mystical airship and the dear little Man-at-the-wheel had disappeared as she looked about at all the familiar things. At the soft, green moss upon which she had settled down to rest when she first came to the wood a short time before. At the singing birds, at the green leaves, at the blue sky peeping through the trees. Phillis asked them all where where had gone the dear fairy ship and its faithful, safe and kindly guide. A STRANGE ACCIDENT Jennie F. Stewart, Boulder, Colorado Bonny and Ralph were walking along the country road one day when they heard a great yelping and barking from the two dogs that lived on the Blair farm. "Oh look!" cried Bonny, "they are after a poor bunnie and they will get him too." "Let us wait and see," suggested Ralph, "they are coming this way." The rabbit made a leap straight at the close barbed wire fence but the dogs were too large to go through and too heavy to jump over the fence, so yelping even more frantically, they started to go around by the open gate. Jumping and leaping high in air the dogs ran across the road to the pasture eagerly sniffing about but could not get track again of the rabbit. "I'd like to know where that rabbit went," Bonny said, "I never saw him cross the road." "I guess he is hiding in those weeds right where he came through the fence" suggested Ralph, “I am going to see if I can scare him out." But the sight they saw when they reached the corner of the fence surprised them. There was a long pole braced against the corner post to hold the fence firmly and on this pole lay the habbit. He was stretched out as quietly as if he were taking a peaceful rest. But when the children came up and undertook to lift him they found he could not be moved. The poor creature, in coming through the fence, had run so hard against a protruding nail that it was driven under his skin for its entire length. He could not get off, so he had lain down close to the pole which was exactly the color of his grey coat and was trusting to it for protection. The children soon liberated him and away he ran, this time on the other side of the fence. The dogs did not see him until he was well on his way to safety and the children were glad to see that they finally gave up the chase. "If by easy work you beat, Who the more will prize you? Gaining victory from defeat, That's the test that tries you." Never excuse a wrong action by saying that some one else does the same thing.-Franklin, A STRANGE CALLER Jennie E. Stewart, Boulder, Colorado It was the Fourth of July. Rollo together with father and mother Turner. Auntie Grace and Baby Elizabeth had come away up into the mountains for a day of camping. After a delicious dinner, consisting mostly of mountain trout cooked over a camp fire, the three grown-ups took their lines and went a little farther up the stream to fish, leaving baby asleep in the shade of a pine tree with Rollo beside her to rest and see that she did not wander away when she waked up. Rollo was tired for they had started as soon as it was light enough to see, but he did not wish to go to sleep and miss a single minute of this wonderful day. He stretched out the blanket beside the baby and lay quietly staring up the mountain slope at the distant pines. Once in a while his gaze fell to the creek at his feet, where an occasional rainbow trout could be seen in a splash of spray. He was growing a bit drowsy when suddenly he thought he saw something moving in the grass about thirty feet away. He watched closely and in a minute two round beady black eyes and a sleek grey head appeared above the edge of a big bowlder. Rollo did not dare to more than breathe. A lithe slender body came over the edge of the rock and stood poised a second as if ready for instant flight should need arise. Rollo knew it was a chipmunk but never before had he seen one at such close range. The timid caller flashed down from rock to rock into the grass, zig-zagged back and forth from rock to rock and from clump of grass to clump of grass, gradually working his cautious way to the watching boy. Once in a while, perhaps frightened at some slight movement of the boy's he darted back a little way. After an interval of quiet hiding. he would twinkle out in the open again, rear himself on his hind legs and look inquiringly about. After what seemed a long time to Rollo, though in reality the whole occurrence took up not more than ten minutes, the little fellow came out into an open space not more than three yards from the blanket under the pine where the brother and sister lay. He reared up on his hind legs, sniffed eagerly at the air, watched warily for some hostile movement from the boy then dropped to his four feet, grabbed a bone from the luncheon scraps and scampered away as fast as his small legs could carry him. He wasted no time in cautious reconoitering on the homeward trip. Rollo sat up in order to see him better, but about all he got was a streak of grey flitting from rock to rock until he was lost to sight among the boulders so nearly the color of his sleek coat. As it was a wild piece of country seldom visited by human beings, Rollo thought he must have been a very brave little creature to come out thus and expose himself to danger in order to secure a bit of food for his family at home. ART AND NUMBER WORK Olive Wills, Cheyenne, Wyoming (Insert cut of Birds, Pig, Ship., C is for cat, etc.) What a fine thing it is when we can correlate our school studies and we find the drawing perhaps more readily, than any other study, combines with other work. Of course always with the Manual Training and hand work also with nature work and very often with Geography, History and Literature, but I believe, aside from the use of the ruler, it has very few chances to be correlated with the number work. One of our primary teachers worked out a very lovely number book. There were 45 problems in addition and subtraction. Each pupil made a book of their work, pages 9"x 12", and in a way they were also A. B. C. books. First page A is for apple, just two apples on the page. The single letter as the A, is a little larger than the letters "is for". All are cut by the children out of squared paper which directions are given in a previous number of this magazine. The pictures the teacher will cut from a strong bristol board and have the children trace them in their page and color or trace on another paper, color, cut out and paste in the book. Figs. I and II show finished pages. The teacher will readily work out the other number combinations and many pictures. Figs. III-IV-V-VI-VII are drawings of suitable size for the page and the problems, as some requiring more pictures will have to have them smaller. The book cover may be decorated with a single design or perhaps border, and these made of some unit used in the book, for instance the bird, the ship or a flower. Fig. VIII is a book cover. SINCE MOTHER'S AWAY Jennie F. Stewart, Boulder, Colorado Dear Daddy, hold me closer, The wind is sobbing low, He sees us sitting, lonely Beneath the pale moon's glow. He knows we are a-weary, He'll breathe our love and longing Now here is some straight stuff: It is father's duty to give some time every week to his boys and girls. The only time I have been able to give to mine is Sunday. My Sundays have belonged to my children. I have been to church and Sunday School with them always, because in the light of some hundred years of history, there is nothing that yields better returns, in the long run, than habitual reverence for God. "Only those who believe in God do good in private," say the French. Sunday afternoons we have always taken a walk, when the weather permitted, or if too stormy, we have read story books together, or have made various kinds of scrap-books. In our walks we usually had a definite objective. We went to see somebody, or to get a particular view, or to visit our favorite trees, or to look for some one thing in particular. We counted birds' nests one trip; on another we searched for cocoons; on a third, dug into old stumps to see what we could discover; or looked under pieces of wood and bark; found the smallest growing things; collected leaves or saw packs of as many kinds as possible; learned the wild flowers, the birds, the butterflies and moths, the ferns. the trees, the mushrooms; made collections of colored things-flowers, leaves, insects, pebbles and so forth, and arranged them in the spectrum order; followed a brook in summer, with Tennyson's Brook as a guide: followed one in winter, with Lowell's Brook in the (Vision of Sir Launfal) as a guide. In a word, we studied God's great, wonderful out-door book in the afternoon, just as diligently as we studied the best literature in the morning. And what results? Five open-eyed, open minded, intelligent young men and women, devoted to their parents and grateful for what their Heavenly Father and His children have done for them, a mother who is still young and happy (because she got a little rest on Sunday during those strenuous years), to say nothing of a father who now thanks God for the privilege of still being a boy, though in his fifties. We shall never forget those long winter evenings in our city home when the girls came back from seminary and high school, and the boys from Harvard and "Tech," and we sat around the dinner table together, forgetful of time. We were all more entertaining to each other than any show ever staged, because by this time each of the children had discovered his own special field of inteest, and delved into it beyond the limit of the others in the great realms of nature and literature that we had begun to enjoy together when they were little children. Each one could therefore make his own particular contribution to the delight of all. Pool rooms, saloons, clubs, stag parties? When will short-sighted, self-indulgent, arrogant fathers learn that in their own wives and children are the possi bilities of perennial delights and solid satisfactions compared with which other things are dust and ashes. ALL ON A SUMMER'S DAY J. M. Niven, Toronto, Canada Mrs. Cloud was sailing slowly through the sky, thinking of her children, the raindrops, who had been doing no work for some time, just resting in Cloudland. It had been very hot, and it was very pleasant just to float about and dream. I wonder how the earth is getting along without my children, thought Mrs. Cloud. I must look down and see. The picture she saw of dry, brown fields, and poor little thirsty plants drooping in the great heat, touched her and made her call quickly to the raindrops, "children, come here." "What is it, mother?" asked the little ones, hastening at her call. "I am going to send you on a journey to help the poor earth below. It is sighing for rain, and no one can help it but you." "But mother, we can't do any good, we are so small and the fields big, and the ground so very hard." cried one little raindrop. "Let us stay here and rest. We are having such a good time." "No children, the earth has need of you. You are small, I know, but if you all work together you can do a lot of good. "Quick! get into this cloud that is floating beside us. It will be your carriage." The little laughing raindrops were packed in so tight that they could scarcely move. "Who will drive our carriage, mother?" cried the happy family. "I will," said a passing breeze. I want to be of some use in this world." "Good-bye children," cried Mrs. Cloud, "do your best and you will be happy." Everything went well for a time. Then the breeze went faster and faster, and the heavy carriage raced along, till all of a sudden it broke, and down, down, came tumbling the frightened children. Up and down the fields they ran, through the long grasses, and along the dusty road. The plants raised their drooping heads and sent out sweet perfume when they felt the pitter-patter of the raindrops feet. The tall grasses nodded and nodded, as if to say, "the world is brighter and better since you came." "We are very glad to hear this," murmured the little raindrops, as they ran merrily on their way. "Dear mother was right," cried another, "work is better than play." Bye and bye some sunbeams found the raindrops and carried them back to Cloudland. TOYS "MADE IN AMERICA" By Mrs Martha Gallaudet Waring "Clear track, toot-topt, ding-apling, chu-chu, all aboard!" all of which means that my two-year old is at his favorite play. As I look out of my window, I see him on his kiddy car, pushing along with his sturdy legs, and pulling a train behind him, consisting of an iron locomotive and three cars. His point of departure is the "station," proclaimed a centre of traffic by a "windup auto-livery wagon," a small one-horse cart full of "wocks," and a two-mule cart in which sits Seraphina, his rag doll, holding his baby. His objective is "Tybee," at the other end of the long, straight piazza so called after the island of that name which we frequently visit in the summer. A gateway built of one-inch cubes and long brick-shaped pieces of wood, marks the entrance to the "island.” Boy has been playing this way the better part or the afternoon, with an occasional bit of encourage. ment from elder sisters nearby. He is playing with things that afford plenty of room for original work, manipulation and imagination, the auto-toy being the nearest approach to a mechanical one, and the one he cares least about. Everything he has is solid and substantial enough to be really used and enjoyed. As I watch him racing up and down in his kiddycar, I wonder at his control over it until I study it's simple and excellent mechanism. Its front wheels can turn in any direction, its steering gear is strong and easily managed, and it is made entirely of wood. Both carts are also of wood, as well as the mule and horse, and all are well painted and is strongly put together. The cars are painted red, white and blue, so I know they are made in our own country. The rag babies we made ourselves, and although they are "of a crudeness," they are none the less beloved. The blocks were made by measure at a wood-yard. Being large and easily handled, a child can build gates, bridges and platforms with them, big enough to walk under or upon, and strong enough to stand firm after they are built. Our older children, when they were small, played principally with imported dolls dressed in native costumes. And I can remember that my brother and I had handsome books brought from England, that my finest dolls were French and his regiments or toy sol diers came mostly from the land of militarism. But our Baby Boy, born during the World War and forced to rely on sturdy, home-made toys, is much better off. There is a two-fold lesson here for us mothers. One concerns the children themselves and the other goes far afleld into the laws of economics, world production and the like. We have found that our own substantial, wooden, easily handled playthings are what our children need and want. Children's books we have a plenty, the most artistic I suppose, in the world. And then we can demand well- made, pretty American dolls. It only remains for us to hold to all of these, and prove our patriotism by refusing to buy foreign manufac tured toys, even if they are put on the market again later on. A far cry, isn't it, from baby boy with his "toot-toot ding-a-lang, chu-chu," on the piazza, to the law of supply and demand, and the regulation of one of the great industries of the world? But in just such ways, we are now finding out how great problems must be handled. We are going back to our earlier and simpler days, when we shall discard the non-essentials as so much waste and rubbish. Let us begin then, at the beginning, and stick to toys-Made in America WAKING AT MORNING (With Apologies to R. L. S.) Or maybe five or half-past four, I watch my things about the room; I wonder, are they glad as I That always smiles so happily, My little chair with cushion blue, I hear the sparrows pick and scratch I think they take their morning bath Sometimes I hear the early train, And wonder why it hurries so. I toss my house of blankets back, Happy as a robin, Gentle as a dove, Everyone will love.-Anon, |