Chapter IV: Part I: CIVIC Virtues (1)

Stories Teaching Thoroughness, Honesty, Respect, Patriotism, Kindness to Animals

These stories also teach, incidentally, the co-ordinate virtues of obedience, cleanliness, orderliness, courtesy, helpfulness, punctuality, truthfulness, care of property, and fair play.

THE LITTLE PRAIRIE DOGS AND OLD MR. WOLF

I.

Once upon a time, three fat little prairie dogs lived together in a nice deep burrow, where they were quite safe and warm and snug.

These little prairie dogs had very queer names. One was Jump, another was Bump, and another was Thump.

Well, they lived very happily together until one day Jump said, “I believe I would rather live up on top of the ground than in this burrow.”

“I believe I would, too,” said Bump.

“I believe I would!” said Thump. “I’ll tell you what we can do! Let us each build a house!”

“Let us!” cried Jump and Bump, and away they all scampered up out of the burrow.

Each one ran in a different direction to hunt for something to use in building a house.

Jump gathered some straws.

“These will do,” he thought. “I shall not bother to look for anything else. Besides, they are very light and easy to carry.”

So Jump built a little straw house.

Bump gathered some sticks.

“These will make a nice house. They are quite good enough,” he said.

So Bump built a little stick house.

Thump saw the straw and the sticks, but thought he might find something better.

Pretty soon he came to a pile of stones.

“My, what a fine strong house they would make!” he thought. “They are heavy to move, but I will try to use them.”

So he carried and carried and worked and worked, but finally he had a stone house.

II.

The next morning when old Mr. Prairie Wolf awoke and stretched himself, he saw the three little houses in the distance.

“What can they be?” wondered old Mr. Wolf. “Maybe I can get breakfast over there.” So he started toward them.

The first house he came to was the straw one.

He peeped in the window and saw little Jump.

He knocked on the door. “Mr. Jump, let me come in,” said he.

“Oh, no, by my bark—bark—bark! you cannot come in,” barked little Jump, pushing with all his might against the door with his little paws.

“Then I’ll blow your house over with one big breath!” growled old Mr. Prairie Wolf.

So he blew one mighty breath, and blew the house over, and ate up poor little Jump.

On his way home, old Mr. Wolf stopped to look in the window of the little stick house. He saw little Bump.

“My, what a good breakfast I shall have to-morrow!” he thought to himself.

The next morning he came early and knocked on the door of the little stick house.

“Mr. Bump, Mr. Bump,” said he, “let me come in.”

“Oh, no, by my bark—bark—bark! you cannot come in,” barked little Bump, standing on his hind legs with his back braced against the door.

“Then I’ll throw your house over with one blow of my paw,” growled old Mr. Prairie Wolf.

And he did, and ate up poor little Bump.

III.

On his way home, he stopped to look in the window of the little stone house.

Thump sat by the fireplace toasting his feet.

“My, my!” chuckled old Mr. Wolf, smacking his lips, “he is the fattest one of all. What a fine breakfast I shall have to-morrow!”

The next morning he came earlier than ever, and knocked on the door of the little stone house.

“Mr. Thump, let me come in,” said he.

“All right,” called little Thump, “when my feet get warm.”

So old Mr. Prairie Wolf sat down to wait.

By and by, old Mr. Wolf knocked on the door again. “Aren’t your feet warm yet, Mr. Thump?” he growled.

“Only one,” called Thump; “you will have to wait until the other one is warm.”

So old Mr. Wolf sat down to wait.

After a few minutes had passed, he knocked on the door again.

“Isn’t your other foot warm yet, Mr. Thump?” he growled.

“Yes,” called Thump, “but the first one is cold now.”

“See here, Mr. Thump,” growled old Mr. Wolf, “do you intend to keep me waiting all day while you warm first one foot and then the other? I am tired of such foolishness. I want my breakfast. Open the door, or I’ll knock your house over!”

“Oh, all right,” barked little Thump, “and while you are doing it, I shall eat my breakfast.”

That made old Mr. Prairie Wolf very angry, and he kicked at the little stone house with all his might; but little Thump knew he could not move a stone.

After a long while the noise stopped, and little Thump peeped out of the window. He saw old Mr. Wolf limping painfully off; and that was the way he always remembered him, for he never never saw him again.

This story, which is built on the framework of the
old classic, “The Three Pigs,” lends itself readily
to dramatization. Let the four characters take their
parts as they remember the story. By no means have them
memorize the words.

QUESTIONS

Which little prairie dog worked hardest to build his
house?

The others had an easy time, didn’t they?

But which one was happiest in the end? Why?

DON’T GIVE UP

If you’ve tried and have not won,
Never stop for crying;
All that’s great and good is done
Just by patient trying.

Though young birds, in flying, fall,
Still their wings grow stronger;
And the next time they can keep
Up a little longer.

If by easy work you beat,
Who the more will prize you?
Gaining victory from defeat,
That’s the test that tries you!
—_Phœbe Cary._

THE BRIDGE OF THE SHALLOW PIER

I.

Once upon a time, a mother loved her little boy so well that she made the mistake of offending one of his good fairies. This was the fairy of carefulness.

The mother made the mistake of trying to do everything for her little son. She even put his toys away when he was tired of playing.

After the boy grew older and went to school, she did many of his lessons for him. His daily marks in arithmetic were good, for much of his work was done by his mother at home. Of course his teacher did not know this for the boy copied his mother’s work.

Now, just as you would expect, this made the boy very careless. But he was really a bright boy, and even though he did not do well, he managed to pass his examinations.

“If you would only be more careful,” his teachers would say, “you would have the highest marks.”

When his mother saw his reports, she would say: “Oh, isn’t this too bad, son; I know you will have better marks next time.”

So, when the boy became a man he did everything in the same careless manner, forgetting that other people would not excuse him as his mother had done.

Now the good fairy of carefulness was very much offended at the way in which the mother spoiled her little son. So she said to herself, “I must, I must teach that boy a lesson!”

II.

When he was little, this boy was very fond of playing at building bridges. After he was grown up, he became a builder of real bridges.

At first, he built only small bridges over the brooks and little streams, but one day an order was given him to build an important bridge over a large river.

Just as you might guess, this pleased the man very much, and he was glad to begin the work at once.

Soon his men were busy, putting in the piers for the new bridge, and he was hurrying them as fast as he could, in order to get the bridge built on time.

Every day he sat in a rowboat calling to his men. They were about to begin work on the middle pier when the foreman of the workers came to him.

“Mr. Builder,” he said, “I think we shall have to wait for more material if we go down to the right depth for this pier.”

“Nonsense, man,” said the builder, “we have no time to wait. There is a pretty good bottom under that place. Don’t go so deep. Get along with the material you have.”

“But, sir,—” began the man.

“Do as I tell you,” ordered the builder.

“All right, sir,” replied the foreman; “you may order that done, but one of the other men will have to do the job.”

“Very well,” was the angry reply of the builder, “Jim Nevermind will take your place.”

The foreman slowly drew on his jacket. “Somebody will pay for such carelessness,” he muttered. “I hope it will not be—” but the rest of the sentence was drowned by the orders of the new foreman.

III.

In a very short time the bridge was finished and the inspector came to look it over.

“It looks all right,” he said. “Are you sure the piers are sound? I haven’t time to examine them, but I know that a man who has built as many bridges as you, would make them right.”

“I am glad you are pleased, sir,” replied the builder.

“You have certainly made record time,” continued the inspector, “and I shall carry back a good report.”

“Thank you very much,” said the builder; but his pleasure was somewhat spoiled because of the shallow pier.

“It is all nonsense,” he thought, “to be so particular; besides, the current in that river is so slow that there is no danger.” And it seemed true, for three years later, the bridge appeared to be as firm and strong as when it was first built.

IV.

But one day in the early part of the fourth year there came a great flood. The slow-moving current became a raging torrent, sweeping everything in its way and blocking large timbers and trees against the bridge.

It so happened that a party of young people were riding along in a big hay wagon drawn by four beautiful bay horses. When they came to the bridge the driver stopped.

“Shall we cross?” he asked.

“Oh, yes,” the children shouted, “it will be fun.”

“It looks safe enough,” said one of the two grown people who were with them. So with a “Gee-up, boys,” to the horses, the driver started across the bridge.

Just—ah, you know, don’t you? Just as they reached the middle pier, there came a creak and a rumble, a moment’s swaying, and a crash. The bridge had caved in, and the hay wagon, full of terror-stricken children, together with the frightened horses, was swept into the water.

“Don’t jump!” shouted the driver to the children, trying to guide the swimming horses shoreward; but that was impossible.

For a full minute, which seemed like hours, they were swept onward. Then,—maybe the good fairy of carefulness had planned it—they rested on a little island the top of which was just covered with water.

The white-faced driver counted the children, “All here! Thank God!” he said.

The little folks cried and hugged each other, and called aloud for their mothers and fathers.

They had to stay there all night, cold and frightened and hungry. That was dreadful enough, but it was nothing compared with the fear that the water might rise higher still.

But slowly and steadily it went down, and by early morning all of the little island was uncovered. All the party were then quickly rescued with boats.

V.

The builder started, as the heading in the evening paper caught his eye—“Terrible Bridge Accident—Who is to Blame?”

“Why, why, it’s the bridge of the shallow pier!” he exclaimed. “People will find out that I am the one to blame!”

“Shall I run away?” he wondered, and sat for hours with his head in his hands.

Suddenly he threw back his shoulders and said aloud, “No, I will not run away. I will stay and do what I can to make the bridge right and never neglect my duty again!”

Do you wonder that the good fairy of carefulness, and thoroughness, smiled and whispered, “I wish he could have learned his lesson more easily!”

MEMORY GEM

If a task is once begun
Never leave it till it’s done;
Be the labor great or small
Do it well, or not at all.
—_Phœbe Cary._

QUESTIONS

The careless little boy had a very easy time both at
home and at school, didn’t he?

But, what kind of man did he grow to be?

It did not seem as if just one shallow pier would
matter, did it?

But if he had been honest and thorough in his work when
he was little, do you think he would have been content
to be paid for such a carelessly built bridge?

How do you suppose he felt when he heard about the
accident?

Can you remember some time when you felt like being
careless, but decided to do your very best?

THE THOUGHTFUL BOY

“Little by little,” said a thoughtful boy,
“Moment by moment I’ll well employ;
Learning a little every day,
Not spending all my time in play;
And still this rule in my mind shall dwell,
‘Whatever I do, I’ll do it well’.”

“Little by little, I’ll learn to know
The treasured wisdom of long ago,
And one of these days perhaps we’ll see
The world made better for having me.”
And do you not think that this simple plan
Made him a wise and a useful man?
—_Selected._

GRANDFATHER’S STORY

I.

Charles was fastening the lid on a box of Christmas presents which his little brothers were going to send to their cousins.

“If I were you, I’d put another nail on each side,” said grandfather.

“Oh, I think these will hold,” Charles replied, giving the box a little shake. “There are three, on each side.”

“Four would be better,” grandfather said.

“Oh, grandpa, don’t you think three will do?” asked the boy. “I—I haven’t any more.”

“So that is the trouble,” said the old gentleman, laughing. “Very well, here is some money. When you get back from the store I will tell you how the history of a whole great nation was changed for want of a few horseshoe nails!”

“A few horseshoe nails!” exclaimed Charles. “Is it true, grandpa?”

“It is true,” answered grandfather. “Now hurry up if you want to hear how it came about.”

“Oh, thank you!” Charles cried, as he started out of the door.

He was so delighted with the promise of one of grandfather’s stories that he was back in less time than if he had gone for candy!

“Well done!” grandfather greeted him. “Now sit down, and while you get your breath, I will tell you the story.

II.

“Many, many years ago, when King Richard was ruler of England, he owned a beautiful horse which he rode whenever he went into battle.

“One day word came that Henry, the Earl of Richmond, was on his way to attack the king’s men.

“King Richard ordered his favorite horse brought to him, and turned to talk to the officers of his army.

“Now the groom who had charge of the king’s horses suddenly noticed that this horse needed shoeing.

“So he hurried to the nearest smithy.

“‘Shoe this horse quickly,’ he said to the blacksmith. ‘His Majesty has called for him. The enemy is near!’

“The blacksmith worked with all his might, and soon had four horseshoes ready.

“When he had nailed on two shoes, he found he had not nails enough for the other two. Suddenly the bugles sounded.

“‘Hurry!’ cried the groom. ‘The soldiers are gathering!’

“‘Shall I make more nails?’ asked the blacksmith.

“‘How many have you?’ asked the groom.

“‘I have only eight,’ replied the smith. ‘It would not take very long to hammer out eight more.’

“‘You will have to make eight do,’ said the groom.

“‘If you could only wait a little while,’ urged the smith, working away.

“‘I suppose I might,—but it would be a risk! Won’t four nails hold a horseshoe?’

“‘Well, that depends on how hard the horse is ridden,’ answered the blacksmith, driving the last of the eight nails in place.

“The horse reached the king in good time, for it took quite a long while for the officers to make their plans.

III.

“Soon King Richard was riding among his men, cheering them on in the battle.

“‘No other horse could carry a man as surely and swiftly,’ whispered the king, patting the horse’s neck.

“He had not noticed that the horse had lost one shoe. Onward he urged him over a rocky hill. Another shoe flew off.

“Suddenly the horse stumbled and fell, and the king was thrown to the ground.

“Before he could rise, the horse, although lamed, had struggled to his feet and galloped away, dreadfully frightened.

“Then the king shouted, ‘A horse! A horse! My kingdom for a horse!’

“But there was no horse for him. When his men had seen him thrown, they had all turned and fled.

“And so the battle was lost, and King Richard was killed, and the history of the great nation of England was changed, for Henry, Earl of Richmond, became king.”

“And all for the want of a few horseshoe nails!”, finished Charles, as grandfather stopped speaking. “I will put two more nails into each side of the box lid, grandpa!”

“While you are doing that, I will teach you a few lines that I learned when I was a boy,” said grandfather. “Try to remember them.”

“For want of a nail the shoe was lost;
For want of a shoe the horse was lost;
For want of a horse the rider was lost;
For want of a rider the battle was lost;
For loss of a battle a kingdom was lost;—
And all for the want of a horseshoe nail.”

QUESTIONS

How might the battle have ended if the groom had waited
until the blacksmith had put the right number of nails
in the horse’s shoes?

Which do you think King Richard would rather have
lost—a little time or his kingdom?

How do you suppose the groom and the blacksmith felt
when they learned the result of the battle?

Do you know any careless people?

What do you think of them?

Can you remember ever doing something carelessly in
order to finish more quickly?

Tell about it.

* * * * *

If you’re told to do a thing,
And mean to do it really;
Never let it be by halves;
Do it fully, freely!
—_Phœbe Cary._

* * * * *

He liveth long who liveth well;
All else in life is thrown away;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of true things truly done each day.

* * * * *

What is worth doing at all is worth doing well.

* * * * *

Go to the ant, thou sluggard; consider her ways, and be wise.

HONEST ABE

As a boy, Abraham Lincoln was known as “Honest Abe.” Like other boys he sometimes did wrong, but never did he try to hide his wrongdoing. He was always ready to own up and tell the truth. So his neighbors called him “Honest Abe.”

In this way he was like young George Washington. The American people are fond of that kind of boy. That is one of the reasons why Lincoln and Washington were each twice elected President of the United States.

I. The Broken Buck-horn

When he was fourteen years old, young Abraham attended a log cabin school during the winter.

Nailed to one of the logs in the schoolhouse was a large buck’s head, high above the children’s reach.

A hunter had shot a deer in the forest, and presented the head, when mounted, to the school. It had two unusually fine horns.

One day the teacher noticed that one of the horns was broken off short.

Calling the school to order he asked who had broken the horn.

“I did it,” answered young Lincoln promptly. “I reached up and hung on the horn and it broke. I should not have done so if I had thought it would break.”

He did not wait until he was obliged to own up, but did so at once.

* * * * *

Dare to be true; nothing can need a lie.
A fault which needs it most grows two thereby.
—_Herbert._

II. The Rain-soaked Book

There were no libraries on the frontier in those early days. When the boy Lincoln heard of anyone who had a book, he tried to borrow it, often walking many miles to do so. He said later that he had read through every book he had heard of within fifty miles of the place where he lived.

When living in Indiana he often worked as a hired boy for a well-to-do farmer named Josiah Crawford. Mr. Crawford owned a “Life of George Washington,” a very precious book at that time. The book-hungry boy borrowed it to read.

One night he lay by the wood fire reading until he could no longer see, and then he climbed the ladder into the attic and went to bed under the eaves. Before going to sleep he placed the book between two logs of the walls of the cabin for safe-keeping.

During the night a heavy rain-storm came up. When young Lincoln examined the book in the morning it was water soaked. The leaves were wet through and the binding warped.

He dried the book as best he could by the fire and then in fear and trembling took it home to Mr. Crawford. After telling the story he asked what he might do to make good the damaged property.

To his relief, Mr. Crawford replied: “Being as it’s you, Abe, I won’t be hard on you. Come over and shuck corn for three days and the book is yours.”

Shuck corn for three days for such a book as that! It was nothing! He felt as if Mr. Crawford was making him a wonderful present.

After reading the book he often talked about what he was going to do when he grew up.

Mrs. Crawford, who was very fond of him, would ask, “Well, Abe, what do you want to be now?”

“I’ll be president,” he would declare.

She would laugh at him, and say, “You would make a pretty president with all your tricks and jokes, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, I’ll study and get ready, then the chance will come,” he would reply.

* * * * *

Truth is the highest thing a man may keep.
—_Cervantes._

III. The Young Storekeeper

At the age of twenty-one Abraham Lincoln became a store clerk for a short time. He was then six feet four inches tall and very strong. He could out-run, out-jump, out-wrestle, and out-fight any man in the rough pioneer country where he lived.

While the people respected his great strength, they liked him still more for his honesty in little things.

One evening, on reckoning up his accounts, he found that in making change he had taken six cents too much from a customer. On closing the store he immediately walked three miles to the farmhouse where the customer lived and returned the six cents. Then he walked the three miles back.

On opening the store one morning, he discovered a four-ounce weight on the scales. He remembered that his last customer the evening before had purchased half a pound of tea. He saw at once that he had given her short weight. He measured out the four ounces still due, locked the store, took a long walk to the customer’s house, and explained the shortage.

These were little things, but Honest Abe could not rest until he had made them right.

* * * * *

This above all: to thine own self be true;
And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.
—_Shakespeare._

DRY RAIN AND THE HATCHET

I. How Dry Rain Got His Name

In the Indian country there was once a great drought. The land was very dry. No rain had fallen for many weeks. The crops and cattle were suffering from thirst.

Now, in one of the tribes there was a young Indian who had a very high opinion of himself. He pretended that he could foretell what was about to happen, long before it really did happen.

So he foretold that on a certain day a high wind would blow up, bringing with it a great rain-storm with plenty of water for everybody.

The day came. Sure enough a high wind did blow up, but it brought only a violent sand-storm without a drop of rain, and it left the land drier than before.

So the Indians laughed at the young man who foretold before he knew and called him “Dry Rain.”

Although he afterwards became a noted chief, he never lost his name.

II. Dry Rain Goes Trading

One day, when he was an old man, Dry Rain rode in from his village to the white man’s trading post.

The old chief purchased a number of articles, among them some jack-knives and six hatchets. The hatchets were for his six grandsons.

The trader packed all the purchases in a big bundle. Dry Rain paid for them, mounted his pony, and rode home to his village.

When he opened his package, he noticed that the trader by mistake had put in seven hatchets.

But Dry Rain said nothing. “That extra one will do for me,” he thought. “The white men stole the Indian’s land and never gave it back; I will keep the hatchet.”

At the same time he did not feel that this would be doing just right.

In his wigwam that night he lay half-asleep and half-awake, thinking about the hatchet.

He seemed to hear two voices talking, in a tone so earnest that it sounded almost quarrelsome.

“Take back the hatchet,” said one voice. “It belongs to the white man.”

“No! do not take it back,” said the other voice. “It is right for you to keep it.”

Back and forth the voices argued and argued, for hours it seemed to the old chief.

“Take it back!” “Keep it!” “Take it back!” “Keep it!” “Take it back!”

At last he could stand the dispute no longer, and sat up in bed wide awake.

“Stop talking, both of you,” he commanded. “Dry Rain will take back the hatchet in the morning.”

Then he lay down again, pulled the blanket over his head, and was soon fast asleep.

At daylight he arose, mounted his pony, rode back to the trading post, and returned the hatchet to the trader.

“Why did you bring it back?” asked the trader. “I had not missed it, and perhaps never should have known you had it.”

“But Dry Rain would know,” replied the old chief. “The two men inside of him talked and quarreled about it all night! One said, ‘Take it back!’ the other said, ‘No, keep it.’ Now they will keep still and let him sleep.”

QUESTIONS

Do you think that most white men set the Indians a good
example in being honest?

Dry Rain wanted very much to have the extra hatchet,
didn’t he?

But was he comfortable when he decided to keep it?

Do you think the white trader would ever have found out?

But who would have known?

Did two voices inside of you ever talk when you were
tempted to keep something which didn’t belong to you?

MEMORY GEMS

Truth will ever rise above falsehood, like oil above water.

* * * * *

For whatever men say in their blindness,
And spite of the fancies of youth,
There is nothing so kingly as kindness,
And nothing so royal as truth!

THE SEVEN CRANBERRIES

Mr. Dingle was not looking toward Helen. He was busy grinding coffee in another part of the store.

How pretty the bright red cranberries looked! Helen wished she had some.

Her little hand crept over the edge of the barrel, and very quickly seven bright shining cranberries were in Helen’s pocket.

“What can I get for you, little girl?” asked the storekeeper.

“A pound of butter, please,” Helen answered. She did not look him in the eye; instead, she looked out of the window.

It took Helen but a short time to reach home.

She laid the butter on the table and put the seven cranberries in a cup.

“Aren’t they pretty!” she whispered. “I think I’ll play they are marbles.”

She found a piece of chalk and drew a circle on the floor. Then she began the game.

“What pretty bright cranberries!” exclaimed her mother coming into the room. “Where did you get them, dear?”

How Helen wished that her mother had not asked that question.

“Did Mr. Dingle give them to you?” her mother asked.

How Helen wished she could say yes! “But after all,” she thought, “that was not stealing, so I’ll just tell mother. She knows I would not steal.”

“No, mother,” she answered, shaking her head. “I took them out of the barrel.”

“You did!” exclaimed her mother. “Why, my dear, did you not know that was wrong?”

“I didn’t take many—only seven,” Helen said; “and Mr. Dingle had thousands and thousands of them!”

“Come here, dear, and sit on my knee,” said her mother. “I want to ask you something.”

When Helen came she asked, “When you took the cranberries, was Mr. Dingle looking toward you?”

“No, he was busy,” answered Helen.

“Would you have taken them if he had been looking at you?”

Helen hung her head.

“I do not think you would, dear,” said her mother. “Of course, you did not think for a moment of stealing from Mr. Dingle.”

“I will never do such a thing again, mother,” promised the little girl. “I am sorry.”

“Are you sorry enough to take those berries back, and tell Mr. Dingle what you did?” asked her mother.

That was quite different from being sorry in their own kitchen.

“Oh, mother, I don’t want to do that!” said Helen, tears coming into her eyes.

“That is because you are ashamed, Helen,” said her mother; “but I hope you will always be brave enough to do the right thing.”

“Will you go with me to the store, mother?” asked Helen.

“No,” said her mother, “I want you to go by yourself. But I can help you this much: I can telephone Mr. Dingle that you are coming.”

Helen sighed. “I wish I had been, and was back again,” she said, picking up the pretty berries.

“Well, well!” said Mr. Dingle, when Helen handed him the berries, “it takes a pretty brave girl to own up. If you were a boy, little girl, I would ask you to come and work for me this next vacation.”

QUESTIONS

Why do you think Helen felt so uncomfortable when she
was asking for the butter, and later when her mother
asked her where she got the cranberries?

Do you suppose Mr. Dingle would ever have known about
the seven cranberries?

But who would always have known?

Why was it that Helen did not think taking the
cranberries was really “stealing”?

What did Helen’s mother think about it?

What do you think about taking even the smallest thing
that doesn’t belong to you?

* * * * *

We sow a thought and reap an act;
We sow an act and reap a habit;
We sow a habit and reap a character;
We sow a character and reap a destiny.
—_Thackeray._

THE DONKEY’S TAIL

“Can you see?” asked Hilda Wells, as she tied the handkerchief over Fred Warren’s eyes.

“You might make it a little tighter,” answered Fred.

So Hilda tightened the blindfolder.

“Now, we’ll turn you around three times, start you straight,—and you pin the tail on the donkey,” she said.

The “donkey” was a large picture of that animal fastened to the wall at the opposite side of the room. It was minus its paper tail, which Fred held in his hand.

“Don’t you peep!” cried all the children.

“We’ll see if he can do better than I did!” declared Frank Bennett. So far the prize belonged to Frank. Fred’s turn came last.

After being turned around three times, Fred walked straight up to the picture and pinned the tail exactly in place.

“Oh, Frank, that is better than you did by two inches!” said Hilda.

“Fred gets the prize!” cried the excited children, as Fred pulled off the handkerchief.

Then little Marie, Hilda’s sister, handed him a pearl-handled penknife.

Fred made little of his prize, and as soon as the children stopped examining it, slipped it into his pocket.

After that, Mrs. Wells served ice-cream and cakes.

Oh the way home Frank asked Fred to let him see the prize. “It is a beauty of a knife, Fred,” said he. “Until you tried, I thought I should be the winner.”

Fred muttered something about having too many knives already.

Frank opened his eyes wide in surprise. “Too many!” he exclaimed. “I wish I had too many! I’ve never had more than one, and that was father’s when he was a boy.”

“Good night, Frank,” said Fred, suddenly swinging into a side street. “I am going to take a short cut home.”

“Good night, Fred,” called Frank.

“That’s a queer way for a fellow to act,” he thought, as he walked on alone. “I wonder what is the matter with him.”

Suddenly he heard footsteps, and in a moment Fred had caught up with him. “Here, take it, I don’t want another knife,” he said, thrusting the prize into Frank’s hand.

“Oh—oh, I don’t want your knife!” exclaimed Frank.

“Well, I don’t want it, either!” said Fred. “It belongs to you, anyway; and I believe you know it! I am almost certain you could see me peeping from under that handkerchief!”

“I was not quite sure,” said Frank; “not sure enough to say anything about it, anyway.”

“Well, if you don’t keep the knife I’ll throw it into the river,” said Fred, running away as fast as he could.

HURTING A GOOD FRIEND

This is the story of a boy who ruined a good book. A good book is always a good friend.

He did not mean to—oh, no! But what of that—he did it, as you may read.

His name was Max Green. One day Max borrowed a book from Tom Brown, a fine new book with a picture of a submarine on the cover. Tom had just received it as a birthday present from his uncle.

That night Max sat down in a corner to read it. Soon he came to the place where the submarine was getting ready to fire a torpedo.

“Squeak!” went the book, as Max gave it a twist in his excitement. He did not hear the sound; he only saw the torpedo skimming through the water.

“Crack!” went the book, as Max gave it a heavier twist. He did not notice that he was bending the covers farther back. He only knew that the torpedo was striking the bow of a big man-of-war.

“Rip!” went the book down the middle, as Max gave it a harder twist with his hand.

But Max read right on, for just then the man-of-war lurched over on its side as if it was getting ready to sink.

In his excitement Max forgot all about what he was doing and twisted and bent the book back, cover to cover.

“Stop—quick—oh! oh! It hurts! You have broken my back—broken my back! Oh!—oh!” cried the book.

Suddenly Max woke up and saw what he had done—but it was too late. He had broken the glue and stitches apart and the covers hung limp.

Just then his mother came in.

“Look, mother—see what I have done to Tom Brown’s book,” he confessed. “I am so sorry. It is such a good book. Can’t we glue it together again?”

“No,” said his mother, “it is ruined. Glue may help, but it will never be the same book.”

“Oh, I am so sorry!” said Max.

“Yes, Max, but being sorry will not make this book as good as it was when you borrowed it.”

“I will make it right with Tom, mother. I will take my birthday money to buy him a new one.”

“That is the right thing to do, Max,” answered his mother.

QUESTIONS

How is a good book a good friend?

Suppose it had been his own book that Max ruined, would
he have been treating it fairly?

If you were a book, how would you want to be treated?

Do you know what holds a book together? Tell what you
know about the way a book is made.

Why should we be so careful of books?

MEMORY GEM

For every evil under the sun,
There is a remedy, or there is none.
If there be one, try to find it;
If there be none, never mind it.

A SCHOOL WITHOUT A TEACHER

What Might Happen if Books and Bells Could Talk

The little schoolhouse was painted white, with green shutters. Over the front gable was a little old-fashioned belfry. In it swung a little old-fashioned school bell, for this was a country district school, with scarcely a house in sight.

One bright September morning, the opening day of school, forty or fifty noisy children were drawn up in line, waiting for the bell to stop ringing.

When the bell stopped, the children marched inside and took their seats facing the teacher’s desk.

“Order!” tapped the desk bell, and the room was suddenly still.

The pupils looked to see who had tapped the bell, for the teacher was nowhere to be seen.

They saw the new school-books piled on the platform and on the teacher’s desk—but where was the teacher?

“I am the new Spelling Book, full of hard words,” said the top book of the pile of spellers on the right-hand side of the platform.

“I am the new Reader, full of good stories,” announced the top one of a stack of readers on the left-hand side of the platform.

The pupils were startled. It was so quiet you could hear the clock tick.

“I am the new Arithmetic, full of problems harder to crack than the hickory nuts in the woods,” spoke up a book on the teacher’s desk; “but why don’t you find your teacher?”

No one answered. The children only sat half-frightened, wondering what would happen next.

“I am the new Language Book,” declared another book in the row on the teacher’s desk; “but who will teach you your mother tongue?”

Everyone was still. Only the clock ticked on.

“I am the Geography; in my pages are maps of all countries. Who will give you permission to look?” It was the largest book of all that asked this question.

The pupils stared opened-eyed over the desk at the teacher’s empty chair. They saw nothing but a sunbeam coming in through the window—full of particles of shining dust.

“There must be somebody hiding,” spoke up one boy who could stand the strain no longer.

“I am going to see,” said another boy braver than the rest.

Getting up, he looked behind the desk and in the closet, but nothing was to be seen, not even a mouse.

“Let us go out and look for the teacher,” he cried. With one accord they ran pell-mell out the door into the playground.

An automobile was coming up the road at top speed.

“Good morning, boys and girls,” the new teacher called, as the machine pulled up.

“Good morning, teacher,” they answered crowding about her.

“I am sorry to be late the first day of school. There was some trouble at Rockland and the train was delayed. Mr. Jones drove me over.”

“We are glad you are here,” said an older girl as the machine drove off. “We went in and took our seats at nine o’clock, thinking you would come at any minute. All at once something began to talk. ‘I am the Speller full of hard words; I am the Arithmetic; I am the Reader; I am the Geography; where is your teacher?’ the voices said. At first we thought somebody was hiding, but we could not find anyone. Then we got frightened and ran out.”

“Well, isn’t that strange?” said the teacher laughing. “We will go in and see.”

Together they trooped into the schoolroom. They looked everywhere; nothing had been moved; everything was just as usual.

The teacher tapped the bell and everyone took a seat.

“Well, children,” she said smiling, “we have already learned a very important lesson this morning, and that is that every school must have a teacher!”

QUESTIONS

{ Teachers
{ Pupils
What should a school have? { Books
{ Schoolhouse

What other persons or things should a school have?

Can you have a school without a teacher?

Why is the teacher so important?

{ Obedient
{ Clean
{ Orderly
What should the pupils be? { Courteous
{ Helpful
{ Punctual
{ Anxious to learn.

What else should { Respectful to all connected with school.
the pupils be? { Respectful to principal, to teacher, to
{ janitor, to other children.

MEMORY GEMS

One rule to guide us in our life
Is always good and true;
’Tis, do to others as you would
That they should do to you.

* * * * *

If wisdom’s ways you’d wisely seek,
Five things observe with care;
Of whom you speak, to whom to speak,
And how, and when, and where.

* * * * *

Prize your friend for her own true heart,
Though her dress be poor and mean;
The years, like a fairy wand, may change
Cinderella to a queen.

OUR FLAG

’Tis the Star-Spangled Banner, oh, long may it wave
O’er the land of the free, and the home of the brave.

As you came to school this morning, did you look up at your flag floating from the top of the flag pole? Didn’t it look beautiful, waving and rippling in the sunshine against the blue sky? I wonder if you have ever thought about what it means?

You know flags are signs or emblems, and they all have a meaning.

There is no reading on our American flag, yet everyone knows what it means as certainly as if there were letters all over it.

Our flag means that the United States of America is the Land of the Free, and our government stands for:

Liberty and justice for everybody;
Education for all children;
Protection to all Americans at home or abroad.

That is the reason so many people come to this country from countries where they do not have such help from the government.

We Americans are very thankful for what our flag means.

If we are good Americans we shall live up to every one of the following duties:

To be true and faithful citizens;
To do our part to carry out the laws of the government;
To give, if necessary, our lives to protect our flag.

SCOUTS’ PLEDGE

I pledge allegiance to my flag and to the republic for which it stands; one nation indivisible, with liberty and justice for all.

MY GIFT

I give my head, my heart, my hand to God and my country; one country, one language, one flag.[A]

FLAG DAY

June 14 is the anniversary of the adoption of the flag, and that date is celebrated in many states as Flag Day.

We can honor our flag

By living for it;
By keeping our own honor bright;
By being brave; (Red stands for valor.)
By being clean; (White stands for purity.)
By being just; (Blue stands for justice.)
By being loyal;
By being ready to die for it, if we are called upon.

Our state has one star in the blue of the flag.

How shall we honor our star?

How shall we show respect for our country and our flag?

Since our flag means so much to us, we should respect
it and love it with all our hearts.

When the flag passes in a parade, people should,
if walking, halt; or if sitting, rise and stand at
attention and uncover.

The flag should never be allowed to drag on the ground
nor be left out after dark. Did you know that it must
never be used as an old rag? You see no matter how old
or torn a flag becomes, it is still our flag and must
be loved and honored always.

* * * * *

My country! ’tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing;
Land where my fathers died!
Land of the Pilgrim’s pride!
From every mountain side
Let freedom ring!

* * * * *

“America is another name for Opportunity.”

What do you understand by that?

FOOTNOTE:

[A] At the word flag give the salute by raising the right hand to the forehead.

HOW OUR FLAG DEVELOPED

The thirteen stripes in our flag represent the thirteen original colonies.

Every star in the field of blue represents a state—“A star for every state, and a state for every star.”

The flag brings a picture to our minds of all the things we are grateful for in our history, and of all the things we want our country and ourselves to be.

QUESTIONS

What does our flag mean?

Are you not glad that you live in a country where all
the people rule, instead of any one person or just a
few people?

Can you repeat the Scouts’ Pledge? (Standing.)

Who was Betsy Ross?

Can you form a tableau like the picture of Betsy Ross
sewing the American Flag?

Isn’t it almost as brave to live up to the red, white,
and blue as to die for our colors?

Why is our nation’s flag always hung higher in this
country than the flag of any other nation?

Will you bring pictures of the flags of some other
countries to class?

Do you think any other flag more beautiful than ours?

Will you try to do all you can to honor our flag, and
never to let the star of your state grow dimmer because
of any act of yours?

* * * * *

Hats off!
Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums,
A flash of color beneath the sky:
Hats off!
The flag is passing by!
—_H. H. Bennett._

THE FLAG OF THE U. S. A.

I belong to this flag;
This flag belongs to me,
Because brave men have lived and died
To set its people free;
There are other flags in other lands,
And more upon the sea,
But the flag to-day of the U. S. A.
Is the flag for you and me.

If I belong to this flag,
And this flag belongs to me,
I’ll live or die, if there is need,
To keep its people free;
No other flag has braver men,
Either on land or sea,
Than the flag to-day of the U. S. A.—
The flag for you and me.
—_J. E. F._

THE AMERICAN FLAG

When Freedom from her mountain height
Unfurled her standard to the air,
She tore the azure robe of night,
And set the stars of glory there:
She mingled with her gorgeous dyes
The milky baldric of the skies,
And striped its pure celestial white
With streakings of the morning light;
Then, from his mansion in the sun,
She called her eagle-bearer down,
And gave into his mighty hand
The symbol of her chosen land!

* * * * *

Flag of the free heart’s hope and home!
By angel hands to valor given!
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom’s soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom’s banner streaming o’er us!
—_Joseph Rodman Drake._

STORIES TEACHING KINDNESS TO ANIMALS

THE TRUE STORY OF CHEESEY

I. The Dog and the Policeman

One snowy day shortly after Christmas, when carefully picking my way over the crossing at Market Street Ferry in Philadelphia, I almost ran into a big policeman.

Just back of the big policeman was a little dog, and just back of the little dog was a little dog-house, and just back of the dog-house was a beautiful Christmas tree.

Wouldn’t it have made you stop in surprise to see a dog-house in the middle of the busiest street in your city or town? Wouldn’t you have wondered why the big policeman had the little dog, and why the little dog had such a nice house there? And wouldn’t you have wondered and wondered whether the Christmas tree belonged to the dog or to the big policeman? It made me so curious that I did just as you would have liked to do—I asked the policeman to tell me the story.

II. The Policeman’s Story

“Good morning, Mr. Burke,” I said, for I knew the officer’s name. “Will you tell me about the little dog?”

“Why,” answered the policeman with a smile, “don’t you know about Cheesey? Come here, Cheesey, the lady wants to see you!”

Cheesey looked up at the speaker and wagged his tail.

“Cheesey was born on Race Street pier,” went on the policeman. “Nobody knows how he got his living after his mother died; but one thing is sure, he was not treated very kindly by the men who loaded the boats and swept the wharves. To this day Cheesey growls at the sight of one of those men.

“After a while Cheesey found a little playmate, but the playmate was run over by a fire engine. All night long Cheesey lay in the spot where his little mate had been killed.

“Weary and lonely and hungry, he crept back to the old cheerless corner of Race Street pier, which was the only place he knew as home.

“There he lay with his head on his paws, not noticing anything until one of the men kicked him out of the way.

“Cheesey ran out of the pier and down Delaware Avenue, not knowing where he was going; but he went just the right way, for he ran into Officer Weigner, one of the four of us who watch this crossing.

“He spoke kindly to the little fellow, and gave him something to eat.

“From that time, Cheesey seemed to think he belonged to the policemen on this crossing. Then we gave him his name.”

III. Cheesey’s Christmas Presents

“Cheesey had no place to sleep,” went on the policeman after seeing some people safely across the street, “except on a pile of bags in the ferry house. He seemed so cold that I asked Charley, one of the workmen in the ferry, if he could not knock together some packing boxes for the little fellow.

“Charley did the best he could, but I must say he made a sorry looking dog-house.

“One day, just before Christmas while I was on duty, Mr. Sheip, of the Sheip Box Factory, happened to notice the box Charley had knocked together.

“‘Well, well,’ he said, ‘is that the best you fellows can do?’

“‘Why, Mr. Sheip,’ I replied, ‘we are not box-makers, you know.’

“‘That’s so!’ he said. ‘I’ll have a dog-house made in the factory!’ and on Christmas day this beauty of a dog-house came. Have you noticed the label on it?”

I read the painted black letters on the large white label:

+----------------------------+
| |
| Merry Christmas |
| to |
| Cheesey |
| from |
| Officers Burke, Dougherty, |
| Kunzig, and Weigner. |
| |
+----------------------------+

“It pleased us so,” went on the officer, “that we bought a Christmas tree and many people helped us trim it.

“A good many people brought presents for Cheesey. One lady from Camden brought a feather pillow; another lady brought a piece of meat. That dog could have seventeen meals a day if he could hold them—couldn’t you, Cheesey?”

The little dog wagged his tail, turned around twice, then went into his house. After thanking the officer I went on my way, made happier for all my life because of the true story of Cheesey.

THE CHAINED DOG

’Twas only a dog in a kennel,
And little the noise he made,
But it seemed to me, as I heard it,
I knew what that old dog said:
“Another long day to get over!
Will nobody loosen my chain,
Just for a run in the meadow,
Then fasten me up again?”
—_Selected._

Through life it’s been a comfort to me—
My little dog’s loving sympathy.

QUESTIONS

Do you think the officers were repaid by knowing they
had made Cheesey happy?

Does Cheesey remind you a little of Cinderella? Who
were the fairies in Cheesey’s life?

What might have happened to Cheesey if the officers had
not been kind?

Did you ever own a dog?

Can you tell some story showing your dog’s intelligence
or bravery?

What is the kindest thing to do for an animal which is
suffering if you cannot take care of it or feed it?

Do you know the address of the S. P. C. A. in your city?

Did you know that sometimes dogs are thought to be mad
when they are only very thirsty?

Sometimes dogs have been treated unfairly and are
cross; so it is best not to pat a strange dog’s head.