My subject, as announced on the program is "County work with children."
In the first place let me say that there is little or nothing to be
said about county work with children that does not apply equally
to work with adults in the same community. The experience of the
Washington County free library of Hagerstown, Maryland, during eleven
years of rural work, has been that the books that go into the country
homes are read by old and young alike. The reason for this is not far
to seek; the children are going to school, for a few months of the
year, at least, and are receiving an education that was, in many cases,
denied the parents. Before the installation of our library, books,
other than an occasional religious periodical, perhaps, were an unknown
quantity in the average farm house, so that, even if the farmer or his
wife had acquired the reading habit as a child, it had lapsed, through
disuse. Consequently, when our books were first brought to the door
the same books appealed to both parents and children. One mother told
us, with tears in her eyes, that we could never know how she enjoyed
hearing the children read the books aloud, for neither she nor her
husband could read or write.
At a farmers' institute in Ohio, an enlightened farmer once remarked
that the three things that had done most for the amelioration of the
lot of the farmer's wife were, rural free delivery, rural telephones
and Butterick patterns, and to that trilogy we add rural free delivery
of books. How to reach the country children, is, of course, the problem
that confronts a county library. The methods of the Washington County
free library of Hagerstown, Md., are:
First--The children's room of the central library. This is a large,
pleasant room, on the second floor, where the usual activities of
any children's room are carried on. Two story hours a week are held,
Friday nights for the older children, and Saturday mornings for the
younger ones; many of our regular Saturday morning visitors are from
the outlying districts; there are three little boys who come "four
mile," as they express it, nearly every week to hear the stories, they
have been known to be led into the extravagance of spending even their
return fare on the train--such are the temptations of city life!--and
having to walk home. One very small boy who is with us almost every
Saturday is the son of a stage driver, his father brings him in, and
leaves him with us for the morning, he is known among us as "sonny,"
because of characteristics similar to those of Ruth McEnery Stuart's
hero.
Any child in the county, so soon as he can write his name, may "join
liberry," regardless of "race, or previous condition of servitude," a
phrase not without meaning still, in Maryland. The same privileges are
extended to all, town and country children alike, two books at a time,
with privilege of renewal. Country books may, of course, be renewed by
telephone or mail, and frequent cards come to "Dear teacher," or even
"Dear friend."
The teachers draw to a practically unlimited extent upon the
circulating collection, as well as from the school duplicates, of which
more a little later. So much for the work of the main library.
Second--Branches throughout the county. These are deposit stations,
placed in the country store, the post office, the toll gates or, in
some cases, in private houses, the boxes contain about fifty books, and
are returned every two or three months for a fresh supply. A custodian
is appointed who keeps track of the books by means of an alphabetized
blank book, the book slips being kept at the library, filed by the
Browne system, under the name of the station, Shady Bower, Black Rock,
etc.
Third--The Boonesboro Reading Room. This village began with a deposit
station, and became so interested that a permanent reading room was
established, maintained entirely by the village, except for the books,
which are supplied by the library; a permanent collection was given,
which is supplemented by an exchange every ten days. A fortnightly
story hour is carried on here; during the past two years it has become
necessary to divide the children into two groups, to the older ones the
same series of stories is told as to the older group at the library,
Norse myths, Iliad and Odyssey, and, this winter, Chaucer, Spencer
and Shakespeare. The latter author, by the way, meets with special
approbation among our country friends.
Fourth--Schools. The country schools, as well as those in town, are
visited, and collections are sent; with the books are sent pictures,
prints of the masterpieces, mounted, and annotated with sufficient
fullness to serve as a lesson outline, if the teachers wish to use them
so.
Fifth--The book wagon, or to be strictly accurate, one must now say
book automobile. About six years ago it was discovered that thirty
of the stations were off the line of railroad, trolley or stage, and
the question of transportation arose; for a year a horse and wagon
filled the need, going out simply for the purpose of carrying cases
back and forth. Then the book wagon was built, so constructed as to
carry several cases for deposit stations, and at the same time, some
two hundred books on its shelves; thus began our rural free delivery
of books, and the wagon, with its driver, Mr. Joshua Thomas, became
one of the features of the county, until about two years ago, when a
most unfortunate accident deprived us of both. A stray engine, coming
round a curve, struck and completely demolished the wagon; happily,
Mr. Thomas and the horses were across the track, the horses escaped
uninjured, and Mr. Thomas, though thrown out and stunned, sustained no
injuries other than the shock, which, at his age, was naturally very
great. Mr. Thomas has now retired from active labors, and the wagon has
been succeeded by an automobile.
Perhaps I can best give you an idea of the work of the wagon if you
will come with me, in spirit, for a typical day in the country. The
new car is constructed very much as the old wagon was, with room for
two passengers, besides the chauffeur, one member of the staff goes on
the trips now, for our chauffeur is a chauffeur only, nor is he the
picturesque figure Mr. Thomas was.
Let us choose a morning in spring, when red bud and dogwood are in
bloom, and the fruit trees are fluffy masses of pink and white clouds,
and the tender green of new life is showing on hill side and forest,
and the "hills of Maryland" stand out like lapis lazuli against a
turquoise sky. It is a fair country, and one can understand why the
early settlers tarried in this valley in their march westward, over
the very National Road that we shall drive over today; a road full
of historic meaning, a road that has seen the covered wagons of the
emigrant tide, that has resounded to the tread of advancing and
retreating armies, and that is now a thoroughfare for motor cars. We
see little, or no actual poverty, occasionally the down-at-the-heels
farm of a "poor white," but thrift and comfort are the rule.
We spin gaily along in our motor wagon, stopping at the farm houses
along the way; occasionally horses shy at us, and children stick their
fingers in their mouths and stare, for automobiles are still somewhat
of a novelty on cross roads and lanes, and country horses and children
are not so sophisticated as their city brethren. Sometimes we go a
mile or more off the main road, to reach one house; we are rewarded in
one such case, for we find a girl of sixteen, who has never read Miss
Alcott, and we leave her with Little Women in her arms. A swarm of
"sunbonnet babies" greets us here, too, and we find a picture book for
the older sister to read to them.
At one house we have some difficulty in enticing the farmer's wife
out to look at our wares. "He" is out on the farm, and there is not
much time for reading. We discover a boy of twelve or thirteen,
however, lurking in the background, with a dog at his heels, the dog
is a convenient topic of conversation, and Beautiful Joe happens to
be in the wagon. An inquiry as to the family elicits the information
that this boy is all, except an "orphant boy we took." After some
difficulty the "orphant boy" is brought forth from the recesses of the
barn, where, we strongly suspect, he has had an eye at a crack all the
time, and proves to be the regulation "bound boy" of Mary E. Wilkins,
tattered straw hat, patched overalls and all; he, too, has a fondness
for animals, and so we drive away, leaving boys and dog looking after
us, with Seton-Thompson as a companion.
One wide detour, up a hilly lane, brings us to a house, commanding a
wonderful view of hills and valleys, and the Potomac, a winding silver
thread in the distance. Here we find the mistress of the house, and
a girl of sixteen or eighteen, who "lives there;" they used to get
books from the old wagon, they tell us, and it has seemed a long time
since they had any. Accordingly, we bid them help themselves, and as
we are preparing to drive away, one of them, hugging a huge pile of
heterogeneous literature, says to the other, "Law, Bess, we'll fergit
to listen on the 'phone!" an unconscious tribute both to us and the
rural telephone system.
And now we find that the dinner hour has arrived; sometimes there is a
country hotel at hand, but more often we have dinner at some hospitable
farm house, which gives us a golden opportunity to make friends with
our people. It is noticeable that the conversation is confined almost
entirely to us women, the men attending strictly to the business in
hand; the women, however, make the most of an unusual event, and
between serving and conversation, it often seems to us as though their
own wants must be entirely forgotten.
There is a country school on our way, and we stop there to get the key
to a church a little farther on, where we are to pick up a case of
books; the temptation to a story teller is too great to be resisted,
the wagon goes on, to come back a little later, the two rooms are put
together, and I have the pleasure of telling "Johnny Cake" and "Seven
little kids" to children who have never heard them before. When the
wagon appears we suggest a picture, and a grand stampede follows, all
the school commissioners and truant officers on earth could not have
kept a child in that building--the charm of the Pied Piper was no
greater!
"And what do your country children read?" We are often asked, and we
like to reply, with considerable pride, that they read good books. When
the wagon is being loaded for a trip a large proportion of the books
is from the shelves of the children's room, and of the fiction fully
75% bears the mystic symbol "J," showing, as I have said, that the
same books are read by parents and children; war stories are always
in demand, particularly of the Civil War; Henty is a prime favorite,
and of the better Hentys, With Clive in India, Beric the Briton, for
instance, we duplicate quite freely. Novels of a religious character,
such as Ben Hur are popular, and Pilgrim's progress is always in demand.
And so our day slips by, and before we know it evening is upon us;
by four o'clock we see preparations for the night going on in the
barn yard. We go home, tired, but with depleted shelves, and the
consciousness of a good day's work. May there be many more to come,
and may each one of you fare forth with us one day, on some such happy
library adventure.
Mr. Henry E. Legler read a paper prepared by Miss JEAN McLEOD, house
librarian, Sears, Roebuck & Co., Chicago, on