one's own grandmother? Perhaps there is,--but I know one thing, Grandma
Snow was the best cook I ever saw. You should have seen that supper!
There were hot biscuits, and fried chicken, and honey, and gingerbread,
and cookies, and strawberry tarts, and cottage cheese, and so many good
things that we couldn't eat half of them.
Every time we stopped eating Grandma would say, "Something must be the
matter with these boys. They haven't any appetite." And Grandpa would
look at us over his spectacles and answer, "They do look pale and thin.
Give them another tart." Then he'd give one of his great laughs and
shake all over like a big bowl of jelly.
We had just time after supper to help Grandpa and the hired man get in
one load of hay. Then it was dark, and we were so tired and sleepy that
we were glad to climb into bed,--just the highest, whitest, softest bed
you ever saw.
We made Grandma promise to call us very early, and at five o'clock the
next morning we were ready for breakfast and the day's work in the
hay-field.
What fun it was to rake after the wagon, and to ride home on those
great, sweet-smelling loads of hay!
Of course we had plenty of time to play, but we liked to work, too; and
the work on a farm seems like play to boys who have always lived in the
city.
We used to go down to the garden every morning to pick the vegetables
for dinner, and we always helped Grandma shell the peas and string the
beans. It took a good big panful, too, for we were pretty hungry up
there on the farm.
Every morning we drove the cows to the pasture, and every afternoon we
drove them home. We hunted for hens' eggs in the big barn, and went
blueberrying and blackberrying. Kenneth made a collection of wild
flowers, and Grandma showed him how to press them so that he could take
them home.
What good times we did have! Even on rainy days there was always
something to do, and we often had the most fun of all when it was
raining the hardest. All the boys in the neighborhood got into the
habit of coming to play with us in one of Grandpa's barns; and we used
to have circuses and tight-rope walking and all sorts of games.
But one day, when we had been having a very jolly time together, one of
the boys suggested that we should try a new game. "I'm tired of walking
on beams and jumping off hay-mows," he said. "Let's do something
different."
He took a whole bunch of matches out of his pocket and held them up.
"Let's try scratching matches, and see who can scratch the most and
blow them out again in one minute," he suggested.
I, for one, knew very well that matches were not made to play with, and
I said so. Kenneth and Willie Smith agreed with me. So did Joe Wiggin
and Peter Fisher, but four or five of the boys thought it would be
great fun, and in spite of all we could say the match-race began.
Four boys sat down in a circle on the barn floor, lighting and blowing
out the matches just as fast as they could, while Harry Plummer counted
sixty.
In their hurry, they threw the matches down carelessly, and before any
of us noticed it, a lighted match had been thrown into the hay.
It blazed up in an instant, and before we could run to the field for
help the whole barn was a roaring furnace. Joe Wiggin and Peter Fisher
led out the two horses, and fortunately, the cows were in the pasture,
for in less than half an hour the barn was burned to the ground. All
the hay that we had worked so hard to get in was lost, besides some of
Grandpa's tools and his new hay-rack.
Grandpa and the hired man got there in time to save the harnesses and a
few little things, and then all we could do was just to stand there and
watch the barn burn. The nearest fire-engine was in the village four
miles away, and all the water we had was in one well.
Luckily Grandpa's buildings were not joined together, and as there was
no wind, only that one barn was burned. But that was one too many.
I tell you, I shall never forget that fire, and to this day I can't
see a boy with matches in his pocket without wanting to tell him this
story and urge him to remember all his life that matches are made for
use and not for playthings.
_Tell of some of the good times you have had on a farm._
_What did the boys do on rainy days?_
_What game did one of them propose?_
_What happened while they were playing this game?_
_What are matches made for?_
_How should they be used?_
There are several kinds of matches,--brimstone matches, parlor matches,
bird's-eye matches, and safety matches. Safety matches can be lighted
only on their own box, and are, therefore, the safest match to use.
Parlor matches, so called, are dangerous, as they break easily and the
blazing head flies off, lodging in clothing, draperies, or furniture.
The sale of parlor matches is forbidden by law in New York City on
account of the great number of fires which have resulted from their
use.
Common matches should be kept in a tin box; they should be used
carefully, and never thrown away while they are burning, or even while
the stick is still red-hot. It is a bad habit to have matches scattered
around the house, or lying loose in bureau drawers, in desks, on
tables, or in the pockets of clothing. There are many ways in which
fires have been caused by loose matches. Lucifer or brimstone matches
have been known to burst into flame from the heat caused by the sun's
rays shining through a window pane.
THE FIRE DRILL
It was a warm, sunny afternoon in October,--one of the days of Indian
summer that come to tempt us out of doors after vacation is over, and
work has begun in earnest.
The pupils of the sixth grade in the Ashland School looked longingly
out of the windows as they put away their spellers and took the
reading-books from their desks. Their teacher saw the look, and
understood what it meant. When the hands of the clock pointed to
half-past two, and the bell rang for a five-minutes' recess, she said,
"You may put on your hats and coats, and we will spend a half-hour in
our garden. I noticed this noon that it needed some attention."
The children looked at each other and nodded eagerly. It was just the
day for a lesson in gardening, of that they felt sure, especially if it
meant a whole half-hour out of doors.
The school garden was their greatest pleasure. They had spent many a
happy hour working together over the flower beds, since that morning
in April when Miss Brigham had ended their lesson in nature-study
by asking, "How many would like to help me make a garden in the
schoolyard?"
Every hand flew up instantly, every face brightened with delight. There
was not a boy or girl in the room who was not eager to begin at once;
and the moment the frost was well out of the ground they went to work.
The boys spaded up the soil, and the girls helped rake it over and mark
it out in beds. There was a narrow strip the whole length of the fence
for a hedge of sunflowers, and in front of it were three square plots,
one for each of the three classes in the grade.
The children sent everywhere for seed catalogues, and studied them
eagerly. Each class bought its own seeds and planted them, and once
every week they spent a half-hour hoeing, weeding, and watering the
garden.
In one plot morning-glories climbed over a wire trellis and turned
their bright faces to the morning sun, in another there was a gay riot
of nasturtiums. During the summer the girls picked fragrant bouquets
of sweet peas, and all through the fall they gathered sunny yellow
marigolds for the teacher's desk.
But now Jack Frost had taken his turn at gardening. The nasturtiums and
morning-glories hung in ragged festoons from their trellises, and the
heavy heads of the sunflowers drooped from the top of the dry stalks.
There was nothing left in the garden but a few hardy weeds that had
grown in spite of the watchful gardeners.
"I don't see anything to do," said one of the girls, as she followed
Miss Brigham across the schoolyard. "We may as well let the weeds grow
now if they want to."
"We must clear everything away and get the garden ready for next
spring," replied the teacher. "You can see for yourselves what ought to
be done. I will stand here and watch you work."
After all there was plenty to do. One of the boys took out his knife
and cut off the sunflower stalks, while the girls picked off the few
seeds that the yellow-birds had left, and tied them up in a paper to
save them for another year.
They tore down the vines, and pulled up the marigolds and zinnias. They
straightened the trellises and smoothed over the empty beds. Then they
picked up bits of paper that were blowing over the yard, and raked up
the leaves that had fallen from the maple tree in the corner. When the
work was finished there was a big pile of rubbish to be taken away.
"We might have a bonfire," suggested one of the boys.
"No," said Miss Brigham, "this west wind would blow all the smoke into
the schoolhouse. Besides, there are too many houses near by. You can
put the rubbish in the waste-barrels in the basement, and the janitor
will take care of it."
The other children went back to the schoolroom, while the three largest
boys were left to clean up the yard. The waste-barrels were full and
running over; but they hunted around in the cellar and found an empty
box in which they packed all the rubbish. Then they went upstairs and
took up their work with the rest of the class.
Suddenly the big gong in the hall rang out sharply for the fire
drill,--one, two, three! At the third stroke every book was closed, and
in the sixteen rooms of the building all the pupils rose at once to
their feet, ready to march down to the street. The doors were thrown
wide open, and they passed out of their class-rooms in double file to
meet another file from the opposite door, and move down the stairs four
abreast, keeping step to the double-quick march played by one of the
teachers.
On their way they passed the dressing-rooms, but no one took hat or cap
from the hooks. There was not a moment to lose. Every child must be in
the street in less than two minutes after the stroke of the third bell.
They had done it over and over again, in exactly this same way, and the
principal was standing at the door with his watch in his hand, counting
off the seconds. He would know if a single child kept the line waiting.
"What a good day it is for a fire drill!" they thought, as they passed
through the long halls and down the stairs; but before the last of the
older pupils were out of the building they realized that this was no
fire drill.
Smoke was already pouring through the cracks in the floor and curling
up around the registers. It filled the hall with a thick cloud that
made them cough and choke as they marched through it; but not a boy
pushed the boys in front of him, not a girl screamed or left her place,
as the line moved steadily down the steps and across the yard to the
street.
Two of the teachers stood at the gates to hurry the children off toward
home, and even before the firemen came clattering around the corner,
the big schoolhouse was empty and the pupils were safe.
After the fire was out and the excitement over, the fire chief and the
principal sent for the boys who had taken the rubbish to the basement.
Yes, they had lighted some matches, they said, because the cellar was
dark, the waste-barrels were all full, and they were trying to find an
empty box. The head of one of the matches had broken off, but it was
not burning, and they had not thought of it again.
It was possible that they might have stepped on it later and lighted
it, and that the tiny flame had set fire to the waste paper on the
floor.
"That was no doubt the cause of the fire," the fire chief agreed.
"Parlor matches are often lighted in that same way. This was, of
course, an accident; but even accidents can be avoided.
"In the first place there should never be any waste paper on the
basement floor; and in the second place boys should never carry parlor
matches, or any other kind of matches, to school. There are more
precious lives in a schoolhouse than in any other building in the whole
world."
_Why was the rubbish put in the basement?_
_How did it catch fire?_
_How could this fire have been avoided?_
_Why is it dangerous to carry matches to school?_
_Why are parlor matches especially unsafe?_
_Have you ever seen a match break off when it was scratched?_
_What became of the head of the match?_
Schoolhouses and public buildings should be provided with a metal-lined
bin where waste paper and refuse may be temporarily collected, instead
of allowing it to accumulate on the basement floor or in wooden boxes
and barrels. This bin should be located away from the stairs or
corridors, and should be so placed that water-pipes passing over it may
be provided with sprinklers which would open automatically in case of
fire.
There should be fire-escapes on the large buildings, and children
should be taught how to use them. All doors should open outward,
and should never be locked during the school sessions. Fire drills
should be practiced regularly, and every child in the building should
understand the necessity for marching out promptly and in order.
Chemical fire-extinguishers, or pails well filled with water and marked
"For Fire Only," should be set in conspicuous places on each floor near
the stair-landings, and in the basements.
FIGHTING THE FIRE
Every village, town, and city is liable at any moment to have a fire.
If this fire gets well under way it may become a conflagration, which
no single fire department can control. For this reason promptness
in reaching the fire with suitable apparatus is of the very first
importance.
Great responsibility rests upon the firemen. They must be cool-headed,
but quick in action; cautious, but daring; ready in an instant to
perform difficult and dangerous tasks, often at the risk of their own
lives. Every great fire makes heroes. It is this life of excitement
and daring that attracts men and makes them eager to fight the great
battles against fire.
In olden times methods of fighting fire were very simple. The only
apparatus consisted of axes, buckets, ropes, and short ladders. Men and
boys ran to the fire and did their best to put out the flames, but they
had no leader and could not work to advantage.
The first fire-engines were drawn through the streets by men, instead
of horses, and water was forced through the hose by means of a
hand-pump worked by these same men.
Every year the system of fire protection is being perfected, new
apparatus is invented, and better methods are introduced.
In the smaller towns the fire companies consist largely of volunteer
firemen, who leave their work at the sound of the alarm and hurry to
the scene of action. But in the larger cities the fire-department is
like a well-organized army, with its chiefs, captains, lieutenants, and
privates, always prepared to wage a never-ending war against the fires.
Most of these men live in the engine-houses, and are ready at any
moment, day or night, to answer an alarm. The horses stand free in
their stalls, awaiting the signal, trained like the men to instant
action.
With the first stroke of the great gong the horses leave their stalls
and stand beside the pole of the engine. The harness, suspended in
mid-air, falls upon their backs, and almost before the men can jump up
and cling to their places on the engine, the driver picks up the reins,
the horses plunge through the open door and gallop madly down the
street.
The driver leans out over the pole, his hands far apart, holding the
reins in an iron grasp and guiding the flying horses safely along the
winding way.
Gongs clang, whistles blow, bells ring! The streets are cleared as if
by magic. Heavy teams are drawn up beside the curbing; electric cars
stand still; men, women, and children hurry to the sidewalks, or stand
in open doorways waiting for the engines to go tearing along to the
fire. The fire apparatus has the right of way!
When the scene of the fire is reached, the driver pulls up the horses
so quickly that they are almost thrown on their haunches; the engine
is wheeled into place beside the hydrant, the hose is attached and
straightened out along the street.
The police have already drawn a fire-line, and are driving back the
eager, curious crowd; but the firemen have eyes or ears for nothing
but the fire. The chief shouts his orders and they hasten to obey. The
horses are led away to a place of safety, and ladders are brought up to
be used in case of need.
[Illustration: The water-tower pours a stream into the upper windows]
Two or three men seize the nozzle of the great hose and rush with it
into the burning building to seek the heart of the fire. Smoke pours
from the doors and windows in dense clouds, blinding and choking them
until they gasp for breath. Water slops and spatters everywhere, steam
rises from the blazing timbers, and the intense heat scorches and
stifles them as they work.
At last the smoke clears away, the water is shut off, and then, with
picks and axes, the firemen search under fallen timbers lest some tiny
blaze may still be smouldering in a hidden corner.
At a quick order from the chief, the hose is rapidly drawn back and
folded in its place, the horses are harnessed again to the engine, and
the men return to the engine-house, to await their next call to action.
In the largest cities, which have grown rapidly skyward, piling one
story on top of another in office buildings and dwelling houses, the
firemen find their hardest work. This is especially true in the
crowded tenement districts, where hundreds of people live under a
single roof.
Here men, women, and children have to be rescued from upper windows and
roofs, by means of scaling-ladders and life-lines; and sometimes they
even have to drop into life-nets which the firemen hold to catch them.
If the building is so high that the water from the hose cannot reach
the flames, the water-tower is brought to the scene of action, and a
stream is poured into the building through windows many stories above
the ground.
In every large fire-department several different kinds of apparatus
are needed. There is a chemical engine for use in case the fire proves
to be small and easily controlled. There are long trucks loaded with
ladders, tools, and ropes; and there are also the regular fire engines,
sometimes drawn by plunging horses, sometimes driven through the
streets at a high rate of speed by a powerful motor. These motors are
superior to horses because they can reach the fire more quickly, and
can carry heavier and more powerful engines.
In the harbors, and in some of the larger rivers and lakes, there are
fire-boats to be used in case of fire along the water-front, or in
vessels at the docks. These boats always have plenty of water at hand,
and often do valuable work in saving property on the wharfs and piers.
VERNON'S BROTHER
If any one had asked Vernon Houston what he wanted more than anything
in the whole world, he would not have waited an instant before
replying, "A brother!"
He had pets of all kinds,--rabbits, guinea pigs, a dog, and a pony; but
still his lonely little heart longed for a brother, some one to enjoy
all his pleasures, some one to go to school with, some one to play with
when his father and mother were away and only Jane was left in the
kitchen.
To be sure he had books and games without number, but he soon grew
tired of reading, and what good were games when there was no one to
play with him?
Of course he had plenty of school friends and playmates, but on stormy
days, or when he and Jane were left all alone, there were never any
boys to be found,--just when he most needed them.
In spite of his dog and his pony and all his rabbits he couldn't help
being a little lonely. Whenever he saw two brothers playing together,
he always thought how glad he would be to exchange every one of his
pets--pony and all--for a little brother, and every Christmas he wrote
a letter to Santa Claus to ask for one.
On his ninth birthday his father and mother surprised him by saying
that they were going to Boston. They promised to come home the next
day and bring him the best birthday gift he ever had in all his life;
but what this delightful gift was to be they would not tell. It was a
secret, and a very good secret, too.
To tell the truth Mr. and Mrs. Houston had decided to adopt a little
boy. They had been planning it for some time, but Vernon knew nothing
about it. They had always been sorry for their brotherless son, and
they knew how many boys there are in the world who have no home, no
father and mother, no one to love them and care for them.
They had been waiting to hear of some homeless lad, who was good and
honest, to take into their home and hearts, and to become the "little
brother" for whom Vernon longed. At last a man telephoned from Boston
that he had found just the boy they wanted, so they set off at once to
bring home the birthday gift.
When they looked into Harry's bright eyes and honest face, they were
not long in deciding that he was just the right boy for them.
Mrs. Houston bent and kissed him, and Mr. Houston took him by the hand,
saying kindly, "Harry, how would you like to come and live with us, to
be our boy, and a brother to our son, Vernon?"
Harry was too happy to say a word, but his big brown eyes answered for
him, and it was not long before they were all three on their way to
Greenfield.
I wish you could have seen Vernon when his father and mother arrived
with the birthday gift.
"Here, my boy, is the secret,--the brother you have been waiting for
so long," said Mr. Houston. "Let me introduce you to your new brother
Harry. He has come to stay as long as he can be happy with you. He is
only a few months younger than you are, and I don't see why you two
boys can't have a good time together."
It seemed as if the boys had only to look straight into each other's
eyes to become the best of friends, and if you could have watched them
as the days went by, you would have thought they were as happy as
children could possibly be.
Vernon brought out all his playthings and gave half of them to Harry;
he showed him how to make Rags do all sorts of funny tricks; he let
him feed the rabbits and the guinea-pigs; and when they went to ride,
he let Harry drive the pony. How the little fellow did enjoy holding
the reins and riding in a red pony-cart like those he had looked at so
many times before with longing eyes.
The two boys ran races, played ball, and went to school together.
Vernon never complained of being lonely, and as for Harry, he was the
happiest boy you ever saw. He tried to show how grateful he was for
everything that Mr. and Mrs. Houston did for him; and he resolved to
study hard, to be honest and true, and never to forget to do all in his
power to repay his kind friends.
The brothers had a room together with two white beds standing side by
side. One night Mr. Houston came home very late and found that the boys
had gone to bed, so he went to their room to bid them good-night.
He was much surprised to find both the boys reading a book, with a
lighted lamp on a little stand between their beds.
"My sons," he said very seriously, "I always like to see you enjoying
your books, but I cannot allow you to read after you are in bed."
"Why not, Father?" questioned Vernon.
"Because it is a dangerous thing to do," Mr. Houston replied. "You
might fall asleep without blowing out the light. It is a common thing
to have such an accident. Lamps are often tipped over and houses set on
fire in just that way."
"But, Father," urged Vernon, "please let us finish this chapter. It
will take only a few minutes longer, and it is such a good story."
"You may finish this one chapter," Mr. Houston answered. "Then you must
blow out the light, and after to-night there must be no more reading in
bed with a lighted lamp."
The boys meant to obey their father; but they were both very sleepy,
and before the end of the chapter was reached, they were sound asleep.
It was not long before Vernon restlessly threw out his arm. His hand
hit the lamp and knocked it off the table, and the oil spread over the
carpet, taking fire from the burning wick.
Rags had crept into the room to sleep on his little master's bed, and
the noise waked him. When he saw the blazing oil, he jumped down and
ran out into the hall, barking with all his might.
Mr. and Mrs. Houston rushed upstairs and beat out the flames with heavy
rugs, before the bed clothing caught fire; but the boys were terribly
frightened, and no one ever had to tell them again not to read in bed
with a lighted lamp. They had learned a good lesson, and little Rags
had become a never-to-be-forgotten hero.
_Why was Vernon lonely?_
_What gift did he have on his ninth birthday?_
_Why did the boys set a lighted lamp on the table beside their bed?_
_How was it overturned?_
_Where was Rags? What did he do?_