Chapter M: S.--By all the fields, mountains, cities and prairies, what sort of (4)

Our early ancestors lived in fear of many things about them. They thought that fire, the rivers, the sea, the sun, and many other natural objects were alive and could harm them or help them. So they offered gifts to all these things and prayed to them for help. Early men also believed that the souls of their ancestors lived after death, and that these ancestors could help them or harm them. They thought that if they offered gifts of food, and drink at the graves of their dead, the spirits of the departed would be pleased and would protect the living members of their families. If, on the other hand, the dead were neglected or forgotten they would become evil spirits who might bring great misfortune upon the living. They also thought that if the dead were not properly buried they would become ghosts, haunting the places they had known when they were alive. Because of these ideas early men were very careful to worship their ancestors. The first religions of the world grew out of these beliefs and practices of primitive men with reference to nature and to their own ancestors.

--_From "Our Beginnings in Europe and America",
by Smith Burnham.
Courtesy of The John C. Winston Co._

QUESTIONS

1. Make a list of the things in everyday life which we take for
granted as necessities which the earliest men had to learn how to
make.

2. What was the earliest important discovery made by man? Do you
think this was as important as the discovery of electricity? Why?
Name any inventions that have come into common use within your own
or your parents' lifetime.

3. Before man discovered fire, what did he eat? Mention two steps
by which he came to have better food to eat.

4. Mention in order five kinds of dwellings which the early men
lived in, and three kinds of clothing which they wore.

5. What useful things did women do in these early days?

6. Why is your hand more useful than the paw of an animal?

7. From what source did each article of food on your dinner table
to-day come? How many people had something to do with this food
before it reached you?

8. Compare the clothing of people to-day with that of primitive
man. Are we more or less dependent on others for food and clothing
than primitive man?

9. We are still making new words. Make a list of words that have
come into use since the World War began.

TRY THIS

This nonsense test must be worked out carefully or it may fool
you. You will need only a small piece of paper for your answers.

1. If your name is Geraldine, or if you are not yet past 37 years of age, or

"If lollypops grow on butternut trees
And godgillies ride on the galloping breeze"--

sign your name anywhere on your paper. Then, if you have signed your name, never mind the second paragraph, but skip to the third.

2. Rub out your name and write the name of the first president of the United States in its stead. Then take the remaining paragraph.

3. Write your name again in some other part of your paper and hand it in.

PUTTING WORDS WHERE THEY BELONG

Arrange your paper with your name on the first line and your grade on the second line. Divide the rest of your paper into four parts with lines drawn as shown below. Let the lines be drawn up as far as the third line of your paper.

SHIP BUILDING | AGRICULTURE | MINING | MANUFACTURING
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |
| | |

Write the words, SHIP BUILDING, AGRICULTURE, MINING, MANUFACTURING, at the top of the four spaces on the fourth line, as shown above.

Below is a long list of words that is not very well arranged. On your paper re-arrange the words so that every word that concerns SHIP BUILDING is placed in the first list, and every word that concerns AGRICULTURE is placed in the second list, and every word that concerns MINING or MANUFACTURING is placed in its proper list. If you finish before the others wait quietly for them to complete their work.

ore crane mast dock
mill loom bulkheads blast
weaving cultivation drill crop
irrigation keel fertilizer carpets
launch safety-lamp silk dyes
reaping lace soil rigging
riveter pick pump cave-in
shaft spinning anchor shuttle
miner steel plates elevator sowing
harvester grain textiles tractor

MAKING MONEY EARN MONEY

The table given below tells how much your savings will amount to at four per cent interest compounded semi-annually. One dollar a month is a little less than twenty-five cents a week. From this table, answer the following questions:

1. If you save one dollar a month, how much will you have in three years? Five years? Eight years? Ten years?

2. If you save four dollars a month--less than a dollar a week--how much will you have in six years? Ten years?

3. If you save ten dollars a month, how much will you have in seven years? Ten years?

4. If you save five dollars a month for ten years, will you have more or less than if you save ten dollars a month for five years?

5. Can you explain to the class how to read the table?

------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------
Monthly savings. | 1 year | 2 years | 3 years | 4 years | 5 years
------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------
$1 | $12.24 | $24.98 | $38.24 | $52.03 | $66.39
$2 | 24.48 | 49.96 | 76.48 | 104.06 | 132.77
$3 | 36.73 | 74.94 | 114.71 | 156.10 | 199.16
$4 | 48.97 | 99.93 | 152.95 | 208.13 | 265.55
$5 | 61.21 | 124.91 | 191.19 | 260.16 | 331.94
$10 | 122.42 | 249.81 | 382.38 | 520.32 | 663.87
------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------

------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------
Monthly savings. | 6 years | 7 years | 8 years | 9 years |10 years
------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------
$1 | $81.32 | $96.87 | $113.04 | $129.83 | $147.35
$2 | 162.65 | 193.74 | 226.09 | 259.67 | 294.70
$3 | 243.97 | 290.61 | 339.13 | 389.50 | 442.05
$4 | 325.30 | 387.48 | 452.18 | 519.34 | 589.39
$5 | 406.62 | 484.35 | 565.22 | 649.17 | 736.74
$10 | 813.25 | 968.89 |1,130.45 |1,298.35 |1,473.48
------------------+---------+---------+---------+---------+---------

--_From "Fifteen Lessons in Thrift"._

HEROES OF HISTORY

There were four children at the big second-story window that looked out over the broad avenue where the historical pageant was to pass; four children in very high spirits. Of course they were excited and happy; it was a wonderful place for seeing, and it was a wonderful parade that they were to watch--a celebration of the ending of the great World's War. The procession was to take the form of a series of groups of figures representing great persons from the history of the five important nations that had been allies in the struggle. Alfred and Betty and Francis and Dick had been talking for days about the great event. They were sure that they would enjoy it, for though Alfred, the oldest, was not thirteen yet, and Dick, the baby, was but seven, they all thought they knew something about history. And if they weren't able to recognize all the characters in the pageant, they need only ask Aunt Eleanor, who sat with them in the group at the window.

From far up the street came the sound of a band, and all the watchers stood on tiptoe or craned their necks to catch the first glimpse of the marching lines. It was a regimental band, with the colors carried proudly. How everyone cheered for the lines of khaki soldiers who followed next! Then noisy enthusiasm gave place to eager and interested questions about the first historical group. And nobody in all the watching crowd had more questions to ask than our windowful of children.

The center of the strangely costumed company was a blonde, bearded, kingly figure, wearing a crown of gold, a coat of mail, and a long, flowing cloak. One hand was on the jeweled hilt of his sword; the other clasped to his breast a parchment-bound book. Behind him were two attendants. Aunt Eleanor, watching her charges with as much interest as they watched the street, saw that they looked puzzled, though Alfred was trying to pretend that he knew the name of the king.

"You ought to feel honored, Alfred," said Aunt Eleanor. "That splendid looking Englishman has the same name as you."

"Of course," said the boy, pretending that he had understood all the time. "It's Alfred the Great. He," turning loftily to the younger children, who couldn't be expected to know so much, "was the first really important king of England. He was a great fighter, and finally conquered all his enemies. But once he had to run away, after a battle, and hide in a peasant's hut in disguise. The woman there didn't know who he was, and she went away and left him to watch some cakes that were on the fire baking. He was so busy thinking about how to get his kingdom back that he let them burn, and when she came back she scolded him."

"Those queer round things that the other man is carrying on that wooden tray must be the cakes," exclaimed Betty.

"Yes," said their aunt. "And do you see the musician with the harp? That is to remind us that King Alfred was fond of music, and did all he could to help it flourish. He was more than just a fighter; he wanted his people to learn all they could, so he started schools, and he founded Oxford College, the oldest college in England. Don't you see the book in his hand to show that he was fond of reading? It was very unusual in those days, a thousand years ago, for even a king so much as to know how to read. But right after him in the procession is another warrior king who loved learning and music and all the arts of peace."

And sure enough, as King Alfred of England passed out of sight, there followed another kingly figure, very tall and clad all in iron. Helmet, shield, gloves, boots--all were iron, and the wearer was terrible to look at, so strong and merciless he seemed. Behind him came a group of horsemen carrying iron spears with glittering points and with gay banners fluttering from their shafts.

"Well," said Betty, "he may have loved peace, but he doesn't look it. Who is he, anyway?"

"He represents the first great king of France, Charlemagne, a name that means Charles the Great. He lived at about the same time with Alfred. He was a great conqueror and overcame all his neighbors. He even led a huge army across the Alps and conquered the northern part of Italy. There he had himself crowned with a famous Iron Crown that was worn by the king of that country. But when he was not fighting he was building beautiful palaces and chapels, and encouraging all the learned men of the country."

"There seem to be a lot of soldiers in this parade," said nine-year-old Francis, "Here comes another. Who's he?"

"He must be a Crusader," said Betty, "for he has a red cross on his white cloak, and armor underneath it."

"He's a king, too," said little Dick. "He's got a crown on. What's a Crusader, Auntie? And is he one?"

"The Crusaders lived about three hundred years later than Alfred and Charlemagne. In that time the Turks--yes, the same kind of Turks whom you have heard about as persecuting the poor little Armenian children--had come into possession of the Holy Land in Palestine. All the Christian countries wanted to drive them out, so that heathen might not be in possession of Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulcher. So from France and Italy and Germany and England great armies went out to fight against the Saracens, as the Turks in Palestine were then called. And they wore red crosses on their cloaks to show that they were going on a holy war."

"Did they get the land back?" asked Francis.

"Why, no, silly," cried Alfred. "Don't you remember just last year General Allenby conquered Jerusalem, in the big war? The Turks had been there all that time. But wasn't that Crusader," nodding toward the rider disappearing in the distance, "somebody special?"

"Yes, indeed. You aren't the only boy here that has a king's name. This was a king with the same name as Dick--Richard of England, whom his people loved to call the Lion Hearted, because he was so brave. I could tell by the banner with the lion on it that floated above his head. There are lots of fine stories about King Richard. One tells how he was captured by an enemy on the way home from one of the Crusades and kept shut up in a tower for a year; and how he was found and rescued by a friend of his who was a sweet singer, and who went about singing a little song that the king loved, until at last he heard the king's voice sing in answer to him from the tower window. Then there's a story of how he came back to England in disguise, and kept his wicked brother John from stealing his throne. Some day you must read Sir Walter Scott's famous novel, 'Ivanhoe,' which tells all about the adventures of Richard in disguise."

A convenient gap in the procession had given Aunt Eleanor time to tell the children this much about King Richard; but now another group, a very soberly dressed company, too, claimed their attention. The central figure was not a king in armor this time, but a grave, determined looking man clad in black velvet, with a deep lace collar and a wide black hat and feather. The children at once demanded his name.

"I must look at my program to find out who he is," said their aunt. "Oh, yes; William of Orange. Both he and his little country, Holland, have a wonderful story. Five hundred years ago the lands that are now Belgium and Holland belonged to Spain. As time went on the Spanish king, Philip, oppressed them more and more cruelly, and wouldn't let them have any freedom at all, either in politics or religion. But they were a liberty-loving people, and toward the end of the sixteenth century they rose in rebellion against Spain. This stern-looking Hollander was their greatest leader. He was called William the Silent, because of an event early in his career. One day the French king, who was in league with Spain, and who thought Prince William was in sympathy with their side, betrayed to him all the details of a secret plot. William was filled with horror and very angry, but he kept perfectly still, and didn't even show by the movement of an eyelash that he was anything but friendly and interested. He was called 'silent', you see, not because he didn't talk much, but because he could keep a secret."

"And was that when Holland and Belgium got to be independent countries? And why aren't they all one country, then?"

"Oh, the part that is Holland won its independence then, though poor William was murdered before the fight was finished. It was one of the earliest of European republics. But the part that is Belgium came to terms with Spain after William's death, and wasn't a separate country till long after. You see, the Holland part was made up of people of the Protestant religion, while the Belgian part, like Spain, was Catholic."

"I suppose that's why he's in this procession, because when he lived he really belonged to Belgium as well as to Holland," said Alfred thoughtfully.

"Oh!" cried Betty, clapping her hands, "I know who that next lot are! The lady in the ruff, with the little jeweled band in her hair, must be Queen Elizabeth, and those are her courtiers. Now every one of us has a namesake in the pageant, except Francis."

"If I'm not mistaken," said her aunt, "Francis has a namesake in this very group. Yes, surely--do you see the man with the pointed beard and the model of a ship in his hand? That is Sir Francis Drake, the great seaman. Over and over his little ship went in chase of the Spaniards, who were England's greatest enemies at this time. Elizabeth ruled at the same time when the Dutch, too, were fighting Spain. There was nothing too daring or dangerous for Drake to attempt. He was the first Englishman to sail around the world, a voyage which took more than two years. Once he sailed right into a Spanish harbor and burned all the Spanish ships there, which were being made ready for an attack on England. And he and his friends, bold adventurers like himself, laid the foundation of the power of England on the sea."

"I suppose the man with the red velvet cloak is Raleigh, and that's the cloak he spread down for Elizabeth to walk on."

"Yes. And do you see that kind, merry-looking man in black, with the simple white collar, carrying an actor's mask in his hand? That must be Shakespeare, the greatest writer of plays that ever lived. And I believe the man beside him, holding a great roll of manuscript and a quill pen, is Spenser, the poet who wrote a wonderful book called the 'Faerie Queen' in honor of Queen Elizabeth."

"We've had somebody from France and Belgium and England," said Betty. "I wonder if there won't be an American pretty soon?"

"There couldn't have been an American yet, stupid," Alfred informed her, "because there weren't any people in our part of America in Queen Elizabeth's time."

"Oh, so there weren't. There comes a soldier with an Indian chief and an Indian girl close behind him--he must be American, or the Indians wouldn't be there."

"Guess he's John Smith," spoke up Francis, "'cause I know he had his life saved by Pocahontas--that's the Indian girl. But I don't know what else he did."

"Oh, he was the leader of the first colony to be settled by the English in this country. What colony was it, Alfred? You can tell, surely."

"Of course, Jamestown, in Virginia. That was why the Indians got mad at him, because the white men were taking their lands away."

A burst of specially enthusiastic cheering arose from the street. The reason for it was the approach of a kindly-faced gentleman in dark gray coat and knee-breeches, with silver shoe-buckles and broad-brimmed Quaker hat. It was William Penn, of course, looking for all the world like the statue on the high City Hall tower. There was no need for Aunt Eleanor to give any information about him, for these were Philadelphia children, who knew and loved the founder of the "green country town" that had grown to be so large a city. Nor was there any need to explain about the next figure to arrive, a stately general on horseback, in white wig, cocked hat, and Revolutionary uniform of blue and buff. Behind him, in an old-fashioned carriage, rode Betsy Ross, holding the newly adopted Stars and Stripes, at which the men in the crowd doffed their hats.

But the next figure puzzled our little group of children. It was a very short man, stockily built, yet full of dignity. He, too, wore a cocked hat, and a plain uniform. He walked with head bent forward and hands clasped behind him, and his piercing black eyes looked at the ground. The children could not guess who he was, so Aunt Eleanor had to tell them.

"That is the great French conquerer Napoleon Bonaparte. He began life as an ordinary citizen, and won his way to the very top by his wonderful military genius. He won so many battles in command of the French armies, after the French Revolution at the end of the eighteenth century, that the people chose him to be consul, a position something like that of the president of a republic. Then he loved power so that he got control of the government and had himself made emperor, so that France wasn't a republic any more. After that he set out to conquer all of Europe, and he nearly succeeded. But one winter he went to Russia, and the cold and snow almost entirely destroyed his army; and he never could succeed in beating England. It was the great English general, the Duke of Wellington, who finally crushed Napoleon at the battle of Waterloo--you've heard of that? Well, after that the fallen Emperor was sent away to a little island, St. Helena, that belonged to England, and there he was kept a prisoner till the end of his life."

"He was something like the German Kaiser in the World's War, wasn't he?" said Alfred. "He wanted to conquer all Europe--and the United States, too."

"Yes, you'll learn that every once in so often history repeats itself. But we'll hope that the Kaiser's effort to conquer the world will be the last of such things, and that such a war may never be repeated."

"Oh, who is that rough looking man in the red flannel shirt?" cried Betty.

"That very red shirt tells me who he is," said her aunt. "Have you been wondering when we were going to have one of the heroes of Italy? Well, this is an Italian patriot named Garibaldi. About sixty years ago, when Italy was struggling to get free from Austria, and to be an independent nation, Garibaldi gathered together as many brave soldiers as he could, in the southern part of the country, and they marched to the help of their countrymen in a time of very great need. As a part of their uniform they wore red shirts. But one of the most interesting things about Garibaldi is that when his country wanted to give him a high position, he said he would rather go back to the farm he had bought for himself, and live his life out as a plain, ordinary man."

Little Dick had been keeping very still and listening, for all the people in the parade had been those that he never had heard of before. But suddenly he jumped to his feet in excitement. He, like every other child in the crowd, knew who was that tall, awkward, homely person in the long black frock coat and the high silk hat. There could be no mistaking that kind, sad face, with the patient, farseeing eyes. Behind the great president rode two soldierly figures--General Grant in his blue uniform, and General Lee in the gray, on his beloved white horse, Traveller. Nor could there be any mistaking of the energetic figure in hunting dress that followed him, whose face wore a smile that could not be spoiled by the heavy eyeglasses that were so familiar a part of a well-known countenance.

"Teddy," cheered the crowd, with the enthusiasm that always is stirred by true, generous manliness.

The afternoon was growing late. One group remained, with which the procession was to close. On horseback rode a tall, soldierly figure, dressed in khaki, with an officer's hat bearing royal insignia, and with his breast covered with medals. A pair of keen blue eyes smiled out of a clear-cut, earnest face. Behind him, in an automobile, rode a thin, worn old man in the scarlet robe and close scarlet cap of a cardinal.

"I need not tell you who they are," said Aunt Eleanor. "They stand to us for the little country that in 1914 saved the world by sacrificing herself. King Albert of Belgium led his own armies into battle; his queen, Elizabeth, nursed the wounded in the hospitals; and Cardinal Mercier stayed with his people to cheer and comfort them."

"I think they are the greatest heroes of all," said Betty softly.

"Any man is a hero, dear," said her aunt, "who spends his life for the help and safety of his people, not thinking what it costs himself."

--_Mabel Dodge Holmes._

QUESTIONS

1. Make a list of the heroes whom you can remember in the
procession.

2. Was there any one of them whom you did not know about before?

3. Which one would you like to read more about?

4. Do you know any facts about any of these heroes that are not
told in this story? If so, write a title for the story you can
tell, and be ready to tell it to your classmates.

5. Do you know the name of any hero whom you would have added to
those in the procession?

6. Some of the figures are not mentioned by name. Give the names
of any of these you remember.

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

In the poem that follows, the poet tells us of a strange and fearful
visitor that once came to him--the spirit of some ancient viking of
the Northland all dressed in armor and carrying sword and shield.

In order to understand the poem, you must remember that the vikings
were bold sea-rovers and fierce warriors who set out in their long
swift boats in search after plunder and adventure. Some of them are
even said to have come over to America long before Columbus ever
dreamed of the new world. The poem was suggested to Mr. Longfellow
by the finding of a skeleton clad in broken and rusted armor and
buried in the sands of the New England shore, and by a very ancient
tower that must have been built on the coast by the Northmen many
years before 1492. These two facts are true, but of course the story
that the poet made of them is merely a good story.

The poet's strange guest is one of these sea-robbers, who tells how
as a youth he had won the love of a blue-eyed princess of the far
North, only to find that her father forbade their marriage. In the
first stanza the poet asks a question; the rest of the poem tells
what the spirit of the viking said.

But you will want to read the story as the poet has told it.

"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!
Who, with they hollow breast
Still in rude armor drest,
Comest to daunt me!
Wrapt not in Eastern balms,
But with thy fleshless palms
Stretched, as if asking alms,
Why dost thou haunt me?"

"Then, from those cavernous eyes
Pale flashes seemed to rise,
As when the Northern skies
Gleam in December;
And, like the water's flow
Under December's snow,
Came a dull voice of woe
From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking old!
My deeds, though manifold,
No Skald in song has told,
No Saga taught thee!
Take heed, that in thy verse
Thou dost the tale rehearse,
Else dread a dead man's curse;
For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land,
By the wild Baltic's strand,
I, with my childish hand,
Tamed the gerfalcon;
And, with my skates fast-bound,
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,
That the poor whimpering hound
Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair
Tracked I the grisly bear,
While from my path the hare
Fled like a shadow;
Oft through the forest dark
Followed the were-wolf's bark,
Until the soaring lark
Sang from the meadow.

"But when I older grew,
Joining a corsair's crew,
O'er the dark sea I flew
With the marauders.
Wild was the life we led;
Many the souls that sped,
Many the hearts that bled,
By our stern orders.

"Once as I told in glee
Tales of the stormy sea,
Soft eyes did gaze on me,
Burning yet tender;
And as the white stars shine
On the dark Norway pine,
On that dark heart of mine
Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,
Yielding, yet half afraid,
And in the forest's shade
Our vows were plighted.
Under its loosened vest
Fluttered her little breast,
Like birds within their nest
By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall
Shields gleamed upon the wall,
Loud sang the minstrels all,
Chanting his glory;
When of old Hildebrand
I asked his daughter's hand,
Mute did the minstrels stand
To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed,
Loud then the champion laughed
And as the wing-gusts waft
The sea-foam brightly,
So the loud laugh of scorn,
Out of those lips unshorn,
From the deep drinking-horn
Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child,
I but a Viking wild,
And though she blushed and smiled,
I was discarded!
Should not the dove so white
Follow the sea-mew's flight,
Why did they leave that night
Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea,
Bearing the maid with me,
Fairest of all was she
Among the Norsemen!
When on the white sea-strand,
Waving his armed hand,
Saw we old Hildebrand,
With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast,
Bent like a reed each mast,
Yet we were gaining fast,
When the wind failed us;
And with a sudden flaw
Came round the gusty Skaw,
So that our foe we saw
Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale
Round veered the flapping sail,
Death! was the helmsman's hail,
Death without quarter!
Mid-ships with iron keel
Struck we her ribs of steel;
Down her black hulk did reel
Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant,
Sails the fierce cormorant,
Seeking some rocky haunt,
With his prey laden,
So toward the open main,
Beating the sea again,
Through the wild hurricane,
Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore,
And when the storm was o'er,
Cloud-like we saw the shore
Stretching to leeward;
There for my lady's bower
Built I the lofty tower,
Which, to this very hour,
Stands looking seaward.

"There lived we many years;
Time dried the maiden's tears;
She had forgot her fears,
She was a mother;
Death closed her mild blue eyes,
Under that tower she lies;
Ne'er shall the sun arise
On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then,
Still as a stagnant fen!
Hateful to me were men,
The sunlight hateful!
In the vast forest here,
Clad in my warlike gear,
Fell I upon my spear,
O, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars,
Bursting these prison bars,
Up to its native stars
My soul ascended!
There from the flowing bowl
Deep drinks the warrior's soul,
Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"
Thus the tale ended.

--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
Courtesy of Houghton, Mifflin Company._

ACTING FOR THE MOVIES

Here is another set of "movie" scenes. If you forget how we played
the first set, look on page 38 and see just what to do.

1. The blind man came slowly down the road, tapping restlessly with his stick to guide him, and stopping every now and again to listen for some fellow traveler who might lead him to the town beyond the hill.

2. When they reached the open country, Aladdin had to gather sticks and to build a great fire for the magician, his uncle.

3. Aladdin's uncle stirred the fire until it blazed brightly. Then he threw in some magical powder and as a thick cloud of smoke arose, he made mystical signs over the fire, and muttered some strange words that Aladdin could not understand.

4. The Indian squatted down with legs crossed under him and waited for the morning sun to enable him to take up the trail again. Whenever the fire died away, he arose silently and replenished the fuel, but except for these breaks, one might have thought him a beautifully carved image.

5. None of the villagers knew Rip when he came back. He was old and stiff and bent with age. He carried on his shoulder his cherished musket, now useless and covered with rust. As the people crowded round him he scanned each face in turn, hoping to recognize some former familiar acquaintance.

6. Sir Roger drew his sword, and taking advantage of a corner in the garden wall, which might make a cowardly attack in the rear impossible, he waited for the band to approach. He knew that he was caught like a fox in this narrow garden, and he looked eagerly to count how many were against him.

7. Hardly had the Sheriff ridden off with his men, before Robin Hood came down the road, still dressed in the long gown that old Mother Hobbes had given him, and walking with the help of a cane, like an old woman, bent with years.

8. The savage raised his spear, and was about to cast it, but some slight sound caused him to hesitate an instant with the long shaft balancing lightly in his grasp.

9. An aged palmer came down the road. He was evidently returning from a long pilgrimage, for his cloak was old and tattered, his shoes were dusty and patched, and every few steps he stopped to rest on his long staff.

10. The tinker, very tired from his run, sat down on a large stone by the roadside. After looking cautiously about, he took the king's letter from his pocket and read it. Then folding it carefully again, and returning it to his pocket, he rose and started down the road singing cheerily.

11. He had tramped for three hours and had not discovered a single familiar sign. There was no sign in the cloudy sky to serve him as finger post. He climbed a tall tree that seemed to promise a view of the surrounding landscape, but everything was strange. He had read somewhere that the trees are mossy and green on the north side, but when he looked, even the trees seemed to be as uncertain as he. In despair he sat down on a fallen log and waited.

12. White Eagle looked far out over the plain. Beyond the now dry river basin and the green strip of brush and scrubby trees that bordered it, he could trace the slow, crawling wagon-train trailing out and winding like a lazy serpent through the dust. When he had counted for a second time to be sure, he drew back from the edge of the bluff, built two tiny fires, and watched the thin columns of smoke as they curled straight up in the air.

THE SAFEST PLACE

Here is a story of real human interest. We are all foreigners here
in America except the American Indians. The ancestors of some of us
came before those of others; and it is the duty of those of us whose
ancestors have been here the longest to help the strange-looking,
strange-speaking people who come to us from Europe to feel at home
in our country.

The government has tried hard to protect the immigrants from
dishonest people who have tried to cheat them out of their earnings.
One of the good things that came out of the World's War was a
knowledge on the part of almost all of our people of the safe
investments that the government offers in bonds and thrift stamps.

"At last the way is clear!"

Stefan spoke with much emotion as he counted the roll of notes, clean and soiled, that lay before him on the table in his little room in the over-crowded boarding house.

As he fingered the bills, he saw before him each detail of the past two years--New York harbor with Liberty flinging up her welcome torch; the thrill of arrival in the city of his dreams; the days that followed, days of discouragement, home-sickness, and poverty, among strangers speaking strange tongues, with a medley of unfamiliar manners and customs. He saw with vivid clearness the first dollar he had earned, and he forgot the slow, painful processes of saving--the self-denial and the sacrifice--in the picture of what those sacrifices were to bring.

"She will come," he murmured. "On the same boat perhaps. When she gets the ticket, she will leave that war-threatened land and she will come to me." He smiled. Then as his face suddenly clouded he started forward on the rickety chair with a violence that threatened its frailness. "If anything should happen! If I should lose the money!"

Greatly disturbed he gathered up the precious bills as though to shield them from possible loss. He rose to place them in the old hiding place in his trunk, but that no longer satisfied him. He wavered, then said:

"No, that won't do. I must see Ian about this. He knows. He is wise. I will see Ian this very minute."

Wrapping the money in a piece of old newspaper and carefully placing it in an inner pocket, he set out. He went straight to the dingy office in a side alley of the foreign section of the town, where through the dusty window could be seen the grizzled head of Ian Skeemersky, the real estate agent and private banker, whose sign, written by his own hand, hung over the entrance.

After greetings had been exchanged, he anxiously put the case before his shrewd friend, whose eyes sparkled with eagerness as he replied smoothly.

"Nothing so easy and so safe in the world, my dear fellow. Put your money in my bank. You will get good interest and can withdraw it whenever you want it."

Stefan hesitated for a second. So much was at stake! His slow mind must have time to weigh the proposal. As he noted the earnestness and assurance of Skeemersky's face, belief in this shrewd friend decided. He drew out the pack and laid it on the desk before Skeemersky, whose long fingers closed over it at once.

"You have done well, Stefan Broda, your money is as safe with me as if it was in Mt. Vavel," he declared.

Stefan felt that he had done well. The phrase "as safe as Mt. Vavel" lingered in his mind. It helped him be patient in the long weeks in the factory where he worked during the winter; it consoled him during the dull days while he waited for the open springtime when he planned to send for Agatha. When he heard of others losing their small savings in various ways he congratulated himself on the security of his own, "as safe as Vavel," he would repeat.

One sunny morning in March, just as he decided to stop on his way from work to withdraw the three hundred dollars for Agatha's expenses, there came to him a neighbor, in great excitement. Peter's face was red, his eyes startling and his voice hoarse.

"That--that robber, that scoundrel!" he stuttered. "That Skeemersky. He has gone, gone, do you hear? He has taken it all, all the money in his cursed bank."

Stefan could not believe his ears. Skeemersky gone, and the money, too! "As safe as Vavel!" he had said. He stared for a moment and then broke out, weeping for the first time since his mother's death, cursing the smooth trickster with hearty Polish curses.

"May the thunder-bolt strike him!" he cried. "I will lay hands on him. I will choke that money out of his black soul. Come, we will go!"

They rushed out, boiling with rage, only to find a crowd of other dupes before the shabby little office in the side-alley. The tightly closed door and the blank windows told the story more clearly than any words. Skeemersky had gone--the bank was no more!

Despair took strong hold of Stefan. For two days he roamed the streets, not eating nor drinking, sleepless. He saw no further, no hope--all was blackness and desolation. When he came back to the boarding house on the third day he found a letter from Agatha. He read it with tears and intolerable anguish and he passionately kissed the final sentence: "Every bit of me is yours and I shall never change." This tender faith was balm to his anguish.

He put the letter in a pocket nearest his heart, while a new look came to his tired face. Almost unconsciously he began to build a new future on the ruins of the old.

He swiftly mapped out his course. The season for farmwork was at hand. He would go back to the open skies and broad fields of God's world. He packed a few belongings in the rusty brown-paper suitcase and boarded the trolley for the long ride. He knew what he should do if he could rent a suitable piece of land.

He had spent the previous summer on a farm in the onion-growing section of the Connecticut Valley; he knew what large profits might be gotten with hard labor from a comparatively small plot of ground. He figured that three or four acres would give him the needed amount in the fall, if he had health and good weather.

He found the man whom he sought, secured the land, and went to work. All that season he slaved early and late, weeding on his knees in the damp earth the interminable rows of tiny, delicate plants where the weeds sprang like magic. He heeded neither scorching sun, nor soaking rain. He cared nothing for the monotony of the toil. Always he saw before him the steamer that should bring Agatha, from the hazards of war, to him and security.

By September he had once again the dream within his grasp. He was back in the old room in the crowded boarding house, and in his bluish tin trunk at the foot of the bed were hidden five hundred and fifteen dollars in crisp, clean notes. His earliest belief in his trunk had come back a hundredfold. He would not trust any bank, private or national, with the fruit of his heart-breaking toil. Banking systems and government investments were all beyond his grasp. Skeemersky had taught him to distrust others--the little thin trunk would not run away.

This conviction of safety obsessed him. He preached it to others, to his fellow-boarders, especially to the friendly young man in the room across the hall. "See," he would say, waving a hand toward the great untrustworthy world of finance beyond his little window. "They run away--those bankers. I have a better place."

He did not tell the friendly young man where or how much he had hidden. He merely smiled mysteriously. His faith in his trunk was absolute. Day after day, when returning from work in the factory, he took out his roll of notes and rejoiced that he had found the solution; he counted the days when he should send for his love. It was hard for him to wait for the lagging spring, but a winter journey in war-time from Russian Poland to New England was not to be thought of for his Agatha.

Blind faith often leads to the pit. Stefan, upon a night in late winter, found his theory shattered. The friendly young man had gone, and the crisp, clean notes had disappeared with him!

In this second crash of his hopes he was numbed. He neither wept nor cursed. He silently shrank into himself. He grew abstracted. He stared at the world with unseeing eyes. In the turmoil of his distracted mind there was but one growing determination not to be beaten by fate.

It was not, however, until the news of the German campaign in Warsaw, that his resolve took definite shape. Borrowing two hundred dollars, he sent the money to Agatha in Poland, and regardless of winter or war, urged her to come at once.

When, after long weeks of suspense, he stood by the gate at Ellis Island waiting for the sight of her dear, familiar face among the surging crowd of tagged and numbered immigrants beyond the iron barrier, a great wave of joyous hope flooded his heart. All his disasters were forgotten when he caught the glint of her pale hair under the embroidered kerchief. Banks and trunks went to oblivion as he took her small roughened hands in his own. Destiny had no terrors for him.

On the train he poured out his heart to her. He told her of his great efforts and his greater misfortunes. He made her see his challenge to destiny. He pictured his emotions in the last weeks. And he wound up with an eager entreaty for immediate marriage.

"Let us no longer delay," he urged. "Let us find the good priest." But Agatha was not to be hurried. Her blue eyes showed her own sorrow for the words her lips spoke. "Our love, my Stefan, will not change. But your money is gone. We cannot live without money. I shall work, and you shall work. Then we will marry."

Stefan protested vigorously, but he knew that she was right. He saw that he must yield. He proposed a compromise. "Let us work then for this spring and summer--you in the silk mill and I in my onion patch," he said, "and marry in the fall. I can wait no longer than that."

Agatha could find no fault with this. It won her approval of both heart and her reason. Slipping her hand in his, she nestled closer and they began their hopeful planning, while the train sped on, bearing them to the peaceful valley of their future labors.

All the plans--sensible and practical--they made that wonderful first day, were marvelously realized, not by mere happy chance, but through a great steadfastness of purpose and unfaltering toil. By thrift and frugality, by self-denial and sacrifice, they accomplished the miracle. And they were happy in the doing of it, because they worked together. Neither Stefan nor Agatha had ever labored so willingly. The radiance of a united future lighted the way--always just ahead they saw the hearth-fire gleaming.

The spring and summer passed swiftly. Stefan and Agatha learned of America's entry into the world war with anxious hearts. They dreaded the quenching of that hearth-fire. But their fears were groundless. Instead of depreciation and loss the war brought added prosperity. The wages in the silk mill were raised. Stefan's onion sets sold at double prices. At the end of the season they found that they had exceeded their hopes, in spite of paying off the debt and the increased cost of living.

At last, as Stefan had said, the way was clear. The crown of their hopes, the wedding day, was set and their friends invited. A stone house with a little ground had been secured. The furniture was installed. Everything was ready for the marriage feast on the next day.

As they left the cozy little house in the long shadows of the September sunset, Stefan turned at the gate to look back. His dream was realized. Destiny had not taken up his challenge so far, and he determined to make the future sure. Unconsciously his hand stole to the inner pocket where a modest roll of notes--the remains of their combined savings lay warm and safe. In all their anxious discussions, he and Agatha had not been able to find a place safe enough to satisfy their fears. Bankers and trunks had betrayed their trust. Stefan sighed. He had hoped to have this matter off his mind before the happy morrow. He wished Agatha would offer some solution and he turned to her with the old question on his lips. But he did not ask it. Another voice took up the story.

It was old Shelton, the farmer for whom Stefan had worked the first summer in the valley. His small eyes were twinkling and his long chin beard wagged importantly. "Hello, Steve, how'r ye? Settin' up in fine style, I see. Must be gittin' rich these days."

Stefan thought at first that the shrewd old fellow's chuckle of delight was a tribute to his and Agatha's achievement. But he was soon enlightened as to its real source. Old Shelton bestowed hearty praise on the little house and neat garden, he congratulated him in advance for the morrow, but his small eyes fairly snapped as he added, tapping his own pocket.

"Ye'v spent a pile of money on all this there, and I s'pose you ain't got much left--I got somepin here that 'ud interest ye."

It was the answer to Stefan's unuttered question. He started as old Shelton pulled out from his pocket two yellowish, stiff folders with much black lettering upon them, which, when opened by Shelton's toil-worn fingers, disclosed a number of large square stamps pasted on the printed squares. Agatha, woman-like, was quick to inquire. Old Shelton explained with zest.

He showed them first the Thrift card with its green twenty-five cent stamps. "I got them at odd times, at the post office," he told them with his exultant chuckle. "These here," showing the Savings Certificates with blue five-dollar stamps, "I bought right out when I saw what a sure thing it was. Safe as Uncle Sam's Capitol at Washington. Can't never bust up, these can't. No, siree! Long as this here country holds out, these here stamps are worth the coin! And look at the money ye make on 'em."

And he explained the process by which today's purchaser of a blue stamp would be the possessor of a five-dollar note when the stamps matured at the end of five years. "Only four-nineteen, ye see," he pointed with a horny finger. "Only four-nineteen today, but five good round dollars in five years. Ye can't beat that, I tell ye. Not to be safe and sound, ye understand."

Stefan and Agatha looked at each other. They knew old Shelton to be the shrewdest, most cautious man in the community. In a moment they knew what they should do with the modest roll of bills. The safe place had been found. The United States Treasury was the only spot.

"As safe as Vavel!" murmured Stefan as the old farmer after repeated congratulations and chuckled approval of the young people's eager acceptance of his gospel of thrift, disappeared down the long road.

"As safe as Vavel," he repeated, and a great surge of joyful relief flooded his very soul.

He put his arm about Agatha and they turned their faces toward the sunset glow. In the dim glory of the skies they saw the steadfast gleam of their own dear hearth-fire.

"The good God has shown us the way," they said.

--_Casimir A. Sienkiewicz.
Courtesy Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia._

This story can be easily divided into a definite series of shorter
stories. The titles of these shorter stories will serve as an
outline. Look over the selection quickly, and write the outline.

QUESTIONS

Even government bonds and thrift stamps have to be guarded so that
they will not be lost, burned, or stolen.

Where is the safest place to keep such valuable things as liberty
bonds and thrift stamps? How much does it cost to rent a safe
place for your savings? Where can you rent one in your town?

UNPATRIOTIC CARELESSNESS

Are you careless? That makes you stop and think a bit, doesn't it? If you are honest with yourself, the answer probably will be "_Yes_," for almost everybody in this country is careless. That is the principal reason why we have so many fires.

Here are some figures that should open our eyes. In 1913, the year before the outbreak of the war, the average fire-loss for each man, woman and child in France was 49 cents; in England it was 33 cents; in Germany, 28 cents; in Austria, 25 cents; in Italy, 25 cents; in Switzerland, 15 cents; and in Holland, only 11 cents. In the United States for the same year the direct loss was $2.10--and the indirect loss was far higher. Our record was, therefore, more than four times as bad as that of France, and nearly twenty times as bad as that of Holland.

Vienna and Chicago are cities of about the same size. Vienna had fire losses for the year 1913 of $303,200; Chicago's were $5,513,237, or more than eighteen times as great. New York City's fire losses were about four and one-half times as large as those of London. A similar comparison might be made with many other cities. Can we be proud of such figures?

Of course there are more wooden buildings in America than in Europe. This is a condition which will take many years to change. But the most serious cause of fires could be removed at once, if all the people would assist; this cause is found in one word--_carelessness_.

It must be admitted that the United States, with all its advantages, is a nation of careless people. Carelessness is not a thing to be proud of; it is a great national sin. It shows itself in many habits of recklessness, wastefulness, and untidiness. It burns our towns; it leads people to risk their lives at railroad crossings and other places of danger; it takes chances with health; it is shown in all dirty streets, littered back yards, and untidy homes. It has been well described by Roy K. Moulton, a writer in the "_News_" of Grand Rapids, Michigan, as follows:

_WHO AM I?_

I am more powerful than the combined armies of the world.

I am more deadly than bullets, and I have wrecked more homes than the mightiest of siege guns.

I steal in the United States alone over $300,000,000 each year.

I spare no one, and find my victims among the rich and poor alike, the young and old, the strong and the weak; widows and orphans know me.

I massacre thousands upon thousands of wage-earners in a year.