[Illustration: Fighting the Fire]
FIREBRANDS
BY
FRANK E. MARTIN
AND
GEORGE M. DAVIS, M.D.
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS
School Edition
BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1912
_Copyright, 1911_,
BY LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY.
_All rights reserved_
Printers
S. J. PARKHILL & CO., BOSTON, U. S. A.
PREFACE
Every year fire destroys an enormous amount of property in the United
States. Of this great loss by which our country is made just so much
poorer, for property destroyed by fire is gone forever and cannot be
replaced, a large proportion is due to carelessness, thoughtlessness,
and ignorance. Nor is it a property loss only. Every fire endangers
human life, and the number of lives lost in this way in one year is
truly appalling.
It has been estimated that if all the buildings burned in one year were
placed close together on both sides of a street, they would make an
avenue of desolation reaching from Chicago to New York City. At each
thousand feet there would be a building from which a severely injured
person had been rescued, and every three-quarters of a mile would stand
the blackened ruins of a house in which some one had been burned to
death.
Children are allowed to burn dry leaves in the fall, and their clothing
catches fire from the flames; women pour kerosene on the fire in their
kitchen stoves, or cleanse clothing with gasoline near an open blaze;
thoughtless men toss lighted cigars and cigarettes into a heap of
rubbish, or drop them from an upper window into an awning; the head of
a parlor match flies into muslin draperies; a Christmas-tree is set
on fire with lighted candles, or a careless hunter starts a forest
fire which burns for days and destroys valuable timber lands. There
are hundreds of different ways in which fires are set. The majority of
these fires, which cause great loss of life and property and untold
suffering, are preventable by ordinary precaution.
This little book has been written for the special purpose of teaching
children how to avoid setting a fire, how to extinguish one, or how to
hold one in check until the arrival of help. Each story tells how a
fire was started, how it should have been avoided, and how it was put
out: Mr. Brown Rat builds his nest with matches which were left around
the house; Careless Joe pours hot ashes into a wooden box; or boys
light a bonfire and leave the hot embers, and then old North Wind comes
along and has a bonfire himself.
At the end of each lesson there are instructions regarding the fire
in question. There are also chapters on such subjects as our loss by
forest fires, the work of our firemen, common safeguards against fire,
how to act in case the house is on fire, and first aid to those who are
injured by fire,--how to treat scalds and burns, how to revive persons
who are suffocated by smoke, etc. A thoughtful reading of this book
should make the present generation a more careful and less destructive
people, and the entire country richer and more prosperous.
CONTENTS
PAGE
PREFACE v
BROWNIE'S MISFORTUNE 1
"CARELESS JOE" 9
MAY DAY 18
CAMPING OUT 30
THELMA'S BIRTHDAY 42
THE "E. V. I. S." 52
FOREST FIRES 61
PINCH AND TEDDY 67
THE BUSY BEES 77
THE COUNTY FAIR 86
"LITTLE FAULTS" 98
TEN YOUNG RATS 105
HOW NOT TO HAVE FIRES. I 116
THE KITCHEN FIRE 123
HOW NOT TO HAVE FIRES. II 133
THE SUNSHINE BAND 140
VACATION AT GRANDPA'S 148
THE FIRE DRILL 159
FIGHTING THE FIRE 169
VERNON'S BROTHER 176
THE WORLD'S GREAT FIRES 184
NEW YEAR'S EVE 189
CHRISTMAS CANDLES 200
WHAT TO DO IN CASE OF FIRE 211
FIRST AID 216
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
Fighting the Fire _Frontispiece_
The Flying Squadron _Page_ 44
The horses are led away to a place
of safety " 88
The horses gallop madly down the
street " 102
In the largest cities the firemen find
their hardest work " 142
The water-tower pours a stream into
the upper windows " 172
Fire Drill for the Firemen " 202
Fire raging through the deserted
streets in San Francisco " 216
FIREBRANDS
BROWNIE'S MISFORTUNE
Polly's cage had just been hung out on the back porch, and she was
taking a sun bath. She ruffled up her feathers and spread out her wings
and tail.
She knew she was pretty, and as the sun brightened her plumage, she
arched her neck, and looked down at herself, saying over and over,
"Pretty Polly! Polly! Pretty Polly!"
Then she threw back her head and laughed one of those jolly, contagious
chuckles that made everyone laugh with her.
While she sat there, talking and laughing, a big brown rat came
creeping up the steps. Polly had often seen him before, for he came to
the house every day to find something to eat; and as he always stopped
to have a chat, the two had become good friends.
"Good morning, Polly," said Mr. Brown Rat. "You seem very happy this
morning."
"Why shouldn't I be happy?" replied Polly. "See how pretty I am.
Besides, I have nothing to do all day but sit here and eat crackers and
watch the people. By the way, Brownie, run into the house and get me a
cracker now."
"I can't get any more crackers, Polly," replied the rat. "The last time
I went to the pantry the crackers were in a stone jar that had a heavy
cover."
Polly ruffled up her feathers, and spread out her wings so that they
would shine in the sun.
"You are very pretty, Polly," said Mr. Brown Rat, "but you haven't such
a fine long tail as I have;" and he spread it out on the piazza and
twisted his head to look at it.
"Ha, ha! you wait until the cat gets hold of it and it won't be very
long," replied Polly. "Why don't you shave off your whiskers, Brownie?"
"I couldn't smell any cheese if I lost my whiskers," said Brownie.
"And, besides, they make me look dignified with my family.
"Polly, I am going to build a new house," he added. "I am tired of
living in barns and stone walls, and I want my family together where it
is warm and comfortable. Do you happen to know where I can find some
matches?"
"Why, yes," replied Polly, "my master is very careless with his
matches. He leaves them around loose wherever he goes. You see, he
doesn't use the matches that have to be struck on a box, and every time
he lights his pipe he scratches the matches on anything that is handy.
They are snapping and cracking all day long. Sometimes they break off
and fly away, all on fire. You can find them almost anywhere in the
house. But what do you want to do with matches, Brownie?"
"Well, you see, Polly, the little sticks make a good framework for
my house. The wood is good to chew and can be made soft for lining
the nest; and the bits of flint in the head of the match are fine for
sharpening and filing my teeth."
"You and your family won't be able to file out of the house if you
light one of those matches while you are filing your teeth," said
Polly, and she gave another of her famous chuckles.
"I'll look out for that," replied Mr. Brown Rat, as he scampered across
the piazza.
"Don't you dare to build a nest with matches in my house," Polly
screamed after him; but Brownie slipped through a hole in the
clapboards under the kitchen window and didn't make any promises.
Polly didn't see her friend again for some time and she began to miss
him.
One day she heard her master say, "I wonder what becomes of all my
matches?" and this set her to thinking.
She sat still on her perch for a long time, scratching her head with
first one foot and then another. "I believe Brownie is really building
his nest in this house," she said to herself at last; "and he is using
matches, too, after I told him not to."
Then she became very angry. She screamed and bit the bars of her cage
with her sharp bill until the cook came out and scolded her for being
so cross.
Two or three days later Polly was hanging on the back porch again, and
the sun was shining on her feathers. She was spreading out her wings,
and cocking her head on one side, when, all of a sudden, she saw a
thin curl of blue smoke creeping out between the clapboards.
"Hello! Help! Come in!" she screamed. "Hello! Help! Fire! Fire!"
Some boys who were playing in the street came running up to the house
at the cry of fire.
"Get a move on!" cried Polly, dancing about in her cage and trying her
best to open the door.
"Where's the fire?" asked one of the boys.
"Get busy!" screamed Polly, as she pulled herself up to the top of the
cage.
Just then a wagon came tearing down the street. "Whoa!" cried Polly,
and, sure enough, the horses stopped in front of the house.
The driver saw the smoke, and he went to work in a hurry, tearing off
the clapboards, and showing the boys where to pour water in between the
walls, until the fire was all out.
When the man had gone away, and everything was quiet, Mr. Brown Rat
came creeping out of the hole, wet and bedraggled, with his whiskers
all burned off.
Polly caught sight of him in a moment. "You rascal," she screamed, "you
set that fire. You ought to know better than to build a house with
matches."
"I do now, and I'll never do it again, never again," replied Brownie
meekly, as he went limping away.
_Why did the brown rat come out on the back porch?_
_How did he build his nest?_
_Of what material was it constructed?_
_Why do rats like matches?_
_Why is it dangerous to leave matches scattered around the house?_
That rats and mice are responsible for many fires is no longer doubted.
The evidence has been plainly seen. Rats and matches are a dangerous
combination. For this reason matches should not be scattered around the
house.
In most of the European countries only safety matches can be used;
this is one reason for the small number of fires in foreign lands as
compared with those in the United States.
"CARELESS JOE"
"I didn't mean to lose my coat, Father. We boys were playing ball, and
I threw it down on the ground and forgot all about it until I got home.
Then I went back for it and it was gone. Some thief had stolen it, I
suppose. I can't help it now, can I?"
"No, Joe, of course you can't," his father answered; "but you are
always doing something like this, and I want you to learn to be more
careful. It is just the same with your work. Half of it is forgotten,
and the other half is not well done. I can't trust you to do anything.
You are so forgetful and careless that even your school-mates call
you 'Careless Joe.' It is no wonder that your mother and I are
discouraged."
Mr. and Mrs. Patten were very fond of Joe, who was their only son, and
they did everything they could for his happiness; but the boy had grown
so careless and selfish that his father and mother were at their wits'
end to know what to do with him.
As for Joe, he was a pleasant-faced, good-hearted, jolly boy; but his
parents knew that this one bad habit of carelessness would soon spoil
him if it were not corrected. They had done everything they could to
help him overcome his fault, but he only seemed to grow more careless
every day.
Finally Mr. Patten said to his wife, "Let's send Joe to visit
Grandfather Knight. He knows how to manage boys pretty well."
Of course Joe was delighted when he heard of the plan, for who ever saw
a boy who didn't like to visit his grandfather?
Mrs. Patten wrote to Grandma Knight about Joe's bad habit, which was
giving them so much trouble; and the two old people talked it all over
and felt sure that they would know what to do when the time came.
"I'll keep the boy so busy that he won't have any time to forget," said
his grandfather. "There is always plenty of work on a farm for a good
boy."
"He can help me, too," added Grandma. "I'll pay him with cookies;" and
she hurried out to the kitchen to make a big jarful of the round sugar
cookies that Joe liked best.
Joe was delighted with everything on the farm, and for several days he
did very well.
"He isn't such a bad boy after all," Grandpa told Grandma when Joe had
gone upstairs to bed one night.
But the very next morning he gave Joe a bucket of grain to feed the
hens, and in the afternoon he found the bucket in the barn, still full
of grain. When he spoke to Joe about it, the boy answered carelessly,
"Oh, yes, I did forget it; but it won't matter much, will it? Hens
can't tell the time of day."
"I suppose not," his grandfather replied; "but I don't believe they
like to go hungry any better than you do."
The next night Joe went to the pasture to get the cows, and came home
driving nine, when he knew very well that his grandfather had ten. He
never noticed the difference until Grandpa spoke to him about it, and
then he seemed to care so little that the good old man began to think
Joe one of the most careless boys he ever saw.
Two or three days later Mr. Knight went to market, leaving Joe to feed
the horses at noon. When he reached home at night, the horses had not
been fed, and Joe said he didn't think they would mind going without
one dinner.
Grandma Knight heard this remark, and she decided that it was about
time for Joe to have a lesson. When the boy came in to supper, feeling
very hungry after a good game of ball, there sat his grandmother
knitting a stocking.
He glanced around the kitchen in surprise. "My stomach feels pretty
empty," he said; "but I don't see anything to eat. Isn't it almost
supper-time?"
"Yes, my boy," his grandmother answered, with a twinkle in her eye,
"it is supper-time; but I thought you wouldn't mind going without one
supper, so I didn't get any to-night."
Joe frowned and hung his head. He knew very well what his grandmother
meant, and things went a little better for a day or two; but the boy
soon fell back into his old tricks.
Every morning Joe emptied the ashes from the kitchen stove for his
grandmother. Grandpa Knight had told him over and over again never
to empty them until they were cool, and always to put them in an iron
barrel that stood in the shed.
One morning Joe went as usual to empty the ashes, which happened to
have a good many live coals in them. The iron barrel was full, but Joe
was in a hurry to get away for a game of ball. He couldn't bother to
empty the barrel, and he surely couldn't wait for the ashes to cool, so
he tipped them into a wooden box, live coals and all, and ran off to
his game.
Grandma Knight was making another big batch of cookies, and it was not
long before she began to smell smoke. She looked all around the stove,
but she couldn't find anything that was burning.
"It must be some paper I threw into the fire," she said to herself, and
she went on with her baking.
But the smell of smoke grew stronger and stronger, and when she came
out of the pantry to slip the first pan of cookies into the oven, she
could see a thin blue haze in the kitchen.
"The house is on fire!" she cried, and she ran down cellar and upstairs
as fast as she could go, opening all the doors and looking in all the
closets to find out what was burning.
On her way through the hall she caught up a fire-extinguisher; but she
couldn't find a sign of the fire anywhere. At last she ran out through
the shed to call Grandpa Knight from the barn, and there was the wooden
box blazing merrily, and sending little tongues of hot flame across the
floor.
It took only a few minutes to put out the fire with the
fire-extinguisher which she still held in her hand; but when Grandpa
came into the house a few minutes later, there was Grandma Knight
sitting beside the kitchen table, holding a pan of black cookies, with
tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.
"I never burned a cooky before in all my life," she said, trying to
smile through the tears; "but I couldn't let the house burn down!" and
then, all trembling with excitement, she told about the fire in the
shed, and the box of hot ashes.
When Careless Joe came home to dinner there was a pan of burned cookies
beside his plate, and that afternoon he had a talk with his grandfather
which he never forgot.
From that day he really did try to overcome his careless, selfish ways,
and to be more thoughtful and manly. He had learned that fire is not to
be trifled with, and that a boy must always have his mind on his work.
_Why was this boy called "Careless Joe"?_
_In what way was he careless?_
_What lesson did his grandmother teach him?_
_What happened which taught him a more serious lesson?_
_How should ashes be cared for?_
_What kind of a barrel should they be kept in?_
_What should be done with rubbish and waste paper?_
Ashes should never be kept in wooden barrels or boxes, but in iron
barrels or brick bins. There should never be an ash-heap against a
fence or near the side of a house. Paper and rubbish should not be
mixed with ashes, but kept in a separate barrel.
Cellars and basements should be clean, orderly, and well-lighted.
Rubbish is a fire-breeder, and may be the means of destroying your
home.
MAY DAY
It was May Day, and all the children who went to school in the little
brick schoolhouse at the foot of the hill were going "Maying."
Every sunny morning in April they had begged their teacher to go with
them to the woods to gather flowers; but Miss Heath kept telling them
to wait until the days were a little warmer, and the woods less damp.
"By the first of May," she said, "there will be ever so many more
flowers. If May Day is bright and sunny we will have no school,--except
the school of the woods, no lessons but those the birds and flowers
teach us. Wear your oldest clothes, and don't forget your lunches. You
will be as hungry as squirrels when you have played out of doors all
the morning."
The first morning in May was warm and sunny enough to make everyone
long to spend the whole day in the woods.
At half-past eight all the pupils in Miss Heath's school were at the
schoolhouse door, eager for the Maying. There were only sixteen of
them, and they were of all ages, from five to fourteen, for the little
brick schoolhouse was in the country, far away from the graded city
schools.
The mothers had not forgotten the lunches, and it was a happy band of
boys and girls that set off at nine o'clock for the woods. They climbed
the hill and followed a cart-path until they came to a shady hollow
where a tiny brook rippled over its stony bed.
"We'll stay here for a little while and watch the birds," said Miss
Heath. "Sit down under this pine tree, and keep as still as mice until
you have seen five different birds."
Joe Thorpe saw the first one,--a robin that came down to the brook
for a drink of water. Alice Fletcher caught sight of a black and white
warbler that was hopping about in the pine tree, and Grace Atkins
pointed out a woodpecker that was rapping on the trunk of an old oak.
A golden oriole flew to the top of a tall elm and called down to them,
"Look, look, look! Look up here! Look up here! Look up here!" But the
fifth bird was hard to find. They had almost given him up when Miss
Heath held up her hand. "Listen!" she whispered, and in a moment a
song sparrow that had lighted in a little bush near by sang them his
sweetest song,--sang it over and over, with his head held high and his
tiny throat swelling with the music.
"There are the five birds," said Miss Heath, when the song sparrow flew
away; "now for our flowers!" and she jumped up and led the way across
the brook and down a gentle slope toward an old pasture that was half
overgrown with underbrush.
"You must notice all the different shades of green in the new leaves
on the trees, with the yellows and reds on the bushes," she said, as
they stood looking across the pasture. "There are almost as many colors
among the trees in the spring as there are in the fall, but they are
not so brilliant.
"Now, run and look for flowers," she added, when they had climbed over
a stone wall and found a narrow foot-path across the pasture. "I will
wait here, under this chestnut tree, and you can come back when you
are ready; but if I call, you must come at once. It will be lunch-time
almost before you know it."
That old pasture was a splendid place to find spring flowers, and the
children scattered in all directions, by twos and threes, peeping under
bushes and poking away dead leaves to hunt for sprays of arbutus, or
Mayflowers as they always called them.
Grace and Alice found some beautiful clusters of the fragrant pink and
white blossoms, but poor little Joe Thorpe didn't have good luck at
all, so he wandered off by himself to look for hepaticas.
He found them, too, among the rocks at the farther end of the field,
blue ones and white ones, and some that were pink and lavender; and
when he had picked a good handful for Miss Heath, he saw some "spring
beauties," white blossoms striped with pink that swayed gently on their
slender stems.
Just then he heard the call to lunch, and although he hurried back
to the big chestnut tree he found all the children there before him,
their hands filled with flowers. There were bunches of blue violets
and white violets, hepaticas and spring beauties. One girl had found
yellow adder's tongues with their spotted leaves, and a boy brought a
Jack-in-the-pulpit, standing up stiff and straight to preach its little
sermon.
After Miss Heath had admired all the flowers, and had sent three of the
boys back to the brook for water, the children opened the baskets and
spread their lunch on newspaper tablecloths.
Then what a merry picnic they had! They exchanged cakes and cookies,
gingerbread and doughnuts. They shared pickles and apples, and divided
turnovers and saucer pies,--and they all picked out the very best of
everything for Miss Heath, until she laughingly declared that she
couldn't eat another single mouthful.
After lunch they told stories and played games, until, all at once, the
teacher noticed that the sun had hidden his face behind a heavy cloud.
"I am afraid it is going to rain," she said; "we must hurry home."
But even before the children could gather up their baskets and
flowers, the big rain-drops began to patter down on their heads.
"I don't care," said little Joe Thorpe. "It is nothing but an April
shower."
"April showers bring Mayflowers!" quoted Grace and Alice, and then they
held their thumbs together and wished, because they had both said just
the same thing at just the same moment.
"They bring wet dresses, too," said Miss Heath, "and not one of us has
an umbrella. Let's run over to that little pine grove and play the
trees are umbrellas. That's what the birds do when it rains."
The children ran down the narrow path and gathered under the spreading
branches of the pines, and the trees held out their arms and tried to
keep them dry. But the rain-drops came down faster and faster, and it
was not long before the little girls' cotton dresses were wet through.
As soon as the shower was over Miss Heath said, "Now you must run home
as fast as you can, and put on dry clothing. I don't want anyone to
catch cold when we have had such a happy day together."
So away the children scampered, some in one direction, some in another.
At the foot of the hill Alice stopped suddenly and said to Grace, "My
mother will not be at home. She was going to the village this afternoon
to do some marketing."
"Come to my house," said Grace. "You can put on one of my dresses while
yours is getting dry."
When they reached Grace's house her mother was not at home, either; but
Grace found the key to the back door behind the window blind, and the
two little girls went into the kitchen.
Then they took off their wet dresses and put on dry ones, and Grace
climbed up in a chair to hang Alice's dress on the clothes-bars over
the stove.
"It will not dry very fast until we open the dampers and let the fire
burn up," she said; so she opened both dampers wide, and then took
Alice up to the play-room to see the new doll which her aunt had sent
her for a birthday gift. The doll had a whole trunkful of dresses,
coats, hats, and shoes, and the two little girls had such a good time
trying them on that they forgot all about the kitchen stove.
Suddenly Grace cried, "I can smell smoke, Alice. Something is burning!"
"It must be my dress," exclaimed Alice, jumping up and running down the
back stairs.
She opened the kitchen door just in time to see the dress burst into
flames. "Oh, what shall we do?" she cried. "My dress is on fire! Put it
out! Put it out! Quick! Quick!"
"I can't!" screamed Grace. "Oh, Mother! Mother! Come home! Come home!"
Just then a man, who was driving by with a load of wood, saw the flames
through the window and came running in to see what was the matter. He
snatched the burning dress from the clothes-bars, threw it into the
sink, and pumped water over it to put out the fire.
Then he closed the dampers in the stove, which was now red hot, and
opened the windows at the top to let out the smoke; while all the time
the two little girls stood in the middle of the floor, sobbing and
crying.
"That was a very careless thing to do," said the man, when at last
they told him how the dress happened to catch fire. "You should never
hang anything over the stove. Tell your mother to take down those
clothes-bars this very afternoon, and put them on the other side of the
kitchen; and remember never to go out of the room again when you have
started up the fire. A red-hot stove will sometimes set wood-work on
fire, even if there isn't a cotton dress near by to help it along."
"I don't believe I shall forget it very soon," said Grace, as she
lifted the handful of wet black rags out of the sink.
"Nor I," cried Alice. "I am glad Miss Heath told us to wear our old
clothes."
"And I am glad that I came along before you set the house on fire,"
said the man. "Don't ever try to dry wet clothes in a hurry again."
Then he went out and climbed up on his load of wood, muttering to
himself, "That's what comes of leaving children alone in the house.
They are never satisfied unless they are lighting matches or starting a
fire."
_Why did Grace hang the dress over the stove?_
_How did it catch fire?_
_What material was the dress made of?_
_Would a woollen dress burn as easily?_
Damp clothing, or clothes that have just been ironed, should never be
hung over a hot stove, for, as the moisture dries out, the clothes
quickly ignite. Clothes-bars or a clothes-line should never be hung
over a stove, and a clothes-horse should not be set too near it. Many
fires have resulted from an overloaded clothes-horse falling on a hot
stove, especially when there was no one in the kitchen to watch it.
Children should never be permitted to open the dampers of a stove, or
to have anything whatever to do with the kitchen fire. They should not
set a kettle on the stove or take one off, and they should be cautioned
against climbing into a chair near the stove, as they might fall and be
badly burned.
CAMPING OUT
It was one of those hot drowsy days in July. School had been closed two
weeks, and Dean and Gordon Rand were already wondering how they could
ever spend the rest of the long vacation in their little home in the
city of Boston.
To be sure there were plenty of books filled with charming stories of
brooks and pine woods; but reading only made the boys wish they might
go to the real country instead of sitting at home in a hot stuffy
house, reading about it in a story-book.
One night the two brothers went as usual to meet their father when he
came home from work. His tired face wore a happy smile, and they knew
at once that something pleasant had happened.
"What is it, Father? Do tell us!" the boys cried in one voice. Their
faces were so eager that it was really hard for Mr. Rand to say, "Wait,
my boys, until we reach home. Then your mother can share the good news
with us."
Mrs. Rand was looking out of the window as the boys danced up the front
walk, each holding one of their father's hands. They pulled him along
in their haste to hear the news, and she, too, guessed that something
pleasant had happened.
Father said that boys couldn't half enjoy good news with dirty hands
and faces, so it was not until soap and water had made them clean and
shining that he took from his pocket a letter from good jolly Uncle Joe
who lived among the hills of Vermont.
"Here is your news," he said. "I will read aloud the part of the letter
that will interest you. Now, listen! Uncle Joe says: 'Why not let those
boys of yours come up and go camping with me this summer? I am going
to pitch my tent in the woods near Silver Lake, and I expect to have
good fishing and hunting. Send the youngsters along as soon as they are
ready. I will take care of them, and give them a rollicking good time.'"
The boys were so delighted that they could hardly wait for Mother to
get their clothes ready, and for Father to write to Uncle Joe and tell
him when and where to meet them.
At last the day arrived when they were to take the train for Vermont.
Their trunk was carefully packed, and they were as clean and fresh as
Mother's loving hands could make them.
It was a long ride, but there was so much to see every minute that the
time passed quickly. At noon they opened the box of lunch Mother had
put up for them. When they saw the sandwiches and the little cakes and
apple turnovers, there was a lump in their throats for a few minutes.
The conductor came along just then, to tell them they were crossing the
Connecticut, and in their eagerness to catch their first glimpse of the
great river they forgot all about being homesick.
Uncle Joe met them at the station. He gave them each a hearty
hand-shake and a big hug. Then he lifted them up on the seat of a
wagon, and put their trunk in behind, with ever so many other boxes and
bundles.
It was not far to the shore of the little lake. Uncle Joe soon had all
the provisions stowed away in a large flat-bottomed boat, and it did
not take long to row across to the tents on the opposite side.
Do you suppose a supper ever tasted better to hungry boys than that one
of fried trout just caught from the lake, with bread and butter, and
fresh berries and cream? Uncle Joe served them generously, too,--just
as if he knew all about a boy's appetite!
After supper they were so tired with all the excitement of the day that
they were content to sit quietly on the little sandy beach, watching
the sunset and the changing colors in the clouds. There were lovely
shadows on the purple hills, and dim reflections of the trees and sky
in the smooth surface of the lake. How much better it was than all the
noise and confusion of the city streets!
It was not long before the boys were sleepy, and Uncle Joe went with
them to see that everything was all right in their tent. When they saw
the bed they were a little uncertain as to whether they would like it.
It was nothing but a great heap of fir-balsam boughs, covered over with
two heavy blankets, and it didn't look very comfortable; but when they
had tried it a few moments the boys pronounced it the softest, sweetest
bed they ever slept in.
Morning found them rested and ready for camp life. Uncle Joe took
them out fishing, and let them row the boat home. Then they put on
their bathing suits and he gave them a swimming-lesson. After dinner
they went for a long walk and he taught them to watch for birds and
squirrels.
They had never dreamed that the woods could be half so interesting, or
hold so many different things. They enjoyed every minute of the day;
and the next day, and the next, it was just the same. They never had to
stop and ask, "What shall we do now?" There was always something to do,
even before they had time to do it.
They met several other boys, about their own age, who were living in a
camp farther up the lake. These boys often joined them in their picnics
and excursions, and the time was too short for all they found to do.
But they did one thing that came very near spoiling the fun of that
happy vacation in the woods.
One night Uncle Joe stayed out fishing a little later than usual,
leaving his nephews alone in the camp. The other boys came down to
visit them, and one of them suggested that it would be great fun to
build a camp-fire.
Dean, who was always a cautious lad, feared it was not just the right
thing to do, without his uncle's permission; but at last he gave in to
the other boys.
Broken boughs and bark were quickly piled up, a match was lighted to
kindle the fire, and in a few minutes the flames were leaping over the
dry wood. The boys were delighted with their bonfire, and they ran here
and there among the trees collecting more fuel for the flames.
Suddenly they began to realize that the fire was spreading. It had run
along through the dry grass and pine needles, and the wind was blowing
it straight toward the woods, where they had had so many good times,
and where their friends the birds and squirrels had their homes.
At first the boys thought they could put out the fire with pails of
water; but they soon saw that it was beyond their control, and they
stood still, too frightened to do anything but scream.
Their cries brought Uncle Joe, and some fishermen from the other camps,
to fight the fire, and for more than an hour the men worked valiantly.
They chopped off great green branches and beat out the flames, they
threw on buckets of sand from the beach, they chopped down trees and
made a broad path in front of the fire, and finally they dug a trench
to keep it from running along the grass.
At last the fire was declared to be all out; but it was not until the
men's hands were blistered, and their faces burned and blackened with
the smoke. This was not the worst of it, however, for nearly an acre of
valuable timber had been destroyed, and the dead trees held out their
stiff leafless branches like ghosts of the beautiful pines and firs
that had stood there in the sunshine that very day.
The boys went back to their camps very soberly. How their hearts ached
at the mischief they had done! They could think of nothing, talk of
nothing, but the fire. Dean and Gordon sobbed themselves to sleep,
feeling sure that Uncle Joe would send them both home in the morning.
But the next day good, kind Uncle Joe, whom everyone loved, called the
boys around him and gave them a long talk about forest fires.
He told them he hoped this experience would teach them never to build a
fire anywhere unless men were near to guard it carefully, and not even
then if the grass were very dry, or there was the least breath of wind
to carry the flames and sparks.
He explained that thousands of dollars' worth of property might have
been destroyed, and possibly lives might have been lost by their
carelessness. He told them stories of the terrible forest fires that
have raged for days in the timber lands of the Northwest. When at last
he asked for their promises, the boys gave them readily, for they had
learned how very dangerous a fire can be; and for the rest of that
summer, at least, there wasn't another bonfire at Silver Lake.
_Why did Dean hesitate to start a fire when his uncle was away?_
_If the boughs had been green or wet would they have burned as
quickly?_
_Did you ever see a fire in the grass or woods, running along like
a race-horse?_
_How do you think these fires are started?_
_Why are fires most dangerous in the summer and fall?_
Forest fires are started from bonfires, by hunters, campers, fishermen,
or lumbermen, or by mischievous and careless persons. Fires should
never be started unless the ground is cleared around them, and at a
safe distance from any building or woods. They should never be left
unguarded.
Forest fires have become so serious that many states have appointed
Fire Wardens, whose duty it is to patrol the forests.
Watch towers have been erected, from which observations are taken, and
in case of fire, alarm is spread by means of a telephone system.
In some countries avenues, equal in width to the height of the tallest
tree, are cut through the forests at intervals of half a mile.
These avenues afford a fire-barrier and standing ground for the firemen
to fight the flames.
With the many acres of valuable timber destroyed by fire every year,
and the indiscriminate cutting of trees by the lumbermen, our forests
are fast disappearing. Children should be encouraged to observe Arbor
Day, and to plant trees, so that the custom may become more general,
and the forests be renewed.
THELMA'S BIRTHDAY
Thelma was a little Fourth-of-July girl,--at least that was what her
father always called her, for her birthday came on the glorious Fourth,
the day to which all the children in the United States look forward,
just as they do to Thanksgiving and Christmas.
Thelma did not have any brothers or sisters, but she had ever so many
friends and playmates; and besides, there was Rover,--the best playmate
of all,--good, kind, loving Rover, who followed his little mistress
like a shadow all day long.
The Fourth of July was Rover's birthday, too; but he never looked
forward to it with the least bit of pleasure. When the horns were
tooting, the bells were ringing, and the fire-crackers were snapping,
you would always find Rover under Thelma's bed, with his head on his
paws, and his eyes shut tight. I believe he would have put cotton in
his ears, too, if he had only known that it would help to keep out the
dreadful noise.
Of course no one had ever told Rover about the Fourth of July, and he
didn't understand at all why bells were rung and cannon were fired, and
why everyone was eager to celebrate the day.
But Thelma knew all about it. She was eleven years old, and she had
often read the story in her reading-books at school. When her father
took her on his knee, and helped her a little now and then with
questions, she told just how it happened.
"You see," she said, "when the white men first came to this country
they formed thirteen colonies; but they were ruled by the King of
England, who often treated them unjustly.
"They bore their troubles patiently for a long time, but finally they
were forced to pay such heavy taxes that they rebelled. Then they
decided to break away from English rule and be free and independent
states.
"Thomas Jefferson wrote a paper declaring their independence, and men
from each of the thirteen colonies signed it. This paper was called the
'Declaration of Independence,' and it was read from the balcony of the
State House in Philadelphia, before a great crowd of people, on July 4,
1776.
"Bells were rung to spread the good news, and ever since that time the
Fourth of July has been celebrated as the birthday of the United States
of America."
"And what shall we do this year to celebrate all these birthdays?" her
father asked, when Thelma finished her story.
"Let's give a party," replied the little girl, and she jumped up to
make out the list of friends she wished to invite.
[Illustration: The Flying Squadron]
One morning about a week later Rover waked up very early. He slept at
night in his kennel behind the barn, and he always kept one ear open
so that he could hear the least little bit of noise. But it was not a
little noise that waked him this time.
"Bang, bang! Crack, crack! Toot, toot! Ding, dong!" he heard from every
direction.
"Oh dear!" thought Rover, "I wonder if this is the Fourth of July! It
can't be a year since I heard that noise before." But he did not have
to wonder long. A crowd of boys were coming down the street, blowing
horns, drumming on tin pans and firing off torpedoes. They threw a
fire-cracker into Rover's yard, and it exploded in front of his kennel.
"That's it," he said to himself, as the smoke drifted away in a little
cloud; "it is the Fourth of July, after all."
The minute the cook opened the kitchen door he pattered up the back
stairs to spend the day under Thelma's bed. His little mistress went
two or three times to coax him to play with her; but he wouldn't even
come out to eat his dinner, and when her friends began to arrive for
the party she forgot all about him.
It was a beautiful evening, and after supper the children played games
on the lawn. It seemed to them that it would never be dark enough for
the fireworks.
"I wish the Fourth of July came in December," said one of the boys. "It
is always dark by five o'clock when we want to go skating after school."
At last it began to grow dark, and Mr. Ward lighted the Japanese
lanterns around the broad piazza, and brought out two big boxes of
fireworks.
"You children may sit on the steps where you can't get into any
mischief," he said. "I will set off the fireworks on the lawn, and then
we will have a feast in the summer-house. I saw a man walking down
that way with some ice-cream a little while ago."
But even ice-cream was not so tempting as the fireworks, and for an
hour the children sat on the steps, watching the pinwheels and Roman
candles and red lights that Mr. Ward set off, with two of the older
boys to help him.
"O-o-o-oh!" they cried, every time a sky-rocket went whizzing up over
the trees to burst into a hundred shining stars; and "A-a-a-ah!" they
shouted, when tiny lights like fireflies went flitting across the lawn.
The last thing of all was a fire-balloon, and Mr. Ward called the
children down to the lawn to watch it fill with hot air from the
burning candle in its base.
It filled very slowly, and the children were so quiet that Rover came
creeping down the stairs to see if the noise were all over for another
year.
At last the balloon rose slowly above the children's heads. "There it
goes!" they cried. "Watch it, now! Watch it!" and they ran along with
it as it sailed across the lawn.
A puff of wind blew it lightly toward the house. Then another breeze
caught it and carried it over the roof of the barn.
"Look, look!" the children shouted. "It is going higher. Now it will
sail away over the trees."
But suddenly a gust of wind turned the balloon completely over. The
tissue paper caught fire from the burning candle, and the blazing mass
dropped down behind the barn.
"It will set fire to the summer-house!" shouted Mr. Ward.
"And melt the ice-cream," cried the children, as they followed him
across the lawn.
There had been very little rain for a month, and the roof of the
summer-house was so dry that it caught fire almost instantly from the
blazing paper. Mr. Ward and some of the boys brought pails of water and
tried to put out the flames; but the little house and Rover's kennel
were burned to the ground, in spite of all their efforts.
When the fire was out and the children had gone home without their
ice-cream, Mr. Ward said to his wife, "That is the very last time I
shall ever send up a fire-balloon. Fireworks are dangerous enough, but
a fire-balloon is worse. I believe the sale of them should be forbidden
by law, if men haven't sense enough not to buy them."
But Rover, who was sleeping comfortably on the rug outside Thelma's
door, cocked up his ears at the mention of fire-balloons. "They don't
make any noise," he said to himself, "and I like this bed much better
than the straw in my kennel."
_Why do we celebrate the Fourth of July?_
_What was the Declaration of Independence?_
_Who wrote it, and who signed it?_
_What fireworks do you like best?_
_What fireworks are dangerous?_
_What is a fire-balloon made of?_
_Why is it unsafe to send up a fire-balloon?_
_What is the law concerning the use of fireworks in your state?_
Every year the celebration of the Fourth of July costs thousands of
dollars in the destruction of property by fire, to say nothing of the
loss of life from the accidental or careless discharge of fireworks.
One of the causes of fires on this day is the fire-balloons. They are
easily swayed by currents of air, and the lighted candles set fire to
the tissue paper of which the balloon is made. The blazing paper falls
upon the roofs of buildings, frequently causing serious fires.
Almost all fireworks are dangerous play-things, and should be handled
with great caution. In many states there are laws regulating the sale
and use of fireworks, and all over the country there is now a general
movement toward a saner and safer Fourth.
THE "E. V. I. S."
It was a bright, beautiful afternoon in April. The air was soft and
spring-like, and the sky as blue as only April skies can be.
The grass was springing up fresh and green, and the robins and
bluebirds were singing joyously.
Elmwood was a pretty little village. Its streets were long and level,
and there were so many elms among the shade trees that Elmwood seemed
just the right name for it.
The village school had just been dismissed, and the street was full of
boys and girls who were hurrying home to their dinner; but over in one
corner of the campus a group of boys were talking together earnestly.
"I say, boys, we must do it!" exclaimed the tallest in the group.
"Of course we must," echoed one of the younger boys.
"It will be great fun!" and "Won't we make things look fine!" shouted
two of the others. And so they talked on, in eager boyish voices,
making plans for the Village Improvement Society which they wished to
form.
They had already talked the matter over with their teachers and
parents, and everyone encouraged them to go ahead. "We will help and
advise you all we can," they said; "and it is just the time of year
when there is plenty to do about the town."
That evening the boys held a meeting to elect officers and plan their
work. Mr. Ashley, the principal of the school, was invited to come, and
promptly at eight o'clock the Elmwood Village Improvement Society was
formed. Leon Messenger was chosen president, Archie Hazen was made
secretary, and Harold Merrill treasurer.
Each and every one promised to do his part and to work with a will to
improve the little village of Elmwood; and, with Mr. Ashley's advice,
they planned their work for the summer.
First of all, they decided, the streets must be cleaned. That alone
would require a good deal of time.
Then some one proposed raking the yards for three or four poor women.
"They can't afford to hire it done. Couldn't we do it for them?" he
asked.
"Good work!" responded Mr. Ashley. "Then, boys, see if you can't get
permission to tear down and remove some old fences. Their owners would
probably make no objection to your doing it, and it would be a great
improvement to the village."
There were two triangles of land between cross streets. Here the boys
planned to plant cannas and other bulbs, and to keep the grass neatly
mowed around the beds.
"We might set out some vines to clamber over the telephone poles," one
boy suggested.
"Some of us must go about and get the people to give money to buy
waste-barrels," said Archie Hazen. "We must never allow paper, banana
and orange peels, or anything of that kind on the streets."
"Better still, we must never throw them there ourselves," added Harold
Merrill.
"Those of us who drive cows must look out that they do not feed beside
the road," said Leon Messenger; "and we might get our fathers to trim
up the trees."
"We must be sure to see some of the town officers about having no more
rubbish dumped over the river-bank," said another.
"We'll have our campus look better than it ever did before," declared
one of the little boys; while another added, "We'll have Elmwood the
cleanest, prettiest village in all New England."
The boys not only planned,--they worked, and worked with a will. The
very next day was Saturday, and every member of the new E. V. I. S. was
on hand to do his best.
Never had the streets of Elmwood looked so clean as they did in one
week's time. Many a poor woman's yard was carefully raked, and several
old fences were removed.
Money for the waste-barrels had been given cheerfully, and all the boys
were so eager to keep the streets clean that they would not have thrown
a paper bag or a banana-skin in the road any more than they would have
thrown it on their mother's carpet.
The raking of so many streets and yards, and the tearing down of
fences, made a good deal of rubbish. The boys carted it a little way
outside of the village, and left it there to dry, so that they could
have a bonfire.
One warm night in May, Leon Messenger called the club together after
school. "We can have our bonfire to-night," he said. "There has been no
rain for a week and it ought to burn splendidly. Let's all be on hand
by eight o'clock."
Shouts of "Sure!" and "Hurrah!" were the answer; and the boys were all
on hand in good season that evening.
The fence rails made a fine foundation, and the boys built them up in
log-cabin style. Then they threw on old boxes, barrels, and rubbish
until they had an enormous pile.
"Now let's finish off with some dry fir boughs," suggested Harold.
"They will send the sparks up like rockets."
When everything was ready, kerosene was poured over the brush, and a
lighted match soon set the fire blazing merrily. Then how the boys
did shout! They danced around the fire, whooping and singing, and
pretending they were Indians having a war-dance.
When at last the fire died down, they found some long sticks and poked
the embers to make the sparks fly again, and then they sat down around
the glowing ashes and watched the little flames flicker out. Finally
they all decided that there could be no danger in leaving their bonfire.
"Well," said Archie Hazen, "there seems to be some fun for the E. V. I.
S. after all. Let's give three rousing cheers and then go home to bed."
The three cheers were given with a will. Then the boys bade each other
good-night and set off for home.