Chapter VIII: Part II: Stories About Our Public Servants

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

FACE EVERY EMERGENCY WITHOUT FEAR AND HELP THOSE IN NEED OR DANGER]

THE POLICEMAN

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

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

Could we do without these splendid public servants one day?

THE POLICEMAN AND THE RUNAWAY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What do you suppose his second question was?

“Is Bob all right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

EVERYBODY’S FRIEND

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

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

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

WHAT THE POLICEMAN DOES FOR US

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

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

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

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

The policeman prevents accidents from fallen wires, holes in the
street and pavement, broken store windows, runaways, and other
dangers.

The policeman regulates traffic at street corners and busy
crossings. He protects foot-passengers from horses, automobiles,
and street-cars. He sees timid people and children safely across
the street, and gives information to strangers who are not familiar
with the city.

The policeman renders first-aid.

If any one is sick or injured on the streets, he calls the
ambulance, sends for the doctor, and renders first-aid himself
until help arrives. When children or older people are lost or
missing, it is the policeman’s duty to help find them.

Any person in trouble on the street will find a friendly helper in
the nearest policeman. His duty is to guard the safety and comfort
of all the citizens of his city, to protect them and their homes
at all times, so that they can be free to go about their business
without fear of harm.

HOW WE MAY AID THE POLICEMAN

We should treat him with the respect due to an officer. When speaking to him, we should always address him in a courteous manner as “Mr. Officer,” or “Mr. Policeman.”

We should obey his directions when on the street and at the crossings. These are given for our safety, and not because he likes to order us about.

We should notify him at once in case of theft, fire, or danger of any kind. If we cannot find the officer on the beat at once, we should notify the police station. If we do this by telephone, we should call the operator and ask for “Police.”

We should regard the policeman as a friend, and be ready to aid him at all times in the performance of his duty.

Can you tell a story about the lost child?]

DO THE DUTY WHICH LIES NEAREST NOR PAUSE TO THINK OF SELF]

THE FIREMAN

DUTIES OF A FIREMAN

1. In case of fire:

Protect life and property.

Make speedy rescues and convey persons to places of safety.

Extinguish fires and prevent their spreading to other property.

2. When buildings collapse:

Rescue persons and recover bodies.

Clear away débris and remove weak and dangerous parts of buildings.

THE STORY OF A FIRE

I

JACK GIVES THE ALARM

Jack Hillman was a newspaper carrier before breakfast, a school-boy after breakfast, and his mother’s right-hand man generally.

On the morning of this story, Jack had finished his newspaper route--all but three papers. It was about six o’clock and daylight was just breaking through the dampness and fog. The place was a quiet back street of three-story houses.

As Jack passed the third house from the end of the row, he happened to glance at the cellar window. A thin wisp of smoke-like vapor was slipping out between the sash and the frame of the window.

“It must be fog or steam,” thought Jack to himself.

He watched it a moment, and then ran to the window. It came out in a thicker volume. Quickly he stooped down and put his nose into it.

“It’s smoke! It’s smoke!” he cried, and peered in. The whole cellar was full of smoke.

Jack looked up and down the quiet street. No one was in sight. Something must be done quickly. He ran up the steps of the house, pounded on the door with his fist and pushed the bell button; but no one answered.

Then he ran down the middle of the street and began to cry:

FIRE! FIRE! FIRE!

By this time the smoke was pouring out of the cellar window thicker than ever.

A man put his head out of a door half way up the block. Jack ran to him and pointed back to the smoke.

Just then he remembered the red fire-alarm box on the next corner. In his excitement he did not think about telephoning.

“You get the people up!” cried Jack to the man. “I’ll turn in the alarm!” And he ran as he had never run before.

It seemed miles to the alarm box; but, as a matter of fact, he was not more than two minutes in reaching it.

Jack had never turned in an alarm, but he had often read the directions beside the little square of glass on the red alarm box

To give alarm
break glass
open door
pull hook down once
and let go.]

Jack looked about for a stone to break the glass; but there was no loose stone in that smooth-paved street.

Using his elbow for a hammer, as he had often done before, he struck the glass a sharp blow.

Crash went the thin glass to the pavement, and the little handle was in reach. Grasping it firmly, Jack turned it to the right and the red door flew open. Inside he saw a long curved slot and a knob or hook at the top of it, and the directions:

“Pull the hook all the way down and let go.”

For a moment Jack was frightened. Perhaps there wasn’t any fire after all, and to turn in a false alarm was against the law. Hesitating, he looked about for help; but the street was empty.

“But the house is on fire; I saw it; I know it,” he said to himself.

Trembling with excitement, Jack pulled the hook to the bottom of the slot and let go:

Instantly the bell began to ring: Ting-a-ling! Ting-a-ling-a-ling! Hurrah--the alarm was in!

Again, Jack looked up and down the street. To his relief, he saw his friend the policeman on the beat, about a block away, hurrying towards him.

Quickly Jack told his story. “Good work, Jack, good work! You stay right here and direct the firemen where to go;” and the policeman vanished around the corner on a run to the fire.

Still the bell in the box was ringing merrily, but no firemen were to be seen. “Will they never come?” thought Jack. It seemed hours to wait. Clang! clang! a little red automobile came dashing down the street. As a matter of fact, it was just three minutes since Jack had “pulled the box.”

Jack knew the man in the car--one of his heroes, the battalion chief. Right behind came engine number 29, smoking and puffing, and hosecart number 21, and ladder-truck number 12, crowded with men. The clanging gongs echoing through the quiet street sounded like sweet music to the anxious boy.

“Right around the corner, Seventh and Poplar!” shouted Jack, pointing the way and not waiting for the question.

“Seventh and Poplar! Seventh and Poplar!” he cried, as they dashed by; and then, his duty done, he ran after them.

II

AT THE FIRE

When Jack arrived, breathless and panting right after the firemen, he saw that the fire was spreading so rapidly that the whole house was in danger. The cellar was blazing and smoke was pouring out of the first and second story windows.

On the order to “search the house,” three firemen broke the door open and rushed in to search for the occupants and bring them to safety. As they entered, a thick volume of smoke came pouring out.

Already the hosemen were shooting great streams of water into the cellar. The chief in command was giving his orders in a quick, cool voice, the men obeying them almost before they were issued. There was no confusion; every man knew exactly what to do and did it.

“Is there anybody in the house?” inquired Jack eagerly of the man who lived half way up the block.

“I hardly think so; I pounded the door and shouted with all my might until the firemen came, but could not make anybody hear. Nobody seems to know whether the family is home or not,” he replied.

Just then the chief cried, “Look out! here comes Jim!” Through the flames and the stream of water one of the firemen dashed out, his clothing afire with sparks, and his coat tightly wrapped over something in his arms. He would have fallen had not the chief caught him.

Quickly the men smothered the fire on his clothing. Then he opened his coat. Inside was a plump baby, safe and clean in its little nightgown, just as it came out of its crib.

How the crowd cheered when they saw it! A woman broke through the fire lines. The brave fireman quickly placed the rescued baby in her arms and started for the doorway again; but the chief grasped him by the arm.

“You can’t go back, Jim! Stay here!” he ordered.

“There are a woman and two children in there; let me go!” cried Jim, pulling away from the chief.

“Shorty and Charlie can take care of them. You stay here!” commanded the chief. His practiced eye told him that no man, however brave, could go in through that blazing doorway and come out again alive.

The chief anxiously scanned the upper windows for signs of the two men who were inside, heroically fighting their way with the woman and children to the upper floors for safety.

Suddenly a whole third-story window was wrenched out with a crash of broken glass.

“There they are! There they are!” shouted the crowd.

Charlie was leaning out of the window, and beside him a woman was waving her arms wildly and shrieking, “Help! Help! Help!”

“Make a rescue!” ordered the chief.

“Rescue!” repeated the firemen.

Already the laddermen had their long three-story ladder standing erect in the air; and almost before its top swung against the window-sill a ladderman was nimbly running up, hand over hand, and a second man was following him.

Charlie could be seen lifting a small boy out of the window into the arms of the first ladderman, who quickly carried him down to safety, while the crowd hurrahed.

Now those who could see well had an interesting exhibit of one way in which a fireman carries a person down a ladder. The second ladderman grasped firmly each upright of the ladder, while Charlie lifted out a twelve-year-old girl and laid her across the life-saver’s bent arms.

Carefully he began to descend with his burden, step by step, while the mother watched fearfully out of the window, and the people below held their breath.

In less time than it takes to tell it, he reached the bottom. The people shouted in relief, and a voice cried, “All the children are saved! Hurrah!”

As the fireman again quickly ascended the ladder, the woman was seen to topple over. She had fainted when she knew that the children were safe.

In a few seconds the ladderman stood at the top, his arms bent and braced as before. Quickly Charlie laid across them a long bundle. It was the unconscious mother wrapped in a blanket. Swiftly, yet cautiously he came down.

It is no easy task to carry a heavy woman down a three-story ladder, with smoke blinding the eyes and fire scorching the face and hands. But the life-saver on the ladder does not think of that. His only thought is to save life and to put out the fire.

Soon the ladderman reached the ground and tender hands relieved him of his charge.

III

THE RESCUE OF SHORTY

“Where’s Shorty?” asked the chief of the man who had just come down.

“He’s ‘all in’; lying up there on the floor unconscious. Charlie is ready to keel over, too,” he replied.

“I’ll bring Shorty down,” cried Dick, a fireman who heard the chief’s question.

As he sprang up the ladder the chief shouted up after him, “Tell Charlie to come down, Dick!”

Meanwhile, the smoke began to pour out of the rescue window at the top of the ladder, and the fire was creeping slowly up through the wooden floors, in spite of the heroic efforts of the fire-fighters. Charlie had disappeared from the window. There was not a second to lose.

As Shorty’s rescuer reached the top of the ladder, the watchers saw him jump through the smoke into the window. In a moment, he was seen pushing Charlie toward the ladder and urging him to go down; but Charlie wouldn’t budge.

“He won’t come down without Shorty,” muttered a fireman.

“Come down, Charlie! Come down!” shouted up the chief, using his hands as a trumpet.

Obeying orders, Charlie climbed out of the window on to the ladder and began slowly and painfully to descend, like a man in a daze. The smoke and flames poured out of the windows and scorched his flesh and clothing, while the firemen below played a stream of water between him and the wall for protection, and shouted words of encouragement.

His comrades reached up for him as he neared the bottom; and it is well they did, for brave Charlie could stand no more and fell unconscious into their arms. They carried him to a safe place and used first-aid treatment.

Now the citizens outside the fire lines were to see what their firemen were capable of in an emergency; a thrilling deed that takes strength, courage, presence of mind and all the qualities of true manhood to perform--the rescue of Shorty.

Through the smoke they saw Dick climb out of the window on to the ladder--but not alone. Hanging suspended over Dick’s back was the unconscious Shorty, his arms around Dick’s neck, with wrists securely tied in front.

In this manner Dick began to descend, rung by rung, bearing his heavy load. The wicked flames shot out from the windows, and the suffocating smoke almost hid the men from view. Breathless, the people watched them on the slender ladder, high in the air, surrounded by smoke and flame, one man unconscious, a dead weight on the other man’s back.

The only sounds heard were the crackling of the flames and the swish of the water as it played and sizzled on the fire. Then the silence was broken by a great crash--one of the floors had fallen in.

But Dick came quickly down, lower and lower, nearer and nearer to safety. What if his hands and face were scorching and his clothes catching fire, his heart did not flinch. To save life--that is the fireman’s first duty, and well was Dick performing it.

But Dick was not thinking of that; he had only one thought--to get Shorty to the foot of the ladder and safely off his back.

A few steps more and the deed was done. Upstretched hands supported him; his feet touched the ground--Shorty was saved.

Then the people cheered and cheered again; and well they might, for they had witnessed a thing that makes every heart beat high with pride--the speedy rescue of lives by heroes who freely risk their own in the performance of duty.

By this time the efforts of the firemen began to tell; the water began to conquer the flames, the fire was soon under control, and the danger was over.

The chief, who now had time to look about him, spied Jack at the fire line.

“Come here,” he called.

Jack came running, proud to be thus singled out.

“Hello,” he said, “you are the boy who turned in the alarm, aren’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Jack.

“Go to school?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good work, my boy, good work! Come around to the fire station and see me after school today.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Jack.

For the first time since the excitement began, Jack realized that he still had three papers under his arm undelivered. These he delivered quickly, and ran home to tell his mother all about the fire.

HOW TO HELP THE FIREMAN

1. The telephone is usually the best and quickest means of sending in an alarm. When a fire breaks out run to the nearest telephone.

2. Call the operator and tell her where the fire is, giving the street and number. Do not say, “Come up to my house quick.” The telephone operator will call the nearest fire station at once.

3. Locate the fire alarm box near your home. If you cannot reach a telephone quickly, ring the box in case of fire.

4. Stay near the box when it has been pulled for fire in order to direct the firemen.

5. Stay on the sidewalk when engines are going by.

6. Send in the alarm quickly if you discover a fire. The fire department is ready at all times to respond to fires within thirty seconds after any alarm is sent in. Delay in sending in an alarm is responsible for nearly every large fire that occurs. When there is snow on the ground or the run is up hill, the department must be notified quickly to be of any service.

7. Have two six-quart pails always handy.

8. Use fire-proof metal cans for waste.

9. Look for exits in halls and public buildings.

* * * * *

Fire is a good servant, but a bad master.

It is the patriotic duty of every American citizen to prevent fires. Why?

DON’TS FOR YOUR OWN PROTECTION

1. Don’t go into closets with a lighted match to look for clothing. Why?

2. Don’t use kerosene oil to kindle fires in stoves.

3. Don’t put hot ashes into wooden boxes. Why?

4. Don’t allow lace curtains near gas brackets.

5. Don’t allow oily rags near stoves or about the house.

6. Don’t keep matches in paper boxes or lying about carelessly. Use a covered metal box.

7. Don’t forget that matches are the beginning of many fires.

8. Don’t hang clothing near open fires or stoves.

9. Don’t fill lamps after dark, and never when lighted.

10. Don’t allow rubbish to collect in hallways or on fire escapes.

11. Don’t burn leaves and dead grass on windy days.

12. Don’t fail to look twice at everything that looks like fire. Every day is fire prevention day.

QUESTIONS

Have you ever visited a fire house? Tell about it.

When a fire occurs out in the country where there is no fire
department, what has to be done?

Why is it necessary to have a fire department in the cities?

Can you think of some way in which fires start?

How can we prevent fires?

If you discovered a fire, what would you do?

What do you think of a person who would turn in a false alarm?

Do you have a fire drill in your school?

IN SUNSHINE OR IN RAIN,
IN SNOW OR WINDY GALE,
OUR FAITHFUL POSTMAN COMES AGAIN
AND BRINGS TO US OUR MAIL]

Every boy and girl is saved many a long tramp by the faithful services of the postmen. How?

Did you ever stop to think that we may help the postmen:

by addressing letters properly;

by writing plainly in addressing letters;

by placing the stamp in the upper _right-hand_ corner;

by answering the bell promptly for the postman; or, better,

by saving time for the postman by having a mail-box.

HOW THE MAIL IS DELIVERED

I

UNCLE CHARLES WRITES FROM ALASKA

“There is the postman’s whistle,” said Mrs. Cameron.

Edith hurried to the door, for a letter was expected from Uncle Charles, who was in Alaska. Soon she scampered back into the room, waving an envelope in her hand. “Is it from Uncle Charles?” she asked, as she handed the letter to her mother.

“Yes,” replied Mrs. Cameron, having opened the envelope, “it is from your uncle.”

Grandpa, Mr. Cameron, and Edith prepared to listen; for receiving a letter from Uncle Charles was always a very interesting event. The letter was as follows:

FORT YUKON, ALASKA, July 4, 19--.

MY DEAR SISTER: Even in far-off Alaska this is a holiday, although
it is not such a day as you are having in Boston. This morning some
of the men fired off revolvers and rifles; but as there are few
children in the camp, we have no fireworks.

Fort Yukon is on the Yukon River, about six hundred fifty miles
from the mouth, and almost exactly on the Arctic Circle. The fort
was established by an agent of the Hudson Bay Company one hundred
sixty years ago, but it is still a small place.

Although we lack many things, we have one thing that Boston people
do not have--sunshine night and day; that is, at this time of the
year. It would seem very strange to you to see the sun shining at
midnight; but that is what we see here on June twenty-first. During
the winter we see the sun but a short time each day.

The summer weather is warm and pleasant, and our gardens grow
rapidly. But the summer season is short, and we cannot grow many
things which need a long time to ripen. The winters are long and
bitterly cold. At a few feet below the surface the ground is frozen
all of the year.

This letter will leave here to-morrow morning on a little steamboat
and go down the Yukon to its mouth, and from there to St. Michael,
where the mail will be transferred to a larger ship. That ship
will carry it to Seattle, and it will then be carried across the
continent by a swift railway train.

About the middle of October the river will freeze and remain frozen
until about the first of May. Probably you will not hear from me
more than once or twice during that time, for our winter mail
trains are slow because they are drawn by dogs.

A team often consists of six or seven dogs hitched tandem. They
come in from Valdez, far to the south. The trail follows the
ice-covered rivers and lakes and crosses high mountains.

There is always great excitement when the mail reaches Fort Yukon.

Our nearest telegraph station is at Rampart, more than one hundred
fifty miles southwest; so you see we are shut off from the rest of
the world.

I must tell you how the mail is delivered between Kotzebue and
Point Barrow. Kotzebue is west of this place, on the coast, and
Point Barrow is on the Arctic coast. A Mr. S. R. Spriggs has a
contract with the United States government to carry the mail. This
he does during the winter by means of reindeer. The route is about
two hundred fifty miles long.

I expect to receive a letter from you by the next boat that comes
in. Tell Edith that I am looking for a letter from her, also. With
much love,

Your brother,
CHARLES.

“I hope that you will never go to Alaska, papa,” said Edith, when her mother had finished reading the letter.

“Why?” asked Mr. Cameron.

“Because we should have to wait so long for letters from you,” replied the little girl. “I don’t see how people can get along without having mail once a day at least. The postman comes here three times a day, you know. Uncle wrote his letter on July fourth, and this is August second.”

II

EARLY MAIL CARRIERS

“Perhaps,” said grandpa, taking Edith upon his lap, “I can tell you a story about the delivery of mail.”

“Oh, please do!” said Edith.

“The custom of sending messages from person to person has been followed for thousands of years,” began grandpa. “We read in the Bible of a letter which King David wrote from the city of Jerusalem to one of his generals named Joab. This letter was placed in the hands of a messenger who carried it to the general.

“There were no trains in those days and so all letters were delivered by men on foot, men on horseback, or by carrier pigeons.”

“By carrier pigeons!” cried Edith. “How could a pigeon carry a message?”

“The birds were trained when young,” replied her grandpa. “They were taken a short distance from home and then set free. The pigeons would of course fly home. The next time they were taken a greater distance. This training was repeated many times, the distance always being increased.

“A man going on a long journey would sometimes take several pigeons with him. When he wished to send a message home it was fastened to one of the birds, which was then set free.

“The carrying of messages was established for the use of kings and others of high rank. In time the common people began to send letters by post, or messengers. You have often heard the expression ‘post haste.’ Years ago, people in England used to write on their letters, ‘haste, haste, post haste.’

“In early colonial days, the colonists were anxious to hear from home, which in most cases meant England.

“When a ship from the mother country landed on our shores, there were always people waiting to see if it brought them news from the loved ones left behind. Some of the letters were not called for. These the captain of the vessel took to the nearest coffee-house where their owners called for them.

“As the country was settled, men were employed to carry the mail between the different towns and cities. Usually the postmen did not start out until they had letters enough to pay the expenses of the trip. They would carry packages and even lead horses from town to town in order to earn a little money. It is said that one Pennsylvania postman used to knit mittens and stockings as he jogged along.

“The first regular mail service between Boston and New York was established in 1673. The round trip in the winter required about a month.

“As late as 1704 there was no regular postoffice west of Philadelphia. In 1775 the colonists appointed Benjamin Franklin as postmaster-general, paying him a salary of one thousand dollars a year.”

III

POSTAGE STAMPS

“Here,” continued grandpa, “is a letter that I received yesterday from Lynn, only a few miles away; you see that there is a two-cent stamp upon it. Please bring me Uncle Charles’ letter.”

Edith ran to the table and returned with the letter.

“You see,” said grandpa, “that this letter also bears a two-cent stamp, although it was carried several thousand miles. Did you ever see letters that came from a foreign country?”

“Oh, yes,” answered Edith; “sometimes they have five-cent stamps on them.”

“In 1792,” continued grandpa, “the Congress of the United States fixed the rate of postage in this country. In some cases it cost ten cents to send a letter only a short distance. The cost depended upon how thickly settled the country was, as well as upon the nature of the roads.

“Although, in the days of our early history, people paid for having their letters delivered, there were no postage stamps in use. The charges were generally paid by the person who received the letter. The amount due was stamped on the outside.

“In 1834 James Chalmers, at Dundee, Scotland, made the first adhesive stamps.”

“What are adhesive stamps?” asked Edith.

“They are stamps that are made to adhere or stick to the envelopes by moistening them,” her grandpa replied.

“In 1847 the United States government commenced issuing postage stamps. Before this time, some of the postmasters were allowed to make stamps; but this is not permitted today. At first only five and ten cent stamps were made by the government. The five-cent stamps bore the head of Franklin, while the head of Washington appeared upon the ten-cent stamps.

“In 1885 special delivery stamps were issued. These cost ten cents each. When a special delivery stamp is placed upon a letter it is delivered by a special messenger from the postoffice.

“Another interesting thing about letters written many years ago is that they were not placed in envelopes.”

“Why not?” asked Edith, in great surprise.

“Because,” replied grandpa, “there were no envelopes. When a letter was finished it was folded into the form of an envelope and fastened by means of sealing wax.”

IV

THE PONY EXPRESS

“You know,” he continued, “that our mails are now carried across the country on fast railroad trains. A letter can be sent from Boston to San Francisco, a distance of over three thousand miles, in about four days. But when I was a young man there were no railroads in the far West, and the mails traveled very slowly.

“In those days many people were moving into the western country, and they felt the need of a better mail service. Some wealthy men talked the matter over and decided to use swift ponies to carry the mails. So in 1860 they planned the Pony Express.

“This was a very daring thing to do, because those were the days of Indians and outlaws, and the brave riders would have to meet many dangers.

“The ponies with their riders traveled between the town of St. Joseph, Missouri, and San Francisco, a distance of nearly two thousand miles. About eighty riders and over four hundred horses were needed.

“The riders rode day and night, stopping only to change horses at the stations along the route. Every seventy-five miles the mail was turned over to a fresh rider on a fresh horse, who carried it on to the next stopping place. The mail was carried in a sort of blanket with pockets in the corners which were locked and unlocked by the station keepers.

“At noon on April 3, 1860, the start was made from each end of the line. The first trip was made in ten days. Later, it took but eight or nine days. President Lincoln’s first inaugural address was carried in seven days and seventeen hours.

“For some time the postage was five dollars for a half ounce, but later it was reduced to one dollar.

“The longest ride was made by William F. Cody, afterwards known as ‘Buffalo Bill,’ who was then but fifteen years of age. The boy rode steadily for nearly thirty-six hours, covering a distance of three hundred and eighty miles. During all of that long ride he stopped for only one meal.

“The Pony Express was kept up for less than two years, for in October, 1861, a telegraph line connecting the East with the West was finished, making it easy to send messages across the continent by wire.”

V

THE MAILS OF TO-DAY

“The postal service has grown and improved wonderfully in our country,” continued grandpa. “At first the mail was carried by men on horseback, then by stage-coaches, and now by trains.

“Formerly, people went to the nearest postoffice for their mail; now, in all cities, the mail is delivered by postmen, just as the letter from Uncle Charles was delivered to-day.

“In almost all parts of the country there is a rural free delivery. By the roadside in front of each farmer’s house is a mail-box, having the name of the owner upon it.

“A letter carrier drives through the neighborhood with the mail. When he leaves mail in a box he raises a little signal which is attached to it in such a way that it can be seen from the farmhouse. This, you see, takes the place of the postman’s whistle.

“To-day, some trains are given up entirely to the carrying of mail, and all passenger trains that cross the continent carry tons of mail. Not only is the mail carried on trains, but it can be posted on them as well. It is also sorted on the mail-cars; and sacks of mail are thrown off the mail-car and others taken on while the train is going at full speed.”

“I don’t see how mail can be put on a train when it is in motion,” said Edith.

“Beside the track, at the places where mail is to be exchanged, there is a post of wood or iron,” said grandpa. “Fastened to the post there are two cross-arms as far apart as a mail-sack is long. A sack is suspended on hooks between these arms.

“Beside the door of each mail-car there is an arm, or hook of iron. Just before the mail-car reaches the spot where a mail-bag is hanging, the mail clerk inside the car raises this arm. As the train rushes by, the arm pulls the sack from the hooks and holds it.

“The sack is then opened by the mail clerk, and its contents sorted. At the same time that the sack is taken on board, another sack is thrown from the door of the car.

“In 1790 there were but seventy postoffices in the United States. In 1916 the number had increased to over 56,000.

“Our wonderful postal system makes it possible for us to send letters to any part of the civilized world. If properly addressed and stamped they are almost certain to reach their owners safely and promptly, just as Uncle Charles’ letter came all the way from the Arctic Circle to our door.”

--_From “How We Travel,” by James F. Chamberlain_ (_adapted_).

QUESTIONS

I

How many of you like to receive a letter?

Did you ever think how wonderful it is that such a little thing as
a letter can travel thousands of miles and find its owner within a
certain time?

What kind of “ticket” must your letter have in order to reach its
owner?

What does it cost to mail a letter to-day?

After you stamp your letter and drop it into the postbox, what
happens next?

How often is mail collected from your nearest box?

Where is it taken?

Do you know where the sub-station for your neighborhood is?

To what place is your letter taken from the sub-station?

How does it travel?

How are the mails sorted on trains?

When your letter reaches the city where its owner lives, who helps
to find its owner?

II

How often does the postman deliver mail in your neighborhood?

Is your postman an honest, punctual, careful man? Why should he be?

Is his work easy? Why not?

Is the life of a rural letter carrier easy?

Tell something about parcel post.

III

Did you ever visit the postoffice?

What did you see?

Why do the clerks have to be careful?

Why are stamps cancelled?

Imagine that you are a letter traveling from one person to another
and tell about your journey. Did you go by train or airplane?

Can you tell something about mail service by airplane?

In many cities blockmen in white uniforms are required to be constantly at work in certain fixed areas from 7 A. M. to 6 P. M., except during the winter months, when their hours are from 7 A. M. to 5 P. M.

* * * * *

Should not every boy and girl be glad to help such faithful public servants as the street cleaners?

* * * * *

When our streets are clean and neat,
More healthful is the air and sweet;
More beautiful our city.

BEN FRANKLIN’S OWN STORY ABOUT PHILADELPHIA STREETS

Benjamin Franklin wrote a story about himself for his son to read. In this story, or autobiography, he tells a great deal about the streets of Philadelphia in 1755. As may be imagined, they were very unlike the streets of that city to-day.

You may read below in his own words, which seem quite old-fashioned and quaint to us now, what he says:

“Our city, though laid out with a beautiful regularity, the streets large, straight, and crossing each other at right angles, had the disgrace of suffering those streets to remain long unpaved.

“In wet weather the wheels of heavy carriages plowed them into quagmire, so that it was difficult to cross them; and in dry weather the dust was offensive.

“I had lived near what was called the Jersey Market, and saw with pain the inhabitants wading in mud while purchasing their provisions.

“A strip of ground down the middle of the market was at length paved with bricks, so that being once in the market, they had firm footing; but were often over shoes in dirt to get there.

“By talking and writing on the subject, I was at length instrumental in getting the streets paved with stone between the market and the brick foot pavement that was on the side next the houses.

“This for some time gave an easy access to the market dry-shod; but the rest of the street, not being paved, whenever a carriage came out of the mud upon this pavement, it shook off and left dirt upon it, and the pavement was soon covered with mire, which was not removed, the city as yet having no street-cleaners.

“After some inquiry I found a poor, industrious man who was willing to undertake to keep the pavement clean by sweeping it twice a week, carrying off the dirt from before all the neighbor’s doors, for the sum of sixpence per month, to be paid by each house.”

The people soon saw how much better it was to have clean streets. Franklin’s arrangement for sweeping them finally led to the paving and regular cleaning of the principal streets.

* * * * *

Does it not seem strange that the great cities of the country once had the same troubles that any little village in the United States has to-day?

Why is the rubbish in this cellar a source of danger to the people who live in the house?

Why is it dangerous for the entire city?

YOU AND YOUR STREETS

I

To-day it is a common sight to see the street cleaners. Many men are at work from sunrise to sunset, cleaning away the dirt and helping to make our city healthful and pleasant to live in.

From whom does the money come to pay these men? It is not from the mayor or those who are in charge of the work. The money really is paid by the people who own property in the city. The men working for the city are public servants. They are working for every man and woman, for every boy and girl in the city.

There is a word much in use nowadays. It is “coöperation.” It means working together. Have you ever seen a group of men help push a heavily loaded wagon? They all push together in the same direction, and the horses pull at the same time, and so they get the wagon started on its way. This is coöperation, or working together.

Everybody should want clean streets and well-kept sidewalks. They mean a more beautiful city, and what is better, a more healthful city.

We know there must be a successful coöperation if we ever are to have a clean city. Now, coöperation means that every one must do his or her share.

Hundreds of boys and girls used the streets this morning on their way to school. Many of them will play on these same streets this afternoon.

Children are entitled to clean streets, but they must be willing to coöperate with the Bureau of Street Cleaning in order to get them. Do you know how they can do this?

II

Two kinds of dirt soil our city streets--that which is the result of daily traffic and that which comes from carelessness.

If there were only the dirt which comes from the use of the streets, the paid cleaners could easily remove it. Most of the dirt, however, comes because people do not think or care. One little piece of paper, a banana peel, an apple core--how trifling they seem! Yet, suppose each boy and girl of thousands of boys and girls should forget, and should throw something into the street, how littered the streets would be!

The most important of all the things we can do is to remember. “But if I remember and some one else forgets, what then?” you ask. Why, simply remind that person.

The streets of the city belong more to the boys and girls than to the grown folks, because they will use them longer.

If this city is our home, we should keep the streets clean; for the streets are like the hallways of the home, and everyone likes to have a clean home.

Every time we go to school, to the store, to church or Sunday-school, or out to play, we go on the street. The streets are as important as the houses. We could not have our city consist entirely of streets, nor could we have it consist entirely of houses.

Many things have to be built and used together, or in coöperation, to make a city.

III

All over the country, boys and girls are coöperating with grown people and with city governments in the fight for good, clean streets. Boys and girls are remembering and reminding--they are street inspectors keeping watch over what is their own.

They are learning about these things and thinking about them; when they grow up, they will know how such work should be done.

They are getting their parents interested in the fight for clean streets.

They are seeing that the paper from their own homes is tied up so that it will not blow over the streets, that ashes are not piled up in boxes, and that covers are kept on garbage pails.

There are many ways in which they can help. They can see that papers are thrown in the waste cans, or in cans in the school-yard. When they buy candy they can remember not to throw the wrappers in the street.

* * * * *

Can you tell why clean, well-paved streets make it easier to have cleaner houses and cleaner clothes and better health?

As you go home notice something that you think will bring about an improvement in the condition of your streets.

EQUIPMENT OF STREET CLEANERS

A large city street-cleaning department uses:

Sprinkling wagons, flushing machines, machine brooms, dirt wagons and carts, rubbish wagons, tightly-built ash wagons, covered garbage wagons.

The workmen needed are: drivers, collectors and cleaners.

All employees should be required to wear uniforms and numbered badges.

Each “blockman” is usually provided with the following:

A bag carrier, bags, scraper, broom, sprinkler, fire-hydrant key, shovel, tools.

QUESTIONS

All sweepings are placed in dust-proof bags. Why?

Sweepings are not allowed to remain in piles on the street. Why?

Snow, ice, and mud should be removed from street crossings,
fire hydrants, sewer inlets, and footways of public bridges in
reasonable time. Why?

HOW WE MAY HELP KEEP THE STREETS CLEAN

We may all help to keep the streets of our city clean if we observe the following “Don’ts”:

1. Don’t fail to keep all rubbish in tight receptacles, or to tie it securely into bundles. Why?

2. Don’t fail to use tight metal receptacles for ashes.

3. Don’t forget to leave at least three inches of clear space at the top of receptacle to prevent the contents from being spilled or blown into the street.

4. Don’t fail to provide a covered, leak-proof metal can for garbage, and to keep it covered at all times.

5. Don’t sweep or throw dirt, rubbish, waste-paper, grass-cuttings, fruit-peelings, or anything else into the street. Put them in tight rubbish receptacles or tie them into bundles to be taken up by the collector.

6. Don’t forget that all dirt or rubbish, and every scrap of paper carelessly thrown into the street must later be picked up and removed, and that the taxpayer must pay for having this done. Why?

QUESTIONS

How do streets become dirty?

Who pays for having these city hallways cleaned?

How can every boy and girl help reduce the taxes?

How can each become a street-cleaning inspector?

How often in a week is your street cleaned?

Why is the work in crowded districts done at night, except in
severe weather?

Will you try to coöperate with the street cleaner to keep the
streets of your city clean? How?

AWAY WITH MENACES TO HEALTH!

THROW WASTE AWAY BUT NEVER WASTE!

THAT IS THE SUREST ROAD TO WEALTH]

In some of the cities of the Far East, animals are depended upon as garbage collectors. Hungry dogs and cats, and in some places, even pigs, rove the streets, picking up for food the refuse which is thrown out.

It is no wonder that dreadful diseases break out among the people, is it? How unhealthful our own cities would be if we had no garbage collectors.

* * * * *

What is garbage?

How does the garbage collector help the street cleaner?

Why is the garbage collector one of our important city servants?

WHAT THE GARBAGE CAN TOLD ROBERT

I

One day as Robert was going through the kitchen, he heard his mother talking to the maid. “Nora,” she said, “I wish that you would be careful to keep the garbage can covered.” Robert hurried away to school and thought no more about it.

That night, after he fell asleep, he dreamed that he was visiting at his cousin’s house. He thought that he was going down the back steps when suddenly he heard a weak little voice.

“Oh, dear,” it was saying, “I feel so wretched! Oh, dear! can you get a doctor, please?”

Robert looked around, but there was nothing in sight.

“Oh, dear, oh, dear!” came the weak little voice again. “Oh, can’t somebody help me!”

“Why, who’s talking?” asked Robert. “I don’t see anybody. I’d like to help you, if I knew who you were.”

“It’s I--Garbage Can,” answered the voice. “Here I am--look down, please.”

Robert looked down, and there sure enough stood the garbage can, which he had failed to notice, looking up at him. You can imagine how surprised he was.

“Why, I didn’t know you could talk!” he exclaimed.

“If you knew how miserable I feel, you would not bother about that, but would take off my lid,” said the garbage can.

Then Robert saw how really ill the garbage can looked.

“You poor thing!” he exclaimed; “why, certainly I will lift your lid if that will help you.” As he raised the cover, a loaf of stale bread, a pork chop, and some apple parings fell out.

“Oh, thank you! That is better,” sighed the garbage can. “What a relief!”

“Shall I get a doctor?” asked Robert anxiously.

“Oh, no, thank you; I don’t need a doctor now. I feel almost like myself again,” he answered.

“If folks only wouldn’t fill me so full of rich good food,” he complained, “how much better off everybody would be!”

“Too full of rich good food!” laughed Robert. “Why, I never knew that any rich good food was thrown away.”

“We get entirely too much of it,” said the garbage can. “Waste food is the only kind that is good for garbage cans.”

“Do many people waste good food?” asked Robert.

“What some folks throw away makes me sick!” declared the garbage can confidentially. “I could tell you some things, young man, that would certainly surprise you.”

“Please tell me, if you feel able,” begged Robert.

“Very well,” agreed the garbage can, settling down comfortably. Anyone could see that he was pleased.

II

“In the first place,” he began, “do you know that we American garbage cans are the hardest worked of all garbage cans in the world?”

“No,” Robert shook his head.

“It’s a fact, though,” went on the garbage can. “The American garbage can is the fattest in the world,--a United States senator first said so.”

“Why, what did that mean?” asked Robert. “American garbage cans don’t look any fatter than those in other countries, do they?”

“The senator referred to the rich food that is thrown into the American garbage can,” explained the speaker patiently. “He meant that the American people are the most wasteful people in the world. They do not save little things. Few people stop to think how long it takes grains of wheat to grow into a loaf of bread. Did you ever think how hard somebody had to work to get the wheat grains ready to make the bread?”

“No,” acknowledged Robert, “I don’t believe I ever did.”

“If people did think, we should not be stuffed every day with bread enough to feed many a poor family.”

“Oh, not that much, surely?” questioned Robert in surprise.

“Yes, sir,” declared the garbage can, “that much. I ought to know! I have been a garbage can all my life.”

“Yes, you ought to know,” agreed Robert.

“Not only bread,” went on the garbage can, “but meat, too. Now, that does surprise you, doesn’t it! It takes four years to grow a beefsteak, yet there are garbage cans which are fed nice big pieces of beefsteak every day or so.”

“I don’t believe--,” Robert started to say.

“Don’t believe what?” snapped the garbage can. “Don’t believe! Why, I haven’t begun to tell you about the value of garbage!”

“Please excuse me,” explained Robert; “I was going to say that I don’t think my mother allows such waste.”

“Oh, was that it? I beg your pardon,” apologized the can. “I get so excited when I think about what is wasted, and so nervous when I see little children and even animals who need what is thrown away, that I sometimes forget my manners, I fear.”

Robert could not help smiling at the thought of the manners of a garbage can; but the can evidently thought that he was smiling about some of the facts he had been told, and continued to talk.

“Watch when you have a chance, and notice what good meals could have been made from the food wasted on garbage cans if a little thought had been used.

“It has been estimated that the garbage cans get one-third of the food which is bought and prepared for the American people.

“This food, if used rightly, would feed all the poor. It would build many battleships. It would pay for all the land in some states. It would run the government for weeks.”

“Would it make any difference in the cost of food if people were not wasteful?” asked Robert, as the speaker paused for breath.

“Of course,” answered the can. “You see, if food is very plentiful it does not cost so much because there is enough for everybody; but when it is scarce it costs more because there is only enough for those who can afford to pay a high price.”

“Oh, so people who buy food and waste it make it scarcer, and prevent the poorer people from getting it at a lower price,” said Robert.

“Good! I see you understand!” cried the garbage can. “Not only is what you say true, but the fact is that the poor people who waste food are often kept poor because they throw away what they could save. A slice of bread a day amounts to about a dollar and fifty cents a year! Better to watch the garbage can!”

The can stopped suddenly as the rumble of a wagon sounded in the street.

“It is the garbage collector!” he exclaimed delightedly. “If it were not for him, I am sure I don’t know what I should do!”

“Good-by,” said Robert, who did not care to have the collector see him talking with a garbage can. “I thank you for the lesson, Mr. Can.”

“Good-by,” muttered the garbage can; and then his face melted away and Robert woke up.

QUESTIONS

Why would doctors have to work many times as hard as they do if
there were no garbage collectors?

How do the garbage collectors help in keeping people well?

TWO GARBAGE COLLECTORS

I

The next evening, after Robert had finished studying his lessons, he surprised his father by asking, “What becomes of garbage, father? Where does a collector take it?”

“What kind of a collector, Robert?” asked his father with a twinkle in his eye.

“What kind!” Robert was puzzled. “I didn’t know there were more kinds than one--the men who wear the city uniform and collect our garbage every other day,” he declared.

“There are several different kinds,” said his father. “One kind is especially anxious and active in warm weather if the lid is left off the garbage can.”

“Oh, I know,” said Robert; “you mean flies!”

“Yes, flies are the collectors I mean; and they do a great deal of harm, not because of what they take, but because they carry germs of disease on their feet.”

“Yes,” said Robert, “I know they do; our teacher showed us a picture of a fly’s foot and tongue magnified many times.”

“Then you understand why mother found fault with Nora for leaving the cover off our garbage can yesterday?”

“Yes, father; but I never thought before today how unhealthful a city would become if it were not for the garbage collectors--the real ones, I mean,” Robert remarked.

“Indeed, we ought to appreciate what they do for us,” his father said. “You see, they are really just one set of the public servants of our large city family. They are useful men and do their work well.”

“I shall certainly think more of them after this,” said the boy. Then, suddenly, he asked again, “But, father, what do our garbage collectors do with the garbage? Where do they take it?”

“Let me see,” answered his father; “they take it--I think they drive down to some river wharf, and dump it into scows.”

“And then where do the scows take it?”

“They are drawn by tugboats down the river to the disposal plant. To tell the truth, Robert, I do not know just what is done with it there; but in some way it is made into fertilizer, which is sold to farmers.”

“I wish I knew how it is done,” said Robert after a minute.

“Why, if you are interested in that, we will take a trip down to the plant some day soon,” promised his father. “I should like to know more about it myself.”

“Oh, that will be fine, father. Can we go on Saturday?”

“I think so. I will see if I can get permission of the disposal people to make a visit on that day.”

“I guess it must pay to make garbage into fertilizer.” Robert was thinking aloud.

His father took up the thought. “Indeed it does, my boy. Garbage, or waste food, is very valuable; that of some big cities being worth a million dollars a year.”

“So much? Isn’t it splendid that it can be used? I wonder how any one thought of making it into fertilizer.”

“Well, I imagine it came about in this way: farmers and people who live in the country where they can observe, have found out that the thriftiest of all creatures is Mother Nature. She never lets anything go to waste; she is so very thrifty that when men help her she uses waste so fast that it pays a thousand fold.

“So the men who buy the fertilizer made from city garbage are buying it for thrifty Mother Nature to use as food for plants. But we have talked too long, son; so good night, for you know

‘Early to bed and early to rise
Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise.’”

II

Robert was scarcely asleep before he dreamed that he was in charge of all the garbage collectors in the city, and that he needed a new collector for a certain ward.

“Two applicants are waiting to see you, sir,” said his office boy; and Robert stepped out to see them.

One of the applicants was a strong young man, and the other was an enormous fly!

In his dream this did not seem strange to Robert.

Turning toward the fly he asked, “Have you had experience in this line of work?”

“Yes, sir!” answered the fly. “Let me tell you what I did yesterday.

“I spent the night in a garbage can that some one had neglected to cover. I ate breakfast from some fruit on a fruit stand; stopped in the gutter to get a drink of water; then drank some milk off the edge of a milk bottle which was standing in a doorway; and had dessert off a baby’s cheek and mouth. See how experienced I am! You ought to give me the job, I think.”

“Oh, no,” cried Robert making a leap toward the fly. “Get out of here, you dirty--” but he never finished, for the leap he gave landed him down so heavily in bed that it woke him up.

ROBERT’S VISIT TO THE GARBAGE PLANT

When Robert and his father reached home after their visit to the garbage disposal plant, the boy told his mother about what they had seen.

“Mother, it was so interesting!” he exclaimed. “The garbage was thrown on broad belts which moved slowly forward on very long tables. Men were seated on each side of the tables, and they raked the garbage over with little rakes.”

“I should think that would be unpleasant work,” said his mother.

“That is what I thought, too; but the guide who took us through the plant laughed when I said so. ‘The men like that work,’ he said, ‘because they can have whatever they find. Sometimes they find silver spoons; sometimes things of more value. One man last year found a diamond ring which he sold for two hundred dollars.’”

“That does make it seem different, doesn’t it, Robert?” said his mother. “But how careless some people must be to lose such valuable things! Where do the moving belts take the garbage?”

“To great vats where steam is driven through it, and the grease is melted down. The grease is sold for making oils and soap; the other part is made into fertilizer,” explained Robert.

“I am glad to know about it, for I have never given the matter much thought,” his mother said. “I wish every one knew how much is done for us when we put the garbage can out for the collectors.”

WHAT DREADFULLY UNTIDY, UNCLEAN, UNHEALTHFUL PLACES OUR HOMES WOULD
BE IF IT WERE NOT FOR THESE HELPFUL PUBLIC SERVANTS]

THE FIRE THAT STARTED ITSELF

I

“Joe Lockery told us the funniest thing this afternoon, mother,” said Walter as he came in from school.

“Tell me about it,” said Mrs. Homer, with interest.

“Joe asked us if we had ever heard of a fire that started itself. We thought he was joking, but he wasn’t.”

“A fire that started itself! Why, Walter, I can’t see anything funny about that!” replied Mrs. Homer.

“Well, we thought it was funny,” declared Walter. “Wait a minute till you hear about it, mother. Joe was telling us about a fire in his father’s furniture factory. The night watchman saw smoke coming out of a fourth story window.

“The watchman rang the fire alarm and then ran upstairs. The varnish room was full of smoke. Flames were bursting out of the top of a large metal can, into which the workmen threw the sweepings and dirty rags that had been used in polishing the furniture. The watchman soon put the fire out with the water in the fire buckets.

“When the firemen arrived, they said that the fire had started itself. The can had been left uncovered, and the rubbish and rags had caught fire from their own heat. I never heard of such a thing, did you?”

“Yes, I have often heard of such things,” said Mrs. Homer. “I am glad that nothing serious happened. It is very fortunate that the factory did not burn down. I suppose those rags were soaked with varnish and turpentine. I should think that the men would have known of the danger of their starting a fire.”

“Joe’s father said that the men had orders to keep the can covered and to remove it from the hot room at night. But I don’t see how oily rags could start a fire alone, do you, mother?”

“They certainly could do so,” Mrs. Homer replied. “You remember the fire in the Park Garage, don’t you?”

“I think I do. That was the fire that burned up so many automobiles, wasn’t it?”

“Yes; I heard afterwards that that fire was caused in the same way. A lot of oily rags which the workmen had used were thrown into a corner. During the night when the garage was closed, they became very hot and burst into a flame.”

“Without a match or light?” exclaimed Walter.

“Yes, without a match or a spark of light. When things are set on fire by the heat within themselves, it is said that the fire was caused by spontaneous combustion.”

“Oh, yes; that is the word Joe used. Then it is true. Lots of us boys didn’t believe that such things could happen.”

“They do happen and would happen very much oftener if the city did not have public servants who come to carry such dangerous things away.”

“Public servants--oh, mother, do you mean the ash and rubbish collectors?”

“Yes, Walter; you know they come regularly for ashes and rubbish. If they did not, there would be many more fires, I fear.”

“I should think that if people knew of the danger they wouldn’t keep such things.”

“What would they do with them, Walter?”

“Why--I didn’t think about that. I don’t suppose that each family could have such things carted away for themselves, could they?”

“No, it would be impossible to keep our cellars and yards in good order without the system that the city uses. How untidy and unsafe we should all be. Besides the danger of spontaneous combustion, the rubbish would make hiding places for rats and mice, and would become a source of disease and uncleanliness.”

“Isn’t it splendid that the city attends to such things!” cried Walter. “Why, I never expected to say, ‘Three cheers for the ash man! Three cheers for the rubbish collector!’”

QUESTIONS

Why should ashes be kept in a metal receptacle?

Would there be danger in mixing ashes with rubbish? Why?

Is there any danger in allowing rubbish to accumulate? Why?

How might it affect health?

How often do the ash and rubbish collectors come to your home?

What is done with the ashes? With the rubbish?

What kind of wagons are used?

Why should every family be particular to observe the city
regulations?

Suppose every family had to dispose of its own ashes and
rubbish--what would they do?

How should we treat the ash and the rubbish collectors? Why?

* * * * *

“THE CHILDREN OF TODAY ARE THE PEOPLE OF TO-MORROW.”

With the help of all your good public servants who save your strength, guard your safety and save your time, what kind of people should you grow to be?