took his turn at building a fire. He puffed out his cheeks and blew
on the red embers until tiny flames came darting out to lick the dry
leaves.
He sent merry little breezes to toss the hot sparks into the grass, and
when it blazed up, here and there, he blew with all his might and swept
the fire across the field.
Just beyond the fence stood an old, tumble-down barn, and it was not
long before the fire was raging and roaring its way to the very roof.
The blaze lighted the sky and wakened the village folk from their sleep.
Men and boys tumbled out of bed and hurried through the streets with
buckets of water. The firemen came out with their hose and ladders; but
it was too late,--the old barn was gone.
Fortunately there were no other buildings near by, so little damage was
done; but it taught the boys a good lesson. They had a meeting the very
next morning, and agreed never to leave a fire again until the last
spark was burned out, and never to build another bonfire without first
raking the leaves and dry grass carefully away before lighting the fire.
"But it did improve the looks of the village to burn down that old
barn," Leon told Archie, when they were walking home from school
together. "We really ought to add old North Wind to our list of members
of the E. V. I. S."
_What was the object of this society?_
_What was the result of their work?_
_What was done with the rubbish?_
_How did the fire get started?_
_What lesson did it teach?_
The burning of dry grass, leaves, and rubbish in bonfires, in the
spring or fall, is a common practice. Extreme care should be used that
it is done at a safe distance from buildings and woods, and it should
be constantly watched, as a breeze may fan the flames and cause the
spread of the fire.
FOREST FIRES
The loss by forest fires in the United States for the month of October,
1910, was about $14,600,000.
Thousands of acres of valuable timber were destroyed, leaving in the
place of beautiful green forests nothing but a dreary waste of black
stumps and fallen trunks.
This was an unusually heavy loss for a single month; but in the spring
and fall of every year, especially in times of drought, fires sometimes
rage for days through our splendid forests.
These fires are more frequent and disastrous in Minnesota, Michigan,
New York, and eastern Maine; but, in 1910, twenty-eight different
states suffered heavy loss among their timber lands.
The causes of these fires are chiefly sparks from engines or sawmills,
campfires, burning brush, careless smokers, and lightning. More than
two-thirds of the fires are due to thoughtlessness and ignorance, and
could be prevented. Even in the case of a fire set by lightning, which
seems purely accidental, the fire would not occur if fallen trees and
dead underbrush were cleared away, for lightning never ignites green
wood.
In one year there were three hundred fires among the Adirondack
Mountains of New York, one hundred and twenty-one of which were due to
sparks from the engines of passing trains. Eighty-eight were traced to
piles of leaves left burning, twenty-nine to camp fires, and six to
cigar-stubs and burning tobacco from pipes.
Every fire, when it first starts, is nothing but a little blaze which
might easily be extinguished; but as it grows and spreads it quickly
gets beyond control, unless there is a force of well-trained men to
fight it.
There are three kinds of forest fires,--"top fires," "ground fires,"
and the fires which burn the whole trees and leave nothing standing but
stumps and blackened trunks.
The "top fire" is a fire in the tops of the trees. It is usually caused
by a spark from an engine dropping on a dry twig or cone among the
upper branches. A light breeze will then blow the fire from one tree to
another high up in the air, and after it has swept through the forest
and killed the tops, the trees will die. This is the hardest kind of a
fire to fight, as it is impossible to reach it. The only thing to do is
to cut a lane in the forest too wide for the flames to leap across; but
there is not always time for this, as the fire travels rapidly.
The ground fire is not so difficult to cut off, as it spreads through
the moss and the decaying vegetable matter among the roots of the
trees. A broad furrow of fresh earth, turned up with a plow, or dug up
with a spade, will stop the progress of the fire; but this kind of fire
is especially treacherous, as it will live for days, or even weeks,
smouldering in a slow-burning log or in a bed of closely-packed pine
needles, and then burst out with renewed vigor.
As all large fires create air currents, masses of light gas, like large
bubbles or balloons, are blown about in the air, ready to burst into
flame from even a tiny spark. In this way new and mysterious fires are
set, often at some distance from the original fire.
An ordinary forest fire travels slowly unless it is fanned by strong
winds or driven by a hurricane. It will burn up-hill much faster than
it burns down-hill, as the flames, and the drafts they create, sweep
upward.
The noise from one of these great fires is terrifying. The flames roar
with a voice like thunder, and the fallen trees crash to the ground,
bringing down other trees with them.
Birds and wild animals flee before the fire, hurrying away to a place
of safety. They seem to know by instinct which way to go, and deer,
bears, coyotes, mountain sheep, and mountain lions will follow along
the same trail without fear of each other in their common danger.
Some of our national forests, and some of the tracts of timber land
owned by big lumber companies, are guarded by forest rangers and fire
patrols, and many fires are put out before they do serious damage, by
the quick thought and skilled work of these men and their helpers.
It has been estimated that forest fires in the United States destroy
property to the value of $50,000,000 every year. In this way the timber
in the country is being rapidly exhausted; and unless something
is done to put a stop to this waste and to replenish the supply by
planting new forests, there will be little timber left in another fifty
years.
It is impossible to realize the extent to which our forests have been
destroyed unless one travels through these great barren wastes. To ride
in a railway train for hundreds of miles through northern Michigan and
Minnesota, seeing nothing but stumps, like tombstones of what were
once magnificent trees, and short dead trunks, like sentinels on a
battle-field, is a sad and depressing sight.
PINCH AND TEDDY
Pinch was a tiny terrier pup when we first brought him home to live
with us. He was a plump, round, little fellow, with long, silvery-gray
hair. His ears were so soft and silky that every one admired them, and
his eyes were as bright as buttons, when we could get a glimpse of
them. But the hair hung over them so long that we did not see them very
often.
As he grew older we had him clipped every summer. Then he was much more
comfortable; and he looked prettier, too, for his coat was as smooth
and shining as a piece of satin. The hair over his eyes was never cut;
if it were, he could not see so well. This hair was needed to protect
his eyes from the strong sunlight.
Pinch was a very aristocratic little dog. He did not like to play with
any one whose manners were not good.
Sometimes a street dog would come up to him, with a friendly air, and
say, "Good morning, wouldn't you like to play with me for a while?"
But Pinch always tossed his nose in the air and walked away very
proudly, saying, "No, I thank you, not to-day."
This often made the poor street dog feel a little hurt; but he would
wag his tail and run away to his old playmates. "Don't ever try to have
anything to do with aristocratic Pinch," he would tell them, in dog
language. "He feels too fine for us. I shall never give him a chance to
snub me again."
Pinch liked the softest cushions to lie on, and the daintiest things to
eat. He was very fond of his mistress and liked to have her feed him;
but he never liked to eat from a dish. He preferred to have her break
his food in tiny pieces and feed it to him from her hand.
He had a little bed of his own on the floor, but he liked the soft down
puff on the guest-room bed much better, and he often stole away to take
a nap there.
Pinch had one very bad habit. He always barked when any one rang the
door-bell, and no one but his master could stop him. His mistress often
tried to quiet him; but Pinch would look up at her with merry eyes
which seemed to say, "I'm not a bit afraid of you. I know you love me
too well to punish me." And he kept right on barking.
He liked to go for a walk with any member of the family, and if he were
left at home alone, he would sit down beside the door and cry as if his
little doggish heart would break. If his master's automobile stopped
in front of the house, he would run out and jump up in the front seat,
wagging his little stump of a tail.
"I don't mean to be left at home this time," he seemed to be saying;
but he would look anxiously at his mistress until she said, "Yes,
Pinch, you may go." Then he would fairly dance up and down in his
excitement.
One afternoon Pinch came into the house, sniffing about as usual.
Suddenly, to his surprise, he came upon a half-grown kitten curled up
comfortably under the kitchen stove. The kitten was fat and black, and
he had a pretty pink nose and a long tail with a tiny white tip. Yes,
and he had roguish-looking eyes, too.
"Who are you, and what are you doing here?" asked Pinch, bristling up
angrily.
"My name is Teddy, and I have come to live in this house," the kitten
answered politely.
Pinch looked Teddy over scornfully and was not very cordial. He walked
away muttering to himself, "I do hope that saucy black kitten doesn't
expect me to chum with him. I don't see why my mistress wants a kitten
anyway. I am pet enough for one family."
Pinch was really jealous of the poor little kitten; but Teddy was
so bright and good-natured that he couldn't help playing with him
sometimes, especially if no one was there to see him; but he couldn't
bear to see his mistress pet the cat.
"Here I am," he would say; "don't talk to that cat. Talk to me."
Then he would chase Teddy all over the house, until at last Teddy would
turn and box his ears, and that was the end of the game for that day.
Teddy had a funny little trick of jumping up on the sideboard. Perhaps
he liked to look at himself in the mirror. Once, when he was playing
with Pinch, he jumped up in such a hurry that he knocked off a glass
dish and broke it all to pieces. He was so frightened at the noise
that he did not get up there again for a long time; but he did sit on
the chairs and tables, and even on the beds and bureaus. In fact, he
made himself at home almost anywhere.
He was very playful, too, so his mistress gave him a soft ball and a
little woolly chicken. He kept them under the book-case in the library,
and whenever he wanted a game of ball he pulled them out and played
with them for a while.
Sometimes he played with his own tail, chasing it round and round,
and twisting himself up double in his excitement. He played with the
curtain tassels, too, and with the corner of the tablecloth; but his
mistress always scolded him if she caught him at it.
One evening, just before supper, the whole family was up stairs, and
Pinch and Teddy were having a very lively frolic in the dining-room.
Suddenly there was a great crash, and the cat and dog went flying
through the hall to hide under the sofa in the parlor.
The cook came running in from the kitchen, and down stairs rushed the
whole family to see what was the matter. There was matter enough, you
may be sure, for Teddy had jumped at the table, missed his footing, and
pulled off the cloth with all the dishes and a lighted lamp.
The lamp broke as it fell to the floor, and the burning oil was already
spreading over the carpet.
"Fire! Fire!" cried the excited children.
"Water! Water!" screamed the cook, and she ran back to the kitchen to
catch up a pail.
"Don't pour water on that blazing oil," shouted the master of the
house. "Bring some flour. Quick!"
The children ran to the pantry, and the cook dipped up big panfuls of
flour, which they carried to the dining-room and threw over the fire.
The room was filled with a thick, black smoke, and every one coughed
and choked; their eyes began to smart, and tears ran down their cheeks;
but they worked bravely, and after a few minutes the last tiny flame
was extinguished.
"What a queer way to put out a fire!" said one of the boys, after the
excitement was all over. "I thought everyone always used water."
"Not when the fire is caused by burning oil," replied his father.
"Water will only spread the oil, and make a bad matter worse. Always
remember to use flour or sand to smother the flames, if a lamp explodes
or is tipped over."
"There is something else we should remember," added his wife; "and that
is, never to leave a lighted lamp on the table when there is no one in
the room."
Pinch and Teddy had something to remember, too. The noise of the
falling china and the sight of the blazing oil had sent them scurrying
under the couch in the parlor; and although they had many another good
frolic, Teddy never jumped up on the table again.
_Who was Pinch? Who was Teddy?_
_Where did Teddy like to sleep?_
_How did he pull the cloth off the table?_
_What harm did it do?_
_Why should a cat never be allowed to jump on a table?_
_What other animals do you know of that have set fires by accident?_
Great care should be taken to prevent children and pet animals from
setting fires. Many a cat or dog has tipped over a lamp and set the
house on fire.
It is safer to place the lamp on a shelf or bracket. Never set it on a
table which is covered with a cloth that hangs over the edge, as the
cloth might accidentally be pulled off, bringing the lamp with it.
Hanging lamps should be used with caution, as the heat may melt the
solder in the chain, thus weakening the links and allowing the lighted
lamp to fall upon the table or floor.
A lantern should always be hung up, especially in the barn or stable.
It should never be set on the floor where it could easily be tipped
over, or where it might be kicked over by a cow or horse.
THE BUSY BEES
Everyone in the neighborhood called the Belchers the "Busy Bees;" in
fact, they had been called by this name so long that they had almost
forgotten their real name.
When the children went out on the street together, the neighbors would
say, "There go the Busy Bees;" and if any one wanted a book from the
library, or a spool of thread from the corner store, some one was sure
to suggest, "Ask one of the Busy Bees to get it for you."
Father Busy Bee had died several years ago. That meant that Mother Busy
Bee and the young Bees must work all the harder to keep their home
together.
Beatrice, the oldest daughter, was seventeen years old, and almost
ready to graduate from the High School. Bradley was a messenger boy at
the telegraph office, Burton worked in a green-house on Saturdays and
holidays; and Little Barbara, who was only eight years old, earned a
good many pennies by running on errands for the next-door neighbors.
Mother Busy Bee was a good nurse, and whenever she could possibly spare
time from her children, she left Beatrice to keep the house while she
went to take care of any one who was sick and needed her.
It would be hard to find a busier family anywhere, and as every one of
their names began with "B," it was hardly surprising that people called
them the "Busy Bees." Perhaps they were all the happier for being so
busy, for they had no time for quarreling or getting into mischief; and
when they did have a few minutes for play, they thought they were the
luckiest children in town, and had the very best time you can imagine.
Of course Mother Busy Bee was always sorry to leave her children at
home alone; but Beatrice was getting old enough now to be a pretty good
housekeeper, and Bradley was a manly little fellow who liked to take
care of his brother and sisters.
One night there was an accident at one of the mills in the town, and
several people were injured. Mother Busy Bee was sent for in a hurry,
and she put on her hat and coat and got ready to go at once, talking
all the time as she flew around the house.
"I may be back in an hour, and I may be gone a week," she said. "Take
good care of each other, and be very careful about fire. Don't play
with the matches, always set the lamp in the middle of the big table,
and never go out of the house without looking to see that the drafts of
the stove are all shut tight."
She had said this so many times before that Bradley couldn't help
laughing. "Oh, mother!" he exclaimed; "you are always looking for
trouble. We are too old to play with matches, and we never have set
anything on fire yet."
Just then his mother caught sight of a pile of schoolbooks on the
table, and another worry slipped into her mind. "There!" she said, "it
is examination week for you and Bee, and I ought not to leave you at
all. You need to study every minute."
"Now, Mother," said Beatrice, throwing her arm around Mrs. Busy Bee and
running with her to the door, "there are ever so many people in this
town who need you more than we do to-night. Run along, dear, and don't
worry. We'll get along splendidly. I can get up earlier in the morning
and have plenty of time to study after the dishes are done. Barbara
will help me, too. She is a big girl now, you know;" and she drew her
little sister up beside her to give Mother a good-bye kiss.
So Mrs. Busy Bee hurried down the stairs to the street door, calling
back all sorts of instructions, and promising to be home in a day or
two at the very most.
But the accident was more serious than she expected, and at the end of
a week she was still unable to leave her patient's bedside.
In the meantime Beatrice and Bradley had found plenty of time for
study, and had taken all their school examinations. It was a circle of
merry faces that gathered around the supper table each night, even if
Mother were still away and the house so full of work.
Everything went well until one evening Beatrice discovered that the
doughnut jar was empty. She knew how much the boys liked doughnuts for
their breakfast, and as she had often seen her mother make them, she
felt sure she knew just how it was done.
She set the kettle of fat on the stove, put the lamp on a shelf out of
the way, rolled up her sleeves and went to work. But it was not so easy
as it had seemed, and before the doughnuts were rolled out and cut into
round rings, ready to fry, Beatrice was beginning to wish she hadn't
attempted it.
"I never thought cooking could be such hard work," she said with a
sigh, as she dropped the first ring into the fat, and waited for it to
rise and turn a lovely golden brown. But it didn't rise very quickly,
and when it did float leisurely to the surface, it was still white and
sticky.
"The fat isn't hot enough, I guess," she said to herself, and taking up
the kettle by the handle, she lifted the stove-cover to set the kettle
over the coals. But the kettle was not well balanced on its handle, and
it tipped a little. Some of the fat spilled over on the hot stove and
took fire. The flames spread quickly, and Beatrice's gingham apron
blazed up almost instantly.
The poor girl screamed with fright, tearing at her apron to get it off,
and rushing to the sitting-room for help.
Bradley looked up and saw her coming. "Stand still! Stand still!" he
shouted, and catching a heavy afghan from the couch he threw it over
her shoulders, to protect her face from the flames. Then he snatched
a rug from the floor and wrapped it tightly around her to smother the
fire, which was beginning to burn her woollen dress.
Poor Beatrice was badly burned and terribly frightened. She sobbed
and cried, partly with fear, partly with pain, for her hands were
blistered, and there were spatters of hot fat on her bare arms; but,
fortunately, the fat on the stove had burned itself out without setting
fire to the kitchen, and that was something to be very thankful for, at
least.
Bradley made his sister as comfortable as he knew how, while Burton ran
to ask one of the neighbors what to do for her burns; but when their
mother came home the next morning, she found a very sober group of
children to greet her. And from that day to this not one of the Busy
Bees ever wanted another doughnut for breakfast.
_Why were the Belchers called "Busy Bees"?_
_Why did Beatrice try to fry some doughnuts?_
_How did she set her apron on fire?_
_Why did Bradley tell her to stand still?_
_How did he smother the flames?_
_What lessons do you learn from this story?_
Frying doughnuts, or any other food, in hot fat is always dangerous,
as there are many ways of setting the fat on fire. Only an experienced
person should attempt it. The kettle should never be more than
two-thirds full of fat. The fat should not be allowed to boil up, nor
to bubble over. Never put water into fat, nor drop in anything that
has been in water without first wiping or drying it. Water will always
make hot fat spatter. Great care should be used in moving the kettle on
the stove. Never raise it or move it without using two hands, and two
holders, one to lift the handle, the other to steady the side of the
kettle.
Do not use water to put out an oil fire, as it causes the fire to
spread over a greater surface. Smother the flames with a heavy rug or
coat. If a woman's clothing catches fire, she should not run through
the house, as running only fans the flames and makes them burn all the
faster. She should wrap herself in a rug or heavy mat, or roll on the
floor.
THE COUNTY FAIR
"Oh, Father, please let me go to the fair! You promised me I could a
week ago. All the boys are going, and I just can't give it up. Please
let me go!" and Harry was almost in tears over his disappointment.
"I know all about it, Harry," his father answered. "I realize how much
you have looked forward to the fair, and I should like to have you go.
There is a great deal for a boy to learn at a fair, if he will only
keep his eyes open, but you see just how it is. I am in bed with a
sprained ankle, and your mother cannot leave the baby. So what are we
to do? A boy of ten is too young to go to such a place without some one
to look after him."
"Yes, Father; but Roy Bradish is going with two other boys who are
twelve or fourteen years old, and they asked me to go with them. They
could take care of me as well as not. I'd be good, Father. Please,
please let me go!"
Harry begged so hard that at last his father yielded, and gave the boy
permission to go with his friends.
"I would rather have you go with an older person," he said; "but
there seems to be no one who can take you. Be very careful not to get
into mischief. Don't shout, or run about, or do anything to attract
attention. A quiet boy who takes care of himself is the boy I like to
see."
So, on the day of the fair, a warm sunny day in late September, Harry
started off with his three friends. He had a dollar in his pocket for
spending-money, and a box under his arm, which was well filled with
sandwiches and doughnuts. As he bade good-bye to his father and mother,
he promised over and over to be good, and to come home before dark.
It was a long walk to the grounds where the fair was held every year,
but the boys trudged along, talking and laughing, and having a good
time.
At the entrance-gate Harry spent half of his dollar for a ticket,
and it was not long before the other half was gone, for there were
many things to tempt money from a boy's pocket. He bought peanuts and
pop-corn and a cane for himself, an apple-corer for his mother, and a
whet-stone for his father.
The other boys spent their money, too; and then they wandered around
in the grounds, going into first one building and then another. There
were exhibitions of vegetables and fruit in one building,--great piles
of squashes and pumpkins; boxes of onions, turnips, beets, carrots, and
parsnips; ears of yellow corn with their husks braided together, and
corn-stalks ten or twelve feet tall ranged against the wall.
[Illustration: From Stereograph, Copyright, 1905, by Underwood &
Underwood, N. Y.
The horses are led away to a place of safety]
The fruit was displayed on long tables in the center of the
room,--rosy-cheeked apples, luscious golden pears, velvety peaches,
and great clusters of purple grapes. It was enough to make one's mouth
water just to look at them.