How they 
 hoped that they might see her! 
 
 It was a bright spring morning, and 
 there were great crowds of people gathered 
 at Rheims to see the Dauphin ascend the 
 throne. They came to the open place in 
 front of the cathedral of Rheims. It seemed 
 to the young people from Domremy that 
 they had never seen so many people before 
 in all their lives. 
 
 There was a hush at last as a proces- 
 sion entered the square and moved slowly 
 toward the cathedral. The musicians came 
 first and then bands of children dressed in 
 white and holding branches in their hands. 
 
THE SHEPHERDESS 43 
 
 There were soldiers, and heralds, and offi- 
 cers of state in their splendid robes, and 
 knights and noblemen and choir boys ! 
 
 Last, the children of Domremy saw 
 Jeanne ! 
 
 She was very beautiful in her steel 
 armor and riding her great white horse. 
 Her banner was embroidered with the 
 lilies of France, the country she had saved. 
 Although she rode next the Dauphin and 
 her path was strewn with flowers, Jeanne 
 was as gentle as she had been when she 
 tended her sheep on the hills of Domremy. 
 
 As they watched her triumphal entry 
 into Rheims, the children remembered the 
 little girl who had stood before them under 
 the wishing tree. They could hear, again, 
 her words : " 1 am telling my secret to you 
 because I love you. I shall help France 
 so that the Dauphin may be crowned at 
 Rheims. When he is crowned I shall 
 be there. I must leave you to help my 
 country." 
 
 The children thought, too, of Jeanne's 
 patience in giving up her play time to help 
 
44 THE SHEPHERDESS 
 
 at home, and of her gentleness with the 
 sheep. 
 
 "Come home; come home with us to 
 Domremy, Jeanne ! " they cried. " We want 
 you ; and your work is done now." 
 
 But the warrior maid did not turn, 
 although she was lonely for the sound of 
 the river at home and the whir of her 
 spinning wheel. There was a longer road 
 ahead of her than the flower strewn one 
 she was taking now to the coronation. No 
 matter how much she wished to, she could 
 not go home. 
 
 The King of France still needed her, so 
 Jeanne went on leading the soldiers, until 
 there came a time when she fell into the 
 hands of the English. They believed that 
 if the French army had to march without 
 Jeanne d'Arc it would soon be defeated; 
 so the English condemned Jeanne to death. 
 They burned her as a witch. 
 
 If we close our eyes and listen, though, 
 we may hear what Jeanne d'Arc heard 
 during her long, dark days in prison. We 
 may hear the singing of the River Meuse 
 
THE SHEPHERDESS 45 
 
 and the wind in the branches of the fairy 
 tree. We hear, too, the tinkle of the sheep 
 bells and the whir of the spinning wheels of 
 Domremy. They make a song that comes 
 down to us through all the many years 
 since the young warrior maid rode to battle. 
 It is a song with words that tell us of the 
 shepherd girl's dream and her courage and 
 the honor that is hers forever. 
 
THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 
 
 PALISSY 
 
 Four hundred years ago a little boy 
 named Bernard Palissy was born in a 
 village of France, not very far from the 
 great river Garonne. The country around 
 was beautiful at all times of the year— in 
 spring with orchards in flower, in summer 
 with fields of corn, in autumn with heavy 
 laden vines climbing up the sides of the 
 hills. Farther north stretched wide heaths 
 gay with bloom, and vast forests of walnut 
 and chestnuts. Through the forests roamed 
 hordes of pigs, greedy after the fallen chest- 
 nuts that made them so fat, or burrowing 
 about the roots of trees for the truffles 
 growing just out of sight. 
 
 When the peasants who owned the 
 pigs saw them sniffing and scratching in 
 certain places, they went out at once and 
 dug for themselves, for truffles as weU as 
 pigs were thought delicious eating, and 
 fetched high prices from the rich people. 
 
 46 
 
THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 4? 
 
 But the forests of the province of 
 Perigord contained other inhabitants than 
 the pigs and their masters, and these were 
 the workers in glass, the people who for 
 generations had made those wonderful 
 colored windows which are the glory of 
 French cathedrals. These glass workers 
 were set apart from all other traders. A 
 nobleman might make a beautiful window 
 without bringing down upon himself the 
 scorn of his friends. 
 
 Still, at a time when the houses of the 
 poor were generally built of wood, it was 
 considered very dangerous to have glass 
 furnaces, with the fire often at white heat 
 in the middle of a town. So a law was 
 passed forcing them to carry on their work 
 at a distance. 
 
 In Perigord the glass workers were 
 kept in the forest where they could cut 
 down the logs they needed for their kilns 
 and where ferns grew, which, when reduced 
 to powder, were needed in the manufacture 
 of the glass. 
 
 Bernard must have had many companions 
 
48 THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 
 
 among the children of the forest. He went 
 through the world with his eyes always 
 open, and he soon learned a great deal of 
 all that had to be done in order to turn 
 out the bits of glass that blazed like jewels 
 when the sun shone on them. There were 
 special kinds of earth, or rocks, or plants to 
 be sought for, and when found the glass- 
 maker must know how to use them, so as 
 to get exactly the color or thickness of 
 material that he wanted. 
 
 And when the glassmaker had spent 
 hours and hours mixing his substances and 
 seeing that he had put in just the right 
 quantity of each and no more, perhaps the 
 fire would be a little too hot and the glass 
 would crack. Or it might be a little too 
 cold and the mixture would not become 
 solid glass. Then the poor man would 
 have to begin his work all over again. 
 
 Bernard stood by and watched, and 
 noted the patience of the glass workers as 
 well as the way that the glass was made. 
 
 But Bernard learned other things besides 
 how to make glass. He was taught to read 
 
THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 49 
 
 and write, and by-and-by to draw. In his 
 walks through the woods or over the 
 hills he looked at the fallen leaves or up 
 through the branches of the trees in search 
 of anything that might be hidden there. 
 He especially loved the bright-eyed lizards, 
 and sometimes he would persuade them to 
 stay quiet for a few minutes by singing 
 some country songs while he took out his 
 roll of paper and made rough sketches of 
 them. 
 
 But after a while Bernard Palissy grew 
 restless. He left home and traveled on 
 foot over the south of France, gaining fresh 
 knowledge at every step as those do who 
 keep their wits about them, He had no 
 money so he paid his way by drawing 
 pictures. Sometimes he made portraits of 
 the village innkeeper's children, or meas- 
 ured the field at the back of the house 
 where the good man thought of laying 
 out his garden of fruit and herbs. 
 
 And as Palissy, now a young man, went 
 he visited the cathedrals in the town as 
 well as the forges and the manufactories; 
 
50 THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 
 
 and he never stopped until he found out 
 why this city made cloth, and that one silk, 
 and a third wonderful patterns of wrought 
 iron. 
 
 After several years Palissy settled down 
 in the little town of Saintes. He supported 
 himself by surveying until something that 
 changed his whole life happened to him. 
 
 A French gentleman named Pons, who 
 had spent a long time at the Italian court, 
 returned to Prance bringing with him 
 many beautiful things. Among these was 
 an earthenware cup, wonderfully shaped 
 and enamelled. Pons happened to meet 
 Palissy, and finding that the same subjects 
 interested them both, he showed him the 
 cup. The young man could scarcely con- 
 tain himself for the sight. For some time 
 he had been turning over in his mind the 
 possibility of discovering enamel, or glaze, 
 to put on the earthen pots. Here, in per- 
 fection, was the very thing he was looking 
 for. 
 
 Then a pirate boat sailed into port with 
 a great Spanish ship in tow. It was filled 
 
THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 51 
 
 with earthenware cups from Venice and 
 plates and goblets from the Spanish city 
 of Valencia, famous for its marvelously 
 beautiful glaze. The news reached Palissy, 
 and he made a study of the best of the 
 pots before they were bought by the King, 
 Francis I. 
 
 The Venetian and Spanish workers still 
 kept their secrets so that Palissy was 
 obliged to work on in the dark. He bought 
 cheap earthenware pots and broke them 
 and pounded the pieces in a mortar to 
 discover, if he could, the substances of 
 which they were made. 
 
 II 
 
 All this took a long time, and Palissy 
 almost starved as he worked. 
 
 Week after week went by and Palissy 
 was to be seen in his little work shop, 
 making experiments with pieces of conmion 
 pots over which he spread the different 
 mixtures that he had made. He baked 
 these pieces in his furnace, hoping that 
 some of the mixtures might, when hot, 
 
52 THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 
 
 produce a color. White was what he 
 desired above all, though. He had heard 
 that i£ once you had been able to procure 
 a fine white, it was comparatively easy to 
 get the rest. Remembering how, as a boy, 
 he had used certain chemical substances in 
 staining the glass, he put these into some 
 of his mixtures, and hopefully awaited the 
 result. 
 
 But, alas! he had never seen earth 
 ■baked, and he had no idea how hot the 
 fire of his furnace should be or in what way 
 to regulate it. Sometimes the substance 
 was baked too much, and sometimes too 
 little. And every day he was building fresh 
 furnaces in place of the old which had 
 cracked, collecting fresh materials, making 
 fresh failures, and spending all his money. 
 
 The amount of wood necessary to feed 
 the furnaces was enormous, and when 
 Palissy could no longer afford to buy it,' 
 he cut down all the trees and bushes in 
 his garden, and when they were exhausted 
 he burned all the tables and chairs in his 
 house and tore up the floors. His friends 
 
THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE S3 
 
 laughed at him, but nothing turned him 
 from his purpose. Except for a few hours 
 a week when he worked at something 
 which would bring in money enough to 
 keep him alive, he gave every moment and 
 every thought to the discovery which was 
 so slow in being made. 
 
 Again he bought some cheap pots, 
 which he broke in pieces, and covered 
 three or four hundred fragments with his 
 mixtures. These he carried, with the help 
 of a man, to the kiln belonging to some 
 potters in the forest and asked leave to 
 bake them. The potters gave him permis- 
 sion, and the pieces were laid carefully 
 in the furnace. After four hours Palissy 
 ventured to examine them, and found one 
 of the fragments perfectly baked, and cov- 
 ered with a beautiful white glaze. 
 
 He was full of joy, but too soon, for 
 success was still far distant. 
 
 The mixture that produced the result 
 was due to Palissy having added a little 
 more of some special substance, because 
 when he tried to make a fresh mixture to 
 
54 THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 
 
 spread over the rest of the pieces, he failed 
 to obtain the same result. Still, he was 
 not di^ouraged. He had done what he 
 had wanted once, and some day he knew 
 he would do it again, and always. 
 
 He was too poor to get help. He 
 worked for more than a month, night and 
 day, grinding into powders the substances 
 such as he had used in the moment of 
 his success. But heat the furnace as he 
 might, it would not bake and again he was 
 beaten. He had found the secret of the 
 enamel, but not how to make it form part 
 of the pots. 
 
 Each time victory seemed certain, fresh 
 misfortune occurred. The mortar used by 
 the potter in building his kiln was full of 
 small pebbles, and when the oven became 
 very hot these pebbles split and mixed with 
 the glaze. Then the enamel was spread 
 over the earthen pots, which at last were 
 properly baked, and the surface of each 
 pot, instead of being . absolutely smooth, 
 became sharp and full of points. 
 
 To guard against this, Palissy invented 
 
THE BOY WHO CONQUERED FIRE 55 
 
 a kind of case in which he put his pots 
 while they were in the kiln, and he found 
 this extremely useful. 
 
 Now he began to pluck up heart and 
 to model lizards and serpents, tortoises and 
 lobsters, leaves and flowers; but it was a 
 long time before he could turn them out as 
 he wished. The green of the lizards burned 
 before the color of the serpents was prop- 
 erly fixed; and the lobsters, serpents, and 
 other creatures were baked before it suited 
 the potter. 
 
 But at length his patience and courage 
 triumphed over all difficulties. He learned 
 how to manage his furnace and how to 
 mix his materials. The victory had taken 
 Palissy, the master potter, sixteen years to 
 win, but at last he, and not the fire, was 
 master. He could make what he liked, and 
 ask what price he chose. 
 
 From "The Red Book of Heroes," by Mrs. Andrew Lang. Copy- 
 right by Longmans, Green & Company. 
 
THE BOY WHO TRUSTED HIS FATHER 
 
 WALTER TELL 
 
 The Austrians, a long time ago, were 
 the masters of the Swiss, just as the Nor- 
 mans, in the olden time, were the masters 
 of the Saxons. And when one nation is 
 over another, there neeirly always arises 
 a tyrant who makes the lot of the down- 
 trodden race wretched in the extreme. 
 
 Such a tyrant was Gessler, the Austrian 
 governor of the Swiss States, in the days 
 of William Tell. In order to trample the 
 people down to the very dust, Gessler, not 
 content with making them bow down 
 before him, went so far as to give an order 
 that they should bow the knee to his hat, 
 which for that purpose was hung aloft on 
 a high pole. 
 
 Now it chanced that William Tell and 
 his son, Walter, were at Altorf on a visit 
 to Walter's grandmother, when they passed 
 the hat pole. They did not see it, and so 
 neglected to bow before the hat. For this 
 
 56 
 
 I 
 
THE BOY WHO TRUSTED HIS FATHER 57 
 
 neglect Tell was made prisoner, and was 
 brought before Gessler on the charge of 
 refusing to obey the governor's command. 
 
 Tell defended himself by saying that 
 he had not noticed the hat, and that his 
 neglect was therefore due rather to acci- 
 dent than to design. This did not satisfy 
 Gessler, for he hated Tell on another 
 account. So seeing "Walter Tell with his 
 father, he hit upon a cruel way of reveng- 
 ing himself. 
 
 "I hear that you like to boast about 
 your shooting," he said to Tell, "and that 
 you can shoot an arrow through an apple 
 at a hundred paces. It is my will that you 
 shoot through an apple placed upon your 
 boy's head. As a favor I will let you 
 stand at a distance of only eighty paces; 
 if you shoot through the apple, you shall 
 not be put to death, but shall go free." 
 
 Tell was aghast, and begged Gessler 
 to kill him rather than to put him to such 
 a cruel test of his archery. But the hard 
 hearted Gessler would not relent. 
 
 Walter spoke then, for he was the 
 
58 THE BOY WHO TRUSTED HIS FATHER 
 
 fearless little son of a hero. "Kneel not 
 before that false man!" Walter said. "Tell 
 me where I am to stand. I am not afraid. 
 My father can hit a bird upon the wing, 
 and he will not miss when aiming at an 
 apple placed upon the head of his child." 
 
 " Bind the boy to that tree," retorted 
 Gessler, pointing as he spoke to a tall lime 
 tree that grew hard by. 
 
 But Walter cried, "No, I will not be 
 bound." 
 
 "Let them bind your eyes then," said 
 one of Gessler's attendants, who pitied the 
 hapless father and the brave lad. 
 
 "Why bind my eyes?" was Walter's 
 reply. "Do you think that I am afraid of 
 an arrow from my father's hand? I will 
 stand quite still and wait for it, without 
 even stirring an eyelash." 
 
 Then turning to his father he exclaimed, 
 "Quick, father, show them what an archer 
 you are! Shoot and hit, and so vex the 
 tyrant who thinks to destroy us both." 
 
 Encouraged by the confident speech of 
 his son. Tell took two arrows from his 
 
THE BOY WHO TRUSTED HIS FATHER 59 
 
 quiver, while Walter was led to the lime 
 tree, and the apple was placed upon his 
 head. The people cried out to shame 
 Gessler, for Walter was only a little lad 
 and the pride of his father's heart; but it 
 was all in vain. The cruel tyrant refused 
 to alter his sentence. He even pretended 
 that he was acting kindly to Tell. He said 
 that he was giving htm a chance to save 
 his Ufe, when he might have had him put 
 to death for refusing to bow before the 
 uplifted cap. 
 
 Then, in breathless gilence, the heart 
 broken father took aim, pulled his bow, 
 and shot, not through the boy's brain as 
 Gessler had hoped that he would, but 
 straight through the center of the core of 
 the apple. Great was the joy of everyone 
 who saw it, and greater still was the 
 chagrin of the tyrant, Gessler. 
 
 "Father," shouted Walter, running for- 
 ward to meet him with the apple in his 
 hand. "I knew you could do it. I was 
 sure you would not hurt your boy." 
 
 Selected. 
 
THE BOY WHO COULD NOT BE 
 BRIBED 
 
 A STORY ABOUT THE DUKE OF ^A^ELLINGTON 
 
 Men who hunt foxes often do great 
 damage to the farmers' crops by riding 
 over the fields on horseback. One day a 
 farmer, who was at work in his field, saw 
 a party of red-coated huntsmen, with their 
 dogs, coming across one of his meadows 
 toward a wheat field. As the wheat was 
 just springing up, the farmer was anxious 
 that it should not be trampled down. 
 
 OalUng one of his plow boys, who was 
 working close by, he told him to run 
 quickly and shut the gate, and to make 
 sure that none of the hunters went into 
 the field. 
 
 The boy hurried away, and reached the 
 field just in time to shut the gate as the 
 first huntsman rode up. 
 
 " Open the gate at once, my boy," said 
 the man, "we want to go through the 
 field." 
 
 60 
 
THE BOY WHO COULD NOT BE BRIBED 61 
 
 "I can't do it," answered the boy> 
 "master has ordered me to let no one 
 pass through, so I cannot open the gate 
 myself, or allow you to do so." 
 
 By this time others of the hunting 
 party had come up, and one was so angry 
 with the boy that he threatened to strike 
 him with his whip if he did not open the 
 gate. The lad replied that he was only 
 obeying his master, and that it was his 
 duty to do so. 
 
 Another geutleman offered to give the 
 lad a sovereign if he would allow them to 
 pass through. This was very tempting to 
 the boy who had never had so much 
 money; but he remembered his duty, and 
 refused to disobey his master's orders. 
 
 This delay annoyed the hunting party 
 very much, and at last a stately gentleman 
 came up and said: "My boy, you do not 
 know me,— I am the Duke of Wellington,— 
 one not in the habit of being disobeyed; 
 I command you to open the gate this 
 moment that my friends and I may pass 
 through." 
 
62 THE BOY WHO COULD NOf BE BRIBED 
 
 The boy looked in wonder at the great 
 soldier. He had heard of his many victories, 
 and was proud to be talking to so great a 
 man. He took off his hat, bowed to the 
 great Duke, and replied : 
 
 "I am sure the Duke of Wellington 
 would not wish me to disobey my master's 
 orders; I must keep this gate shut, and 
 cannot let anyone pass without the farmer's 
 permission." 
 
 The Duke was pleased with the boy's 
 answer and, raising his hat, he said : " I can 
 honor the boy who can neither be bribed 
 nor frightened into disobeying orders. With 
 an army of such soldiers I could conquer 
 the world." 
 
 The hunting party now no longer tried 
 to pass through the forbidden gate, but, 
 turning their horses, rode in another direc- 
 tion. The boy ran toward his master, 
 shouting : 
 
 "Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the Duke of Well- 
 ington!" 
 
 The farmer, who had watched the scene, 
 was much concerned when he learned who 
 
THE BOY WHO COULD NOT BE BRIBED 63 
 
 it was that had been turned away, but 
 he felt that he had found a boy whom he 
 could trust. 
 
 Selected. 
 
THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 
 
 PRASCOVIA 
 
 Prascovia was a little girl of Russia 
 whose father was a captain of the army. 
 
 A wonderful life, a chUd of today thinks, 
 must have been hers. "We can shut our 
 eyes and imagine we see her in her bright 
 cap, furs, and high boots. Russia is a fairy- 
 land for children in the winter with its ice 
 carnivals, the dashing sleighs, and everyone 
 full of happiness and laughter. 
 
 But Prascovia was not a fortunate child 
 of Russia. For some unknown reason her 
 father had been banished to black Siberia, 
 and Prascovia and her mother went with 
 him for they could not bear to think of his 
 bearing his exile alone. 
 
 Siberia is a barren, terrible district of 
 Russia. For weeks at a time there is no 
 sunshine,' and the winter lasts for nine 
 months. Prascovia was cold and lonely 
 and untaught, but she tried to be of as 
 much comfort to her mother and father as 
 
 64 
 
THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 65 
 
 she could. She helped to keep house in 
 the bare little hut that was their only 
 home, and when she was older she found 
 employment in the village, going out to 
 help in harvesting the rye, and receiving a 
 bundle of the grain once in a while as her 
 wages. She was a merry little girl in spite 
 of the hard work, her dreary home, the 
 deep snow, and the iron frosts. She made 
 the long darkness bright with her own 
 sunshine, but each day she saw her father 
 growing more and more sad. He had tried 
 to serve his emperor truly and well. His 
 banishment to Siberia was due to a mis- 
 take, but the Russian government was so 
 despotic that he could not see his way to 
 freedom. 
 
 Prascovia had not understood this when 
 she was younger. When she was fifteen 
 she saw that her father was growing bent 
 and gray with his grief. Then a wonderful 
 thought came to her. Although she had 
 not been away from Siberia for years, she 
 made up her mind that, now, she would go. 
 She had decided to make the long journey 
 
65 THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 
 
 to the capitol city of Russia, Saint Peters- 
 burg. Here she would beg the emperor of 
 all Bussia to pardon her father, Captain 
 Loopolof. 
 
 Prascovia dreamed of her journey as she 
 walked over the snow between the dark 
 pine trees. When she asked her father and 
 mother if she might go, it seemed as if they 
 could not let her. 
 
 "You will not be able to obtain a 
 passport," they said, " and without one you 
 will be at once returned to Siberia." 
 
 "I will write to Saint Petersburg for 
 one," she said. 
 
 And after a long wait of six months 
 Prascovia received a passport from the 
 capitol, so that she was able to begin 
 preparation for the journey. 
 
 There was not much, though, that she 
 could do to get ready. Very early in the 
 morning she dressed in her poor, coarse 
 clothes and slung a bag of food over her 
 shoulder. They had one silver rouble, that 
 was all ; and her father begged her to take 
 it. Some of the poorest exiles gave her 
 
THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 67 
 
 what little money they had, too, a handful 
 of copper kopeks. So Prascovia started 
 away, alone, to find her emperor. 
 
 She had to walk, and it was very cold 
 and lonely. She often lost her way in the 
 long stretches of dark, silent forests. The 
 winter began to come on, and with it an 
 eight days' snow storm so that Prascovia 
 was obliged to beg shelter in a peasant's 
 hut untU it was over. Robbers stole her 
 money, and it seemed to the girl that 
 there was no use in her starting on again. 
 
 There were no railw§-ys, even if Pras- 
 covia had been able to pay for a ticket on 
 a train. Most of the traffic was carried on 
 by means of sleds, and one day a convoy 
 of these came to the post station near 
 where the gfirl had been obliged to stop 
 her journey. 
 
 They were going along the route toward 
 Saint Petersburg, and when she found this 
 out, Prascovia fell on her knees at the feet 
 of the head trader. 
 
 "Take me with you!" she begged. "I 
 must see my emperor and ask him to 
 
68 THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 
 
 pardon my father. Oh, help me to find my 
 emperor," she begged. 
 
 It was impossible to resist the girl's 
 pleading. The traders were rough men but 
 kind, and they let her jump into one of the 
 sledges and cover herself with the wrap- 
 ping of a bale of goods. So she took up 
 the journey again. 
 
 Now, it was real winter. At night the 
 sky was sown with glittering stars, and 
 the sledges creaked as they slid over the 
 thick ice crust of the snow. Prascovia's 
 clothes were too thin for such weather; 
 first she felt very cold, and then quite 
 numb and sleepy. 
 
 *How quiet the child is," thought the 
 sledge driver. When they drove to the 
 next post station, they had to lift Pras- 
 covia from the sledge and carry her into 
 the hut for she was almost frozen to death. 
 They knew how to take care of her, though. 
 They rubbed her hands and feet and her 
 pale little face. They gave her hot drinks, 
 and soon she opened her eyes and smiled 
 at th^gj© kind friendg. When they started 
 
THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 69 
 
 on again the drivers made Prascovia wear 
 their sheepskin coats in turn, getting out 
 of the sledges and walking along beside 
 the horses so that they, themselves, might 
 not freeze. 
 
 Soon they came to the end of the 
 sledge route. Saint Petersburg was nearer, 
 but there was still a long stretch of little 
 villages and towns through which Pras- 
 covia must walk. It had been a hard 
 winter, and the cold was not yet over. 
 One day as Prascovia trudged along over 
 the snow she suddenly fell. When she 
 opened her eyes, she was tucked up in 
 a warm bed beside the wall of a little 
 cottage. A kind face framed in a ruffled 
 white cap looked down, smiling, at her. 
 This good peasant woman had found Pras- 
 covia and brought her home. Prascovia 
 stayed with her all the spring and the 
 summer until the roads were again fit for 
 sleighing. 
 
 It was hard for Prascovia to be patient 
 all this time, but she was too weak to 
 travel. She helped the woman to keep 
 
70 THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 
 
 her cottage clean, the samovar shining, 
 and the garden trim and neat. Everyone 
 in the village grew to know the little girl 
 with the long, dark braids, wistful brown 
 eyes, and patient smile. They were poor 
 people themselves, with very little money, 
 but they brought her gifts. At the end of 
 her first year away from her father and 
 mother in Siberia, Prascovia started on 
 again toward Saint Petersburg. Before 
 long she reached the great city, all white 
 and gold, and with its minarets and 
 mosques shining in the sun. 
 
 It seemed to Prascovia that now her 
 troubles were over, but this was not so. 
 Everyone she met was richly dressed in 
 velvet and furs and would not heed her. 
 She was pushed this way and that, and 
 nearly trampled to death under the sleighs 
 full of merry makers. For weeks she sat 
 on the steps of the Senate house, asking 
 for an audience with the emperor, but she 
 was only pushed aside and laughed at. 
 The greatest kindness she received was to 
 have a kopek flung at her, for the people 
 
THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 71 
 
 who passed her thought that she was a 
 beggar girl. 
 
 Prascovia was very steadfast and pa- 
 tient, though. She told her story to a 
 great many people, and after a while it 
 came to the ears of the empress mother. 
 She sent for the girl and was deeply 
 touched by her love and devotion to her 
 father. She gave Prascovia three hundred 
 roubles. Best of all, she said that she 
 would take Prascovia to the emperor. 
 
 It was like a fairy tale come true then. 
 Prascovia was dressed in ,the beautiful, rich 
 clothes that other Russian girls wear. Her 
 hair, that floated over her shoulders like a 
 long, dark veil, was fastened with a gold 
 band. With the empress mother and ladies 
 of state, she went to the great throne room 
 of the palace. 
 
 The gold and jewels, the long flight of 
 steps that led up to the glittering throne, 
 the emperor in his dazzling crown and 
 ermine robe looking down at her, almost 
 blinded Prascovia. She did not know that 
 the eyes of the court were wet with tears 
 when they saw her come in and kneel down 
 
72 THE GIRL WHO SAVED HER FATHER 
 
 at the throne steps. She could scarcely 
 hear the emperor as he bade her rise and 
 take from his hand her father's pardon. 
 
 Prascovia might have sent the pardon 
 to Siberia and waited in Saint Petersburg, 
 a happy guest of the empress mother, until 
 her father and mother came for her. She 
 did not want to do this. She wanted to put 
 the pardon into her father's hands herself, 
 so she took the long journey back home 
 again. 
 
 It was qmte like a triumph journey, 
 though. Prascovia had money enough to 
 travel all the way in comfort. Everyone 
 wanted to help her, for all Eussia knew of 
 what she had done for her father. At the 
 post stations children waited for her with 
 gifts. She was like a little queen going 
 home to her Kingdom. 
 
 It made Captain Loopolof young and 
 joyful again to know that his emperor had 
 pardoned him and reinstated him in the 
 army. His greatest happiness, though, was 
 in his daughter's devotion. She is the girl 
 of all history who. honored her father the 
 most. 
 
THE BOY WHO LIKED GEOGRAPHY 
 
 CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 
 
 He was born almost five hundred years 
 ago in Genoa, an Italian city that looks 
 down on the blue sea. His name was 
 Christopher, and he was more interested 
 in geography than in anything else. 
 
 There was a good deal in the way of 
 pleasure for an Italian boy to do in those 
 long ago days. The other lads of Genoa 
 drove their donkeys up and down the 
 steep, narrow streets, ran races and sailed 
 boats in the bay, and climbed the orange 
 and fig trees when the luscious fruit was 
 ripe. Christopher spent very little time 
 playing, though. He was very poor and 
 he had to work hard to help his family, 
 but when he had a little spare time he 
 read every word that he could find about 
 geography. He found it more exciting than 
 a boy of today finds the story of Robinson 
 Crusoe. People in those days knew really 
 very little about the earth on which they 
 
 73 
 
74 THE BOY WHO LIKED GEOGRAPHY 
 
 lived. They thought that the earth was 
 flat, like a sheet of paper, because all that 
 they could see of it looked flat. Christopher 
 grew up thinking that there was not much 
 of the world except Italy and Spain, and a 
 few other countries about which he had 
 studied. He had been taught, too, that if 
 one went far enough one would have to 
 jump off into space, for the earth would 
 stop in a kind of jumping off place. 
 
 Christopher was one of the bravest 
 boys in Genoa, though, and when he had 
 an opportunity he would go out to sea as 
 far as the ships that left the docks of 
 Genoa could carry him. Once he was ship- 
 wrecked and almost drowned, but this did 
 not affect his courage or his curiosity about 
 the earth at all. One reason for this was 
 that a strange idea had come into Chris- 
 topher's clever mind. 
 
 He noticed that when he sailed far 
 enough out to sea and looked back, the 
 white houses and green hills of Genoa dis- 
 appeared from his view altogether. He 
 knew that he was not far enough out to 
 
THE BOY WHO LIKED GEOGRAPHY 75 
 
 be near the end of the earth that he had 
 heard about all his life. 
 
 "I wonder if the earth is round like 
 an orange or a pomegranate," Christopher 
 asked himself, "and if it is the curving of 
 the earth's surface that makes me lose 
 sight of Genoa?" 
 
 Everyone laughed at Christopher when 
 he suggested that the earth might be round. 
 
 "In that case we haven't seen all of it, 
 or put it all in our geographies," they said. 
 
 "That is just what I believe is true," 
 Christopher said. "I want to sail to the 
 end of the sea and find out for myself." 
 
 And so, although no one could believe 
 that the earth was round instead of flat, 
 the rich people of Genoa fitted out a ship 
 for Christopher to go in and look for new 
 lands. He was grown to a man now. We 
 know him as Christopher Columbus, and 
 he started out on his great adventure. 
 
 The ship was too small for Christopher 
 Columbus to sail in as far as he wished. 
 He went to Portugal in it and asked the 
 King to help him by giving him a larger 
 
16 f ME BOY WHO LIKED GEOGRAPHY 
 
 ship. The King of Portugal was already 
 sending ships and men to explore the coast 
 of Africa and he was interested in Colum- 
 bus' idea. He was wicked and deceitful, 
 though. As he kept Columbus waiting 
 with false promises, he sent an expedition 
 out to sea to go in exactly the same direc- 
 tion that Columbus had intended sailing. 
 His ships turned back because his men 
 had not the courage of Columbus. 
 
 Then Columbus appealed to King Fer- 
 dinand of Spain for help in carrying out 
 his great adventure. Spain was at war 
 and there was not much money in the 
 court treasury to waste on so wild a 
 scheme as this one seemed to be. Colum- 
 bus grew so poor as he waited that he 
 was obliged to beg food, but at last Queen 
 Isabella began to have faith in the brave 
 adventurer. She sent for Columbus and 
 caused three small ships to be fitted and 
 put at his service. 
 
 Colimabus set sail on Friday, the third 
 of August, in the year 1492. It was a 
 more strange and wonderful voyage than 
 
THE BOY WHO LIKED GEOGRAPHY 77 
 
 any that had ever been taken before. No 
 chart or compass could help him very 
 well, for so far as he knew, he was sailing 
 seas that no other mariner had ever sailed 
 before. 
 
 His crew grew frightened and mutinous 
 and tried to turn back. Columbus' greatest 
 difficulty was in keeping their courage and 
 making them obey his orders. They sailed 
 for two months and a week. Finally, on 
 the night of October eleventh, 1492, Colum- 
 bus saw the first light from land shining 
 out through the darkness. 
 
 Columbus' dream had come true. The 
 earth was not flat, but round. There was 
 no lands' end from which his little sailing 
 vessels would plunge into space. Land was 
 in sight, he thought, and the next morning 
 with the first ray of light he found that 
 this was true. 
 
 Before him lay a beautiful island, almost 
 as lovely as the lands he had left so long 
 before. Strange dark people who had never 
 seen a white race before or ships like those 
 of Columbus ran down to the edge of 
 
78 THE BOY WHO LIKED GEOGRAPHY 
 
 the water to greet him and bring him 
 presents. 
 
 Columbus dressed himself in rich clothes 
 and, carrying the flag of Spain, landed 
 followed by his wondering crew. Together 
 they knelt on the sand as Columbus 
 planted the banner and took possession 
 of the new world he had found in the 
 name of the King of Spain. 
 
 It was one of the islands of America 
 that Christopher Columbus had discovered. 
 He found another island which is called 
 Cuba and a third named Hayti now. One 
 of his ships was wrecked and he used the 
 waste wood to build a fort on the island of 
 Hayti. That was Columbus' first voyage, 
 but he made others, discovering more 
 islands each time. 
 
 Columbus' courage seems greater as his 
 first trip across the uncharted sea is farther 
 away from us in the years. He began by 
 learning all he could about his own land 
 and he ended by giving us our own beloved 
 land of America. 
 
THE MAN WHO CAPTURED LIGHT- 
 NING 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 If we could have been in the quaint 
 old Quaker city of Philadelphia the middle 
 of the eighteenth century, we might have 
 heard about a man whom a good many 
 people were making fun of. His name was 
 Benjamin Franklin. 
 
 America was still so young then as to 
 have a good many old world notions. This 
 was especially true of the gray gowned 
 people of Philadelphia. They had very little 
 interest in anything new and they believed 
 in doing things in about the same way that 
 they had been done for the last hundred 
 years or so. 
 
 All Philadelphia laughed at Mr. Frank- 
 lin's invention of a broom. It happened to 
 be the first broom of its kind in America, 
 and it had taken Mr. Franklin a year to 
 make, for it had to be grown first. He 
 had been down at the wharf one day, a 
 
 79 
 
80 THE MAN WHO CAPTURED LIGHTNING 
 
 kind faced man in a long cloak and with 
 his hair worn long as was the custom in 
 those days. As he watched the ships from 
 England unloading their cargoes, he saw 
 some rush baskets that had brought fruit 
 and now lay empty on the wet boards. 
 The rushes had sprouted and sent out 
 shoots. 
 
 Mr. Franklin took the shoots home and 
 planted them in his garden and in a year 
 he had a fine crop of broom corn. He. 
 dried this and bound it in brushes that he 
 called brooms. 
 
 When the housekeepers of Philadelphia 
 found out how easy it was to sweep up the 
 dirt with a broom, they stopped laughing 
 and thanked Benjamin Franklin for his very 
 useful invention. 
 
 But people who passed by the Frank- 
 lin house one day brought back strange 
 reports of what they had seen going on in 
 the garden. 
 
 "Mr. Franklin is making a kite," they 
 said. 
 
 He had never done anything quite so 
 
THE MAN WHO CAPTURED LIGHTNING 81 
 
 unusual as that, but those who heard about 
 it tried to explain it. 
 
 "Of course the kite is for some boy 
 whom Mr. Franklin knows," they said and 
 thought no more about it. But in June of 
 the year 1752 a still stranger story was 
 told about Benjamin Franklin. 
 
 " Mr. Franklin is flying a kite," passers- 
 by said. There seemed to be no explanation 
 to this, for it was quite true. 
 
 He w^nt out in a thunderstorm which 
 made this fact of a grown man sailing a 
 kite seem still more strange. He had made 
 his kite of a large silk handkerchief and 
 had fastened a thin wire to the top of the 
 stick. He tied a string to the kite, and 
 near his hand he attached a silk ribbon to 
 the string. Where the string and ribbon 
 joined he fixed a large metal key. There 
 was a secret connected with this strange 
 kite. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin had been thinking a 
 great deal about electricity and he won- 
 dered where it came from. Although every 
 one laughed at him when he spoke of it, he 
 
82 THE MAN WHO CAPTURED LIGHTNING 
 
 believed that electricity and the lightning 
 which flashed across the sky might be one 
 and the same. He had this in mind when 
 he made his kite. 
 
 As the storm began to gather, Benjamin 
 Franklin took his kite to a field quite a 
 distance from his house. There was an old 
 cow shed there but very few houses near, 
 so no one would see if he failed in his 
 experiment. He held his kite up and the 
 wind caught it, carrying it up in the air. 
 The string was of hemp all except the silk 
 end which he held in his hand. In the 
 shed Mr. Franklin put a Leyden bottle. 
 This was a jar of water, charged with 
 electricity, and having a metal stopper 
 through which an iron rod ran inside the 
 bottle. If there were any electricity in the 
 air it would be caught by the Leyden jar, 
 Mr. Franklin knew. 
 
 No one was watching, and Mr. Franklin 
 was very glad of this. Deep down in his 
 heart he felt badly because the people of 
 Philadelphia ridiculed his strange ideas. 
 Sometimes there are seers and wizards in 
 
THE MAN WHO CAPTURED LIGHTNING 83 
 
 every day life instead of only in the fairy 
 tales. Benjamin Franklin was both a seer 
 and a wizard. He could see wonders in 
 commonplace things that others could not 
 see. He could use common things in bring- 
 ing about wonders. 
 
 The first thundercloud passed over Mr. 
 Franklin's kite without any effect. He was 
 very anxious as he stood and waited for 
 the next one. Then there came a second 
 thunder clap. Suddenly the fibers of the 
 hemp cord began to stir and rise and Mr. 
 Franklin felt his fingers tingle and pulled 
 by it. It was hard for him to believe that 
 he had found out what lightning is, but he 
 put his finger to the key on the kite string. 
 He started, for he felt quite a strong electric 
 shock. Then rain began to pour down and 
 wet the kite string. And down the wet 
 string poured real electricity that filled the 
 Ley den jar. 
 
 This discovery was a great triumph for 
 Benjamin Franklin and a help to the world. 
 News of it went across the ocean to 
 Europe and the name of Benjamin Franklin 
 
84 THE MAN WHO CAPTURED LIGHTNING 
 
 suddenly became one of the most famous 
 in the world. He made other trials and 
 discovered that some clouds are full of 
 positive and some of negative electricity. 
 When he was^ sure that it was possible to 
 gather electricity from the air he went to 
 work to try to protect houses from being 
 burned by lightning. 
 
 He set to work to make lightning con- 
 ductors and was very successful indeed 
 about it. He put lightning rods on houses 
 which drew the electricity from the sky but 
 directed it down into the ground. Before 
 Beiyamin Franklin's invention of the light- 
 ning rod a great many houses had been 
 destroyed during each thunder storm. They 
 began to put up lightning rods in France 
 and no one made fun of Mr. Franklin any 
 longer. Whenever we see a kite sailing 
 unusually high now, we think of the kite 
 that Franklin used to reach lightning and 
 chain it to the earth. 
 
THE BOY WHO WAS TRUE 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 When little George was five years old 
 his father moved from Pope's Creek in 
 Virginia, where the child had been born, 
 and went to live on another of his estates 
 on the Rappahannock River. 
 
 It was a splendid country with wide 
 unbroken forests stretching out to east 
 and west. In these great forests, standing 
 so thick with trees that scarcely a gleam 
 of sunlight could creep in, all kinds of 
 birds and beasts had their homes. In the 
 shadowy stillness there were other moving 
 forms besides the animals that crept quietly 
 and stealthily about. 
 
 These forests were the hunting grounds 
 of the Indians and their canoes, too, might 
 be seen shooting about the rivers. As yet 
 they were quite friendly toward the white 
 family who had come to settle so close 
 to them, but at any moment they might 
 become enemies. 
 
 85 
 
86 THE BOY WHO WAS TRUE 
 
 •Every now and then news would come 
 from other parts of the country of the 
 terrible deeds done by the Indians to the 
 white settlers. George would listen to 
 these tales of cruelty until it was hard 
 to feel quite brave. Those same Indians, 
 he knew, were lurking in the forests close 
 by. They stole like sUent shadows across 
 his path. They were as noiseless and mys- 
 terious in their ways as the forest animals 
 themselves. 
 
 But there were pleasant open places 
 around the house for George to play in 
 without wandering into the shadows of the 
 great forests. There was an apple orchard 
 besides the garden and fields, and in spring- 
 time it was like fairyland with its pale pink 
 blossoms against the blue sky. That was 
 very beautiful to look at, but it was in 
 autumn that George loved the orchard best. 
 Then the trees were loaded with great rosy- 
 cheeked apples, and the ground beneath 
 was covered with "tumble-downs." 
 
 George had gone one day to the orchard 
 with his father and two of his cousins, and 
 
THE BOY WHO WAS TRUE 87 
 
 the sight of the apples made him dance 
 with joy. 
 
 " Father," he cried, " did you ever in all 
 your life see so many apples before?" 
 
 " There certainly are a great many," his 
 father said. "Do you remember what I 
 told you in the spring when your cousin 
 gave you a large apple and you wanted 
 to eat it all up yourself instead of sharing it 
 with your brothers and sisters? I told you 
 then that you should be generous, and God 
 would send us many more apples in the fall." 
 
 George hung his he^ad. He remembered 
 quite well. The sight of all these apples 
 made hira quite ashamed of himself now. 
 It was not very easy to own that he had 
 been greedy, and that he was sorry. But 
 he was a good fighter and at last he won 
 the victory. 
 
 "I am sorry now, father," he said, "and 
 if you will forgive me this time, you will 
 see that I shall never be stingy again." 
 
 That was the kind of lesson his father 
 wanted him to learn, and it' was the kind 
 of teaching that George never forgot. 
 
88 THE BOY WHO WAS TRUE 
 
 When spring came George was much 
 excited one day, when he went out to the 
 garden, to find that the cabbage bed had 
 begun to show green shoots, and that the 
 green formed the letters of his name, 
 " George "Washington." He stood for a few 
 moments quite silent, his eyes and mouth 
 wide open in astonishment. Surely it was 
 magic! 
 
 "Father, father!" he shouted. "Oh, 
 father, do come and see." 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked his 
 father. 
 
 "The cabbages are coming up, and are 
 writing my name," cried George. 
 
 "Very curious," said his father. 
 
 "But who did it?" asked George. 
 
 " I suppose they just grew so," said his 
 father. "Don't you think they came up by 
 chance ? " 
 
 "They couldn't," said George. "They 
 wouldn't know how to grow that way 
 unless someone had made them." 
 
 "You are quite right," said his father. 
 "Nothing grows by chance. I planted 
 
THE BOY WHO \/VAS TRUE 89 
 
 those cabbages in that way to teach you a 
 lesson. There is someone who plans every- 
 thing. All the thousands of good things 
 you enjoy, the sunshine and the flowers, 
 eyes to see with, ears to hear with, feet to 
 carry you about, all are planned by God, 
 and chance has nothing to do with it." 
 
 George was only eight years old when 
 he learned that lesson, but he never forgot 
 it all the rest of his life. 
 
 It was about this time that George was 
 given a little hatchet. He went about the 
 garden chopping any old pieces of wood 
 that he could find, when his eye fell on 
 a beautiful English cherry tree, and this 
 seemed the very thing on which to try his 
 new present. 
 
 So he chopped away until not only the 
 bark was off the tree but the wood under- 
 neath was hacked and cut to pieces. 
 
 The next day his father happened to 
 pass by that way and caught sight of his 
 favorite cherry tree. He was very angry 
 when he saw the mischief that had been 
 done, and he went at once to ask everyone 
 
90 THE BOY WHO WAS TRUE 
 
 in the house if he or she knew who had 
 done it. 
 
 "My beautiful cherry tree is ruined," he 
 said. "Who could have hacked it in that 
 way?" 
 
 No one knew anything about it. None 
 of the servants had been near the tree. 
 
 Just then George came in with his 
 hatchet in his hand. 
 
 "George," said his father sternly, "do 
 you know who has killed that cherry tree 
 in the garden?" 
 
 Until that moment George had never 
 thought of the harm he had done the tree. 
 Hearing his father's voice and seeing his 
 troubled face, the boy suddenly knew the 
 mischief that he had done and hung his 
 head. 
 
 "George, did you do it?" asked his 
 father. 
 
 It was all very frightening. George was 
 only a little boy and his father was very 
 angry. The whole household waited to 
 hear what he had to say for himself. It 
 was not easy to be brave but George man- 
 
THE BOY WHO WAS TRUE 91 
 
 fully lifted his head and looked straight at 
 his father. 
 
 "I can't tell a lie, father," he said. "I 
 did it with my hatchet." 
 
 So the boy spoke out bravely and truly, 
 risking anything that might happen. But 
 he need not have been afraid. His father 
 would rather have lost a hundred cherry 
 trees than that his son should have told 
 one lie. 
 
 It was only right that a boy who came 
 of a soldierly race, and who meant, himself, 
 to be a soldier some day, should learn the 
 truest bravery of all. It was a better 
 preparation for him even than drilling his 
 playmates and fighting mimic battles, as 
 he was fond of doing. 
 
 His big brother Lawrence had joined 
 the army and gone away to fight King 
 George's battles against the Spaniards. 
 George wished that he too were old enough 
 to wear a uniform and carry a sword. 
 
 But all this was still in the future. 
 Meanwhile George went steadily on, learn- 
 ing all he could, both at school and at 
 
92 THE BOY WHO WAS TRUE 
 
 home. He was as upright and brave and 
 truthful as a boy could be. Besides that 
 he learned how to be methodical so that he 
 did far more work than most boys could 
 manage. His teachers soon found out that 
 he was no ordinary boy, and they felt sure 
 that a great future was ahead of him. 
 They were right. 
 
 He was a Great American, and America's 
 first President. Besides being an example 
 of bravery and truthfulness to all children, 
 he lived to a very great and good man, and 
 there is no name in America more honored 
 or loved than that of George Washington. 
 
 Amy Steedman. Copyright by Frederick A. Stokes & Ca 
 
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 
 
 Listen, my children, and you shall hear 
 
 Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, 
 
 On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-five; 
 
 Hardly a man is now alive 
 
 Who remembers that famous day and year. 
 
 He said to his friend, "If the British march 
 By land or sea from the town tonight, 
 Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch 
 Of the North Church tower as a signal 
 
 light,- 
 One, if by land, and two, if by sea; 
 And I on the opposite shore will be, 
 Beady to ride and spread the alarm 
 Through every Middlesex village and farm. 
 For the country folk to be up and arm." 
 
 Then he said, "Good night!" and with 
 
 muffled oar 
 Silently rowed to the Oharlestown shore, 
 Just as the moon rose over the bay. 
 Where swinging wide at her moorings lay 
 
 93 
 
94 PAUL REVERES RIDE 
 
 The Somerset, British man-of-war; 
 
 A phantom ship, with each mast and spar 
 
 Across the moon like a prison bar. 
 
 And a huge black hulk, that was magnified 
 
 By its own reflection in the tide. 
 
 Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and 
 
 street. 
 Wanders and watches with eager ears, 
 Till in the silence around him he hears 
 The muster of inen at the barrack door. 
 The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. 
 And the measured tread of the grenadiers. 
 Marching down to their boats on the shore. 
 
 Then he climbed the tower of the Old 
 
 North Church, 
 By the wooden stairs with stealthy tread, 
 To the belfry chamber overhead. 
 And startled the pigeons from their perch 
 On the somber rafters, that round him 
 
 made 
 Masses and moving shapes of shade, — 
 By the trembling ladder, steep and tall, 
 To the highest window in the wall, 
 
PAUL REVERE' S RIDE 95 
 
 Where he paused to listen and look dowp 
 A moment on the roofs of the town, 
 And the moonlight flowing over all. 
 
 Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead, 
 In their night encampment on the hill, 
 Wrapped in silence so deep and stUl 
 That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread, 
 The watchful night wind, as it went 
 Creeping along from tent to tent. 
 And seeming to whisper, "All is well ! " 
 A moment only he feels the spell 
 Of the place, the hour and the secret dread 
 Of the lonely belfry and the dead; 
 For suddenly all his thoughts are bent 
 On a shadowy something far away. 
 Where the river widens to meet the bay. 
 A line of black that bends and floats 
 On the rising tide like a bridge of boats. 
 
 Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride, 
 Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride 
 On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. 
 Now he patted his horse's side, 
 ow gazed at the landscape far and near, 
 
 
96 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 
 
 Then, impetuous, stamped the earth, 
 And turned and tightened his saddle girth ; 
 But mostly he watched with eager search 
 The belfry tower of the Old North Church, 
 As it rose above the graves on the hill. 
 Lonely and spectre and somber and still. 
 And lo ! as he looked on the belfry's height 
 A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! 
 He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns. 
 But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight 
 A second lamp in the belfry bums! 
 
 A hurry of hoofs in a village street, 
 
 A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the 
 
 dark. 
 And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, 
 
 a spark 
 Struck out by a steed flying fearless and 
 
 fleet : 
 That was all ! And yet, through the gloom 
 
 land the light. 
 The fate of a nation was riding that night; 
 And the spark struck out by that steed in 
 
 his flight. 
 Kindled the land into flame with its heat. 
 
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 97 
 
 He has left the village and mounted the 
 
 steep, 
 And beneath him, tranquil and broad and 
 
 deep. 
 Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides; 
 And under the alders that skirt its edge. 
 Now soft on the land, now loud on the 
 
 ledge 
 Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides. 
 
 It was twelve by the village clock 
 
 When he crossed the bridge into Medford 
 
 town. 
 He heard the crowing of the cock, 
 And the barking of the farmer's dog. 
 And felt the damp of the river fog, 
 That rises after the sun goes down. 
 
 It was one by the village clock 
 "When he galloped into Lexington. 
 He saw the gilded weathercock 
 Swim in the moonlight as he passed. 
 And the meeting house windows, blank 
 
 and bare, 
 Qaze at him with a spectral glare, 
 
98 PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 
 
 As if they already stood aghast 
 
 At the bloody work they would look upon. 
 
 It was two by the village clock, 
 
 When he came to the bridge in Concord 
 
 town. 
 He heard the bleating of the flock, 
 And the twitter of birds among the trees, 
 And felt the breath of the morning breeze 
 Blowing over the meadows brown. 
 And one was safe and asleep in his bed 
 Who at the bridge would be first to fall. 
 Who that day would be lying dead, 
 Pierced by a British musket ball. 
 
 You know the rest. In the books you have 
 
 read. 
 How the British Regulars fired and fled,— 
 How the farmers gave them ball for ball 
 From behind each fence and barnyard 
 
 wall. 
 Chasing the redcoats down the lane, 
 Then crossing the fields to emerge again. 
 Under the trees at the turn of the road. 
 And only pausing to fire and load. 
 
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 99 
 
 So through the night rode Paul Revere ; 
 And so through the night went his call of 
 
 alarm 
 To every Middlesex village and farm,— 
 A cry of defiance and not of fear, 
 A voice in the darkness, a knock on the 
 
 door, 
 And a word that shall echo f orevermore ! 
 For, borne on the night wind of the Past, 
 Through all our history, to the last. 
 In the hour of darkness and peril and need. 
 The people will waken and listen to hear 
 The hurrying hoof beate of that steed, 
 And the midnight ride of Paul Revere. 
 
 HENRY WADSWOBTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 By permission of and special arrangement with Houghton, Mifflin 
 & Company. 
 
THE LOG CABIN BOY 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN 
 
 How would you like to have begun life 
 in a little log cabin set in the midst of a 
 western wilderness? Suppose, too, that 
 the cabin had no window and so many, 
 cracks that it let in the winter winds and 
 even the snow ! 
 
 That was how little Abe first saw life 
 a long time ago, in February of 1809. It 
 was a rough life for a small boy. Even his 
 mother had to know how to shoot, for the 
 cabin was in the woods where wild beasts 
 and Indians surrounded it. There was 
 nothing to eat except what Abe's father 
 raised or hunted. They had nothing to 
 wear except the cloth his mother spun 
 and wove, or the skins of animals. 
 
 By the time little Abe was six years 
 old, though, he had learned more than a 
 boy of that age today. He could fish and 
 hunt. He was not afraid of Indians. He 
 could catch hold of a sycamore tree on 
 
 100 
 
THE LOG CABIN BOY 101 
 
 the edge of the brook outside the cabin, 
 and swing himself way across the brook. 
 
 But little Abe's father was not satisfied 
 with his boy's knowing only how to live 
 an outdoor life. He could not read himself, 
 but it was his great longing that little Abe 
 should have this knowledge. 
 
 It was when Abe was seven years old 
 and his sister, Sarah, a year younger, that 
 their father spoke about this. 
 
 " I want the children to learn to read," 
 he said. "There is a man in a shanty down 
 the road who knows how. He can't write, 
 but he could teach Abe and Sarah their 
 letters." 
 
 So the two little folks started off, Abe 
 in a linsey-woolsey suit, buckskin breeches, 
 and a coon skin cap. It was a long walk, 
 and the children had only hoe cake to 
 carry for their dinner, but they were strong 
 and sturdy. They were clever, too. In a 
 few weeks, Abe knew as much as the 
 school master. Then he began to wish, oh, 
 so much, that he had some books to read 
 at home in the cabin. 
 
102 THE LOG CABIN BOY 
 
 There was a Bible at home, an old 
 catechism and a spelling book. Abe read 
 these over and over again in the dim 
 candle light of the cabin. One day his 
 father surprised him. He brought him a 
 new book. It was Pilgrim's Progress, the 
 most wonderful story, little Abe thought, 
 that he had ever read. It was only a bor- 
 rowed book ; books cost a very great deal 
 of money in those long ago days, more 
 than Mr. Lincoln could pay. He was able 
 to borrow more, though. Little Abe read 
 Aesop's fables, and he liked them so much 
 that he learned the stories by heart. He 
 could tell the fable of the Hare and the 
 Tortoise, the Crow and the Pitcher, and 
 many others. 
 
 It made Abe so happy to have these 
 books that he made up his mind to try to 
 do something, in return, to surprise his 
 father. It was spring of the year and Abe 
 and his father were plowing, turning up 
 the soft brown earth, ready for the new 
 seeds. Mr. Lincoln missed his boy. He 
 looked back, and what do you think he 
 
THE LOG CABIN BOY 103 
 
 saw ? Abe had spelled with a stick, in the 
 soft brown earth, his own name. His father 
 had not known that he could write, but 
 there were the letters as plainly outlined as 
 if they had been in a copy book : Abraham 
 Lincoln. 
 
 He had taught himself to write by prac- 
 ticing in the snow, and making letters on 
 the logs of the cabin walls with pieces of 
 charcoal. 
 
 A great deal began to happen now to 
 Abraham, although he was only eight years 
 old. His father decided .to travel a hundred 
 miles from Kentucky to a new farm in 
 Indiana to see if he might not be a little 
 more prosperous. There were no railroads. 
 There was not even a stage route. They 
 packed their bedding on two horses and 
 set out on the journey overland. It took 
 seven days, sleeping on the ground under 
 the stars at night. And when they reached 
 the new home, there was not even a shelter 
 waiting for them. A road had been cut 
 through the forests, but all the clearing was 
 yet to be done. 
 
104 THE LOG CABIN BOY 
 
 Abraham had an axe of his own and 
 he went to work with it. He was a true 
 pioneer boy, though, and not one bit afraid 
 of work. He cut poles while his father laid 
 the foundations of the new cabin. They 
 were only able to put up a "half -faced" 
 camp at first, with three sides and one side 
 open. And it was hard work. The great, 
 unhewn logs had to be all notched and 
 fitted together, and the cracks filled in 
 with clay. They made a loft, and fitted in 
 a door and a window. Abraham learned 
 how to make a table and some stools. 
 Then, after the bitter winter was over, the 
 spring brought them more comfort and 
 happiness. The corn and vegetables they 
 planted came up, and Abraham had a little 
 time to read again. 
 
 He had a new book, now, that a neigh- 
 bor had let him take. It was the story of 
 a boy who had, also, in his little boy days, 
 an axe like Abraham's ; but he had used 
 it to cut down his father's cherry tree. 
 When he had grown to be a man, though, 
 he was our Great American. Abraham took 
 
THE LOG CABIN BOY 105 
 
 this book, the Life of George Washington, 
 to bed with him and read it when the 
 snow was sifting in through the cabin roof 
 and over his quilt. He read the book many 
 times. 
 
 "What are you going to be when you 
 grow up?" the neighbor asked Abraham. 
 
 " I am going to be the President of the 
 United States," the boy replied. 
 
 Everyone thought this a very good joke 
 for Abraham was growing up now. He 
 had legs that were too long for his body 
 and it was the same way with his arms. 
 He was almost six feet tall although he 
 was not yet fifteen years old. His head, 
 set on top of his long neck, looked almost 
 out of place. People laughed when they 
 compared him with other Presidents of the 
 United States. 
 
 Abraham kept his thought in his mind, 
 though, and he went on working, and read- 
 ing when he had time in the firelight of 
 the long winter evenings. As he threshed, 
 and chopped, and plowed, he could not 
 help dreaming a little. All his life he had 
 
106 THE LOG CABIN BOY 
 
 worked hard for others, and he really liked 
 this kind of work more than any other. 
 He wanted to go on helping others only in 
 a greater, broader way. 
 
 We all know what happened to Abra- 
 ham Lincoln. His dream came true. He 
 was our noblest President and carried on 
 his broad shoulders the burdens of the 
 slaves. It was a long road from the 
 little log cabin in Kentucky to the White 
 House at Washington, but President Lin- 
 coln, himself, tells us how he made the 
 journey. 
 
 He was visiting, once, a hospital full of 
 wounded soldiers. There were several thou- 
 sand of them, and each one of them loved 
 Mr. Lincoln so that he wanted to shake 
 hands with him. He took and held the 
 hand of each. It was enough to cripple 
 an ordinary man, but Mr. Lincoln's kind, 
 plain face was smiling when someone asked 
 if he were tired. 
 
 "Oh, no," he said. "The hardships of 
 my boyhood made me strong." 
 
 Very likely, too, it was the struggles of 
 
THE LOG CABIN BOY 107 
 
 learning to write on bare boards and in 
 the earth that helped Abraham Lincoln to 
 write his name in letters of gold on our 
 history pages. 
 
BARBARA FRIETOHIB 
 
 Up from the mea^dows sweet with corn, 
 Clear in the cool September morn, 
 
 The clustered spires of Frederick stand 
 Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 
 
 Round about them orchards sweep, 
 Apple and peach tree fruited deep. 
 
 Fair as the garden of the Lord 
 
 To the eyes of the famished rebel horde, 
 
 On that pleasant morn of the early fall 
 When Lee marched over the mountain- 
 wall,— 
 
 Over the mountain, winding down. 
 Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 
 
 Forty flags with their silver stars, 
 Forty flags with their crimson bars. 
 
 Flapped in the morning wind: the sun 
 Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 
 
 108 
 
BARBARA FRIETCHIE 109 
 
 Up rose Barbara Prietchie then, 
 """ Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; 
 
 Bravest of all in Frederick town, 
 
 She took up the flag the men hauled down. 
 
 In the attic window the staff she set. 
 To show that one heart was loyal yet. 
 
 Up the street came the rebel tread, 
 Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 
 
 Under his slouched hat^left and right 
 He glanced : the old flag met his sight. 
 
 "Halt!" — the dust-brown ranks stood fast. 
 "Fire!"— out blazed the rifle-blast. 
 
 It shivered the window, pane and sash; 
 It rent the banner with seam and gash. 
 
 Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff 
 Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 
 
 She leaned far out on the window-sill, 
 And shook it forth with a royal will. 
 
110 BARBARA PRIET6hIE 
 
 "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head. 
 But spare your country's flag," she said. 
 
 A shade of sadness, a blush of shame 
 Over the face of the leader came; 
 
 The nobler nature within him stirred 
 To life at that woman's deed and word: 
 
 "Who touches a hair of yon gray head 
 Dies like a dog ! March on ! " he said. 
 
 All day long through Frederick street 
 Sounded the tread of marching feet : 
 
 All day long that free flag tossed 
 Over the heads of the rebel host. 
 
 Ever its torn folds rose and fell 
 
 On the loyal winds that loved it well. 
 
 And through the hill-gap's sunset light 
 Shone over it with a warm goodnight. 
 
 Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, 
 
 And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 
 
BARBARA FRIETCHIB 111 
 
 Over Barbara Prietchie's grave, 
 Flag of Freedom and Union, wave ! 
 
 Peace and order and beauty draw 
 Bound thy symbol of light and law ; 
 
 And ever the stars above look down 
 On thy stars below in Frederick town ! 
 
 JOHN GBEENLEAF WHITTIER. 
 
 By permission of and special arrangement with Houghton, Mifilin 
 &Co. 
 
THE GIRL WHO WROTE UNCLE 
 TOM'S CABIN 
 
 HARRIET BEECHER STOWE 
 
 It did not seem as if there were room 
 enough in the little white house in Litch- 
 field, Connecticut, for another baby. The 
 Beechiers had six little ones already, but 
 when Harriet came everyone was glad to 
 see her. They decided that they had all 
 needed her very much and they began 
 loving her with all their hearts. 
 
 It didn't matter that their father, who 
 was a minister, had scarcely enough money 
 to fUl all the hungry mouths in the home 
 nest. Harriet's mother taught school to 
 help her father, but she found time to 
 make the most delightful rag dolls for 
 little Harriet, and to read her stories, and 
 take the best care of all the family. 
 
 Harriet soon grew to be a gay little 
 girl virith blue eyes and brown curls. She 
 was as happy as if she had been a little 
 princess, and she spent enchanted days 
 
 112 
 
GIRL WHO WROTE UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 113 
 
 roaming over the meadows and the forest. 
 She gathered wild flowers in the spring 
 and nuts in the fall. She learned to know 
 all the treasures of outdoors. There were 
 the crisp apples of the pink azalea, honey 
 suckliB apples people called them. There 
 were scarlet wintergreen berries, the pink 
 blossoms of the trailing arbutus and the 
 feathery ground pine. There were blue 
 and white and yellow violets to be found, 
 and wild anemone blossoms, and other 
 quaint treasures of the woods. 
 
 Living and playing, so much out of 
 doors Harriet did not mind in the least 
 the bareness of her home. There were 
 not even carpets upon the floors. What 
 do you think Harriet and her mother did 
 one day? They laid down a piece of cotton 
 cloth in the parlor and painted it in oil 
 colors with a border, and a bunch of roses 
 and other flowers in the center. It made 
 a very fine carpet indeed even if everyone 
 was afraid to step on it. 
 
 After awhile Harriet was seven years 
 old and she began to be very fond of books. 
 
114 GIRL WHO WROTE UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 
 
 There were not many in her father's library ; 
 he bad to spend nearly all of his salary for 
 bread and butter and shoes for the children. 
 But Harriet found a fat book of hymns, and 
 she learned twenty-seven of them so that 
 she could say them without making a mis- 
 take in a word. There was another book 
 that she grew to like very much. It was 
 Ivanhoe, and Harriet and her brother 
 George read it over seven times. 
 
 She liked school very much indeed, and 
 she found that she really enjoyed doing 
 something that the other children dishked. 
 She could write a composition without 
 crying over it or misspelling a word. 
 
 Although the schools in those long ago 
 days were very different from ours, with 
 long hard benches and longer hours and 
 books with no pictures, they had one of 
 the customs that we know. Once a year 
 the fathers and mothers were invited to 
 come to school and hear the children 
 recite poems and say over some of their 
 hardest lessons. If any child had written 
 an especially good composition, the master 
 
GIRL WHO WROTE UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 115 
 
 of the school would read it at this parents' 
 day. Of course this made the father and 
 mother of the child who had written it 
 very proud indeed. 
 
 If you will close your eyes you may 
 see in fancy the school in old New England 
 with little Harriet among the other children 
 on one of these parents' days. Her curls 
 were almost down to her waist, and they 
 did not have to be done up in papers 
 for they were natural curls. She wore a 
 flowered dress with a ruffled skirt, and 
 long white pantalettes. Her big blue eyes 
 were as bright as the sky as she saw her 
 father in his black suit and stiffly starched 
 cravat sitting on the platform behind the 
 school master. 
 
 Not many of the children's composi- 
 tions were read, and the best one of them 
 all was left for the last. When the school 
 master stood up, and read the fine copper 
 plate writing in which some child of the 
 school had set down her thoughts on 
 the Light of Nature, everyone listened 
 aaost careiuUy. It was a very well written 
 
116 GIRL WHO WROTE UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 
 
 composition, certainly the best of them 
 all. 
 
 "Who wrote that composition?" Mr, 
 Beecher asked of the school master. 
 
 "Your daughter, sir," was the answer. 
 
 Nothing that ever happened to her 
 when she grew up and was famous made 
 Harriet Beecher Stowe so happy as the 
 smile she saw on her father's face as he 
 said, "Why, Harriet!" 
 
 Then Harriet grew up and she went to 
 live in Cincinnati. She discovered some- 
 thing here that made her very sad. The 
 black people of the South were in slavery. 
 Unhappy slaves and their little children 
 iled through the free states and were 
 helped into Canada by means of the under- 
 ;ground railway. Harriet Beecher, who was 
 now Mrs. Stowe with two little boys of her 
 own, was sorry indeed for the slaves. She 
 opened her house to the little colored chil- 
 dren whom she taught with her own boys. 
 
 One day Harriet Beecher Stowe told a 
 story to her two little sons. 
 
 It was a story that she had thought of 
 
GIRL WHO WROTE UNCLE TOM'S CABm 117 
 
 herself. It was about an old white haired 
 colored man named Uncle Tom who lived 
 in a little log cabin in the South. He was 
 as kind and patient and good as if he had 
 been born free and not a slave. He was a 
 dear friend to a little golden haired girl 
 named Eva who lived on the plantation 
 where Uncle Tom worked. 
 
 The two little Stowe boys thought that 
 it was the best story they had ever heard, 
 and they asked their mother to write it 
 down. Their mother did not think that the 
 world would care as njuch about reading 
 it as had her sons in listening to the story. 
 But she did make it into a book, and she 
 called the book Uncle Tom's Cabin. 
 
 Then a strange thing happened. 
 
 In a short time, ten thousand copies of 
 the book, Uncle Tom's Cabin, had been 
 bought by ten thousand people who 
 thought that it was very wonderful. It 
 took eight great printing presses, working 
 day and night, to get it ready for the 
 book stores. They made it into a play so 
 that people might see, on the stage. Uncle 
 
118 GIRL WHO WROTE UNCLE TOM'S CABIN 
 
 Tom and Little Eva, as Mrs. Stowe had 
 written about them. In less than a year 
 three hundred thousand people had bought 
 copies of Uncle Tom's Cabin. Great people 
 in Europe wrote to Harriet Beecher Stowe 
 and told her how much they had eryoyed 
 reading her book, and when she went 
 traveling people in the towns stopped her 
 carriage to fill it with flowers. 
 
 We all love books, but not many of us 
 understand what makes a book read over 
 and over again, when others are forgotten. 
 They translated Uncle Tom's Cabin into 
 nineteen different languages. In France 
 there were more Bibles sold because it 
 was the book that Uncle Tom read most. 
 The English people bought over one and 
 a half million copies, and we can scarcely 
 count the numbers of the book that Amer- 
 ica has read. 
 
 We VTill never forget Uncle Tom's Cabin. 
 Neither will we forget the little girl of old 
 New England who learned how, although 
 her hands were full of duties, to write a 
 book that the whole world loves. 
 
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 
 
 By the flow of the inland river, 
 
 Whence the fleets of u-on have fled, 
 Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, 
 
 Asleep are the ranks of the dead: — 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the Judgment Day: — 
 Under the one, the Blue; 
 
 Under the other, the Gray. 
 
 These in the robings of glory. 
 
 Those in the gloom of defeat, 
 All with the battle-field gory. 
 
 In the dusk of eternity meet: — 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the Judgment Day : — 
 Under the laurel, the Blue; 
 
 Under the willow, the Gray. 
 
 From the silence of sorrowful hours, 
 
 The desolate mourners go, 
 Lovingly laden with flowers. 
 
 Alike for the friend and the foe: — 
 
 119 
 
120 THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 
 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 Waiting the Judgment Day: — 
 
 Under the laurel, the Blue; 
 Under the willow, the Gray. 
 
 So, with an equal splendor, 
 
 The morning sun-rays fall. 
 With a touch impartially tender, 
 
 On the blossoms blooming for all: 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the Judgment Day: — 
 Broidered with gold, the Blue; 
 
 Mellowed with gold, the Gray. 
 
 So, when the summer calleth, 
 
 On forest and field of grain. 
 With an equal murmur falleth 
 
 The cooling drip of the rain: — 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the Judgment Day : — 
 Wet with the rain, the Blue ; 
 
 Wet with the rain, the Gray. 
 
 Sadly, but not with upbraiding. 
 The generous deed was done. 
 
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY 121 
 
 In the storm of the years that are fading 
 
 No braver battle was won: — 
 Under the sod and the dew, 
 
 Waiting the Judgment Day: — 
 Under the blossoms, the Blue; 
 
 Under the garlands, the Gray. 
 
 No more shall the war-cry sever. 
 
 Or the winding rivers be red : 
 They banish our anger forever, 
 
 When they laurel the graves of our dead ! 
 Under the sod and the dew. 
 
 Waiting the Judgment Day : — 
 Love and tears for the Blue ; 
 
 Tears and love for the Gray. 
 
 FRANCIS MILES FINCH. 
 Copyright 1909 by Henry Holt & Company. 
 
THE BOY WHO WANTED TO BE A 
 SCULPTOR 
 
 ANTONIO CANOVA 
 
 His name was Antonio Canova, and he 
 lived over a hundred years ago in the little 
 town of Asola in the hills of Italy. 
 
 As soon as Antonio had grown from a 
 child to a little lad, he began to see the 
 beautiful things in the world all about 
 him. He loved to look at the colors in the 
 church windows and at the strange shapes 
 in the clouds that hung above him in the 
 blue Italian sky. He begged his father to 
 take him to see the statues that stood 
 along the roadsides and in the gardens of 
 the rich. He loved to pick up soft clay 
 from the roadside and mould it into little 
 figures with bis clever hands. 
 
 Antonio's mother died when he was 
 still only a little boy, and he went to live 
 with his grandfather, who was a stone- 
 cutter. Everyone hked the motherless lad, 
 and his grandfather taught him how to 
 
 122 
 
BOY WHO WANTED TO BE A SCULPTOR 123 
 
 draw because he saw that he liked to use 
 his hands in making beautiful things better 
 than he did to play. Antonio watched his 
 grandfather cut and clip the solid stone 
 until it showed wonderful forms that no 
 one woTild have believed were hidden in it. 
 When his grandfather gave him a set of 
 tools, Antonio was but a little while learn- 
 ing how to use them. He was only eight 
 years old when he carved some pieces of 
 marble so well that they were put into a 
 church. 
 
 Antonio's grandfather could cook as 
 well as carve. In the town where he lived, 
 there lived also d very great and rich man 
 who WBiS a Senator. The Senator often 
 gave great parties and then he would per- 
 suade the stonecutter to give up his work 
 for a day and come to his castle to cook 
 a fine dinner. 
 
 One day Antonio went with his grand- 
 father to the Senator's house, and they let 
 him sit on one of the wooden benches 
 in the kitchen while the food was being 
 prepared. It seemed quite wonderful to 
 
124 BOY WHO WANTED TO BE A SCULPTOR 
 
 Antonio; there were many rich fowls, 
 artichokes and lentils, peas as green as 
 emeralds, olives, oranges, dark chocolate 
 and sweets of all kinds. Antonio wished 
 that he might help, especially when he 
 saw how cleverly the pastry was being 
 moulded, but everyone laughed at the little 
 boy when he asked this. 
 
 "You can't help with the Senator's 
 dinner," they said, "a little lad like you!" 
 
 Just then there came the sound of a 
 terrible crash in the kitchen. It came from 
 the direction of the great dining hall, and 
 out ran a terrified servant, wringing his 
 hands. He had tried to place a valuable 
 marble statue in the center of the table, 
 and in doing so the statue had fallen and 
 broken into hundreds of pieces. 
 
 " What shall I do?" he cried. He knew 
 that the Senator would be disappointed 
 and very angry. 
 
 Antonio felt like .crying too. A marble 
 statue seemed to him one of the most beau- 
 tiful things in the world, and he could not 
 bear to think of its having been destroyed. 
 
BOY WHO WANTED TO BE A SCULPTOR 125 
 
 "Perhaps I can make you a statue to 
 take its place," he said. "Will you not let 
 me try?" 
 
 "You; a little lad, make a statue fit 
 to stand in the center of the Senator's 
 table?" everyone cried. And Antonio, his 
 eyes full of tears, went over to a corner of 
 the kitchen v/here no one would see how 
 badly he felt. 
 
 There was a huge piece of yellow butter 
 there weighing many pounds, standing on 
 the kitchen table. It was hard and firm 
 and as yellow as gold. ^ Antonio looked at 
 it for a moment. Then he had a strange 
 thought. He took up a large knife and 
 commenced to carve the butter. 
 
 It was easier to carve in butter than 
 in stone. As he cut and shaped, Antonio 
 forgot where he was, but the servants left 
 their work to watch him. They crowded 
 about the lad, breathless, to see the wonder 
 that he was working. 
 
 In place of the great square of butter 
 there stood a splendid golden lion ! Anto- 
 nio had carved it. The servant who b9f4 
 
126 BOY WHO WANTED TO BE A SCULPTOR 
 
 broken the Senator's statue was too happy 
 for words. He placed the butter lion on a 
 platter and carried it in to decorate the 
 Senator's dinner table. 
 
 The Senator and his guests had never 
 seen so beautiful and strange a statue. 
 They could scarcely eat ; they feasted their 
 eyes instead on the statue and begged to 
 know what great sculptor had sent it to 
 the Senator. 
 
 "Who made the lion?" demanded the 
 Senator of the servant who had brought 
 it in. 
 
 "It was made by a little lad in the 
 kitchen," the servant said, "Antonio, the 
 grandson of the stonecutter." 
 
 The Senator could scarcely believe it. 
 
 "Bring the boy here," he demanded. 
 "He shall be our guest of honor." 
 
 So Antonio, in his poor clothes and 
 peasant's shoes, was brought in and sat 
 beside the Senator at the head of the 
 table. It was like a fairy tale come true 
 to the little lad. The Senator asked Anto- 
 nio to come and live with him, and he said 
 
BOY WHO WANTED TO BE A SCULPTOR 12? 
 
 that he should have the best teachers in 
 Italy in drawing and sculpture. In two 
 years he had learned a great deal. In only 
 a few years more, he was known as one of 
 the greatest sculptors in the world, and his 
 statues stood in cathedrals, in castles, and 
 in museums of art. 
 
 Doing his best in the kitchen had made 
 Antonio Canova one of the great men of 
 the world of art. 
 
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 
 Under a spreading chestnut tree 
 
 The village smithy stands; 
 The smith, a mighty man is he, 
 
 With large and sinewy hands; 
 And the muscles of his brawny arms 
 
 Are strong as iron bands. 
 
 His hair is crisp, and black, and long; 
 
 His face is like the tan; 
 His brow is wet with honest sweat, 
 
 He earns whate'er he can. 
 And looks the whole world in the face. 
 
 For he owes not any man. 
 
 Week in, week out, from morn till night, 
 You can hear his bellows blow; 
 
 You can hear him sling his heavy sledga 
 With measured beat and slow. 
 
 Like a sexton ringing the village bell, 
 When the evening sun is low. 
 
 And children coming home from school 
 Look in at the open door; 
 
 128 
 
THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 129 
 
 They love to see the flaming forge, 
 
 And hear the bellows roar, 
 And catch the burning sparks that fly 
 
 Like chaff from a threshing floor. 
 
 He goes on Sunday to the church, 
 
 And sits among his boys; 
 He hears the parson pray and preach. 
 
 He hears his daughter's voice, 
 Singing in the village choir, 
 
 And it makes his heart rejoice. 
 
 It sounds to him like hjs mother's voice, 
 
 Singing in Paradise ! 
 He needs must think of her once more, 
 
 How in the grave she lies ; 
 And with his hard, rough hand he wipes 
 
 A tear out of his eyes. 
 
 Toiling — rejoicing — sorrowing, 
 
 Onward through life he goes; 
 Each morning sees some task begun. 
 
 Each evening sees it close; 
 Something attempted, something done. 
 
 Has earned a night's repose. 
 
130 THE VILLAGE BLACKSMITH 
 
 Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend. 
 For the lesson thou hast taught! 
 
 Thus at the flaming forge of light 
 Our fortunes must be wrought; 
 
 Thus on its sounding anvil shaped 
 Each burning deed and thought. 
 
 EENRT WADS WORTH LONGFELLOW. 
 
 By permission of and special arrangement with Houghton Mifflin 
 & Company. 
 
THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY 
 NURSE 
 
 FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE 
 
 On the twelfth of May, the month of 
 flowers, in the year of eighteen hundred 
 and twenty, a little English baby was born 
 at the Villa Colombaia, just outside Flor- 
 ence, the fair city of the Arno. 
 
 Spring had been busy sowing the fields 
 with flowers and spreading a carpet of 
 tender green beneath the gray oUve trees. 
 New life was springing up everywhere and 
 the baby at the Villa Colombaia lifted her 
 face to the light in company with the 
 flowers. 
 
 "We will call her Florence," said her 
 mother. So the City of Flowers gave its 
 dear name to the little English baby. 
 
 It was not very long before the English 
 family went back to their home in Eng- 
 land. The first home that Florence knew 
 in England was Lea Hall, in Derbyshire, 
 but when she was five years old, and her 
 
 131 
 
132 THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY NURSE 
 
 sister Frances was six, they went to live in 
 a new house called Lea Hurst. Here all 
 the rest of her childhood'^ summer days 
 were spent. 
 
 It was a beautiful home for Mr. Night- 
 ingale loved all beautiful things. The win- 
 dows looked out over lawns and gardens, 
 and a river wound its way like a silver 
 thread to the hills beyond. Most charming 
 of all was the sight of the two little girls 
 in their dainty muslin frocks, Leghorn hats, 
 and sandal shoes as they played about 
 among the beds of purple pansies and 
 crimson wall flowers. 
 
 The girls each had a garden in which 
 they planted, weeded, and watered. It was 
 Florence, though, who was most fond of 
 flowers. It seemed as if the old Italian 
 City of Flowers had laid its charm upon 
 her as well as given her its name. 
 
 The two little sisters were very fond 
 of their dolls, too. But they showed their 
 fondness in different ways, and brought up 
 their doll families on different plans. Flor- 
 ence's dolls were all delicate and needed 
 
THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY NURSE 133 
 
 constant care. They spent most of their 
 lives in bed, going through illnesses. They 
 were most carefully nursed by their mother, 
 who doctored them and fed them dainty 
 dishes until they were well again. 
 
 Scarcely were the dolls up and dressed 
 again before some new illness sent them 
 back to bed, and the nursing began once 
 more. 
 
 Frances' dolls were hardly ever in bed. 
 They led lives of adventure. When an 
 accident happened and an arm or a leg 
 was hurt, it was Florence who set it in 
 splints and nursed the invalid back to 
 health. 
 
 Florence looked upon all animals as her 
 friends, especially those that were unfor- 
 tunate. Anything that needed her care 
 appealed at once to her tender httle heart. 
 It was she who welcomed and loved the 
 homely little kittens that the stable cat 
 hid from less friendly eyes. And the old 
 pony that was past work and of no use to 
 anyone, knew that his little mistress loved 
 him as much as ever. Whenever she passed 
 
134 THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY NURSE 
 
 the paddock, he came trotting over to see 
 her. Then he would poke his nose into her 
 pockets until he found an apple or a carrot 
 that Florence had hidden there for his daily- 
 game of hide and seek. 
 
 The birds, too, seemed to know and 
 trust her, and even the squirrels came 
 darting for any nuts she carried with her 
 as she walked through the woods. They 
 looked upon her as quite one of them- 
 selves. 
 
 Only half the year was spent at Lea 
 Hurst. In winter and early spring the 
 family went to live in their other house, 
 Embhy Park, in Hampshire. Here Florence 
 learned the pleasure of visiting the village 
 people. She was always eager to be the 
 messenger when there was a pudding or 
 jelly to be sent to some sick person. 
 
 She was riding on her pony over the 
 Hampshire Downs one day, after a round 
 of visits with the vicar, when they noticed 
 that old Roger, the shepherd, was having 
 a hard time finding his sheep. He had no 
 dog to help him. 
 
THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY NURSE 135 
 
 "Where's your dog?" the vicar asked. 
 
 "The boys have been throwing stones at 
 him and broken his leg," the shepherd said. 
 
 "Do you mean to say Cap's leg is 
 broken?" Florence asked. She knew the 
 name of every dog about the place. "Where 
 is he?" she asked. "Can nothing be done 
 for him?" 
 
 The shepherd shook his head. 
 
 "No, there's nothing that can be done," 
 he said. "Cap will never be good for any- 
 thing again. I've left him Isring yonder in 
 that shed. I'll have to put an end to him 
 this evening." 
 
 Florence's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 " Can't we go and see him? " she asked. 
 
 The vicar nodded, and they galloped off 
 together to the lonely shed. In a moment 
 Florence had slid off her pony, entered the 
 shed, and was kneeling beside the poor 
 dog. She always seemed to understand 
 the langfuage of animals. As she patted 
 and soothed Cap, he tried to wag his tail 
 feebly. He looked up at her, his brown 
 eyes full of gratitude and trust. 
 
136 THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY NURSE 
 
 The vicar, following after, examined the 
 hurt leg, and said that it was not broken 
 at all. With careful nursing he thought 
 the dog might get well. 
 
 "What shall I do first?" Florence asked. 
 
 "We might try a hot compress," said 
 the vicar. 
 
 The shepherd's boy was told to light 
 a fire of sticks and fill a kettle. Then 
 came the question of a cloth and band- 
 ages. Looking around, Florence's quick 
 eye caught sight of the shepherd's clean 
 smock hanging behind the door. 
 
 "Mother will give him a new one," she 
 said as she tore the smock into stidps. 
 
 Very tenderly then did she doctor the 
 swollen leg. In spite of the pain, the dog 
 lay quite still, watching her all the time 
 with his understanding, grateful eyes. 
 
 A message was sent home to tell 
 where Florence was. All that afternoon 
 she watched by the side of the suffering 
 dog and bathed the leg until the swelling 
 went down. 
 
 It was evening before the shepherd 
 
THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY NURSE 137 
 
 came, slowly and sorrowfully, for he thought 
 he must kill Cap. 
 
 "Dear me, miss," he exclaimed as the 
 dog gave a whine of welcome and tried 
 to come to him. "Why, you've worked a 
 wonder! I never thought to have the old 
 dog greet me again." 
 
 " He is going to get well now," Florence 
 said. "But you must nurse him carefully, 
 and I will show you how to make hot 
 compresses." 
 
 The shepherd was only too glad to do 
 all that the little girl directed him. But it 
 was the look in Gap's grateful eyes that 
 was all the thanks for which Florence 
 cared. 
 
 She was only a child, then, ready to 
 help anything that needed her care, flowers, 
 or dolls, or an old sheep dog. But she was 
 laying the foundation of the great work 
 that was to crown her life. 
 
 The look of gratitude in the eyes of the 
 dog moved her childish, pitiful heart, but 
 how well she learned to know that look 
 in the eyes of suffering men ! She gave up 
 
138 THE GIRL WHO LIKED TO PLAY NURSE 
 
 her life to the great work of nursing. The 
 very name of Florence Nightingale meant 
 hope and comfort to the wounded soldiers. 
 The sight of her face bending over them 
 was to them as the face of an angel. 
 
 Amy Steedman. Copyright by Frederick A. Stokes & Co. 
 
APPLE SEED JOHN 
 
 Poor Johnny was bended well nigh double 
 With years of toil, and care, and trouble; 
 But bis large old heart still felt the need 
 Of doing for others some kindly deed. 
 
 "But what can I do?" old Johnny said: 
 "I who work so hard for my daily bread? 
 It takes heaps of money to do much good ; 
 I am far too poor to do as I would." 
 
 The old man sat thinking deeply awhile. 
 Then over his features gleamed a smile. 
 And he clapped his hands in childish glee, 
 And said to himself: "There's a way for 
 me!" 
 
 He worked and he worked with might and 
 
 main, 
 But no one knew the plan in his brain. 
 He took ripe apples in pay for chores. 
 And carefully cut from them all the cores. 
 
 He filled a bag full, then wandered away, 
 And no man saw him for many a day. 
 
 139 
 
140 APPLE SEED JOHN 
 
 With knapsack over his shoulder slung, 
 He marched along, and whistled or sung. 
 
 He seemed to roam with no object in view, 
 Like one who had nothing on earth to do; 
 But, journeying thus o'er the prairies wide, 
 He paused now and then, and his bag untied. 
 
 With pointed cane deep holes he would 
 
 bore. 
 And in every hole he placed a core; 
 Then covered them well and left them there 
 In keeping of sunshine, rain and air. 
 
 Sometimes an Indian of sturdy limb 
 Came striding along and walked with him ; 
 And he who had food shared with the 
 
 other. 
 As if he had met a hungry brother. 
 
 When the Indian saw how the bag was 
 
 filled. 
 And looked at the holes the white man 
 
 drilled. 
 He thought to himself 'twas a silly plan 
 To be planting seed for some future man. 
 
APPLE SEED JOHN 141 
 
 Sometimes a log cabin came in view, 
 Where Johnny was sure to find jobs to do, 
 By which he gained stores of bread and 
 
 meat, 
 And welcome rest for his weary feet. 
 
 He had full many a story to tell. 
 And goodly hymns that he sang right well ; 
 He tossed up the babes, and joined the boys 
 In many a game full of fun and noise. 
 
 And he seemed so hearty in word or play. 
 Men, women, and boys all urged him to 
 
 stay; 
 But he always said : " I have something to 
 
 do. 
 And I must go on to carry it through." 
 
 The boys, who were sure to follow him 
 
 round, 
 Soon found what it was he put in the 
 
 ground ; 
 And so, as time passed and he traveled on, 
 Everyone called him "Old Apple Seed 
 
 John." 
 
142 APPLE SEED JOHN 
 
 Whenever he'd used the whole of his store, 
 He went into cities and worked for more; 
 Then he marched back to the wilds again, 
 And planted seed on hill-side and plain. 
 
 In cities, some said the old man was crazy ; 
 WhUe others said he was only lazy. 
 But he took no notice of gibes and jeers, 
 He knew he was working for future years. 
 
 He knew that trees would soon abound 
 Where once a tree could not have been 
 
 found ; 
 That a flickering play of light and shade 
 Would dance and glimmer along the glade ; 
 
 That blossoming sprays would form fair 
 
 bowers, 
 And sprinkle the grass with rosy showers; 
 And the little seeds his hands had spread 
 Would become ripe apples when he was 
 
 dead. 
 
 So he kept on traveling far and wide. 
 Till his old limbs failed him, and he died. 
 
APPLE SEED JOHN 143 
 
 He said at the last : " 'Tis a comfort to feel 
 I've done good in the world, though not a 
 great deal." 
 
 "Weary travelers journeying west, 
 In the shade of his trees find pleasant rest ; 
 And they often start, with glad surprise, 
 At the rosy fruit that round them lies. 
 
 And if they inquire whence came such 
 
 trees, 
 Where not a bough once swayed in the 
 
 breeze, 
 The answer still comes, as they travel on: 
 "These trees were planted by Apple Seed 
 
 John." 
 
 LYDIA MARIA CHILD 
 
THE GIRL WHO WAS A LOVING 
 SISTER 
 
 LOUISA M. ALCOTT 
 
 There were four little sisters, almost 
 fourscore years ago, in Orchard House in 
 old Concord. Anna was nearly ten and 
 Louisa just past her eighth birthday. Eliza- 
 beth was four, and last of all came the 
 baby, Abby May. 
 
 What happy times they must have had, 
 we think, wearing the dainty frocks and 
 ribbons that all little girls love, and playing 
 with a house full of dolls. Did they go to 
 parties and have a great deal of company 
 at Orchard House? Their father was Amos 
 Bronson Alcott about whom a great deal 
 has been written, and Orchard House is so 
 famous now that no one goes to Concord 
 without visiting it. This family of little 
 Alcott sisters must have had a wonderful 
 girlhood, we feel. 
 
 They were the four happiest sisters 
 that ever lived but they were quite poor. 
 
 144 
 
THE GIRL WHO WAS A LOVING SISTER 145 
 
 Perhaps they might have had more com- 
 forts if their father had not believed that 
 being poor is a help to happiness. They 
 ate plain food and wore simple clothes, 
 but they knew where the most juicy wild 
 berries and the richest nuts could be found. 
 They had few toys that were bought, but 
 such a store of home made playthings! 
 The little girls had all kinds of rag dolls 
 and as many kittens as they wanted. They 
 had gingerbread men and a whole toy 
 barnyard full of animals that their mother 
 cut and baked from cake dough. They 
 made up plays of their own, too. Louisa 
 wrote stories full of villains and heroes, 
 witches, princesses, gallant knights, good 
 fairies, gnomes and giants that they could 
 act in the attic. 
 
 As the baby, Abby May, grew up into 
 a sunny haired little girl with the most 
 skilful fingers, she designed and painted 
 scenery for their plays. Anna made over 
 old clothes from the attic into wardrobes 
 for the actors and they filled the attic with 
 fun on rainy days. 
 
146 THE GIRL WHO WAS A LOVING SISTER 
 
 Orchard House was a quaint brown 
 home with many windows. It was set in 
 the midst of fruit trees and green grass 
 with an old fashioned garden at the back. 
 Although there was very little to eat some- 
 times at the Alcott home, its doors were 
 always open to the neighbors or to a 
 stranger who was in need of help and 
 shelter. Anything that the Alcotts could 
 spare was shared. 
 
 If we might only have peeped in one 
 of the windows on Christmas Eve ! There 
 was a tree that the girls had watched 
 being chopped down in the green woods 
 of Concord. Anna and Louisa had helped 
 to drag it home on their sled with little 
 Abby May seated like a snow queen on 
 its branches. Standing beside the glowing 
 stove on the worn carpet of the living 
 room, it was made beautiful with things 
 that had not cost any money. Rosy apples 
 from the Alcott's own orchard hung like 
 bright red balls among its branches. The 
 girls had popped com and strung the ker- 
 nals to make festoons for the, tree. The 
 
THE GIRL WHO WAS A LOVING SISTER 147 
 
 gifts were home made, a penwiper for 
 father, a knitted scarf for mother, all the 
 work of the sisters' fingers, and all very 
 precious on that account. 
 
 The oldest sister in a family; always has 
 to be a kind of little mother, and this was 
 true with Anna Alcott. Elizabeth was not 
 a strong little girl. She was never able to 
 help with the work in Orchard House, but 
 her goodness and gentle heart filled it with 
 sunshine. Little Abby May loved nothing 
 so much as to draw pictures all day long. 
 She drew and painted very well indeed, but 
 she found it hard to remember household 
 tasks. Louisa was her father's birthday 
 child, born on Mr, Alcott's birthday. She 
 was loving and fond of the birds and woods 
 and flowers, as her father was. She was 
 strong willed too. Whatever she started 
 to do she finished. 
 
 As Louisa grew up into a tall, dark girl 
 with big, far seeing eyes she wanted to do 
 something for these three sisters whom she 
 loved so dearly. She longed to spare her 
 mother the hard work of the home. She 
 
148 THE GIRL WHO WijiS A LOVING SISTER 
 
 wished that she might buy for her father 
 the books that he loved but could not 
 afford. There were Elizabeth's doctor's bills 
 to pay and Abby's paints to be bought. 
 
 If we could have climbed up into the 
 Alcott attic one long ago day when Louisa 
 was still in her teens, we would have seen 
 her at work trying to help her family. She 
 was curled up in one of the wide window 
 seats with pencils and paper in an old 
 tin kitchen beside her. She had a pile of 
 apples on the floor at her feet, for she 
 intended to work late and she might not 
 have time to go downstairs for supper. 
 Scrabbles, a rat who lived in the garret 
 and was Louisa's pet and play fellow, 
 danced about on the rough boards of the 
 floor. Louisa did not notice him, though, 
 nor did she stop work until the shadows 
 of the trees in the orchard cut off all the 
 light. She wrote and wrote, covering many 
 pages with her fine penmanship. When she 
 had finished she slipped the pages in the 
 tin kitchen, for she was keeping her plan a 
 secret from the dear family downstairs. 
 
THE GIRL WHO WAS A LOVING SISTER 149 
 
 We will come back from that long ago 
 day with Louisa in the attic now, and open 
 our favorite book, Little Women. Every 
 girl loves Little Women, and grown people 
 love it so much that it was made into a 
 play and acted before large audiences all 
 over our country. 
 
 Little Women is the story of Meg and 
 Jo and Beth and Amy, four loving little 
 sisters, who lived with their dear father 
 and mother in an old brown house like 
 Orchard House in Concord. It tells about 
 old Joanna, a torn but precious rag doll, 
 and about the fairy tale plays that the 
 little sisters wrote and staged and acted in 
 the attic. We read in Little Women how 
 Meg mothered the family and Jo wrote 
 stories that were published and made them 
 all cornfortable after their poverty. It tells 
 us how Beth was the good angel of the 
 home and went at last to live with the 
 angels. We read how Amy grew up to be 
 an artist just as she had wanted to be when 
 she was a little girl. Little Women is a 
 book about playing and working and loving 
 
150 THE GIRL WHO WAS A LOVING SISTER 
 
 just as children may play and work and 
 love today. The best part of the whole 
 book, though, is that it tells us how happy 
 poor people may be. 
 
 Who do you suppose gave us Little 
 Women? 
 
 The girl that was herself such a loving 
 sister gave it to us. We saw her working 
 up there in the Orchard House attic in Con- 
 cord so many years ago. She was curled 
 up in the window with her paper and her 
 pile of apples, and only Scrabbles, the rat, 
 knew what a beautiful story she was going 
 to give us. Louisa Alcott wrote Little 
 Women which is the true story of her own 
 girlhood and that of her sisters in their 
 Concord home. Anna Alcott was Meg and 
 Louisa 'Alcott was Jo, Elizabeth Alcott 
 was Beth and Abby was Amy of Little 
 Women. The home of these four little 
 women with all its fun and sorrow and 
 love was Orchard House of over seventy- 
 five years ago. 
 
 Louisa Alcott wrote Little Men and 
 Jo's Boys and Bight Cousins and Rose in 
 
THE GIRL WHO WAS A LOVING SISTER 151 
 
 Bloom, about herself and her family, grown 
 up. Two long shelves in the Alcott home 
 in Concord are filled with almost thirty 
 books that she wrote. These books did 
 just what she hoped they would. They 
 were bought in hundreds of thousands and 
 helped to bring comfort to the Alcott 
 household when it was most needed. 
 
 Little Women did more than that, 
 though, it is the book that, more than 
 any other, tells children what real, good 
 fun it is to have to go without things and 
 make our own happiness at home. 
 
THE BOY FROM THE HATTER'S SHOP 
 
 PETER COOPER 
 
 One of the nicest things a boy can do 
 is to make a trip to a store and buy a 
 new hat or a cap. 
 
 He doesn't often stop to think, though, 
 where the hat came from or how many 
 workmen were kept busy putting its parts 
 together. It takes a good deal of work to 
 make a hat or a cap now. A hundred 
 years ago, when men's and boys' hats 
 were taller and made of richer materials 
 than they are now, it was quite a task to 
 make one. It was a greater task, too, 
 because hats were entirely made by hand 
 then. 
 
 How would you like to make a trip, in 
 fancy, to a little hatter's shop in New York 
 City one hundred years ago? 
 
 There is just one room, small and 
 stifling because the windows are not much 
 more than peep holes. There are old 
 fashioned benches and chairs, and among 
 
 152 
 
THE BOY FROM THE HATTER'S SHOP 153 
 
 the five or six apprentices in the hatter's 
 shop, there is a small boy hard at work. 
 He is standing by a table at one end of 
 the room and he is so little that he can 
 just reach the rabbit skins that lie in a pile 
 on the center of the table. He pulls one 
 rabbit skin at a time toward him and 
 begins picking out the hairs very carefully. 
 It is a tedious, tiresome piece of work and 
 it takes hundreds of rabbits' hairs to fill 
 the bag that hangs at the boy's side. They 
 are to be used in making beaver hats and 
 the little boy, whose name is Peter, has 
 been pulling them out of the skins ever 
 since he can remember. 
 
 There was not an apprentice in Mr. 
 Cooper's hat shop who was as anxious to 
 work carefully and well as Mr. Cooper's 
 little boy, Peter. Life for him was made 
 up of a little play and a great deal of 
 hardship. He helped his mother with the 
 washing; there was very little about the 
 house that he could not do. But when 
 Peter was free be did not join the other 
 boys in a game down at the wharf. He 
 
154 THE BOY FROM THE HATTER'S SHOP 
 
 got out the axe or his jack knife and tried 
 to make something. 
 
 We will say good bye to this small 
 Peter now and watch him grow up. The 
 next time we see him is in the workroom 
 of a coachmaker's shop on Broadway where 
 he is working as an apprentice. He is a 
 lad now, but his large, long face is just as 
 earnest as it was when he was a little 
 fellow and he is just as busy. Peter's work 
 for the day is over. It is night and the 
 other apprentices are out in the street 
 having a good time. Peter has lighted a 
 tallow candle and as it flickers and sput- 
 ters he bends over a carpenter's work 
 bench. 
 
 What Peter Cooper is trying to make 
 is a secret. He is working in his spare 
 time on an invention that he knows, if he 
 perfects it, will do wonders for the Amer- 
 ican people. He has no money, though, to 
 buy materials. He saved several hundred 
 dollars from his small wages and he 
 planned to use this in buying tools and 
 materials. Just then he went downtown 
 
THE BOY FROM THE HATTER'S SHOP ISS 
 
 to visit his father and mother and he 
 found that the hatter's shop was deeply 
 in debt. Peter paid all the debts, but he 
 had no money left. 
 
 What does that matter, he says to 
 himself, as he saws and planes in the 
 candlelight. He has worked hard all his 
 life and has been to school only two months 
 a winter for three or four years. But he 
 can make hats; he has learned the brick 
 making trade, and he is a skilled coach 
 builder. He is able to use almost any tool 
 that is made. He has strength and willing 
 hands, and he ha.s a great longing in his 
 heart. He wants to do something for other 
 boys as poor as he. 
 
 Peter Cooper went right on working 
 for fifty years more. He was a street 
 peddler for a whUe; he played a hurdy 
 gurdy and he had a small grocery business. 
 He experimented with many kinds of mix- 
 tures until he was able to manufacture 
 glue and oil and whiting and prepared 
 chalk. These began to make him rich. 
 Then he manufactured iron and that led 
 
156 THE BOY FROM THE HATTER'S SHOP 
 
 him into mining and the development of 
 mining lands. They were all quite different 
 kinds of work but in one respect they were 
 all alike for Peter Cooper. Each business 
 or trade gave him an opportunity to work 
 hard and to work carefully. 
 
 Just about this time two wonderful 
 things happened in the United States. A 
 locomotive was built and a great cable was 
 laid beneath the Atlantic Ocean linking two 
 continents by a new and quicker means of 
 communication. 
 
 Who do you suppose built the first 
 locomotive and laid the first Atlantic cable? 
 Why, it was Peter Cooper who began work 
 by pulling rabbits' hairs in his father's hat 
 shop in old New York ! 
 
 He found this success very wonderful 
 indeed and he was glad of the wealth and 
 honor that came with it. There was some- 
 thing else, though, that gave Peter Cooper 
 his greatest happiness. That was his Union. 
 We know it as Cooper Union. 
 
 Peter Cooper built this beautiful edified 
 of brown stone and many stories in height 
 
THE BOY FROM THE HATTER'S SHOP 157 
 
 in the City of New York so that boys and 
 girls and young men and young women 
 might have the learning which he missed. 
 He spent three-quarters of a million dollars 
 for it and it took several years to build 
 Cooper Union. As the workmen piled the 
 stones and did the other construction work 
 on the building, a plain little wagon drawn 
 by a steady old horse might be seen coming 
 down the street. It was old Mr. Peter 
 Cooper's wagon. He might have had a 
 fine coach, for he was one of the most 
 famous and richest men in the United 
 States, but he always liked to be simple 
 in his living. The street was crowded with 
 cabs and trucks and express wagons but 
 they all drew aside to make way for the 
 plain little carriage in which "Uncle Peter" 
 sat. He would drive up to his own hitch- 
 ing post in front of the Union and get out 
 and look at it with a great deal of pride 
 and joy. 
 
 Peter Cooper drove to Cooper Union 
 every day until he died. He saw thousands 
 of young men and women from all parts 
 
158 THE BOY FROM THE HATTER'S SHOP 
 
 of the country there learning to draw and 
 paint and model in clay, learning how to 
 erect great buildings and to build railroads 
 and bridges. 
 
 Cooper Union has always been one 
 of the most helpful schools in the world 
 because it teaches how to use the hands 
 in making the world more useful and more 
 beautiful. The happiest person in the 
 Union, though, was "Uncle Peter," going 
 from room to room, and watching boys 
 and girls learning the things that he had 
 to teach himself between hat making and 
 brick making and all the other humble 
 tasks that were his. 
 
A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 
 
 BOOKER T. WASHINGTON 
 
 If anyone had tried some fifty years ago 
 to pick out a boy who had the poorest 
 chance of becoming a great man, he might 
 very well have chosen a little slave on a 
 plantation near Hale's Ford in Virginia. 
 Nobody took very much notice of the 
 coming of another little black baby. His 
 mother did not know the names of the 
 months, and soon forgot just when God 
 gave the new son to her? so that when he 
 grew to manhood, he chose Easter Sunday 
 as a good time to mark as his birthday. 
 
 His home was a one-room cabin on 
 a great farm, where he Uved with other 
 slaves. There were no windows. The floor 
 was of dirt, and on this the boy slept, with 
 a heap of rags to keep him warm. His only 
 garment was a shirt so coarse that until it 
 had been worn about ^ix weeks it made 
 him feel as if needles were sticking into 
 him. When the weather was warm, he 
 
 159 
 
160 A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 
 
 much preferred not to wear anything at 
 all. Though no one else seemed to care 
 for him, his mother loved him dearly ; and 
 at night she used to bend over him when 
 he lay down to sleep and pray that by and 
 by she and her boy might be free. 
 
 One day they were all sent for to come 
 up to the house where the master lived. 
 The little fellow was afraid and clung to 
 his mother's skirts while a man on the 
 porch read a paper to them. But when 
 the reading was over, all the slaves jumped 
 up and down and shouted for joy ; and his 
 mother bent low and whispered to him 
 that they were free. 
 
 After a while the family moved to 
 West "Virginia, where there was work for 
 them in the coal mines and salt furnaces. 
 The boy longed to go to school and learn, 
 as he saw other happy children doing. But 
 the home was so poor that he had to help 
 to buy food and clothing; and every day 
 he walked a mile and a half to the coal 
 mines with his stepfather, and worked in 
 the darkness and dampness, though the 
 
A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 161 
 
 mine made him very much afraid. He was 
 not discouraged, however, and learned his 
 letters on the salt barrels. After a good 
 teacher began to help him, he took a book 
 into the mine with him, and whenever he 
 had a few spare minutes, he tried to read 
 by the light of the little lamp that was 
 hung in his cap. At last his stepfather told 
 him that if he would get up early in the 
 morning and work from four until nine 
 o'clock, he might go to school for half a 
 day. This seemed to him a great chance, 
 and he took up his studies with delight. 
 
 Up to this time he had never had a 
 last name. "Booker" was what everyone 
 called him. At the school he heard the 
 teacher calling the boys by two names; 
 and when his name was asked, he gave 
 the greatest name he knew — Washington. 
 So Booker Washington he has always been 
 called; and he often laughed and pointed 
 to himself as one of the very few boys who 
 ever chose their own names. 
 
 When he was twelve years old, he was 
 sent to work as a chore boy in a home in 
 
162 A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 
 
 Maiden. Everything about the house had 
 to be kept clean and in order, and his 
 mistress taught him that he must always 
 be honest and always on time. These were 
 good lessons for a boy brought up as he 
 had been ; and he was glad when he grew 
 up that this good woman had made him 
 do things, which at the time hd did not 
 like to do at all, and do them thoroughly. 
 Here, too, he never wasted his spare time, 
 but kept on with his studies. Often his 
 mistress found him reading a book in a 
 corner of the kitchen ; and more than once 
 she saw a light in his cabin after midn^ht, 
 and had to go out and tell him to stop 
 studying and go to bed. 
 
 One day he heard about a great school 
 at Hampton, where negro and Indian boys, 
 who were poor, could work for their board. 
 It was five hundred miles away, and he 
 had been able to save very little out of 
 the six dollars a month that his mistress 
 paid him. But his friends, who were almost 
 as poor as he, helped him. Some gave five 
 cents and some ten; and at last, though 
 
A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 163 
 
 he did not have enough money to pay his 
 carfare, he started. Part of the way he 
 rode. The rest he had to walk, sleeping 
 in barns and under bushes, and getting 
 whatever he could to eat. 
 
 II 
 
 At last he reached Hampton, ragged 
 and dirty, and with only five cents in his 
 pocket; so that when the teachers looked 
 him over, they were not at all sure that 
 he was the kind of boy that ought to stay. 
 However, one of them decided to give him 
 a chance, and told him to sweep and dust 
 one of the large recitation rooms. If Booker 
 had done this badly, he would probably 
 have been sent away, and his whole after 
 life might have been very different. But he 
 saw that he was on trial, and made up his 
 mind to do the work. better than it had 
 ever been done before. He swept the room 
 three times and dusted the desks four 
 times. He took the dirt out of the cracks 
 and comers, and wiped off the windows 
 and sills. When the teacher came back. 
 
164 A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 
 
 she could not find a dusty place anywhere ; 
 and looking down into the eager face, she 
 said with a smile, "I think we'll try you 
 as a student." And so his wonderful days 
 at Hampton began. 
 
 Here there was much that was new to 
 him. He had never before slept in a bed 
 with clean white sheets. He had never 
 had his meals at regular hours, or eaten 
 his food with a tablecloth spread before 
 him, or used a napkin. He had never 
 learned to use a toothbrush or taken a 
 bath in a white tub. He had to rise at 
 four, sweep rooms, build fires, and work 
 hard every day. But he knew that to 
 learn was the way to be happy and good 
 and useful; and he bore his hardships 
 without whining, ate his portion of corn 
 bread without finding fault with it, and did 
 every task just as well as he could. 
 
 By the time that his school days at 
 Hampton were over, he had made up his 
 mind that what he wanted to do most ot 
 all was not to make himself rich, or to seek 
 his own pleasure, but to help his people, 
 
A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 165 
 
 who were living in the httle old one-room 
 cabins, and who were as poor and ignorant 
 as he used to be. So he went back to 
 Maiden and taught a day school and two 
 Sunday schools there for three years. He 
 made the boys and girls keep their hands 
 and faces clean, comb their hair, and keep 
 the buttons on their clothes, and tried in 
 every way to cure them of their untidy 
 habits and to make them honest and kind 
 as well as wise. He did so well that Gen- 
 eral Armstrong, the great leader of the 
 school at Hampton, sent for him to come 
 back and teach the Indian boys ; and thus 
 the boy, for whom Hampton had done so 
 much, had a chance to express his love 
 and thanks to the school. 
 
 In 1880 some men in Alabama made up 
 their minds to found a school in Tuskegee 
 to train teachers for their colored schools. 
 When they asked G-eneral Armstrong 
 whom they should call to tstke charge of 
 the work, he told them that the best man 
 he knew was Booker Washington. The 
 task was a very hard one, and many men 
 
166 A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 
 
 would have chosen to stay at Hampton, 
 where they could have more of quiet and 
 comfort. But this man loved his people 
 more than he loved himself and looked 
 only for the place where he could be most 
 helpful. He was given charge of the new 
 school, and began his work on July 4, 
 1881, with an old church for a building 
 and a tumble-down shanty, which stood 
 near by, for a schoolroom. It was cold 
 in winter and hot in summer. The wind 
 howled in between the boards, and when 
 it rained one of the boys had to hold an 
 umbrella over the teacher's head while she 
 read the lesson. 
 
 From this has grown the great school 
 at Tuskegee, where more than a thousand 
 black boys and girls are trained every year. 
 Many friends have given large gifts to it, 
 and the black folk have toiled for it and 
 helped to make it. But the success of the 
 great work and the happiness of thousands 
 of lives and homes are due most of all to 
 one little slave boy, who wanted to learn, 
 who was not afraid to work hard, who 
 
A BOY WHO WANTED TO LEARN 167 
 
 loved his people, and who was eager to 
 share with them his blessings until all 
 should have a fair chance to be wise and 
 happy and good. 
 
 HENRY HALLAM TWEEDY. 
 Copyright by The Macmillan Co. in "The Way of the Rivers." 
 
THE GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST 
 TO LEARN 
 
 HELEN KELLER 
 
 There was great excitement in the 
 Southern home in Tuscumbia, Alabama, 
 one sunny March day of 1887. Helen felt 
 this because she had heard the sound of 
 footsteps hurrying to and fro ever since 
 morning. She wished that she knew what 
 it was all about, but she could not tell. 
 
 The name of the house was Ivy Green 
 and Helen knew that it was a pretty home, 
 for she had felt of the ivy on the walls and 
 the stiff green boxwood hedges. She had 
 found the first spring lilies and violets by 
 smelling them and she had touched the 
 roses that hung from the pia,zza when they 
 were wet with dew in the morning. 
 
 Helen could hardly wait to find out 
 what was going to happen at Ivy Green 
 but she kept as busy as she could, trying 
 to be patient. She helped to fold and put 
 away the clothes that had come from the 
 
 168 
 
GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 169 
 
 laundry, sorting her own from the others. 
 She hunted for the nest in the long grass 
 where the guinea hen had hidden her eggs. 
 She spent a part of the day in the kitchen 
 with Martha Washington, the little colored 
 girl who was her companion. With Mar- 
 tha's help Helen kneaded some dough balls, 
 turned the coffee mill and fed the hens 
 and turkeys that swarmed over the kitchen 
 steps. 
 
 But all this time Helen was eager with 
 excitement. At last she went and stood 
 on the inazza, touching, the leaves and blos- 
 soms that the spring had brought and 
 lifting up her face to feel the sunshine. 
 Suddenly Helen felt that some one was 
 coming. She stretched out her hand for 
 she thought that it was her mother. Some 
 one took it and held Helen close in her 
 arms. 
 
 It was indeed a wonderful day in the 
 life of little Helen Keller. She was almost 
 seven years old and was blind and deaf 
 and did not know how to speak. She had 
 only her fingers with which to learn but 
 
170 GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 
 
 a teacher, Miss Sullivan, had come to help 
 her to be like other children. 
 
 The morning after Miss Sullivan came 
 she led Helen into her room and gave her 
 a doll. The little blind children at Perkins 
 Institute had sent it to Helen and a blind 
 child had dressed it. After Helen had 
 played with the doll a while Miss Sullivan 
 held her hand and spelled d-o-1-1 in it. 
 Such fun as this finger play was! The 
 little blind girl was delighted and soon she 
 was able to spell d-o-1-1 in the same way 
 with her fingers in the palm of her other 
 hand. Miss Sullivan put Helen's new doll 
 in the little girl's lap and helped her to 
 touch it as she spelled. It was a new, 
 wonderful play. Helen ran downstairs and 
 spelled with her fingers for her mother. In 
 a few days she could spell pin, hat, cup, and 
 some words like sit, stand and walk that she 
 ^could learn through movement. In a few 
 weeks Helen knew that everything had a 
 name and she wanted to learn all the 
 names. 
 
 As soon as Helen could spell a few 
 
GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 171 
 
 words Miss Sullivan gave her slips of card- 
 board on which were printed words in 
 raised letters. Helen touched these and 
 learned them, and then touched the objects 
 or carried out the action for which they 
 stood. She had a frame in which she could 
 fit the cardboard slips and make sentences. 
 Then Helen began to read a story book 
 printed in raised letters. 
 
 There were other lessons for Helen to 
 learn with her fingers and she studied most 
 of them out of doors. She would gather 
 soft pink peaches and rosy apples in her 
 apron and hold them to her cheek while 
 Miss Sullivan told her with her fingers of 
 their color and how they grew. She felt of 
 the bursting cotton balls and touched their 
 soft fiber and fuzzy seeds, learning of the 
 uses of cotton. She built dams of pebbles, 
 made islands and lakes and dug river beds 
 on the river bank near her home to learn 
 geography. Afterward Miss Sullivan helped 
 Helen to make raised maps of clay so that 
 she could feel the mountain ridges and 
 valleys, and follow with her fingers the 
 
172 GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 
 
 twisting courses of the rivers. Then her 
 teacher told Helen in the strange sign 
 language that she had learned about our 
 great round world, its burning mountains, 
 its buried cities and all that is going on in 
 it today. 
 
 Sometimes Miss Sullivan and Helen 
 bought a lily and set it in a sunny window. 
 When the green, pointed buds began to 
 unfold, Helen touched them softly, learning 
 how a plant lives and grows. She had a 
 jar of tadpoles that surprised her by turn- 
 ing into frogs. She felt of downy chickens 
 and budding fruit trees, the animals in the 
 barnyard and the smallest wild flowers out 
 in the woods so that she might learn all 
 about them. It was not an easy way to 
 study, but each day Helen worked harder 
 to find out the wonders with which the 
 earth is filled. 
 
 Helen was blind and deaf because she 
 had been very ill when she was a baby. 
 Because she could not hear voices she 
 could not talk, but she wanted to speak. 
 She liked to feel a cat purr and a dog 
 
GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 173 
 
 bark. She would hold a cricket or a katy- 
 did in her small hand, delighted with the 
 sounds she could feel them making. She 
 could feel, too, very tiny sounds outdoors, 
 the silky rustling of long leaves and the 
 low sighing of the wind among the corn 
 stalks. 
 
 One day the most wonderful thing of 
 all happened to this little girl who could 
 neither see or hear. Helen learned the 
 sound of letters by passing her hand over 
 her teacher's face and feeling the position 
 of her tongue and lips when ^e spoke. 
 Then the little deaf girl, who could not 
 remember ever having heard a word, spoke. 
 Helen was only ten years old when she 
 began to learn to talk and it was very, 
 very hard for her. It was a long while 
 before she could make herself understood, 
 but she kept on trying to speak. She 
 talked to her toys, to stones, to trees, to 
 birds and to dumb animals. How happy 
 Helen was when her dog came at her call 
 and her pony obeyed her commands I 
 
 Sometimes Miss Sullivan took Helen for 
 
174 GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 
 
 a journey and these were like trips to 
 fairyland for the little shut-in girl who was 
 trying so hard to learn. She went all the 
 long way from Tuscumbia to Boston once 
 and took her doll with her. Miss Sullivan 
 told her of everything they passed, the 
 great cotton fields, the hills and woods, the 
 little colored boys who sold popcorn balls 
 at the stations and the beautiful Tennessee 
 River. In Boston Helen visited the Perkins 
 Institute for the Blind and thanked the chil- 
 dren for her doll. She went to Plymouth 
 on a steamboat and stood on Plymouth 
 Rock as Miss Sullivan told her about the 
 Pilgrims. She played in the sand which she 
 had never touched before, and gathered sea 
 shells to carry home and learn about. 
 
 Helen was finding out now all that we 
 know so easily through seeing and hearing. 
 She began to discover that the world is a 
 very happy place and she was able to do 
 much that other little girls could. The first 
 Christmas after Miss Sullivan came was a 
 real Christmas for Helen. 
 
 She and her teacher prepared surprises 
 
GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 175 
 
 for all the members of the family, for 
 Martha Washington, the little colored girl, 
 and for the children of the neighborhood. 
 Helen and Miss Sullivan sat at bed time in 
 front of a glowing wood fire and talked 
 in the finger language about the happy day 
 that was coming. 
 
 On Christmas Eve the school children of 
 Tuscumbia had their tree and they invited 
 Helen to come and enjoy it with them. 
 The Christmas tree stood in the center of 
 the schoolroom, brightly lighted, and its 
 branches loaded with presents. Helen was 
 told that the tree was there, how beautiful 
 it was, and that it held a gift for each 
 child. Then they let the little blind girl 
 take the gifts from the tree and give them 
 to the children. She did not make a single 
 mistake and it seemed as if she had never 
 been so happy before. She hung up her 
 stocking at home and fell asleep with a 
 new doll and a soft white bear in her 
 arms. In the morning a new canary sang a 
 Merry Christmas tb Helen. She could feel 
 his cheery voice ringing out through the air. 
 
176 GIRL WHO WORKED HARDEST TO LEARN 
 
 It was a new world for Helen. Blind, 
 she knew how full of beautiful sights the 
 earth is. Deaf, she could feel the earth's 
 smallest, sweetest sounds. Each year she 
 learned more until she became greater and 
 more talented than many who can see and 
 hear. If Helen Keller could learn so much, 
 what may we not learn with our eyes and 
 our ears to help us? 
 
THE BOY WHO WAS A WIZARD 
 
 THOMAS ALVA EDISON 
 
 Hardly anyone in the little town of 
 Milan, in Ohio, thought that Alva would 
 amount to anything. He went to school, 
 but only for three months when he could 
 not seem to rise above the bottom of his 
 class. He was always playing pranks, too ; 
 or they seemed pranks to his mother and 
 the village boys. 
 
 Any boy in Milan could have told you 
 how Alva was trying one of his strange 
 experiments in the canal that ran past their 
 house and fell in. He was almost drowned 
 before he was pulled out. Another time he 
 was rescued from a great pile of wheat in 
 a grain lift when he had been trying to 
 find out how the hft was worked. He set 
 fire to a bam once, although he had not 
 meant to. All these things made people 
 feel that Alva was not like other boys; 
 that perhaps he was not so well able to 
 take care of himself. Even the school- 
 
 177 
 
178 THE BOY WHO WAS A WIZARD 
 
 master thought this. So Alva's mother 
 took him out of school and taught him 
 herself at home. 
 
 But no one, not even his mother, really 
 knew the little boy. He was dreaming all 
 the time that he was not Alva Edison, but 
 the genii of the Arabian Nights. What 
 other boys did to be mischievous, Alva 
 did to try to find out the power of the 
 world and how to use it. He kept rows 
 and rows of bottles on shelves in the 
 cellar, and he filled these with all sorts 
 of chemicals with which to experiment. 
 When he discovered something in this 
 way, he was as pleased as any ordinary 
 boy is over winning a game of baseball. 
 
 There were a great many questions that 
 Alva wanted answered. He was always 
 wondering about things, and no one could 
 answer his, why, why? The chemicals in the 
 bottles in the cellar cost money, and there 
 was not very much money in the Edison 
 home. So Alva decided to try to earn 
 some money that would help him to answer 
 some of his own questions. 
 
THE BOY WHO WAS A WIZARD 179 
 
 He raised vegetables for a while and 
 he liked the work very much. He felt 
 quite like a magician as he buried seeds in 
 the ground and then waited for a plant to 
 rise from them. This was rather a slow 
 way of earning, though, and Alva gave 
 it up. 
 
 His next woi^k was selling papers. He 
 could read in his newspapers and maga- 
 zines what men of science were doing all 
 over the world,, and he had plenty of time 
 for this as he rode to and fro in a train 
 from Huron to Detroit where the family 
 lived now. He was allowed to use one of 
 the vans for storing his precious bottles 
 so that he could work with them at odd 
 moments. He grew quite happy, and began 
 to feel as if he were really going to accom- 
 plish something in the world. 
 
 Troublous times came just then. The 
 Civil War began, and the whole country 
 was in sore straits. Business was poor; 
 there was little or no money and Alva 
 found it difficult to get any newspapers 
 to sell. He had always wondered, though, 
 
180 THE BOY WHO WAS A WIZARD 
 
 about the magic that lay behind the print. 
 Now he bought a little printing press and 
 put it in his van. He printed a newspaper 
 of his own that would carry the news the 
 nation wanted so much to know. It was 
 Called The Weekly Herald, and Alva sold 
 it for three cents. 
 
 His paper was going well when some- 
 thing happened. He was at work in the 
 van one day when the train lurched and a 
 stick of phosphorous on one of the shelves 
 fell to the floor. The boards, in a second, 
 were in flames. The train guard was able 
 to put out the fire, but he was so angry 
 that he struck the boy. It was a cruel 
 blow for it left Alva deaf, always, from the 
 iiyury it did to his ear. 
 
 "There isn't any use trying," is what 
 another boy might have said. But it was 
 not even Alva's thought. He looked about 
 for another chance, and it came before he 
 expected it. 
 
 There was a little railway station on 
 his paper route where Alva often stopped 
 to talk with the station agent. It was not 
 
THE BOY WHO WAS A WIZARD 181 
 
 a very busy station, and Alva was inter- 
 ested in watching the telegraph outfit and 
 wondering how it worked. That was what 
 he was doing one day when he heard the 
 rumble of- a swiftly coming train. It would 
 pass by without stopping, he knew, but he 
 turned to look at it. Then he saw that 
 the station master's little boy had strayed 
 out to the track and was on the rails, in 
 front of the approaching train. 
 
 Alva did not think of his own danger. 
 He dashed out on the track and pulled 
 the child back just in time. He barely es- 
 caped himself. As it was, the wheel of 
 one of the coaches grazed his foot, but he 
 put the little fellow in his father's arms, 
 safe. 
 
 The station agent was most anxious 
 to do something for Alva, but he was ias 
 poor as was the lad. He offered, though, 
 to teach Alva telegraphy and that really 
 pleased the boy more than any gift could 
 have. It seemed to unlock the world's 
 wizardry for him. 
 
 That was what it really did. When 
 
182 THE BOY WHO WAS A WIZARD 
 
 Alva had learned the secrets of the tele- 
 graph board, how to send messages, and 
 how to read those that came in, he began 
 to be, himself, a wizard. The boy whom 
 no one had thought very wise, began to 
 be looked upon as one of the world's 
 greatest magicians. 
 
 The wizards of the fairy tales turn 
 darkness to light, send messages by the 
 wind, and make the unseen speak. All 
 this was accomplished by the Ohio boy 
 who couldn't get to the head of his class 
 in school. He has given us electricity to 
 turn the blackness of night into dazzling 
 day. He has circled the earth with tiny 
 wires that carry the voices of our friends 
 for hundreds of miles to us. He has given 
 us a magic box from which we hear the 
 most beautiful music, preserved for us, 
 tram the voices once breathed into it, 
 forever. 
 
 Thomas Alva Edison's boyhood dreams 
 have made the Arabian Nights' tales true. 
 
GLOSSARY 
 
 Asola A'-zo-la 
 
 Assisi A-see-zee 
 
 Bernardino Ber-nar-de&-no 
 
 Canova Ca-no-va 
 
 Colombaia Ko-lomb-ai 
 
 Fief Feef 
 
 Gessler Gess-ler 
 
 Gubbio - - - ... Goob'-be-o 
 
 Kopek Ko-pek 
 
 Loopolof Loo'-po-lof 
 
 Palissy Pgr-Ys-sJf 
 
 Perigord Pa'ree-gor 
 
 Perugia Pa-roo'-ja 
 
 Piero Pe-a-ro 
 
 Pons Pon 
 
 Romee R6-ma 
 
 Rouble- ..... Roo-ble 
 
 Saintes Sant-ez 
 
 Samovar Sam-o-var 
 
 Valencia Va-len'-she-a