Chapter VII: Part II: Community Occupations (2)

Wallace jumped out and examined the dingy sign, which was hardly readable.

“Sawmill Road; this is the right way!” he cried.

They had not driven far along the shady road when a peculiar, whistling sound met their ears.

“There’s the saw, now, I believe!” exclaimed Mrs. Duwell.

“So it is,” said Mr. Duwell. “Trot along, boy!” he urged the horse.

At a turn in the road they came upon the old sawmill, nestling at the foot of the hill. The smooth mill pond shone brightly in the sun. As the water fell over the dam, it tumbled into a noisy little brook which ran under a bridge and away down the valley. The refreshing odor of pine and cedar filled the air.

Several men were busy sawing the trunk of a pine tree into long, clean planks. The children watched the circular saw with wonder as its sharp teeth ate into the sweet-smelling wood. Its shrill music delighted them.

“Yes, sir,” the foreman replied to a question of Mr. Duwell’s, “most sawmills are run by steam power. Very few old-fashioned water wheels are left in this part of the country. Let me show you our wheel.”

“This is the sluice-way,” he explained, pointing to a long narrow canal full of flowing water. “The sluice-way leads the water from the pond to the top of the wheel.”

Going down a flight of steps on the outside of the building, they stood right beside the old moss-covered wheel. It was a huge wooden framework with shelves or buckets all around the wide rim to catch the water.

The water poured out of the sluice-way over the wheel, turning it slowly and steadily. As the wheel turned, the water kept falling with noisy splashes into the stream below.

“What makes it go round?” asked Wallace eagerly.

“The force and weight of the water pouring over it,” replied the foreman. “That is what we call water power.”

“Think of it, children!” said Mr. Duwell. “That old wheel helped to build Mr. Emerson’s house.”

“Yes,” said the foreman, “it has helped to build many houses besides Mr. Emerson’s. That old water wheel has been sawing wood just as you see it now for over a hundred years.”

III. The Carpenter

On the way home the little party talked about their adventures.

“Mr. Emerson must have had help to build a house like that,” remarked Ruth after a pause.

“Oh, he didn’t build it, goosey,” said Wallace.

“Who did, then, Mr. Know-it-all?”

“Why, the carpenter, of course,” Wallace replied.

“Oh, I see,” exclaimed Ruth. “The carpenter builds the house for Mr. Emerson, and Mr. Emerson has time to teach you boys.”

“That is exactly right, little girl,” said her father.

“Besides, no one person can do many things well. Perhaps Mr. Emerson is a better teacher for not trying to do too many things,” Mrs. Duwell added.

“I think a carpenter is wonderful, don’t you?” said Wallace.

“The greatest man that ever lived was a carpenter,” said his mother.

“Whoa, boy!” exclaimed Mr. Duwell, drawing up the reins sharply. “Don’t get frightened at a piece of paper, when you’ve done so well. Whoa, there, boy!”

The horse seemed to understand the quiet gentle voice, and settled down to an even trot.

“He will go well enough now,” said Mrs. Duwell. “He knows we are headed for home.”

“So we are! I wish we were headed the other way,” said Wallace. “What makes a good time so short?” he asked, so seriously that everybody laughed.

IV. The Wolf’s Den

“Mother, I may be late in getting home from school this afternoon,” said Wallace on Monday at noon. “Mr. Emerson said he was going to take us for a walk after school to-day. He told us to ask if it would be all right. Will it, mother?”

“Yes, Wallace, but try to be home before dark.”

“I’ll tell you all about our trip at supper time,” said Wallace. “Good-by.”

Wallace bounded in just as supper was being put on the table.

“Good evening, everybody. Oh, it was fine!” he exclaimed. “Mr. Emerson took us for a long walk in the park—to a part I have never seen before.”

“That was splendid,” said his mother.

“Now, tell us all about your trip,” said his father, when Wallace had partly satisfied his hunger.

Wallace began: “We walked until we reached the wild part of the park. Soon we came to a steep hill and a great pile of high rocks covered with trees and bushes.

“‘How many of you boys have ever been in a real cave?’ Mr. Emerson asked. Only three of us had, and we were very much excited.

“‘Well,’ he said, ‘right above that big granite rock there is a natural cave. It was found only a few days ago. The opening was covered with bushes, so nobody knew it was there. It must have been the den of some wild animal years ago. The opening is so small that only one boy can go in at a time.’

“He divided us into four sections and made me the leader of section one.

“One at a time we climbed up until all five boys of my section were on top of the rock. There was the cave, a dark opening in the rocks about as big around as a barrel. Being the leader, I had to go in first.”

“Weren’t you scared?” asked Ruth.

“Well—it was exciting,” admitted her brother. “I got down on my hands and knees and looked in, but could see nothing. Then I crawled in. It was as dark as a pocket. I tried to stand up and bumped my head, the ceiling was so low.

“In a minute or two I could see better. The walls of the cave were nothing but rocks. The floor was covered with sand and dry leaves. There was just room enough to turn around in, so I turned around and crawled out.”

“Well, I call that pretty brave, Wallace, to go in first,” his mother said.

“There wasn’t anything to be afraid of, mother,” said Wallace. After a moment he continued, “Well, after the boys in my group had all been in, we climbed down, and the other sections went up and did the same thing. Every boy went in, although some of the little fellows looked pretty white when they came out. Then we sat on the rocks, and Mr. Emerson talked about the homes of wild animals and the early savages.

“‘What animal do you suppose lived in this cave?’ Mr. Emerson asked us. Some guessed wolves and some, bears. We finally decided to name it The Wolf’s Den.

V. The Cave Dwellers

“Mr. Emerson said that wild animals live in just the same way to-day as they always did. They live in caves and holes in the ground or in hollow trees, where they can hide and keep warm.

“One boy spoke up, ‘How about dogs, Mr. Emerson?’

“‘Well,’ Mr. Emerson said, ‘dogs are tame animals now, although they used to be wild. But even the dog’s house is a wooden cave which his master builds for him.’

“He told us that a long time ago people lived in caves which they dug in the earth like animals. They were cave dwellers or cave men. The reason we have better homes now is that we have greater minds than animals and have learned to use our hands and brains to build houses.

“He said that the cave men must have thought it wonderful when they found they could make stone hatchets sharp enough to cut down small trees. With them they learned to make huts out of wood, which were larger and more comfortable than caves and just as safe from storms.

“As time went on, men paid more attention to building. They learned to make houses of stone and clay and brick. They kept on studying and improving until they were able to build great cities such as we have to-day.”

“Listen!” exclaimed Ruth, clapping her hands as Wallace finished his story. “Wouldn’t Wallace make a good teacher! That sounded exactly like the way Mr. Emerson talks.”

“Nothing like so interesting, though,” said Wallace. “He promised to show us his new house when it is finished.”

“Wouldn’t I like to go with you!” said Ruth.

QUESTIONS

Are there any houses being built near you?

Have you ever watched the carpenter at work?

Tell about some of his tools.

In the early days in this country men had to build
their own houses. Were these log cabins as comfortable
and well built as our houses are to-day?

How is it that the carpenter can do so much better work
than you could?

Where does the carpenter get his lumber?

Have you ever visited a sawmill?

Wouldn’t you like to ask at the library for some books
that tell about cave men and cliff dwellers? about
lumbering?

THE BRICKLAYER

I. The Fallen Chimney

All day long the rain came pouring down. By night the wind rose with a shriek and a roar, banging unfastened shutters and rattling windows in their casings.

“Oh, dear, what an awful night!” exclaimed Ruth. “How glad I am that Fluffy is safe indoors!” and she stroked the little cat lying on a cushion on the sewing machine.

“And how glad I am that Harry Teelow found that lost puppy to-day,” said Wallace.

“Pretty bad, isn’t it?” Mr. Duwell said, looking up from his paper. “I don’t suppose the bricklayer came to mend the chimney to-day. He couldn’t have worked in such a storm.”

“No, he did not come,” replied Mrs. Duwell with a troubled look. “Do you suppose there is any danger of its tumbling down?”

“Well, I can’t say,” replied Mr. Duwell, shaking his head doubtfully. “I wish I had stopped to see Mr. Bricklayer a week ago when I first discovered how loose the bricks were, instead of waiting until—”

But he did not finish the sentence, for bang! even above the terrific noise of the storm came the sound of falling bricks and broken glass.

The family rushed into the little kitchen, which was built on the end of the house.

What a sight met their eyes!

Water was pouring through a hole in the ceiling where the roof had given way. Rain splashed in great gusty dashes through the window where the bricks had broken through.

Already there was a little lake on the floor.

Ruth was the first to speak. “If it keeps on,” she said, half laughing and half crying, “it will be quite deep enough for Alice and the mouse and the Dodo to swim in!” She was thinking of Alice in Wonderland, you know.

That made everybody laugh, and all began to work. They placed tubs and pails where they would catch the water, and stuffed old cloths into the broken window panes.

It was fully an hour before the family were settled down again in the living room.

“Well, children, you can now understand the saying, ‘Never put off till to-morrow what should be done to-day,’” remarked Mr. Duwell.

“It is a lesson none of us will soon forget,” added Mrs. Duwell.

“Could you and I have mended the broken chimney, father?” asked Wallace.

“Not very well, my boy,” replied Mr. Duwell. “‘Every man to his trade,’ you know. By the way, I hope Mr. Bricklayer will be here before you children start to school in the morning. Run to bed now so that you can be up early to see him begin his work.”

II. The Bricklayer

The next day dawned bright and sunny, with only a merry little breeze to remind one of yesterday’s storm.

The bricklayer did not come before the children started to school in the morning, but just after lunch. They had only time to watch him and his helper climb to the roof.

“I am going to get home from school early,” said Wallace; “maybe they will not be through by that time.”

“I am, too,” Ruth chimed in. “I wonder what bricks are,” she added.

“Bricks? Why, don’t you know?” asked Wallace. “Our manual training teacher told us that bricks are a sort of imitation stone made of moistened clay and sand mixed together, and shaped as we see them. They are baked in an oven-like place, called a kiln, or dried in the sun.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. I wonder who first thought of making them. They are something like sun-baked mud-pies,” said Ruth.

“Our teacher said that bricks three thousand years old have been found in Egypt, some with writing on them.”

“Oh, I remember that the Bible tells about bricks. Why, Wallace, men must have been bricklayers for thousands of years!”

“It is lucky for us they haven’t forgotten how to make them, for what could we do without a chimney?” said Wallace. “Hello, there is Harry! I want to see him about the ball game;” and away he ran.

III. After School

Wallace brought Harry, and Ruth brought Mildred Maydole home after school to watch the bricklayer work.

“Why, how straight and true the bricks must be!” exclaimed Harry. “A bricklayer has to be very careful, doesn’t he?”

“Indeed he does,” replied Wallace. “Do you know what the mortar is made of?”

“Yes; I think I do. It is lime and sand and—something else,” Harry said. That made them all laugh.

“I think the most wonderful brick work I ever saw,” said Mildred, “was in the arch of a big sewer. I couldn’t tell why the bricks didn’t all fall down. My father said the mortar held them.”

“Why, if it weren’t for bricklayers, and cement workers, and stone masons, we should be without lots of things!” exclaimed Harry. “Just imagine it, if you can.”

“That’s so,” said Wallace. “Let’s count what we know of that they build for us—sewers, bridge piers,—go on, Mildred.”

“Pavements,” added Mildred.

“Houses and chimneys,” said Ruth.

“Foundations for houses,” said Harry.

“Here comes father!” cried Ruth suddenly; and all the children ran to meet him.

“We’ve been talking about how it would be if there were no bricklayers, or stone masons, or cement workers, father,” said Wallace.

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Mr. Duwell. “I was thinking very much the same thing as I walked home so soon after such a heavy rain without getting my feet wet.

“I remember what Benjamin Franklin wrote,” he went on, “about the streets of Philadelphia in his day. He said the mud after a storm was so deep that it came above the people’s shoe-tops. It was Benjamin Franklin himself who first talked of paving the streets.”

“I’m glad they aren’t as bad as they were in Benjamin Franklin’s time,” said Mildred.

QUESTIONS

Have you ever watched a bricklayer working?

What was he doing?

Could you have done it?

Where do you suppose he got his bricks?

Have you ever seen bricks being made?

Are bricklayers, cement workers, and stone masons more
needed in the city or in the country? Why?

* * * * *

Do you know how our city grew,
Its lofty buildings raising?
Its pavements, parks, and bridges, too—
Whose labors are they praising?
Just the workmen who every day
Did their work in the very best way.

THE PLUMBER, THE PLASTERER, THE PAINTER

I. A Visit to a Little Town

“I have an errand to do just outside the city limits,” said Mr. Duwell one pleasant Saturday morning. “Would you like to go with me, Wallace?”

“I certainly should,” said the boy.

In a few minutes father and son were on the electric car, speeding toward Oldtown.

When there, they walked up the main street, which was lined with rows of shabby houses, badly in need of paint. Little pools of standing water lay in the gutters.

“What an awful smell! I should think it would make people sick! And look at the flies!” exclaimed Wallace.

“I have no doubt it does make people sick,” said Mr. Du well. “Flies and mosquitoes breed very rapidly in such places.”

“Flies and mosquitoes carry disease germs, Mr. Emerson says,” observed Wallace.

“So they do; they are more dangerous to health than poi-son-ous snakes,” his father said.

“Why don’t the people clean their gutters?” asked Wallace.

“I suppose they do sometimes,” replied his father; “but Oldtown will never be clean and healthy while the dirty water from the houses is drained into the streets and alleys. Waste water must be carried off by means of pipes into a sewer. That is the work of the plumber. A good plumber is a health officer.”

“What a lot of people it takes to keep things going right, father! This town certainly does need a plumber,” remarked Wallace.

This remark seemed to please Mr. Duwell very much.

“How would you like to move to Oldtown, Wallace?” asked his father when their errand was finished and they were riding home.

“I shouldn’t mind,” said Wallace, “if I were a plumber.”

II. At Home

When Ruth saw them coming, she ran to meet them.

“What do you think, father!” she exclaimed; “the plasterer came while you were gone, and mended the kitchen ceiling. Mother is so pleased! Come and look at it!”

“That’s very well done,” said Mr. Duwell, examining the neat patch over the large hole which the falling chimney had made. “But it makes the whole room look as if it needed a new coat of paint. What do you think, mother?”

“I think it would make me a better cook to have a nice clean kitchen,” said Mrs. Duwell, smiling.

“You couldn’t be a better cook, mother!” Wallace said, eyeing the good meal which was ready to be put on the dining table.

“That is what we all think, Wallace,” said his father; “and we think, too, that such a good cook deserves a better kitchen. So on Monday I will ask the painter to see about doing the walls and woodwork.”

III. The New Kitchen

When the men had finished their work the kitchen was so changed that it scarcely knew itself, as Wallace said.

Instead of dim walls and dull-gray paint, everything was white and blue. A shining white sink with two bright nickel spigots was standing proudly in one corner of the room.

Mrs. Duwell had just finished hanging a white dotted muslin curtain at the window over the sink when Ruth entered.

“Oh, mother, doesn’t that look lovely!” she exclaimed.

“I thought such a bright clean kitchen deserved a clean new curtain,” said her mother.

“Isn’t the kitchen beautiful!” Ruth went on. “It seems like living in a fairy tale—as though we had wakened up to find things changed by magic.”

“It does, in a way,” agreed her mother; “but, really, they were every-day fairies who brought about these changes and turned ugliness into beauty.”

“I think I know their names,” Ruth said, laughing; “Mr. Plumber, Mr. Plasterer, and Mr. Painter.”

“Why, how did you guess?” said her mother.

QUESTIONS

Did the plumber ever come to your house?

What did he do?

What would have happened if you could not have found a
plumber?

None of us would like to live in a town where there are
no plumbers. Why not?

Shut your eyes and try to imagine how the Duwell
family’s kitchen looked before the workmen began to
work; now imagine that they have finished their work.
Tell how different it looks.

Have workmen ever made such changes in your home?

Can you name some other people besides the carpenter,
the bricklayer, the plumber, the plasterer, and the
painter who help give us shelter?

STORIES ABOUT PEOPLE WHO SUPPLY US WITH FUEL

THE COAL MAN AND THE MINER

I. Black Diamonds

“How are the black diamonds holding out, Wallace?” asked Mrs. Duwell. Wallace had just brought up coal from the cellar.

“Only a few more scuttlefuls in the bin, mother,” answered Wallace.

“On your way from school you may stop at the coal yard and ask Mr. Carr to send a ton to-morrow.”

“All right, mother, I won’t forget. But tell me, why do they call coal black diamonds?”

“I haven’t time to talk about it now. Perhaps Mr. Carr will tell you. You have just ten minutes to get to school.”

On his way home Wallace stepped into the little office of the big coal yard.

“How are you, my boy; what can I do for you to-day?” asked Mr. Carr, who was a rather tall man with a bent back and one shoulder higher than the other.

“How do you do, Mr. Carr?” replied Wallace. “Mother wants you to send a ton of coal to-morrow—the same kind as the last you sent.”

Wallace waited until the coal man entered the order in the book and then asked, “Mr. Carr, will you tell me why they call coal black diamonds?”

Mr. Carr smiled pleasantly. “Certainly, son, certainly. You see, coal shines like diamonds, and then, it’s worth more.”

“Worth more? Why, I thought diamonds were worth more than anything else.”

“No, indeed! If there weren’t any coal in the ground, all the diamonds in the world wouldn’t heat a house, cook a meal, pull a railway train, or run a machine.”

“Well, I never thought of that,” said Wallace. “You certainly could not burn diamonds in a cook-stove.”

“No, indeed!” said Mr. Carr, who seemed much pleased at Wallace’s interest.

II. In a Coal Mine

“Were you ever down in a coal mine, Mr. Carr?” asked Wallace.

“Was I ever down in a coal mine?” repeated Mr. Carr. “Yes, sir, I was a miner for years in the coal regions, and would have been in a mine yet, probably, if it hadn’t been for this,” pointing to his shoulder and bent back.

“Is it very dangerous work?” asked Wallace, with wide-open eyes.

“Well, if the roof doesn’t fall on you, and if the mine doesn’t catch fire, and if the gas doesn’t choke you, or explode and blow you up, it isn’t dangerous; it is perfectly safe.”

“But how did it get hurt—your shoulder, I mean?” asked Wallace.

“Oh, that! I’ll tell you. One day we were getting out coal at the far end of a tunnel. Suddenly, before we had time to run, the roof came tumbling down and buried us. When they pulled us out, my helper was dead, and my back was as you see it now.”

“What makes mining so dangerous?” asked Wallace, in surprise.

“Well, you see, it’s this way. When you step into the cage, that is the elevator, you leave the sunlight behind. The cage sinks down, down into pitch darkness, sometimes hundreds of feet. At the bottom of the shaft it is like an under-ground city. Street-like tunnels, with car tracks laid on them, run out in every direction. The coal cars are drawn by mules or by electricity.

“As you go up the tracks you see cross tunnels and the miners’ little lamps shining in dark holes that look like black caves. Here the miners work, blasting out the coal, and loading it on cars to be drawn to the mouth of the mine and hoisted up into daylight.

“Sometimes the walls and roof are not properly braced. Then they cave in and great lumps of coal fall down on the men. Sometimes gas or fire-damp collects. Then there is danger of choking or of being blown up. Sometimes, in blasting, the coal catches fire, so that the whole mine burns.”

“Why, miners must be as brave as soldiers,” said Wallace.

“Yes, I suppose they are brave. People do not know how much they owe to the miners. They risk their lives every time they go down into the mines. But they don’t think much about the danger. That is part of their work.”

“Thank you for telling me about it,” said Wallace.

“You are welcome, my boy; good-by.”

“Good-by, Mr. Carr.”

Wallace hurried home with a new respect for Mr. Carr and the men who work in the dark mines under the ground.

QUESTIONS

How does the coal man bring the coal to your house?

From whom does he buy it?

Pretend you are a piece of coal and tell the story of
your life.

Name some of the things which we would have to do
without if there were no miners or coal men.

Do you burn anything else at your house besides coal?

Are the men who supply us with these things our helpers
too?

Where does the wood man get kindling and firewood?

Where does the oil man get oil?

Will you ask for a book about pḗ-trō´lḗ-ŭm, or coal
oil, when you go to the library next time?

Can you think of any other people who supply us with
fuel?

STORIES ABOUT PEOPLE WHO CARE FOR OUR HEALTH

THE DENTIST

I. Why Ruth Was Afraid

“Oh, dear!” sobbed Ruth. “O—h, dear!” She was sitting in her little rocking-chair in the living-room.

“Why, what’s the matter?” asked Wallace, coming in to look for his books. “Are you hurt?”

“No;” Ruth shook her head.

“Well, then, what is it?”

“Oh, Wallace, I am so afraid I’m going to be hurt. Mother says there is a dark spot on one of my teeth. She is getting ready to take me to Doctor Harrison’s. I have never had a tooth filled.”

“Well, of all the silly things I ever heard of,” exclaimed Wallace, “that’s the silliest! What makes you think the dentist will hurt you?”

Ruth looked up in surprise.

“Haven’t you ever heard the boys and girls talk of how they were hurt when they had teeth filled?” she asked.

“Oh, I have heard some boys talk,” Wallace admitted; “but they were boys who never cleaned their teeth—”

“And who did not see a dentist until they had a toothache,” added Mrs. Duwell, overhearing Wallace’s remark as she entered the room.

“What, crying?” she asked, noticing Ruth’s swollen eye-lids. “Why, my dear little girl, the dentist is one of your best friends.”

“I guess some of the girls and boys would like him better if he didn’t hurt them so much, mother,” said Ruth.

“That isn’t the dentist’s fault, children,” said Mrs. Duwell. “If boys and girls had their teeth examined once or twice a year, the dentist would catch the trouble in time and save them much pain.”

“I don’t suppose dentists ever want to hurt anyone,” Ruth said.

“No, indeed. I think they are very kind to be willing to do so in order to save teeth. It is dreadful to have bad teeth. Nothing tastes just right; and worse than that, bad teeth mean bad health. Good teeth are a grist mill to grind our food. Without good teeth we cannot have good health.”

“That is so,” said Wallace. “Even horses aren’t worth much after their teeth are gone.”

“Why can’t they wear false ones?” asked Ruth with such seriousness that Wallace burst out laughing.

“I wish they could, poor things,” said her mother; “but come, dear, we must start.”

II. At the Dentist’s

“Ah, here is a little girl whose mouth looks as though she brushed her teeth regularly,” said Doctor Harrison, as he raised the big comfortable arm chair in which Ruth was sitting.

“She certainly is good about that, doctor,” said Mrs. Duwell.

“Even so,” said the doctor, “I think I shall give her one of my little picture cards.”

Ruth looked so pleased that he handed her two.

“One is for Wallace,” Ruth said.

“That picture is to remind forgetful children,” said the doctor. “Now let us look at the twenty-odd pearls in your mouth, little girl.”

* * * * *

“Oh, Wallace, Doctor Harrison didn’t hurt me a bit,” cried Ruth, running into the living-room after they had reached home. “He said that he didn’t often hurt people who came to him in time. Here is a card, he gave me for you.”

“Thank you,” said Wallace, looking at the card. “Oh, it’s to remind me to brush my teeth. I wonder if he thought I needed it.”

“No, Doctor Harrison didn’t say that, Wallace; but he did say that we wouldn’t want to eat anything with dirty hands, and that really dirty teeth are worse than dirty hands.”

QUESTIONS

Do you have your teeth examined once or twice a year?

The dentist is one of your best friends. Why?

Do you think that the people in the United States would
be as well as they are, if there were no dentists? Why
not?

Suppose you had a toothache and there was no dentist to
whom you could go. What would happen?

Aren’t you glad that there are men who have studied, so
that they can help you take care of your teeth?

* * * * *

Suppose we children had to live
Without the help of others—
I mean, suppose we had to grow
Without the help of mothers;

Suppose there were no groceryman,
No milkman, doctor, baker,
No tailor who could make our coats,
And there were no dressmaker;

Suppose no people ever did
The things that they could do
To help each other in this world—
I wouldn’t want to live, would you?

THE DRUGGIST, THE NURSE, AND THE DOCTOR

I. The Sick Baby

“Ruth, I wish you would stop at Doctor Marcy’s office on your way to school,” said Mrs. Duwell a few days later, “and ask him to come to see the baby. The little thing has a high fever.”

“Oh, dear, I hope baby won’t be sick!” exclaimed Ruth, kissing her mother good-by.

All the morning she remembered her mother’s troubled look. At noon she did not stop to talk with the girls, but hurried home as fast as she could.

Wallace was there before her, though, having run all the way. He met her at the door.

“Ruth,” he whispered, “I met Doctor Marcy as he came out, and he says that the baby has pneumonia,[B] and it is a bad case. Mother doesn’t know I am home. Can’t we get some lunch ready to take to her?”

“Yes, indeed,” replied Ruth, tiptoeing into the kitchen. “You put the kettle on the fire and I’ll make some tea and milk toast.”

Mrs. Duwell looked very pale and weary when the children appeared with the lunch tray.

“I didn’t know you were home, Ruth,” she whispered, stepping into the hall. “How quietly you must have worked, children.”

“Is there anything else we can do to help?” asked Wallace.

“Why, yes, there is, Wallace. You may take this pre-scrip-tion to the drug store to be filled. Ask the druggist to send the medicine over as soon as possible.”

Just then the baby gave a pitiful little moan, which made the mother turn again to the crib. The children stole softly downstairs.

“I’ll run right over to the drug store, Ruth,” Wallace said, forgetting his own lunch.

II. The Druggist

“Good morning, Mr. Jones,” he said breathlessly as he entered the store. “Baby is very ill, and mother wishes this prescription filled. She told me to ask if you would please send the medicine over just as soon as possible.”

“Baby sick? How sorry I am, Wallace,” said Mr. Jones. “Of course we will send it soon. I will see to it at once.”

“Oh, thank you.” Wallace drew a sigh of relief. “How much will it be, please?”

The druggist examined the queer Latin words of the doctor’s prescription. “This calls for one very expensive medicine, Wallace,” he said; “so we shall have to charge seventy-five cents.”

“That will be all right,” said Wallace.

When he reached home Ruth had a nice lunch spread for him.

“I am not going to school this afternoon, Wallace,” she told him. “I’m going to tidy up the house, and help mother.”

“Look at the clock, Ruth!” exclaimed Wallace suddenly, “I must start right away—the medicine will be seventy-five cents.”

“I will have the money ready,” said Ruth. “Good-by.”

The druggist’s boy came with the medicine a few minutes after Wallace left, and the baby was given the first dose at once.

When their father came the children had supper ready, but no one ate much.

“I am glad you can be so helpful, children,” he said.

III. The Trained Nurse

For five days the whole family did everything they knew to help save the baby’s life. Mr. Duwell was worried not only about the baby but about the children’s mother.

“I agree with the doctor that it would be much wiser to have a trained nurse,” he said on Saturday afternoon.

“But mother cannot bear the thought of letting anyone else take care of the baby,” said Ruth.

“I know that mother is a splendid nurse,” Mr. Duwell continued; “but a trained nurse knows all the best new methods of nursing, and could give much relief to mother, who is tired out.”

Just then the bell rang.

“It is the doctor,” said Ruth. Mr. Duwell went to the door, followed by the little girl.

The doctor was not alone. With him was a young lady. Ruth liked her at once; she seemed so quiet and strong, and looked so kind.

“How do you do, sir?” said Doctor Marcy to Mr. Duwell. “This is Miss Foster, a trained nurse. I am taking matters in my own hands, you see. That good wife of yours is entirely worn out.”

“I am pleased to meet Miss Foster and I am very much obliged to you for bringing her, doctor,” Mr. Duwell replied.

“It seems to me to be the very best thing to do. I have tried to persuade Mrs. Duwell to see things that way,” said the doctor.

“Oh, come upstairs, doctor,” called Mrs. Duwell, hearing the doctor’s voice; “I think baby is scarcely breathing.”

“Come,” said the doctor to the nurse, leading the way.

Mrs. Duwell was standing near the crib as they entered.

“This is the nurse I was talking about,” the doctor said, introducing Miss Foster, and turning to look at the baby.

“I am very glad—” Mrs. Duwell started to speak, but she fainted away before she could finish the sentence.

The nurse did not seem frightened. She laid Mrs. Duwell flat on the floor. After sprinkling cold water on her face, she held some smelling salts to her nose.

In a minute or two Mrs. Duwell opened her eyes. “I must have fainted,” she said; “I am so glad you were here, nurse. Doctor, how is baby?”

“About as I expected,” the doctor replied. “I believe the worst will be over to-night. Now, I want you to take this medicine which Miss Foster will give you, and lie down for a while. I expect to come back about ten o’clock to-night. Good-by; please obey Miss Foster’s orders,” he added.

“It is such a relief to my mind, doctor,” said Mr. Duwell, meeting him at the foot of the stairs, “to know that the nurse is here.”

“It is a relief,” replied the doctor. “If the strain had kept on much longer, Mrs. Duwell would have had a long term of illness.”

IV. The Doctor, a Hero

The doctor and nurse watched by the baby’s bedside until the danger was passed. Both wore happy smiles when the doctor assured the tired Duwell family that the baby would live.

“Oh, doctor, money cannot pay you for your kindness,” said Mrs. Duwell. “Through rain and snow storms, at midnight and at daybreak, you have come to help us. How tired you must often be.”

“It is true, doctor,” Mr. Duwell added; “you risk your life as willingly as a soldier does, every time you go into danger.”

“We doctors don’t think anything about that,” replied Doctor Marcy modestly. “We are so anxious to have people get well.”

“Why, doctors are heroes like soldiers!” exclaimed Wallace, looking at the doctor with new respect. “I never thought of that before!”

“Nurses are, too,” whispered Ruth; but Doctor Marcy overheard.

“That is right, Ruth,” he said. “Nurses are, too.”

QUESTIONS

The Druggist

How long does a druggist have to study in order to fill
prescriptions? Would it be safe to let those who have
not studied handle medicines? Why not?

How near is a drug store to your home? Can you imagine
how it would be to live ten miles from a drug store?

The Nurse

Can you give some reasons why a trained nurse can care
for a sick person better than an untrained one?

Do you know any trained nurses?

How long does a trained nurse study before graduation?

The Doctor

Did you ever need a doctor at your house?

How did you let him know? Did he come quickly?

What might have happened if he had not come?

Pretend, you are a country doctor and tell about some
of your long drives. Do you think doctors are heroes?
Why?

FOOTNOTE:

[B] Pronounced nū-mō´nē-ā.

ONE FOR ALL AND ALL FOR ONE

A Play

Parts to be taken by Pupils

_Section I_
Baker
Milkman
Butcher
Grocer
or others who supply food

_Section II_
Tailor
Dressmaker
Shoemaker
Milliner
or others who supply clothing

_Section III_
Bricklayer
Carpenter
Painter
Plumber
or others who supply shelter

_Section IV_
Coal man
Miner
Wood man
Oil man
or others who supply fuel

_Section V_
Doctor
Druggist
Nurse
or others who help keep us well

_Teacher to Sec. I._ What do you do?

_Baker._ I am the baker; I bake bread.

_Milkman._ I am the milkman; I supply the milk.

_Butcher._ I am the butcher; I supply the meat.

_Grocer._ I am the grocer; I sell groceries.

_Teacher._ Do you make clothing or build houses?

_Baker._ No, we supply food for all; that is our part.

* * * * *

_Teacher to Sec. II._ What do you do?

_Tailor._ I am the tailor; I make the clothing.

_Dressmaker._ I am the dressmaker; I make dresses.

_Shoemaker._ I am the shoemaker; I make shoes.

_Milliner._ I am the milliner; I make the hats.

_Teacher._ Do you supply food or fuel?

_Tailor._ No, we make clothing for all; that is our part.

* * * * *

_Teacher to Sec. III._ What do you do?

_Bricklayer._ I am the bricklayer; I lay the bricks.

_Carpenter._ I am the carpenter; I build the houses.

_Painter._ I am the painter; I paint the houses.

_Plumber._ I am the plumber; I fit the pipes.

_Teacher._ Do you make clothes or attend the sick?

_Bricklayer._ No, we build houses for all; that is our part.

* * * * *

_Teacher to Sec. IV._ And what do you do?

_Coal man._ I am the coal man; I deliver the coal.

_Miner._ I am the miner; I dig the coal.

_Wood man._ I am the wood man; I cut the wood.

_Oil man._ I am the oil man; I supply oil.

_Teacher._ Do you supply food or clothing?

_Coalman._ No, we furnish fuel; that is our part.

* * * * *

_Teacher to Sec. V._ And what do you do?

_Doctor._ I am the doctor; I heal the sick.

_Druggist._ I am the druggist; I sell medicines.

_Nurse._ I am the nurse; I help the doctor.

_Teacher._ Do you build houses or furnish fuel?

_Doctor._ No, we keep people well, or aid them when they are ill; that is our part.

* * * * *

_All recite:_

One works for all and all for one,
And so the work of the world gets done.