Newspaper Page Text
June 28, 1911 ] THE t
When Billy opened his eyes he was lying in
his own bed while several men were gathered
about him. A kind doctor was holding his
wrist, a sensitive finger on his pulse.
"He's all right now," said a busy voice. Then
liiily's brain cleared ar.d he suddenly sat up.
"The express!" he exclaimed. "Is it nil
right?"
' I es, my Doy,'' said the doctor, * * and yon
did the best night's work of your life last night.
There were four hundred people on the express.
"
"And mother?"
The doctor placed a hand on his shoulder
and pressed him back upon his pillow.
"Yes, your mother's all right, too. Lie down.
You mustn't talk. You can see her in a little
while.''
Billy with a smile nestled down comfortably
upon his pillow. "I'm glad," he said drowsily.
And in a few minutes he was asleep.
When he awoke the men had gone. He got
up, surprised to find himself so weak, but dressed
himself and went into his mother's room. His
mother greeted him happily. "Here's something
the train men left for you, Billy," she
said after their greetings were over, and Billy
was satisfied that she was much better.
Billy with great surprise took the bulky
package she handed him. It contained two
thousand dollars, and a note of thanks signed
by every person on the great express.?The Advance.
Letters
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little boy eight
years old. I go to church and Sunday school.
My father is a minister. School will soon be
out. I am glad, we hope to go to the seashore.
We go to see a baseball game every Saturday
afternoon. We are sorry you moved your paper
from Atlanta. We miss you very much.
Do you remember me?
Your little friend,
Atlanta, Ga. A. A. Little, Jr.
Dear Presbyterian: Was so glad to see my
little letter in the paper. Your agent was
here last week and told me a man said to him
he didn't have to take a religious paper to
get to heaven and he told him it wasn't necessary
to eat chicken pie, peach pie and butter
on your biscuit either, but still they wCre good
things on the way. Dr. Bean is our pastor;
we all love him so much. So sorry he is sick,
and hope to kiss him again on the fourth
Sunday. He preaches on the fourth at old
Duncan's Creek Church.
Your little friend,
Renno, S. C. Sara Louise Wier.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl eleven
years old and my father wants me to learn
both catechisms, and I am going to learn them.
1 go to Sunday school nearly every Sunday
and also go to church. Our preacher is Mr.
Maxwell and I like him fine. I have three sisters
younger than I am, and I am my father's
l oldest child. Father takes your paper and I
love to read the stories in it. I hope this lettiri
11 r? a! Via 4-Vi rATirr^ in fVi o uroo+o_Koc}lrnl
im Villi uv/b uvy tiiiuMU in buv nuoiv/ uoob^k,
Your unknown friend,
Houston, Va. "Virginia F. Lovelace.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl thirteen
years old. I go to Sunday school every
Sunday. My teacher's name is Miss Mabel
'RESBYTER1AM OF THE S (
TWO BRAVE BOYS.
Every boy who reads this magazine has heard
the story of the sinking of the Republic and of
how the lad who was the operator of the wireless
telegraph stood at his post for hours until
he had brought help to passengers and crew.
But there was a little sequel to the story which
they may not have heard.
A week after the disaster, the manager of
a vaudeville company offered this lad no less
than a thousand dollars a month if he would
appear on the stage.
"Me?" he said, bewildered. "A thousand
dollars? Why I'm no actor! I'm only a telegraph
operator."
This reminds me of a similar story which also
is true.
A few years ago there stood in Penn Square,
in Philadelphia, a high old building filled with
offices and in a ruinous condition. When a neighboring
house was taken down, its foundations
were weakened and its walls began to fall. Some
of the occupants of the upper stories escaped;
then the stairways fell. But the ffame of the
elevator remained standing, and the engine
continued to work.
A great crowd assembled in the streets, watch
ing the lift as it jogged slowly up and down,
bringing a dozen men out of the jaws of death.
As it started up again the frame of the elevator
shook.
The police interfered. "Stop!" they shouted
to the boy whose hand was on the lever.
"But there are two women up there."
? From The Ci
Patrick; 1 like her very much. There are about
twenty in our Sunday school class; our pastor
is Rev. G. A. Sparrow; we all like him very
much. My father takes your nice paper and
1 enjoy reading the letters very much and
also the stories. 1 have one sister and two
brothers. I hope my letter will escape the
waste-basket, as this is my first one.
Your unknown friend,
Gastonia, N. C. Mildred Henderson.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl ten
years old. I will be in the fourth grade next
year. I have five pets and 538 paper dolls.
My father used to be a druggist, but now he
has a laboratory and a farm. We always like
to go to the farm, because the woods look so
pretty. We live in town and the farm is about
+ :i? e i t ?m i
mice iiiiicH xiuiii uur iiuustj. x will Close Dy
asking a question: What is the pentateuch ?
Columbia, S. C. Name?
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little boy nine
years old. I go to school and I am in the low
second grade. I have three pets?a pony, his
name is Billy; my dog's name is Flossie; my
cat's name is Kitty. I go to Sunday school;
my teacher's name is Mr. Powell. I am a
great little singer and I love to sing the songs.
Our pastor's name is Rev. E. T. Drake; he has
been in bad health since last summer and he
has to take care of himself. Would like to see
my letter in print to surprise my papa and
mamma.
Your little friend,
Granare. Texas. Shp.llv "R Tiattinoro
Dear Presbyterian: This is my third letter
to you. I hope to see my letter in print. I
will close by asking a question: Who betrayed
Jesus T
Tour friend,
Briery, Va. Nannie P. Womack.
)UTfi (607) 7
"The walls are going!" they cried. "Come
out!" dragging at him.
"There are women up there, and I'm the elevator
boy," he repeated doggedly.
lie went to the top story, took on the women,
and came down slowly. When the floor of the
elevator touched the earth, there was a great
shout of triumph. They caught the lad, calling
him a hero, and praying God to bless him;
out ne snooK nimself free from them.
"Somebody had to go, and I'm the elevator
boy," he replied, all unconscious of his bravery
and unselfishness.?Rebecca Harding Davis, in
St. Nicholas.
A GOOD DOG STORY.
Here is a good dog story, which has the
further merit of being true?An Irish retriever,
who had been taught to bring his master's slippers
when required, was one day expelled from
the room when visitors were calling, as he was
making himself rather troublesome and intrusive.
The dog, feeling himself in disgrace, in
order to propitiate his master, went to every
bedroom in the house, and collected all the slippers
and old shoes he could find, which he deposited
outside the drawing-room door. Imagine
the feelings of the lady of the house when the
door was opened for the departing visitors, and
this scene was revealed to view!
True education, true mind and heart culture,
have but the one result?a lifting out of self that
we may serve others.?Sel.
hildren
Dear Presbyterian: As 1 haven't seen recently
any letters from North Carolina, I
thought I would write one. I enjoy reading
the letters in your paper very much. I live
about six miles from the beautiful city of Gastonia.
I go to the Presbyterian Church to
Sunday school every Sunday; my teacher's
name is Miss Mary Nolen. I love her very
much. I have recited the Child's Catechism,
and also the Shorter and have rpnpivA/1 m-v
Testament and Bible. Our pastor's name is
Rev. G. A. Sparrow; we like him very much.
We have a new brick church which we are
all very proud of. As this is my first letter
1 will close, hoping to see it in print.
Your unknown friend,
Gastonia, N. C., Route 3. Mary Craig.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl eleven
years old. I go to Sunday school and my teacher's
name is Mrs. Jimmie Kyle and I like her
fine. My papa and mamma belong to the
Presbyterian church, and papa takes your paper.
I love to read the little children's letters
and stories. This is my first letter. You can't
expect much from me this time. My little
cousin Harry Dowling will write next time.
Him and I have a pet fox squirrel; she creates
lots of fun. Her name is Bonnie. I will close
by trusting my simple letter will not reach
the waste-basket. Hope to see it in print.
Your little friend,
Mango, Fla. Bessie Ellis.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl nine
years of age. My father takes the Presbyterian
and I like to read the letters. I am promoted
to the first grade. I have two sisters.
I will close by asking a question. Why did
David kill Goliath t
Your little friend,
Houston, Va. Elizabeth Lovelace.