horses,--black, bay, and chestnut. Their coats shone like satin; and
when their keepers led them out they arched their necks and pranced
about, as if they were trying to say, "Did you ever see a more
beautiful creature than I am? Just wait a while, and I will race for
you. See all these blue ribbons! I won them by my beauty and my speed."
Then there were the cattle, long rows of them, standing patiently in
their narrow stalls; the pigs, little ones and big ones, white ones and
black ones; and the sheep with their long coats of warm, soft wool.
After the boys had eaten their lunch they watched the horse-show for
a little while, and then there was a free circus which they wanted to
see, so it was the middle of the afternoon before they found their way
to the poultry show.
Such a noise you never heard in all your life as the one that greeted
their ears the moment they stepped inside the door. If you want to
hear some queer music, just listen to a poultry band at a county
fair,--roosters crowing, hens cackling, ducks quacking, pigeons cooing,
and turkeys gobbling.
Harry liked the poultry-show best of all. He had some hens at home
which he had raised himself, and he stood for a long time watching a
mother hen and her tiny bantam chickens.
"I wish I hadn't spent all my money," he said to himself. "I'd like to
buy two or three of those chickens."
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" said a loud voice in a cage behind him.
Harry turned quickly, and there stood a handsome white rooster,
flapping his wings and crowing lustily.
"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" he said again, and he walked back and forth in the
narrow cage, strutting proudly, and spreading his wings as if to say,
"What do you think of me?"
"Cock-a-doodle-doo! I'd like to buy you, too," said Harry.
"He is a beauty, isn't he, Roy?" he added, turning to speak to his
friend. But the boys were gone. He walked the whole length of the
building, and they were nowhere to be seen.
"Perhaps they have gone back to the sheep-pens," he said to himself,
and he ran across the grounds to look for them.
The judges were awarding prizes for the finest sheep, and the long low
building was crowded with people, but there was no sign of Harry's
friends.
"Where can they be?" he said, half aloud. "They may have gone over to
see the cows milked by machinery. I'll go there next."
Just as he went out of the farther door of the sheep-shed he met two
men coming in. One of the men was smoking, and as he entered the shed
he threw away the short end of his cigar. It fell in the dry grass near
a pile of straw.
In a minute West Wind came scurrying across the field, and it was not
long before he found the lighted cigar.
"What are you doing down there in the grass?" said West Wind. "Why
don't you burn and have a good smoke by yourself?"
The red tip of the cigar shone brighter at the words. "So I will," it
said, and it sent up a thin curl of blue smoke.
"Pouf! pouf!" said West Wind. "Can't you do better than that?"
"Of course I can," and the stub burned still brighter.
"Now I'll show you a good smoke," said West Wind, and he blew some dry
grass over the cigar.
The grass blazed up and set fire to the straw, and then there was some
smoke,--you may be sure!
West Wind danced over the grass with glee. He whirled round and round,
tossing fresh straw to the flames, and blowing up the smoke in soft
clouds.
In a little while Harry came back, still hunting for his friends. A
puff of smoke caught his eye and he ran to see what was burning. By
this time the straw had set fire to the end of the sheep-shed, and the
flames were eating their way toward the low roof.
"Fire!" shouted Harry; but the crowd had gone over to see the milking
and there was no one in sight.
"Some one will come in a minute," he thought, and he snatched off his
coat and beat back the flames as they ran up the dry boards.
"Fire!" he shouted again, at the top of his voice. This time a man who
was feeding the lambs heard him and came out with a pail of water; and
then it did not take long to put out the fire.
Just as Harry was stamping out the last flickering flames in the
burning straw, a policeman came running out. "Here, what are you
doing?" he cried.
"Putting out this fire," replied the little boy.
"I suppose you started it, too," said the policeman. "I never saw a boy
yet who could keep out of mischief."
Just then the two men came to the door of the sheep-shed. "What is the
matter?" they asked.
"This boy says he was putting out a fire, and I think he must have set
it," the policeman told them.
"No, sir," said Harry, "I didn't set the straw on fire. It was burning
when I came up, and I tried to put it out."
"I was smoking a cigar when I went into the shed," spoke up one of the
men, "and I threw it away. It must have set fire to the straw. It was a
very careless thing to do, and if it hadn't been for this boy we might
have had a terrible fire."
Just then Harry thought of his coat. It was his very best one, and his
mother had told him to be careful of it. He held it up and looked at
it. One sleeve was scorched, there were two or three holes in the back,
and the whole coat was covered with straw and dirt.
By this time a crowd had begun to gather, just as a crowd always
gathers around a policeman, and the story had to be told all over again.
"He saved my sheep!" said one of the men.
"And mine, too," added another.
"Let's help him to get a new coat;" and he took off his hat and began
to pass it around in the crowd.
Just then a newspaper reporter came up with his camera, and, of
course, he wanted to take Harry's picture. When the newspaper was
published next day, there was the picture, and the whole story of the
ten-year-old boy whose quick thought and quick work had saved the
sheep-shed and all the valuable sheep from fire.
_What is exhibited at a County Fair?_
_Why is the fair held in the fall?_
_What did the boys see at the fair?_
_What set the grass on fire?_
_How did Harry put out the fire?_
_Why is it careless to throw away a lighted cigar?_
Lighted cigars thrown carelessly into dry grass or rubbish have
caused many fires. Burning tobacco shaken from a pipe is even more
dangerous, and a lighted cigarette is still worse, as some brands of
cigarettes will burn two or three minutes after they are thrown away.
When they are thrown from upper windows, they frequently lodge upon
awnings, setting them on fire. Cigarette and cigar stubs in the streets
sometimes set fire to women's skirts. Occasionally a man burns his
own clothing by putting a lighted pipe in his pocket, or he sets the
bed-clothing on fire by smoking in bed.
"LITTLE FAULTS"
Jamie and his mother were talking together very earnestly. The boy's
face looked cross and impatient, while his mother's was sad and serious.
Mrs. Burnham had sent Jamie to the store to buy a yard of muslin and a
spool of thread. When he gave her back the change, she counted it, and
saw at once that there were three pennies missing.
If this had been the first time that Jamie had brought his mother too
little change, she would have thought a mistake had been made at the
store, or that he had lost the money.
She would have been glad to believe it now. But after she had
questioned him, she felt sure, by looking into his eyes--eyes that
did not look back into hers--that the boy whom she loved, and wished
to trust, had used the pennies to buy something for himself, and was
trying to deceive her.
"Oh, Jamie!" she said, "you don't know how it troubles me to think you
would do such a thing;" and her eyes filled with tears as she looked
into her son's face.
Jamie really was a little ashamed, but he didn't like to say so. "Oh,
Mother, you make such a fuss over nothing!" he answered, turning to
look out of the window. "It was only two or three pennies! I don't see
why you should feel so badly over such a little thing. What if I did
spend them for something else?"
"I know it is a little thing," his mother told him. "It isn't the
pennies I care about. I would have given them to you gladly if you had
asked for them; but I cannot bear to have you take them and not tell
the truth about it.
"It is only a little fault, I know; but little faults grow into big
ones, just as little boys grow into big men. You must look out for your
little faults now, Jamie, or you will have big ones when you are a man.
A boy ten years old should know the difference between right and wrong."
Jamie did not seem as sorry as his mother wished he were. "You needn't
worry about me," he said, "I'm not going to get into any trouble;" and
he put on his cap and went out to join his playmates.
A few days later Mrs. Burnham saw him on the street with a crowd of
boys who were snow-balling the passers-by. When he came home that
night, she said, "I wish you would not play with those boys. They are
rough and rude, and I don't like them. They are not the kind of friends
I want you to choose."
This time Jamie was decidedly cross. "Why do you find fault with every
little thing?" he asked. "Can't you trust me to take care of myself?"
"I am trying to teach you how to do it," his mother replied; "and I
want you to help me."
But this lesson seemed to be a hard one for the boy to learn. It was
not many days before his teacher saw him copying an example from the
paper of a boy who sat in front of him in school.
"What are you doing, James Burnham?" Miss Jackson asked quickly. "I
want you to do those examples yourself, not copy them from some one
else. Bring your paper here at once. I am sorry I cannot trust you."
Jamie put the paper on the teacher's desk, and as he did so he said, "I
know how to do the examples. I don't see why you should care about such
a little thing as that."
"Perhaps it may seem only a little thing to you," replied Miss Jackson;
"but unless you are an honest boy you will never be an honest man.
Try to do just what is right every day, or you will get into serious
trouble before you know it."
Five or six years later Miss Jackson was visiting an Industrial School
for boys, when suddenly she caught sight of a familiar face.
"Who is that?" she asked the superintendent who was conducting her
over the buildings, and she pointed to a boy who was working at a
carpenter's bench.
"His name is James Burnham," replied the superintendent. "He has been
here two or three years, but we are going to send him home next month.
He is a pretty good boy now."
"He used to go to school to me," said Miss Jackson. "I think he meant
well, but he was careless about little things, and didn't always choose
the right friends."
[Illustration: The horses gallop madly down the street]
"That was just the trouble," Mr. Bruce told her. "He got into the
company of some bad boys, and they led him into all kinds of mischief.
At last they began setting fires to some of the old barns in the town;
but one night there was a high wind that blew the sparks to a house
near by, and it was burned to the ground. Then the police caught the
boys, and they were all sent away to schools like this. It has been a
good lesson for James, and his mother is proud of his improvement."
"Boys don't realize what a dangerous thing fire is," said Miss Jackson,
as she turned to go home. "If they only knew how much property is
destroyed by fire every year, a large part of it through carelessness,
they would be more thoughtful about starting a tiny blaze that might so
easily become a great conflagration."
_What were Jamie's "little faults"?_
_Into what trouble did they lead him?_
_Why did the boys set fire to the old barns?_
_Why is it dangerous to burn any building, no matter how old or
useless it is?_
_Did you ever see a big fire in the country? In the city?_
_Describe it. What damage did it do? How was it extinguished?_
_Have you read in the newspaper about any big fires recently?_
_Where were they, and how were they caused?_
_Was your own house ever on fire? What did you do?_
It is against the law to burn a building, even if it is nothing but an
old barn. No one can tell where a fire will end if it once gets a good
start. Sparks will fly in all directions, and if there is a high wind
they will blow for a long distance and set fire to the roofs of other
buildings.
A man who willfully sets fire to his own property, or that of his
neighbors, is liable to imprisonment. Arson is a serious crime and
calls for severe punishment.
TEN YOUNG RATS
Mr. and Mrs. Rat had ten babies. They were fat, glossy, little fellows,
with long tails and shining black eyes, and they lived in a snug nest
in the attic.
You can't imagine how hard it was for their father and mother to
find names for so many children. Mrs. Rat wanted this name; Mr. Rat
preferred that; but they couldn't agree on a single one. At last they
decided to wait until the babies were grown up, then they could tell
just what name would suit each one best.
It does not take long for baby rats to grow up, and in two or three
weeks Father and Mother Rat began to name their children.
The biggest one was Jumbo, the smallest they called Tiny. One had a
very long tail and he was called Long Tail; another had almost no tail
at all, so he was named Bobby.
One rat was named Whiskers, because he had such handsome whiskers,
and Spot had a tiny white spot over one of his eyes. Then there were
Frisky, and Squeaker, and Listen, and Duncie.
Mother Rat didn't like Duncie's name at all; but he was so very, very
slow and stupid that Father Rat wouldn't let her call him anything else.
"We can't expect every one of our ten children to be smart," he said.
"If he is a dunce we must call him a dunce. That's all there is to it."
Of course all these brothers and sisters had very jolly times together.
They played tag, and hide-and-seek, and blind-man's buff, and all sorts
of good games; but sometimes they had dreadful quarrels. In such a
large family there are bound to be quarrels once in a while.
When they began to scratch and bite, Father Rat gave them all a good
spanking and sent them to bed. Then Mother Rat crept up to tuck them
in, with a big piece of cheese hidden under her apron.
The children usually obeyed their father and mother, and tried to be
good little rats; but like all boys and girls they sometimes thought
they knew more than their parents. Then they got into trouble.
Father Rat had built his nest in the attic of an old-fashioned
farmhouse out in the country.
Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, who lived in the house, didn't seem to know
anything about the ten young rats in the attic. Perhaps it was because
they were very old and deaf, and didn't hear the little feet pattering
across the floors and scampering up and down the walls.
But the ten young rats knew all about Mr. and Mrs. Barnes. They knew
where Mrs. Barnes kept her cheeses and cookies, and they gnawed big
holes and made good roads through the walls from the attic to the
pantry and cellar.
They could find their way to the barn, too, where Mr. Barnes kept his
corn and oats; and sometimes they used to slip into his hen-house and
steal an egg for their supper.
Mr. and Mrs. Rat were very thoughtful about teaching their children.
Every morning there was a long lesson in the schoolroom corner of the
attic. The ten young rats sat up straight in a row and did just as they
were told.
"Sniff!" said their mother, and they sniffed their little noses this
way and that to see if they could smell a cat.
"Listen!" said their father, and they cocked their little heads on one
side, and pricked up their ears to hear the tiniest scratch he could
make.
"Scamper!" and they ran across the floor and slipped into a hole as
quick as a wink.
They were taught to steal eggs, and to avoid traps, and when they had
a lesson in apples you should have seen them work! Every one of them,
except Duncie, of course, could gnaw into an apple and pick out the
seeds before Mother Rat could count ten.
In Mrs. Barnes' storeroom there were long rows of tumblers filled with
jelly. The tumblers were all sealed with paraffine, but the rats soon
learned how to gnaw it off, and then what a feast they had!
They were growing so bold that Father Rat began to be anxious about
them. "You children ought to be a little more careful," he said.
"You'll get into trouble some day."
"We never have been caught," said Squeaker.
"No," said Frisky, "and we never will be. We know too much for that."
One morning Father and Mother Rat went to visit an old uncle who lived
down beside the pond, and they left the ten young rats all alone.
The minute they were gone Long Tail whispered, "Come on, Ratsies; let's
go down to the cellar for some jelly."
"Father told us not to," answered Whiskers.
"'Fraid cat, 'fraid cat!" cried Frisky. "Who's going to be a 'fraid
cat?"
"Not I," said Spottie. "Not I," said Bobby; and in two seconds they
were every one scampering down to the storeroom.
They nibbled away at the jelly for a little while, but Bobby soon found
a stone jar with a cover on it.
"Come over here, Ratsies," he called.
Whiskers sniffed at the cover three times. "There are grape preserves
in that jar," he said at last.
"We must have some," cried Bobby.
"Yes, yes," squeaked Tiny; "there's nothing I like half so well as
grape preserves."
"I am the biggest," said Jumbo, "so I ought to get off the cover." He
pulled and pushed, and worked away until the cover came off.
"Goody, goody, goody!" squealed all the rats together, and they plunged
in their paws and gobbled up the grapes so fast that their faces were
soon purple and sticky with the sweet preserve.
They were not very quiet about it, either. They forgot there was some
one else in the house.
Suddenly Listen pricked up his ears. "Ratsies," he whispered, "I hear a
noise."
And, sure enough, he did hear a noise; for down the cellar stairs came
Nig, the big black cat.
Then how those rats did scamper! They ran this way and that, across the
floor, and up the wall, and under boxes and barrels. It seemed to Nig
as if the cellar were full of rats. She caught one for her dinner. It
was Duncie, of course; and then there were only nine rats in the family.
They were all more careful for a little while; but young rats are very
venturesome, and it wasn't many days before they wanted to go down into
the pantry.
Listen said he hadn't heard a sound all the morning, and so they
decided to creep down very quietly.
The truth was that Mr. and Mrs. Barnes had gone away for a month, and
the house was empty; but of course the rats didn't know anything about
that.
There wasn't a single crumb on the pantry shelves, so they crept into
the kitchen. Whiskers gave a long sniff, and before the others knew
what he was doing, he was up on a shelf behind the stove.
"Come on, brothers and sisters," he squealed. "Here is something that
smells good. It seems to be on the end of little sticks, but we can
gnaw it off."
"Of course we can," cried Jumbo. "Let's all get to work." He tossed the
matches around on the shelf, and the nine rats went to work with a will.
Suddenly there was a hot little flame. Spot's eye-teeth were very
sharp, and he had lighted the phosphorus on the end of his match. The
flame lighted another match, and a little fire was soon burning merrily.
It happened that Mr. Barnes had left a pile of old papers on the shelf
beside the matches. They quickly took fire, and the frightened rat
children fled in terror to the attic.
"Oh, Mother! Oh, Father!" they screamed, "something dreadful has
happened in the kitchen!"
"There was a bright light, and a queer smell that choked us," panted
Whiskers.
Father Rat understood at once that there was a fire. He scolded the
nine young rats for being in the kitchen at all. "We are in great
danger," he said. "We must give up this home, and try to save our
lives. I can smell the smoke now. Hurry, children, hurry!"
Luckily rats don't have to pack up their clothes or throw their
furniture out of the window. They escaped with their lives; but the old
farmhouse was burned to the ground, all because Mr. Barnes had left the
matches on the shelf beside the papers.
_Where did Father Rat build his nest?_
_Why do rats prefer such places for their home?_
_What food did the young rats find in the storeroom?_
_What did they find in the kitchen?_
_What did they do with the matches?_
_What happened? Why?_
_How should this fire have been avoided?_
Rats and mice are attracted to places where they can obtain food,
such as barns where grain is kept, rooms where food is stored or
where refuse is thrown. Buildings, so far as possible, should be made
"rat-proof." To insure safety, matches should be kept in tin cans,
metal boxes, or jars.
HOW NOT TO HAVE FIRES
I
When a boy plays with matches, or a man carelessly throws away a
lighted cigar, he does not stop to think that the fire he causes goes
to make up a part of the tremendous fire loss in our country.
This loss amounts to about $250,000,000 a year. Sometimes, if there
is a big fire in one of our large cities, the sum is much greater;
sometimes it is a little less.
This average loss of $250,000,000 means that property is burned up at
the rate of $500 a minute for every one of the sixty minutes in every
one of the twenty-four hours in all the three hundred and sixty-five
days in the year. If this seems impossible to you, just multiply $500
by 60 × 24 × 365.
It is said that two-thirds of all the fires in the country are caused
by carelessness, ignorance, or lack of proper precaution, and that
they might have been prevented. The question before every one in the
United States--men, women, and children--is how not to have so many
fires,--because the fires destroy forests which require at least fifty
years to grow, timber which comes from these slow-growing forests,
houses which have been built at great cost of time, labor, and money,
and treasures and heirlooms which can never be replaced.
Besides this loss of property there is also a great loss of life, which
is too appalling to consider in this little book.
The very best way not to have fires is not to set them. If you stop
to think of it, there are not so very many different things that
will start fires. Matches, kerosene, gas, gasoline, hot sparks,
burning tobacco, fires in stoves, furnaces, and fire-places, hot
ashes, lightning, and fires which start themselves by "spontaneous
combustion," are the common causes of our losses; but there are
hundreds, almost thousands, of different ways in which fires are set
with these few materials.
_Matches_ are one of the most useful things in the house, and also
one of the most dangerous. They should be kept in a covered dish, out
of the reach of children; and they should never be left lying around
loose. The parlor match is especially dangerous as the head often flies
off into curtains or clothing. After a match is once lighted it should
never be thrown down carelessly. Put the stick that is left in the
stove or in a match receiver. Never throw it in a basket of waste paper
or on the floor. Even if it is thrown on the ground it might set fire
to dry grass or leaves.
You start a fire when you light a match. See that you put it out.
_Kerosene_, used in lamps, lanterns, and oil-stoves, has caused untold
loss and suffering. Never fill a lamp, lantern, or oil-stove when it
is lighted. Never use kerosene to start the fire in the kitchen range.
Never leave a lamp burning when you go out of the room, as it may
explode or fill the house with smoke. Keep your lamps clean and see
that the wick fits the burner. A clean, well-kept lamp will not explode.
Never set a lamp on the table so that it can be easily tipped over, or
on a sewing-machine where it can be pushed off with the work. Turn the
wick down half-way before blowing out the lamp, and when the lamp is
not lighted keep the wick below the burner so that the oil will not be
drawn up and spread over the outside of the lamp. Never carry a lighted
lamp into a closet where clothing is hanging. An electric flash-light
is the only thing which can be used for this purpose with safety.
_Gasoline_ is sometimes used in the house for cleaning clothing,
curtains, gloves, etc. There is no material in the world so dangerous
to handle, except possibly dynamite. Gasoline gives off a large volume
of vapor which is both inflammable and explosive. For this reason it
should never be used in a room where there is a candle, a lamp, a
lighted cigar, or where there is a fire in the stove. The only safe
place to use gasoline is out of doors, and even then the greatest
caution should be taken. Keep the doors and windows closed so that none
of the vapor can get into the house, and be very careful not to let
any one come near you with a lighted cigar or pipe. Throw the waste
gasoline on the ground; never pour it in the sink or down a waste pipe.