Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come for. He was looking for the
wide green country, for a place where grass grew everywhere. "This is
the funniest thing in the world," he thought scratching his head.
"Wherever I walk in New York I come to water. So many people and water
on every side of them! How do they ever get out?" As soon as he thought
of this, he began to look around. Across the East River he could see a
giant bridge leaping from New York over to another city and on the
bridge were trains and cars shooting back and forth and autos and horses
and people. "So that is the way they get out!" he thought.
Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson River. "No bridges there!" he
said. "It's too wide." Then he suddenly remembered the ferry boat that
had brought him from Ellis Island. "Ferry boats, of course," he thought.
And sure enough there were ferry boats and ferry boats going back and
forth from New York to the other side and to the little islands out in
the harbor too!
Now Boris walked along thinking hard about all this water all around New
York. Just then he noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in
the sidewalk. "The Subway," he thought, for you remember he had been on
the subway. But the name over the steps didn't spell "subway." He looked
at it for a long time. At last he could read it. "Hudson Tubes" it said.
Hudson Tubes? What could that mean? Boris wanted to know. So he walked
right up to a woman coming out of the hole.
"What are the Hudson Tubes and where do they take you?" he asked.
The woman laughed. "They take you to New Jersey, of course," she said.
"Is that over there?" Boris asked, pointing across the Hudson. "And do
they really go under the Hudson River?"
"Yes, to be sure they do. Where do you want to go?" she answered and
then Boris remembered what he had been hunting for. "I want to go to a
wide green country where there is grass everywhere. But every way I walk
in New York I come to water. I know because I've walked east and I've
walked west and I've walked north and I've walked south," he said,
feeling a little like crying for he was very tired and he _was_ only a
little boy too. The woman smiled and she looked nice when she smiled.
"You see, boy," she said, "New York is an island, so of course, you come
to water every way you walk. And it's so full of people that there isn't
any wide green country left,--except the Parks of course."
"Yes, I know the Parks," said Boris, "but that isn't quite what I mean!"
The woman smiled again. "There _is_ a wide green country when you get
out of the island," she said. "You'll find it some day I'm sure," and
then the woman hurried away. Boris was very, very tired. So he took the
subway home. When he came in his mother called out, "Did you find the
wide green country, Boris?"
"No," said Boris, "I couldn't, you see. Because what do you think New
York is?"
"What do I think New York is, Boris? Why, it's the biggest city in the
world!"
"That's not what I mean. What do you think it _is_? What is it built on
I mean?"
"What is it built on? On good sound rock I suppose!"
Boris laughed and laughed. "No, no," he said. "I mean it's an island.
Every way you walk, if you walk long enough, you come to water. Now
isn't that the funniest thing?" And Boris's mother thought it was funny
too.
"So many people and all to live on an island!" she kept saying to
herself. "I should think it would make them a lot of work!"
And Boris who remembered the bridges and the ferry boats and the "tubes"
thought so too!
Boris, he went out to walk
To find the country wide
And he walked west and west he walked
But he found the Hudson wide!
And so he turned himself about
And walked the other way
And he walked east and east he walked
And there East River lay!
But Boris he went out again
To find the country wide
And he went north and north he went
To Harlem River's side.
Again he turned himself about
And went the other way
And he went south and south he went
And there the harbor lay!
Then Boris scratched his head and thought:
"Whatever way I go
There's always water at the end
Whatever way I go!
New York must be an island
An island it must be
So many people all shut in
By rivers and by sea!
They've bridges and they've ferry boats
Across the top to go;
They've subways and they've Hudson tubes
To burrow down below
To get things in, to get things out
How busy they must be!
In that enormous big New York
On rivers and on sea!"
SPEED
This story is a definite attempt to make the child aware of a new
relationship in his familiar environment.
The verse is for the older children. The story has lent itself well to
dramatization.
SPEED
Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His back was broad, his horns
were long and his eyes were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering
down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he walked along he swung from
side to side carefully putting down his small feet. And this is what he
thought:
"I am pleased with myself--so large, so broad, so strong am I. Is there
anyone else who can pull so heavy a load? Is there anyone else who can
plow so straight a furrow? What would the world do without me?"
Just then he heard something tearing along the road behind him.
"Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty." In a moment up dashed a
big, black horse.
"Greetings," lowed the ox, slowly turning his large gentle eyes on the
excited horse. "Why such haste, my brother?" The horse tossed his mane.
"I'm in a hurry," he snorted, "because I'm made to go fast. Why, I can
go ten miles while you crawl one! The world has no more use for a great
white snail like you. But if you want speed, I'm just what you need.
Watch how fast I go!" and clopperty, clopperty he was off down the road.
As the ox watched the horse disappear he thought of what he had heard.
"He called me a great white snail! He said he could go ten miles while I
crawled one! Surely this swift horse is more wonderful than I!"
Now as the horse went frisking along this is what he thought. "I am
pleased with myself. I am sleek, I am swift--swifter than the ox. What
would the world do without me?"
Just then he heard a strange humming overhead. He glanced up. The sound
came from a wire taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning wheels
coming "Kathump, kathump." And what do you think that poor frightened
horse saw coming along the road? A self-moving car with a trolley
overhead touching the singing wire! His eyes stuck out of his head and
his mane stood on end he was so scared. What made it go, he wondered.
"Hello, clodhopper," shrieked the electric car. "I didn't know there
were any of you four-footed curiosities left. Surely the world has no
more use for you. Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you
carry one man, I carry ten. If you want speed I'm just what you need.
Just watch me!" He was gone leaving only the humming wire overhead. The
poor horse thought of what he had heard.
"He called me a clodhopper! He said he could go in an hour where I take
half a day! Surely this swift car is more wonderful than I!"
Now the trolley went swinging on his way thinking, "I am pleased with
myself. My power is the same as the lightning that rips the sky. I am
swift,--swifter than the ox--swifter than the horse. What would the
world do without me?"
Just then he heard a terrifying noise. It sounded like a mightly monster
coughing his life away. "Chug, a chug a chug a chug, chug." Then to his
horror he saw coming across the green field a gigantic iron creature
with black smoke and fiery sparks streaming from a nose on top of his
head.
"Well, slowpoke," screamed the engine as he came near the car. "Out o'
breath? No wonder. You're not made to go fast like me, for I move by the
great power of steam. Look at my monstrous boilers; see my hot fire.
Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one man I
carry twenty. If you want speed I'm just what you need! Goodbye. Take
your time, slow coach." And chug, chug, he was off leaving only a trail
of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trolley car thought of what he had
heard.
"He called me a slowpoke! He said he could go in an hour where I take a
half day! Surely this ugly engine is greater than I!"
[Illustration]
Now the engine raced down to the freight depot which was near the great
shipping docks. As he waited to be loaded he thought:
"I am pleased with myself. I am swift--swifter than the ox, swifter than
the horse, swifter than the electric car. What would the world do
without me? I serve everyone, I go everywhere----"
Just here he was interrupted by the deep booming voice of a freight
steamer lying alongside the wharf. "Tooooot" is what the voice said,
"you ridiculous landlubber! You go everywhere? What about the water? Can
you go to France and back again? It's only I who can haul the world's
goods across the ocean! And even where you _can_ go, you never get
trusted if they can possibly trust me, now do you? Did you ever think
why men use river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think why men
cut the great Panama Canal so that sea could flow into sea? Well, it's
simply because they're smart and prefer me to you when they can get me.
You eat too much coal with your speed,--that's what the trouble is with
you--you ridiculous landlubber!"
This long speech made the old steamer quite hoarse so he cleared his
throat with a long "Toooot" and sank into silence.
"Of course, what he says is true," thought the engine. "At the same time
it is equally true that _on land_ I _do_ serve everyone, I go
everywhere----"
Just here he was interrupted again by a most unexpected noise. It
sounded half like a steel giggle, half like a brass hiccough. It
made the engine uneasy. He was sure someone was laughing at him.
Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted up a funny little
automobile who was laughing and laughing and shaking frantically like
this and going "zzzzz."
"You silly little road beetle," shouted the great engine, "what on
earth's the matter with you?"
The automobile gave one violent shake, turned off his spark and said in
an orderly voice, "It struck my funny bone to hear you say you went
everywhere _on land_, that's all. Don't you realize you're an old fuss
budget with your steam and your boiler and your fire and what not?
You're tied to your rails and if everything about your old tracks isn't
kept just so you tumble over into a ditch or do some fool thing. Now I'm
the one that can endure real hardships. Sparks and gasoline! you just
sit right there, you baby, you railclinger, and watch me take that hill!
Honk, honk!" And he was off up the hill.
The engine slowly turned back his headlight till the light shone full on
his shiny rails. He thought of what he had heard. "He called me a
railclinger--yes, that I am. How can that preposterous little beetle run
without tracks? I'm afraid he's more wonderful than I."
Now the automobile went jouncing and bouncing up the rough road puffing
merrily and thinking, "I'm mightily pleased with myself. Look at the way
I climb this hill. There's nothing really so wonderful as I----"
Just then he heard a sound that made his engine boil with fright.
Dzdzdzdzdzr--it seemed to come right out of the sky. He got all his
courage together and turned his searchlights up. The sight instantly
killed his engine. Above him soared a giant aeroplane. It floated, it
wheeled, it rose, it dropped. It looked serene, strong and swift. Down,
down came the great thing. Through the terrific droning the automobile
could just make out these words:
"Dzdzdzdz. You think you're wonderful, you poor little creeping worm
tied to the earth! I pity all you slow, slow things that I look down on
as I fly through the sky. Ox made way for horse, horse made way for
engine, car and auto but all,--all make way for me. For if you want
speed, I'm just what you need. Dzdzdzdzdz."
And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a giant bird. The
automobile watched him, too humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the
aeroplane--up, up, up 'til it was out of sight.
SPEED
The hounds they speed with hanging tongues;
The deer they speed with bursting lungs;
Foxes hurry,
Field mice scurry.
Eagles fly
Swift, through the sky,
And man, his face all wrinkled with worry,
Goes speeding by tho' he couldn't tell why!
But a little wild hare
He pauses to stare
At the daisies and baby and me
Just sitting,--not trying to go anywhere,
Just sitting and playing with never a care
In the shade of a great elm tree.
And the daisies they laugh
As they hear the world pass,
What is speed to the growing flowers?
And my baby laughs
As he sits in the grass,
We all laugh through the sunshiny hours,--
Through the long, dear sunshiny hours!
For flowers and babies
And I still know
'Tis fun to be happy,
'Tis fun to go slow,
'Tis fun to take time to live and to grow.
FIVE LITTLE BABIES
This story was originally written because the children thought a negro
was dirty. The songs are authentic. They have been enjoyed by children
as young as four years old.
FIVE LITTLE BABIES
This is going to be a story about some little babies,--five different
little babies who were born in five different parts of this big round
world and didn't look alike or think alike at all.
One little baby was all yellow. He just came that way. His eyes were
black and slanted up in his little face. His hair was black and
straight. He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk trousers
with flowers and figures sewed all over them. When he looked up he saw
his father's face was yellow and so was his mother's. And his father's
hair was black and so was his mother's. And when he was a little older
he saw they both wore gay silk coats and gay silk trousers with flowers
and figures sewed all over them. But the baby didn't think any of this
was queer,--not even when he grew up. For every one he knew had yellow
skin and wore silk coats and trousers. So of course he thought all the
world was that way.
But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew
his mother loved her little yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And
he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:
"Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun
Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei
Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin.
Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To
Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze
Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin."
For all this happened in China and he was a little Chinese Baby.
* * *
Another little baby was all brown. He just came that way. His eyes were
black and his hair was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls and
little silk dresses. And when he looked up he saw his father's face was
brown and that he wore a big turban on his head. And he saw that around
his mother's brown face was long soft hair. He saw that she wore pretty
colored silk shawls and long silk trousers and bare feet. But the baby
didn't think any of this was queer,--even when he grew up. He thought
every one had brown skin and that everybody dressed like himself and his
father and his mother.
But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he
knew his mother loved her little brown baby with black eyes. And he
loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:
"Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare,
Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare,
Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah,
Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare."
For all this happened in India and he was a little Indian baby.
* * *
Now another little baby was all black. He just came that way. His eyes
were black and his hair was black and curled in tight kinky curls all
over his little head. And this little baby didn't wear anything at all
except a loin cloth. When he looked up he saw the black faces and kinky
black hair of his father and his mother. And when he was a little older
he saw that they didn't wear any clothes either except a loin cloth and
a feather skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think any of this
was queer,--not even when he grew older. He thought all the world looked
and dressed like that.
But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew
his mother loved her little black baby with kinky black hair. And he
loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying,
"O túla, mntwána, O túla,
Unyóko akamúko,
Uséle ezintabéni,
Uhlú shwa izigwégwe,
Iwá.
O túla, mntwána, O túla,
Unyóko w-zezobúya,
Akupatéle ínto enhlé,
Iwá."
For all this happened in Africa and he was a little negro baby.
* * *
Still another little baby,--he was the fourth,--was all red. He just
came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was straight and black.
He was bound up tight and slipped into a basket and carried around on
his mother's back. He didn't think this was queer, even when he grew up.
He thought all little babies were carried that way. And he thought all
fathers and mothers had red skin and black hair and wore leather coats
and trousers trimmed with feathers. For his did.
But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew
his mother loved her little red baby that she carried on her back, and
he loved to have her take him out of his basket bed and rock him in her
arms and sing to him, saying:
"Cheda-e
Nakahu-kalu
Be-be!
Nakahu-kalu
Be-be!
E-Be-be!"
For all this happened in America long, long ago, and he was a little
Indian baby.
* * *
The last little baby, and he makes five, was all white. He just came
so too. His eyes were blue and his hair was gold and he looked like a
little baby you know. And he wore dear little white dresses and little
knitted shoes. When he looked up he saw his father's white skin and his
mother's blue eyes. When the baby was big enough he saw what kind of
clothes his father and his mother wore,--but the story doesn't tell what
they were like. And when the baby was big enough he saw they all lived
in a big dirty noisy city, but the story doesn't tell what kind of a
house they lived in. And the story doesn't tell whether he thought any
of these things queer when he was little or when he grew up; probably
because you know all these things yourselves. But the story does tell
that long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he
knew his mother loved her little white baby with blue eyes and golden
hair. And it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her arms and
sing to him this song:
"Listen, wee baby,
I'd sing you a song;
The arms of the mothers
Are tender and strong,
The arms of the mothers
Where babies belong!
Brown mothers and yellow
And black and red too,
They love their babies
As I, dear, love you,--
My little white blossom
With wide eyes of blue!
And your wee golden head,
I do love it, I do!
And your feet and your hands
I love you there too!
And my love makes me sing to you
Sing to you songs,
Lying hushed in my arms
Where a baby belongs!"
For all this is happening in your own country every day and he is a
little American baby. Perhaps you know his father,--perhaps you know the
baby,--perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his mother sing!
ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY
This story made a special appeal to the school children because the
school building was originally a stable in MacDougal Alley. They had
even witnessed this evolution from stable to garage. The children have
seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language without any sense of
strangeness.
ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY
Once the barn was full of hay,
Now 'tis there no more.
I wonder why the hay has left the barn?
The old horse stood in the stall all day.
He wanted to be on the streets.
He was strong, was this old horse.
He was wise, was this old horse.
And he was brave as well.
And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong and wise and brave!
He wanted to be on the streets,
And he wondered what was wrong
That now for ten long days
No one had to come harness him up.
Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone away,
And only the stable boy had given him water and oats,
And poked him hay from the loft above.
And as the old horse thought of this
He reached up high with his quivering nose,
And pushing his lips far back on his teeth,
Pulled down a mouthful of hay.
But as he stood chewing the hay
Again he wondered and wondered again
Why nobody needed him,
Why nobody wished to drive.
For almost every day
Old Tom would harness him up
To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage
And down the alley they'd go and around to the front of the house.
And there he'd stand and wait, this dear, this steady old horse,
Flicking the flies with his tail,
Till the door of the house would open wide
And out would come his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,
And running along beside
Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved so well,
Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted his nose and neck.
And into the carriage they all would get,
His mistress and baby and little boy.
And Tom would tighten the reins a bit
And off down the street they'd go,
Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop.
When he was out on the streets,--
This dear old, steady old horse,--
He knew just what to do, when to go and when to stand still.
And when with clang! clang! clang!
Fire engines shrieked down the street
He'd stand as still as a rock
So his mistress and her baby were never frightened a bit!
And the little boy laughed and watched and laughed!
And when the great policeman, so big in the middle of the street,
Held up his hand,
The old horse stopped
But watched him close
For the first wave of the hand that would tell him to go ahead.
Always the first to stop,
Always the first to go,
The old horse loved the streets.
Now he wanted the streets.
And while he stood and chewed his hay and wondered what was wrong,
Suddenly there came a rumble
Of noises all a-jumble,
A quaking and a shaking
A terrifying tremble
Making the old horse quiver and stand still!
It came from the alley,
His own peaceful alley
Where he knew every horse, every coach, every wagon!
Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting,
Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting,
Down it came crashing
Down it came smashing,
Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door!
The old horse pulled at his halter
And strained to look round at the door.
Out of the tail of his eye he could see
The doors, the doors to his very own barn,
Swing wide under the crane where they hoisted the hay.
And there in the alley, oh what did he see
This old horse with his terrified eye?
A monster all shiny and black
With great headlights stuck way out in front,
With brass things that grated and groaned
As the driver pulled this thing and that.
And there on the back of this monster
Sat old Tom
Who had driven him now for fifteen long years.
And out of the mouth of the monster, as there opened a neat little door,
Stepped his mistress dear
With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms.
And the poor horse trembled to see those that he loved so well
So near this terrible monster.
"'Twill eat them all!" he thought.
And for the first time in all his brave and prudent life
The old horse was frightened.
He raised his head,
He spread his nostrils,
He neighed with all his strength.
His mistress dear
Would surely hear,
Would hear and understand!
He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the little baby
From this terrible ugly beast
Snorting there so near!
And his mistress dear, she heard.
But did she understand?
She came and laid her hand upon his quivering side.
"Poor dear old horse," she said,
"Your day is gone and you must go!"
What could she mean?
What could she mean?
What could she mean?
"You have been strong; but not so strong as is our new machine!
You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing can know no fear!
You have been wise; but this machine is like a part of Tom.
He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine obeys!
Poor dear old horse
Your day is gone
And now you too must go!"
So that was what she meant!
So that was what she meant!
So that was what she meant!
* * *
The old horse heard but how could he understand?
How could he know that she had said
They wanted him no longer?
How could he know that this big monster, this new automobile
Was going to do his work for them
And do it better than he!
He knew that something was wrong.
He was puzzled and sad and frightened.
With head drooped low and feet that dragged
He let old Tom untie his rope
And lead him from the stall.
For one short moment as he passed the shiny automobile
He straightened his head and widened his nostrils
And snorted and snorted again.
But there within the monster, lying safe upon a seat,
He saw the little baby
Laughing and all alone.
And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and frightened too.
Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide swinging doors
And led him down the alley.
Past the stables with other horses,
Past the grooms and stable boys,
Down the alley he knew so well
Went the old horse for the last time.
For he never came back again.
They had no need of him; they liked their auto better!
Down the alley he slowly went
And as he turned into the street below
One last long look he gave to the stable at the end,
One last long look at his mistress dear with the baby in her arms,
One last long look at the little boy waving and
calling: "Goodbye, goodbye".
One last long look, and then he was gone!
Once the barn was full of hay:
Now 'tis there no more.
I wonder why the hay has left the barn?
THE WIND
This story is composed entirely of observations on the wind dictated by
a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class. Every phrase (except the one
word "toss") is theirs. The ordering only is mine.
THE WIND
In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,
But in a winter storm it growls and roars.
[Illustration]
Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It sounds like water running. It
makes a singing sound. It blows through the grass. It blows against the
tree and the tree bows over and bends way down. It whistles in the
leaves and makes a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches and
leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves off the trees and tosses
them up in the air. Then it blows them straight in to the window and
drags them around on the floor. It makes the leaves whirl and twirl.
And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks around the corners. It comes
blowing down the street. It blows the papers round and round on the
ground. It tears them and rares them, then up, it takes them sailing. It
sweeps around the house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash up. It
blows the chickens off the trees. It makes the nuts come rattling down.
It turns the windmill and makes the fire burn. It blows out the matches,
it blows out the candles, it blows out the gas lights. It hits the
people on the street. Some it keeps back from walking and some it
pushes forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it unbuttons her
leggings too and the little girl feels all chilly in the frisky wind. It
blows up her skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her hair till
she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff! it goes, puff! puff! Then
off go other hats spinning down the street. It gets under umbrellas and
turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows harder and harder. The
houses shake. The windows rattle. And the people on the street are
whirling and twirling like the leaves.
Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars over the ocean and makes the
waves bigger than the ships. The waves go up and down, and up and down,
and the ship goes rocking and rocking, this way and that way, this way
and that way, to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back
and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed on the sea. The sails
are all torn to pieces by the storm. The masts get broken off and fall
down on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then pretty soon it
bumps into a rock and is wrecked and sinks. And all the men get drowned.
The wind growls and roars over the mountain. There is thunder and
lightning. The thunder says, "Boompety, boom, boom, boom!" The lightning
is all shiny. The rain comes pouring down. The wind whistles in the
trees. It blows a tree over. It crashes down. The lightning goes crack!
and splits the tree in two. And then the tree catches on fire and the
leaves burn like paper.
In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing,
But in a winter storm it growls and roars.
THE LEAF STORY
All the content and many of the expressions were taken from stories on
dried leaves dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class.
THE LEAF STORY
[Illustration]
I want to fly up in the air!
If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet
And the wind blows
Perhaps I'll fly up in the air!
Listen!
Something stirs in the dried leaves,
The tree bends, the tree bows,
The wind sweeps through the brown leaves.
The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance,
They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough,
They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves loose
And are free.
Up, up they fly!
Little brown specks in the sky.
They twist and they spin,
They whirl and they twirl,
They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air.
Then for a moment the wind holds its breath.
Down, down, down float the leaves,
Still turning and twisting,
Still twirling and whirling,
The brown leaves float to the earth.
Puff! goes the wind,
Up they fly again
With a little soft rustling laugh.
Then down they float.
Down, down, down.
On the ground the leaves go as if walking or running.
They go and then they stop.
They scurry along,
Still twisting and turning,
Still twirling and whirling,
They hurry along,
With a soft little rustle
They tumble, they roll and they roll.
I want to fly up in the air!
If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet
And the wind blows,
Perhaps I'll fly up in the air.
A LOCOMOTIVE
In the daytime, what am I?
In the hubbub, what am I?
A mass of iron and of steel,
Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel,
A monster smoking up the sky,
A locomotive!
That am I!
In the darkness, what am I?
In the stillness, what am I?
Streak of light across the sky,
A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry,
A fiery demon rushing by,
A locomotive
That am I!
[Illustration]
MOON MOON
(_To the tune of "Du, du, liegst mir im herzen._")
Moon, moon,
Shiny and silver,
Moon, moon,
Silver and white;
Moon, moon,
Whisper to children
"Sleep through the silvery night."
There, there, there, there,
Sleep through the silvery night.
Sun, sun,
Shiny and golden,
Sun, sun,
Golden and gay;
Sun, sun,
Shout to the children
"Wake to the sunshiny day!"
There, there, there, there,
Wake to the sunshiny day.
AUTOMOBILE SONG
A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow,
A-racing, chasing, off we go.
The jolly automobile
Whizzes along with flying wheel.
We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up!
Then we go s-l-i-d-i-n-g down.
We go scooting over the hills,
We go tooting back to town.
SILLY WILL
In this story I have used a device to tie together many isolated
familiar facts. I have never found that six-year-old children did not
readily discriminate the actual from the imaginary.
SILLY WILL
PART 1
Once there was a little boy. Now he was a very silly little boy,
so silly that he was called Silly Will. He had an idea that he was
tremendously smart and that he could quite well get along by himself in
this world. This foolish idea made him do and say all sorts of silly
things which led to all sorts of terrible happenings as this story will
show.
One day he went out walking. He walked down the road until he met a
little girl. The little girl was crying.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
"Oh!" sobbed the little girl, "our cow has died and I don't know what
we shall do. I don't know how we can get along without her milk and
everything. We depended on her so!"
"Depended on a cow!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
I've often seen that stupid old cow of yours. Clumsy, lumbering thing!
Cows are no good! I wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't
matter to me if all the cows in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted
off down the road.
The little girl looked after him with astonishment. "I just wish no cow
would ever give that silly boy anything!" she thought.
Before long he met an old woman. The old woman was crying too.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
"Oh!" cried the old woman wringing her hands. "Our sheep has fallen over
a cliff and broken its legs and it's going to die. I don't know how we
shall get along without her wool for spinning. We depended so much on
her!"
"Depended on a sheep!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
I've often heard your stupid old sheep bleating. Sheep are no good. I
wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me if all
the sheep in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted off down the road
feeling very smart.
The old woman looked after him greatly surprised. "Silly little boy!"
she thought. "He little knows! I just wish no sheep would give him
anything!"
Then before long Silly Will met a man. The man was sitting beside the
road with his face in his hands.
"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.
The man looked up. "Oh, our horse has died!" he sighed dolefully, "and I
don't know how we can get along without him to plow for us now that it's
seeding time. And there's not much use getting in the seeds anyway
without a horse to carry the grain to market when it's ripe. We depended
so on our horse!"
"Depended on a horse!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing!
First I meet a little girl who says she depended on a cow for food: then
I meet an old woman who says she depended on a sheep for clothes. And
here is a man who says he depends on a horse to work and to carry for
him! As for me, I depend on no animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me
if there were no animals in the world. They needn't give me anything! I
wish they wouldn't!"
The man looked at him greatly amazed. "Silly little boy!" he said. "I
hope your silly wish will come true. How little you understand! I just
wish tonight all the animal kingdom would leave you and then perhaps you
would understand a little!" But Silly Will walked home feeling very
smart, for he _didn't_ understand. Silly people never _do_ understand!
Now that night a strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain
how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night, all the animals
_did_ leave Silly Will. Not only the cow and the sheep and the horse but
all the animal kingdom! He was sound asleep in his flannel nightgown
snuggled under warm wool blankets. Suddenly he felt a jerk. What was
happening? He sat up in bed just in time to see his blankets whisk off
him and disappear. He looked down. His night shirt was gone! He heard a
faint sound almost like the bleating of the old woman's sheep.
"Ba-ba-a-a I take back my wool!"
Then he was aware that something queer had happened to his mattress. It
was just an empty bag of ticking. He heard a faint sound almost like the
neighing of the man's horse who had died. "Whey-ey-ey, I take back my
hair!"
He reached for his pillow. It too was an empty sack.
"Hh-ss-s-hh" hissed a faint sound almost like a goose. "I take back my
feathers!"
"Whatever is happening?" screamed Silly Will. "Let me get a light." He
found a match and struck it, but his candlestick was empty.
"Ba-a-moo-oo" said some faint voices. "I take back my fat!"
By this time Silly Will was thoroughly frightened and shivering with
cold besides.
"I'd better get dressed," he thought, and groped his way to the chair
where he had left his clothes. He could find only his cotton underwaist
and his cotton shirt. His wool undershirt and drawers, his trousers and
stockings, and his silk necktie were gone. And so were his leather
shoes. Just the lacings lay on the floor. "Mooooo" he seemed to hear a
faint sound almost like the little girl's cow he had made fun of in the
afternoon. "I take back my hide."
He put on the few cotton clothes that were left, but there were no
buttons to hold them together. "Moooooo," he heard a faint voice say. "I
take back my bones."
Terrified he ran to the closet to see what more he could find. "I'll
surely freeze," he thought as he lighted another match. "I'll slip on my
coat and get into bed." But his warm coat with the fur collar was gone,
too. "Chee, chee, chee," he seemed to hear a faint sound almost like the
squirrel he was fond of frightening. "I take back my skin!"
But he did find some cotton stockings and some old overalls. These he
put on relieved to find they had metal buttons. Then poor Silly Will
crawled back to bed wearing his cotton clothes and waited for morning to
come. He didn't sleep much for the wire spring cut into him. He was
cold, too.
As soon as it was light he hunted around for more clothes. He found some
straw bed-room slippers. His rubbers too were there and he put them on
over his slippers. Then he ran downstairs to get something to eat.
"Anyway," he thought, "those old animals can't get me when it comes to
eating. I never did care much about meat."
The pantry door squeaked as he opened it. It sounded for all the world
like a far away barnyard--hens, cows, and pigs. He looked around. No
milk, no eggs, no bacon! "Bread and butter will do me," he thought.
But the butter had gone too! He opened the bread box. The bread was
still there! He almost wept from relief. By hunting around he found a
good deal to eat. Cocoa made with water instead of milk was pretty good.
Then there were crackers and apples. His oatmeal wasn't very good
without milk or butter. But he ate it. He knew he would have plenty of
vegetables and fruits and cereals.
And the day was warm enough so that he didn't mind his cotton clothes.
But his feet did hurt him. He wondered about wooden shoes and thought he
would try to make some.
He was a little worried too about his bed. He hunted around in the house
until he found two cotton comforters. One he put under his sheet in
place of his mattress and one on top in place of his blankets. So, on
the whole, he thought, he could manage to get along.
Poor little Silly Will! He had never before thought how much the animals
did for him. Once in a while he would think of the little girl and the
old woman and the man he had met that afternoon. But not for long. And
he never remembered that some time winter would come. But long before
that time came, Silly Will had got himself into still more trouble. For
even now he didn't understand!
PART 2
From this time on nothing went well with Silly Will. When he had eaten
the vegetables he had in the house he walked over to a gardener who
lived nearby. He wanted to get potatoes and other supplies for the
winter. To his horror he found everything drooping and wilted and
withered. "What's the matter with the vegetables, gardener?" asked
Silly Will.
"A frost," sighed the gardener. "It's killed all the potatoes. I hope
you weren't depending on them?"
"Oh, of course not," said Silly Will, gulping hard. "I certainly
wouldn't depend on a vegetable. That would be too ridiculous. If the
frost should kill all the vegetables, it would make no difference to
me!" Nevertheless in his heart he felt unhappy and a little frightened
at the thought of the coming winter. But still he didn't understand.
Silly people never do understand.
He walked on down the road saying to himself, "I'll go order my winter
wood anyway. I'm almost out of it at home." Just then he looked up. He
expected to see the green forest stretching up the hillside. He stared.
The hillside was black smoking stumps, fallen blackened trees, white
ashes! Beside the dead trees stood the old forester wringing his hands.
Silly Will didn't even speak to him. He could see what had happened
without asking. He turned around. Slowly he walked home. He went right
to bed. He still pretended that he wasn't unhappy or frightened. He kept
saying to himself, "I don't really depend on the wood at all. Of course
that would be silly! I've got coal. It wouldn't matter to me if all the
plants left me." And with that thought he fell asleep. You see even now
he didn't understand. Silly people never do understand.
Now that night another strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't
explain how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night all the
plants _did_ leave Silly Will,--not only the potatoes and the trees but
the whole vegetable kingdom.
He was asleep all curled up to keep warm in his cotton clothes. Suddenly
he felt the comforter and sheet under him jerk away and he was left
lying on the wire spring. At the same time the comforter and sheet over
him disappeared. So did his nightshirt. Then bang! His wooden bed was
gone. The house began to creak and rock. He jumped up and tore down
stairs. He just got outside the front door when the whole house
collapsed.
The moon was shining. Silly Will could see quite plainly. There stood
the brick chimneys rising out of a pile of plaster dumped on top of the
concrete foundations. There was the slate roof and the broken window of
glass. The air was full of a sound like the violent trembling of many
leaves. It sounded for all the world as if it said, "I take back my
wood!"
"Whatever will I do?" groaned Silly Will as he shivered all naked in the
moonlight. Then his eye lighted on the kitchen stove. There it stood
with the stove pipe all safely connected with the chimney.
"I'll build a coal fire," he thought. There stood the iron coal scuttle.
But alas! It was empty! He heard a far-away murmur like a faint wind
stirring in giant ferns. And they said, "I take back my buried leaves!"
By this time Silly Will was shaking with cold. "I've heard that
newspapers are warm," he thought. But the pile behind the stove was
gone. Again came the murmur of trees--"I take back my pulp," and a queer
soft sound which he couldn't quite make out. Was it "I take back my
cotton?"
Silly Will was thoroughly terrified now.
"I'll go somewhere to think," he said to himself. So he crept down the
cement steps to the cellar and crawled into a sheltered corner. But he
couldn't think of anything pleasant. He could hear a confused noise all
around him. Sometimes it sounded like growls, like animal cries, like
animal calls. "The animal kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.
Again it sounded like the wind rustling a thousand leaves. "The
vegetable kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.
"I've nothing to wear," sobbed Silly Will. "And I'm afraid I've nothing
to eat." At the thought of food he jumped up and ran over to the cellar
pantry. He found just three things. They did not make a tempting meal!
They were a crock of salt, a tin of soda and a porcelain pitcher of
water.
"What shall I ever do? How shall I live? I'll never have another glass
of milk or cup of cocoa. I'll never have anything to wear. I'll freeze
and I'll starve. I might just as well die now!" And poor little Silly
Will broke down and cried and cried and cried.
"I can't live without other living things," he sobbed. "I can't eat only
minerals and I can't keep warm in minerals. Everybody has to depend on
animals and vegetables. And after all I'm only a little boy! I've got to
have living things to keep alive myself!"
Then a wonderful thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain how or
why it happened. Suddenly he felt all warm and comfortable. "Perhaps I'm
freezing," he thought. "I've heard that people feel warm when they are
almost frozen to death."
Slowly he put out his hand. Surely that was a linen sheet! Surely that
was a woolen blanket. Surely he had on his flannel nightgown. He sat
straight up. Surely this was his own bed: this was his own room: this
was his own house. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He gave a great
shout.
"Moo-oo-oo," answered a cow under a tree outside his window. And the
leaves of the tree rustled at him too.
"Hello, old cow! Hello, old tree!" cried Silly Will running to the
window. "Isn't it good we're all alive?" And when you think of it that
wasn't a silly remark at all!
"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the old cow. "Swish-sh-sh-sh," rustled the tree. And
suddenly Silly Will thought he understood! I wonder if he did!
EBEN'S COWS
This story attempts to make an industrial process a background for real
adventure.
EBEN'S COWS
PART 1
Eben was looking at the cows. And the cows were looking at Eben. What
Eben saw was twenty-six pairs of large gentle eyes, twenty-six mouths
chewing with a queer sidewise motion, twenty-six fine fat cattle, some
red, some white, some black, some red and white, and some black and
white, all in a bright green meadow. What the cows saw, held by his
mother on the rail fence, was a fat baby with a shining face and waving
arms. What Eben heard was the heavy squashy footsteps of the slow-moving
cows as they lumbered toward the little figure on the fence. What the
cows heard was a high, excited little voice saying a real word for the
first time in its life, "Cow! cow! oh, cow! oh, cow!" And so with his
first word began Eben's life-long friendship with the cows.
Eben Brewster lived in a little white farm-house with green blinds. The
cows lived in a great long red barn, which was connected with the little
white farm-house by a wagon-shed and tool-house. High up on the great
red barn was printed GREEN MOUNTAIN FARM. Long before Eben knew how to
read he knew what those big letters said, and he knew that the lovely
rolling hills that ringed the farm around, were called the Green
Mountains. In front of both house and barn stretched the bright green
meadows where day after day fed the twenty-six cows. In a neighboring
meadow played the long-legged calves. For at Green Mountain Farm there
were always many calves. In the summer they usually had fifteen or
twenty calves a few months old. For every cow of course had her baby
once a year. The little bull calves they sold; but the little cow
calves they raised.
[Illustration]
When Eben was three years old he made friends with the calves his own
way. He wiggled through the bars of the gate into their pasture. The
calves stared at him; they sniffed at him. Then they came a little
closer. They stared at him again. They sniffed at him again. Then they
came closer still. Then one little black and white thing came right up
to him and licked his face and hands. And three-year-old Eben liked the
feel of the soft nose and the rough tongue and he liked the sweet cow
smell.
So it came about that Eben played regularly with the calves. It always
amused his father Andrew to watch them together. "I never saw a child so
crazy about cows!" he used to say. One day he put a pretty little new
calf,--white with red spots,--into the pasture. Eben ran to the calf at
once. "What shall we call the calf, Eben?" asked his father. "Think of
some nice name for her." Eben put his arms around the calf's neck and
smiled. "I call him 'ittle Sister," he said. For little baby sister was
the only thing three-year-old Eben loved better than a calf. And the
name stuck to the calves of Green Mountain Farm. From that time on they
were always called Little Sisters!
Real little sister or Nancy, as she was called, grew apace. To her Eben
was always wonderful. At six years he seemed equal to about anything. It
did not surprise her at all one day to hear her father say, "Eben, you
get the cows tonight." But it did surprise Eben. He had helped his
father drive them home for years. And now he was to do it alone! Down
the dusty road he went, switch in hand, taking such big important
strides that the footprints of his little bare feet were almost as far
apart as a man's. The cows stood facing the bars. He took down the bars.
The cows filed through one by one. Nancy and her father, waiting to help
him turn the cows in at the barn, knew he was coming. They could see the
cloud of dust and hear the many shuffling feet and the shrill boy's
voice calling: "Hi, Spotty, don't you stop to eat! Go 'long there,
Crumplehorn, don't you know the way home yet! Hurry up, Redface. Can't
you keep in the road?" Eben felt older from that day.
From the day he began driving home the cows alone Eben took a real share
in the work at the farm. He put the cows' heads into the stanchions when
each one lumbered into her stall. He fed them hay and ensilage through
the long winter months when the meadows were white with snow. He put
the cans to catch the cream and the skimmed milk when his father turned
the separator. He took the separator apart and carried it up to his
mother to be washed. Nancy helped and talked. Only she really talked
more than she helped!
Eben's talk ran much on cows. His poor mother read all she could in the
encyclopedia, but even then she couldn't answer all his questions. Why
does a cow have four stomachs? Why does her food come back to be chewed?
Why does she chew sideways? Why does she have to be milked twice a day?
Why doesn't she get out of the way when an auto comes down the road?
When Eben asked his father these things the farmer would shake his head
and answer, "I guess it's just because she's a cow."
There came a very exciting day at Green Mountain Farm. For twenty years
Andrew Brewster and his men had milked his cows morning and evening. His
hands were hard from the practice. The children loved to watch him milk.
With every pull of his strong hands he made a fine white stream of milk
shoot into the pail, squirt, squirt, squirt. Eben had often tried, but
pull as he would, he could only get out a few drops. And even as Andrew
Brewster had milked his cows morning and evening until his hands were
horny, so had his father done before him. Yes, and his father's father,
too. For three generations of Brewsters had hardened their hands milking
cows on Green Mountain Farm. Then there came this exciting day, and a
new way of milking began at the big red barn.
A milking machine was put in. It ran by a wonderful little puffing
gasolene engine. It milked two cows at once. And it milked all
twenty-six of them in twenty minutes. Andrew Brewster could manage the
whole herd alone with what help Eben could give him. It was a great day
for him. It was a great day for Eben and Nancy too.
PART 2
There came another day which was even more exciting for the two children
than when the milking machine was put into the big red barn. This story
is really about that day. Eben was then ten years old and Nancy seven.
Their father and mother had gone for the day to a county fair. The two
children were to be alone all day, which made up for not going to the
fair. The children had long since eaten the cold dinner their mother
had left for them. They had done all their chores too. Nancy had
gathered the eggs and Eben had chopped the kindling and brought in the
wood. They had fed the baby chickens and given them water. Then they had
gone to the woods for an afternoon climb over the big rocks and a wade
in the brook. Now they were waiting for their father and mother to come
back. They had been waiting for a long time, for it was seven o'clock.
The last thing their mother had called out as she drove off behind the
two old farm horses was, "We'll be back by five o'clock, children."
What could have happened? "Eben," said Nancy, "we'd better eat our own
supper and get something ready for Father and Mother. I guess I'll try
to scramble some eggs."
"Go ahead," answered Eben. "But we're not the ones I'm worrying
about--nor Father and Mother either. It's those poor cows."
"Oh! the cows!" cried Nancy. "And the poor Little Sisters! They'll be
so hungry." Both children ran to the door. "Just listen to them," said
Eben. "They've been waiting in the barn for over an hour now. I
certainly wish Father would come." From the big red barn came the lowing
of the restless cattle. "I'm going to have another look at them," said
Eben. "Come along, Nancy."
The two children peered into the big dark barn. The unmistakable cow
smell came to them strong in the dark. Stretching down the whole length
was stall after stall, each holding an impatient cow. The children could
see the restless hind feet moving and stamping; they could see the
flicking of many tails; they could feel the cows pulling at the
stanchions. On the other side were the stalls of the Little Sisters.
They too were moving about wildly. Over above it all rose the deafening
sound of the plaintive lowings. By the door stood the gasolene engine.
It was attached to a pipe which ran the whole length of the great barn
above the cows' stalls. Eben's eyes followed this pipe until it was lost
in the dark.
"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the cow nearest at hand, so loud that both children
jumped. "Poor old Redface," said Nancy. "I wish we could help you."
"We're going to," said Eben in an excited voice, "See here, Nancy. We're
going to milk these cows!" "Why, Eben Brewster, we could never do it
alone!" Nancy's eyes went to the gasolene engine as she spoke. "We've
got to," said Eben. "That's all there is about it."
So the children began with trembling hands. They lighted two lanterns.
"I wish the cows would stop a minute," said Nancy. "I can't seem to
think with such a racket going on." Eben turned on the spark of the
engine. He had done it before, but it seemed different to do it when his
father wasn't standing near. Then he took the crank. "I hope she doesn't
kick tonight," he wished fervently. He planted his feet firmly and
grasped the handle! Round he swung it, around and around. Only the
bellowing of the cows answered. He began again. Round he swung the
handle; around and around. "Chug, chug-a-chug, chug, chug, chug-a-chug,
chug," answered the engine. Nancy jumped with delight. "You're as good
as a man, Eben," she cried.
"Come now, bring the lantern," commanded Eben. Nancy carried the lantern
and Eben a rubber tube. This tube Eben fastened on to the first faucet
on the long pipe between the first two cows. This rubber tube branched
into two and at the end of each were four hollow rubber fingers. Eben
stuck his fingers down one. He could feel the air pull, pull, pull.
"She's working all right, Nancy," he whispered in a shaking voice. "Put
the pail here." Nancy obeyed. Eben took one bunch of four hollow rubber
fingers and slipped one finger up each udder of one cow. Then he took
the other bunch and slipped one finger up each udder of the second cow.
The cows, feeling relief was near, quieted at once. "I can see the
milk," screamed Nancy, watching a tiny glass window in the rubber tube.
And sure enough, through the tube and out into the pail came a pulsing
stream of milk. Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. In a few minutes the two
cows were milked and the children moved on to the next pair. Nancy
carried the pail and Eben the rubber tube which he fastened on to the
next faucet. And in another few minutes two more cows were milked. So
the children went the length of the great red barn, and gradually the
restless lowings quieted as pail after pail was filled with warm white
milk.
"I wouldn't try the separator if it weren't for the poor Little
Sisters," said Eben anxiously as they reached the end of the barn.
"They've got to be fed," said Nancy. "But I can't lift those pails."
Slowly Eben carried them one by one with many rests back to the
separator by the gasoline engine. He took the strap off one wheel and
put it around the wheel of the separator. "I can't lift a whole pail,"
sighed Eben. Taking a little at a time he poured the milk into the tray
at the top of the separator. In a few minutes the yellow cream came
pouring out of one spout and the blue skimmed milk out of another. In
another few minutes the calves were drinking the warm skimmed milk.
"There, Little Sisters, poor, hungry Little Sisters," said Nancy, as
she watched their eager pink tongues.
Eben turned off the engine. "I'm sorry I couldn't do the final hand
milking," he said. "I wonder if we'd better turn the cows out?" Before
Nancy could answer both children heard a sound. They held their breath.
Surely those were horses' feet! Cloppety clop clop clop cloppety clop
clop clop. Up to the barn door dashed the old farm horses. From the dark
outside the children heard their mother's voice, "Children, children,
are you there? The harness broke and I thought we'd _never_ get home."
Carrying a lantern apiece the children rushed out and into her arms.
"Here, Eben," called his father. "You take the horses quick. I must get
started milking right away. Those poor cows!" The children were too
excited to talk plainly. They both jabbered at once. Then each took a
hand of their father and led him into the great red barn. There by the
light of the lanterns Andrew Brewster could see the pails of warm white
milk and yellow cream. He stared at the quiet cows and at the Little
Sisters. Then he stared at Eben and Nancy. "Yes," cried both children
together. "We did it. We did it ourselves!"
THE SKY SCRAPER
The story tries to assemble into a related form many facts well-known
to seven-year-olds and to present the whole as a modern industrial
process.
[Illustration]
THE SKY SCRAPER
Once in an enormous city, men built an enormous building. Deep they
built it, deep into the ground; high they built it, high into the air.
Now that it is finished the men who walk about its feet forget how deep
into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the
blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see
to the top. For, of all the buildings in the world, this sky scraper is
the highest.
The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. From its top one
can see the city, one can hear the city, one can smell the city--the
city where men live and work. One can see the crowded streets full of
tiny men and tiny automobiles, the riverside with its baby warehouses
and its baby docks, the river with its toy bridges and toy giant
steamers and tug boats and barges and ferries. The city noise,--the
distant, rumbling, grumbling noise,--sounds like the purring of a
far-away giant beast. And over it all lies the smell of gas and smoke.
The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. But from its top
in the blue, blue sky one can see all over the land. Landward the fields
spread out like a map till they are lost in the mist and smoke. Seaward
lies the vast, the tremendous stretch of the sea, the wrinkled, the
crinkled, the far-away sea that stretches to touch the sky.
Now this soaring sky scraper is the work of men--of many, many men. Its
lofty lacy tower was first thought of by the architect. With closed eyes
he saw it, and with his well-trained fingers quickly he drew its
outline. Then at his office many men with T squares and with compasses,
sitting at high long tables, with green-shaded lamps, worked far into
the nights till all the plans were ready.
Then the sky scraper began to grow. The first men brought mighty steam
shovels. One hundred feet into the earth they burrowed. The gigantic
mouths of the steam shovels gnawed at the rock and the clay. Huge hulks
they clutched from this underworld, heaved up with enormous derricks and
crashed out on the upper land. Deep they dug, deep into the ground till
they found the firm bed-rock. With a network of steel they filled this
terrific hole. Into the rasping, revolving mixers they poured tons of
sand and cement and gravel which steadily flowed in a sluggish stream to
strengthen the steel supports.
At last,--and that was an exciting day,--the great beams began to rise.
Again the derricks ground, as slowly, steadily, accurately, they swung
each beam to its place. A thousand men swarmed over the steel bones,
some throwing red-hot rivets, others catching them in pails, all to the
song of the rivet driver.
[Illustration]
The riveter screamed and shrieked and shrilled. It pierced the air of
the narrow streets. On the nearby buildings it vibrated, echoed. The
sky scraper seemed alive and thrilled by the quivering, throbbing,
shrieking shrill,--by the song of the riveter. Story by story the sky
scraper grew, a monstrous outline against the sky. And ever and ever as
it grew, hissed the rivet and screamed the drill.
At length the sky scraper soared sixty dizzy stories high. Then swiftly
came the stone masons and encased the giant steel frame. Swiftly in its
center, men reared the plunging elevators. Swiftly worked the
electrician, the plumber, the carpenter. All workmen were called and
all workmen came. The world listened to the call of this sky scraper
standing in the heart of the great city. From the mines of Minnesota to
the swamps of Louisiana came goods to serve its need. Long, long ago, in
olden days, the churches grew slowly bit by bit, as one man carved a
door post here and another fitted a window there, each planning his own
part. Not so with the sky scraper. It grew in haste. Its parts were made
in factories scattered the country over. Each factory was ready with a
part, and the railroad was ready swift to bring them to its feet. The
sky scraper grew in haste. For it the many worked as one.
Planned by those who command and reared by those who obey, in an
enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they built it, deep
into the ground; high they built it, high into the air. And now they
use this building built by them. The sky scraper houses an army of ten
thousand men. All day they clamber up and down its core like insects in
a giant tree. They buzz and buzz, and then go home.
[Illustration]
But there with the shadowy silent streets at its feet stands the lofty
sky scraper. On its head there glows a monstrous light. The rays pierce
through the fogs. And when the storm is screaming wild, the light
struggles through to the frightened boats tossing on the mountain waves.
The storm howls and beats on the sides of the lofty lacy tower with the
shining light on top. The storms beat on its side, the tower leans in
the wind, the tower of steel and of stone leans and leans a full two
feet. Then when the blast is past, this tower of steel and of stone
swings back to straightness again.
And so in the enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they
built it, deep into the ground; high, they built it, high into the air.
Now that it is finished, the men who walk about its feet forget how deep
into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the
blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see
to the top. For of all the buildings in the world this sky scraper is
the highest.
END
End of Project Gutenberg's Here and Now Story Book, by Lucy Sprague Mitchell