civilization to be found all along the frontier of the United States
at the close of the eighteenth century. The sun is about to rise and
objects are only dimly seen through the early morning haze. The
building itself is at the left. It is made of rough hewn logs. A
closed door of heavy planks is shown in the front wall. The windows
are narrow loop-holes through which can be seen from time to time the
blue barrels of flint-lock rifles. The second story of the blockhouse
projects over the first, so that anyone approaching the wall would be
subjected to rifle fire from the floor above. A cleared space in front
contains the stumps of several large trees, behind one of which may be
seen a crouching Indian, invisible to the blockhouse but easily seen
by the audience. Well back and at the right is a small stream. Beyond
both right and back the forest extends indefinitely. Shadowy figures
are moving among the trees.
Write answers to the following questions. Remember, that if you
are really a good sport and play the game fairly, you will not
look back at the paragraph you have just read.
1. Does the scene show a time of danger or of peace?
2. Are people within the blockhouse?
3. What means of defense has the blockhouse?
4. What time of day is it?
5. On which side of the stage is the blockhouse? the stream?
THE HAPPY PRINCE
Here is a story of a golden statue and a little bird, both of whom
sacrificed a great deal for the sake of others. As you read, see
if you can tell which sacrificed more, and decide whether you are
sorry for them because they gave up so much.
High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy
Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes
he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his
sword-hilt.
One night, there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had
gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he
was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the
spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and
had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk
to her.
After the other swallows had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of
his lady-love. "She has no conversation," he said, "and I am afraid
that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind." And
certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful
curtsies. "I admit that she is domestic," he continued, "but I love
traveling, and my wife, consequently, should love traveling also."
"Will you come away with me?" he said finally to her; but the Reed
shook her head, she was so attached to her home.
"You have been trifling with me," he cried. "I am off to the Pyramids.
Good-bye!" and he flew away.
All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. "Where
shall I put up?" he said. "I hope the town has made preparations."
Then he saw the statue on the tall column. "I will put up there," he
cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air." So he
alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.
"I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked
round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his
head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him.
"What a curious thing!" he cried, "there is not a single cloud in the
sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The
climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to
like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness."
Then another drop fell.
"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?" he said;
"I must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.
But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked
up, and saw--Ah! what did he see?
The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were
running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the
moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.
"Who are you?" he said.
"I am the Happy Prince."
"Why are you weeping then?" asked the swallow; "you have quite
drenched me."
"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did
not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans-Souci
(without care), where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I
played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the
dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but
I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so
beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I
was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that
I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the
ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of
lead yet I cannot choose but weep."
[Illustration: "LITTLE SWALLOW, WILL YOU NOT STAY WITH ME FOR ONE
NIGHT?"]
"What, is he not of solid gold?" said the Swallow to himself. He was
too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.
"Far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in
a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and
through it I can see a woman seated at the table. Her face is thin and
worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for
she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion-flowers on a satin
gown for the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of-honor to wear at the
next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is
lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has
nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow,
Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my
sword hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move."
"I am waited for in Egypt," said the Swallow. "My friends are flying
up and down the Nile and talking to the large lotus-flowers. Soon they
will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there
himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and
embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade,
and his hands are like withered leaves."
"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not
stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so
thirsty and the mother is so sad."
"I don't think I like boys," answered the Swallow. "Last summer, when I
was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons,
who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we
swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family
famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."
But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry.
"It is very cold here," he said; "but I will stay with you for one
night, and be your messenger."
"Thank you, little Swallow," said the Prince.
So the Swallow picked out the ruby from the Prince's sword, and flew
away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.
He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were
sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A
beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. "How wonderful
the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of
love!" "I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball," she
answered; "I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but
the seamstresses are so lazy."
He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of
the ships. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy
was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep,
she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table
beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning
the boy's forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel," said the boy, "I
must be getting better;" and he sank into a delicious slumber.
Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he
had done. "It is curious," he remarked, "but I feel quite warm now,
although it is so cold."
"That is because you have done a good action," said the Prince. And
the little Swallow began to think, and then fell asleep. Thinking
always made him sleepy.
When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. "To-night I go
to Egypt," he said, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He
visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the
church steeple. Wherever he went sparrows chirruped, and said to each
other, "What a distinguished stranger!" so he enjoyed himself very much.
When the moon rose he flew back and said to the Happy Prince: "Have
you any commissions for Egypt? I am just starting."
"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not
stay with me one night longer? Far away across the city I see a young
man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in
a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair
is brown and crisp and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has
large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director
of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire
in the grate, and hunger has made him faint."
"I will wait one night longer," said the Swallow, who had a good
heart. "Shall I take him another ruby?"
"Alas! I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that I
have left. They are made of rare sapphires which were brought out of
India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him.
He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish
his play."
"Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began to
weep.
"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command
you."
So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the
student's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in
the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young
man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter
of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful
sapphire lying on the withered violets.
"I am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great
admirer. Now I can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.
The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbor. He sat on the mast of
a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the
hold with ropes. "I am going to Egypt!" cried the Swallow, but nobody
minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.
"I am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.
"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not
stay with me one night longer?"
"It is winter," answered the Swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be
here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the
crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them."
"In the square below," said the Happy Prince, "there stands a little
match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are
all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some
money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her
little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and
her father will not beat her."
"I will stay with you one night longer," said the Swallow, "but I
cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then."
"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command
you."
So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He
swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of
her hand. "What a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she
ran home laughing.
Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. "You are blind now," he
said, "so I will stay with you always."
"No, little Swallow," said the poor Prince, "you must go away to Egypt."
"I will stay with you always," said the Swallow, and he slept at the
Prince's feet.
Next day the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making
merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the
gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving
children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the
archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms
to try and keep themselves warm.
Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.
"I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince, "you must take it off
leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that
gold can make them happy."
Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy
Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he
brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they
laughed and played games in the street. "We have bread now!" they cried.
Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets
looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and
glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves
of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore
scarlet caps and skated on the ice.
The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave
the Prince, for he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the
baker's door, and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.
But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just enough
strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more. "Good-bye, dear
Prince!" he murmured, "will you let me kiss your hand?"
"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said
the Prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on
the lips, for I love you."
"It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow. "I am going to
the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"
And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his
feet.
At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue as if
something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped
right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.
Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in
company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked
up at the statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.
"How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed
with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.
"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is
golden no longer," said the Mayor; "in fact he is little better than a
beggar."
"Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.
"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor.
"We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed
to die here." And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.
So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. "As he is no
longer beautiful he is no longer useful," said the Art Professor at
the University.
Then they melted the statue in a furnace and the Mayor held a meeting
of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. "We
must have another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a
statue of myself."
"Of myself," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarreled.
When I last heard of them they were quarreling still.
"What a strange thing!" said the overseer at the foundry. "This broken
lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away." So
they threw it on a dust heap where the dead swallow was also lying.
"Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one
of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead
bird.
"You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise
this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the
Happy Prince shall praise me."
--_Oscar Wilde.
Courtesy of Augustus R. Keller and Company._
It would be too bad to mar this beautiful story by asking
questions about it. This is a story to tell. Your teacher, or
perhaps the class, will decide who is to come to the front of the
room and tell the story. It would be a good Christmas story.
CAN YOU FOLLOW DIRECTIONS?
This exercise is given to see if you can follow directions. Follow
each direction as you read it. Do not wait for others to start,
but begin now.
1. Arrange your paper with your name on the first line and your
grade on the second. At the left hand side of your paper number
the next ten lines from number 1 to number 10.
2. The words NAME IS A JOHN BOY'S do not make a good sentence, but
if the words are arranged in order they form a good sentence: JOHN
IS A BOY'S NAME. This sentence is true. In the same way, the words
BOOKS MADE IRON OF ARE, in this order do not make a good sentence,
but arranged in the right order they form a good sentence: BOOKS
ARE MADE OF IRON. This sentence is not true.
3. Here are ten groups of words which can be rearranged into good
sentences. When they are rearranged in their right order, some
will be true and some will be false. Look at the first set of
words. Do not write the words in their right order, but see what
they would say if rearranged. If what they would say is true,
write the word _true_ after figure 1 on your paper; but if what
they would say is not true, write the word _false_ after figure 1.
Do this with each group of words.
1. shepherd the his good sheep cares for.
2. Pigeons carry frequently used war to were messages.
3. usually elected kings for are four years.
4. from get caterpillar we called a silk-worm the silk.
5. live the far-away Eskimos sandy hot in deserts the.
6. and coal mined the cotton south are in.
7. sail Spain three set Columbus from great steamships with.
8. chief of England the city Philadelphia is.
9. our days long summer and hot are.
10. noted California trees is big its for.
FEEDING FRENCH CHILDREN
You should all begin reading at the same moment. Your teacher will
time you and tell you how long it takes you to read this
selection. But do not hurry, for you will be asked to tell the
class the things you remember best.
Maybe you had a big brother or sister or cousin or aunt or uncle
who, during the great war, worked under the Red Cross in France.
If you did, he or she may have written home just such letters as
this one, which a big sister wrote to her little brothers in
America. As you read, see if you do not think she must be a very
pleasant, friendly big sister, not only to her own little
brothers, but also to the little French children.
Do you wish you had been born in France and that your names were Jean,
and René, and Etienne instead of Bill and George Albert and Ben? And do
you wish you wore black sateen aprons instead of woolly blue sweaters?
The reason I began to write you this letter is that yesterday
afternoon I put on my hat and coat when I ought to have been working,
and went to visit some French schools. I went with twenty fine people
who all wore Red Cross uniforms.
The reason I went is very interesting. For three years, while all the
men and the big boys in France have been fighting, their mothers and
sisters and all the children whom they had to leave behind them have
been getting poorer and thinner and hungrier. You see, since the men
have gone to war there haven't been enough of them left to grow the
wheat and run the machinery which makes the bread. Well, as I said, the
mothers and the little children got thinner and poorer and hungrier, but
the last thing of all that they gave up was a luncheon they served in
the afternoon in the schools to the smallest and poorest children. It
was such a little luncheon that they called it "the taste", but finally
they had to give up even that; and then when the time came to eat, the
children, who were just as brave as soldiers, had to pretend they
weren't hungry at all. They went without that luncheon for a number of
months, and then an American doctor decided that the boys and girls in
that part of Paris must have that luncheon again. So the doctor rented a
bakeshop and he got a ton of nice white American flour, and hundreds and
hundreds of cans of American condensed milk, and a very great deal of
sugar and some other things, and went to work making buns. And the
reason I went to the schools yesterday was to help give out the buns and
chocolate for the children's "taste".
I suppose you think that one bun and one piece of chocolate wasn't
much--and we thought so too when we saw all those hungry little faces,
and their little legs that looked quite hollow--but the children
thought it was fine. They were so polite, boys! When we marched into
their classrooms they all stood up and saluted us as if they had been
soldiers. They showed us their copy books and told us what the lesson
was. In one class the master himself was quite scared because he
wanted to speak English to make us feel at home. But he made us a fine
speech, saying how thankful they all were to their American friends
for being so generous to them. He thanked us especially for thinking
of the children and for trying to help them when their fathers were
away fighting. Then he asked the boys whose fathers or brothers were
in the war to raise their hands, and, do you know, almost every boy
could raise his hand. They were proud to do it, too. Their hands went
up quickly and some of them waved--as you do when you especially want
the teacher to pay attention to you. The master asked the boys whose
fathers would never come back to raise their hands, and there were so
many of them that we could hardly bear to count them; and this time
the hands went up very slowly and their faces were very, very sober.
In the first school we went to, the big hall was decorated with a long
string of American flags. Every one was drawn very carefully, and then
colored with crayons by the littlest children. There were paper
chains, too, made out of red, white, and blue paper; and finally, when
the buns came in, the baskets were all decorated with the American
flag because the American people had given the bread.
The boys all marched into the hall in a long, long line, and, Bill and
Junior and Ben, I was so afraid that there wouldn't be enough buns to
go around! They marched up to the baskets, their little wooden shoes
making a terrible clatter on the stone floor; and every boy got a bun
in one hand and a bar of chocolate in the other, and every boy said
"Thank you" in French, very politely. I don't think even the smallest
forgot that, though some of them were so excited that they couldn't
march straight and some of them couldn't talk at all plainly, even in
French. There was one time when I got very much excited myself. That
was when one little boy, in a blue soldier suit just like his
father's, said "Thank you" in English. I nearly dropped all the buns I
had in my two hands, I was so surprised.
The Mayor of the district, who probably seemed like the President of the
United States to most of the children, made a speech and told them how
sorry the Americans had been that they couldn't have their lunch in the
afternoon, and how the Americans wanted them to be strong and well and
happy and had given them the buns and the chocolate to help, and he
talked to them in such a pleasant voice and in such a loving sort of
way, that when he said he wanted them to shout, "Vive l'Amerique!" which
means, "Hurrah for the United States of America!" they shouted--really
and truly shouted--just as if they'd been little American boys.
At the next school, we went to the building where the tiniest children
of all learned their kindergarten games. They marched for us, and sang a
little song about the good "Saint Christopher", who was kind to little
children; and a little boy who had lost his mother and father in the war
and who was really too little to understand, said a very polite speech
to us and promised us that he and his little friends would always
remember how kind the Americans had been to them. He was so tiny that he
hid his head in the teacher's apron when he had finished.
Finally we went to the biggest school of all, and there we found a
great hall filled with classes of little girls, all dressed in black,
all looking so pale and thin and sad that we were glad to think that
perhaps the buns and chocolates we had brought would--in a month or
two--bring some color into their poor little faces, and perhaps even
put some fat on their wrists and hands that were so thin they seemed
like birds' claws. One of the older girls had made a fine big panel
picture here showing the children eating their buns and chocolates and
capering up and down just as I've seen somebody caper a bit when he
was going to have--was it ice cream for Sunday dinner?