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6 (894) THE
Our Boys
NO SAINT AT ALL.
By Charles Irvlu Juiikin.
The preacher says my ma's a saint,
But I don't know;
I thought a saint was somethin' queer,
An* kind o' slow.
That goes t' church an' Sunday school,
An' says his prayers,
An' reads the Bible all the time,
An' never swears.
They're awful solemn like, an' strick,
An' sorter proud,
As ef they was afeard t' laugh
Er talk out loud.
An' they are kind o* down on boys,
An' say they's bad,
An ef y' make a bit of noise,
They jest git mad.
Now ma, she never swears, o' course.
And tells no lies,
But girls is different anyhow,
They only cries.
An' ma she giggles an' she laughs
Jest like the boys,
An' says that kids can have no fun
Without some noise.
O' course, ma likes t' go t' church
An' she kin sing!
But mostly she stays home an' works
Like everything.
A-cookin' an' a-cleanin' up,
An' things like that.
Besides her Sunday clothes is old,
An' so's her hat.
An' ma she prays an' tells us all
Jest what t' do,
AT*' WVIOTI olio POQ/IQ fho "Rihlo thou
It jest soundB true.
I
But she's not like them saints a bit,
I'd like t' know
Whv they're aayin* things like that
What isn't so.
They say the preacher's mighty smart,
An' knows a sight,
But ma, she is no saint at all,
She's Jest all right. ?Sel.
LOST IN THE WOODS.
"We're lost!" exclaimed Ethel. "We're
lost! T never saw that little creek before."
"We're lost, we're lost!" echoed Ruth. "Oh,
1 want to go back, I want to go back!" and she
set up a very dismal cry.
Billy said nothing, but it came over him suddenly
that he was the only boy, and the oldest
of three besides, and th'at if his little cousins
reached camp before dark he must find the way
for them. If they were not in before dark, then
the men would take Watch and some lanterns
and Watch would put his nose close to the
ground, just (as if he were smelling a rabbit,
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mill lie VYtmiU IUI1UW LUC'l II rtUO nuu 1U1U bUUlU.
Watch could do that he knew. But it was not
pleasant to think of spending even part of the
long night alone by themselves in the big, dark
woods, and so Billy thought hard.
"All holler!" he said. "One, two three, now!"
And they shouted, even little Ruth, whose
voice was choked with a sob.
"Now listen," he directed.
They listened but there was no answer, only
the chatter of a squirrel on a branch above and
the "oaw, caw" of the crows as if they were
making fun of them.
"Try again," he said.
And again they shouted and listened, and
no answer came.
Ruth began to cry once more; Ethel's chin
was quivering and her eyes full of tears, and ,
Billy saw clear that if he showed a moment's
weakening there would be a panic.
"Papa told me," he began, his voice very
even and unconcerned, "that, that if T ever got
lost in the woods, I must holler first, and then,
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE St
and Girls
If* l -1 ?
ii uoDoay answered, I must maKe a "Dase' Dy
tying my handkerchief to a bush, and then keep
trying different directions until I found the
right path. But he said I mustn't go far, and
keep turning back to the base, and holler every
time I came back."
The others began to look more hopeful.
"Now this," he went on tying his handkerchief
to a bush, "is our base, 'and, whatever you
do, you mnstn't lose it. We'll go off, one one
way and one another, and every step or two you
must break over a bush so you can find your
way back to the handkerchief. You see the
underside of the leaves is a different color, so
you can see them right away. Just go a little
way, and then, if you don't find a path or anythilKf
vmi mncffr Vvonlr nv?/l Tx Ml
.^.p, j wv* AAmvauc xuiiVTT uav.rv (iiiu ntfl.1 L UVCT. It II
be lots easier for three than for one, because we
can holler to each other. Now?"
"But we can't do that!" exclaimed Ethel.
"Why not?"
"Why, Ruth is too little and she is too tired.
We've walked a long way, and?and if we leave
her alone, she'll cry."
That was all very true, and Billy thought
again.
"She'll have to stay at the base," he said.
"But?now?I'll tell you," as there came a brilliant
idea, "she must sing, good and loud; then
we can't lose the place. See, Ruth!" and he
explained.
Ruth nodded a brave approval of the suggestion.
and then complacently sat down upon the
moss-grown log.
"TH sing 'Ve Friend of Little Children.' "
she said. "I've heard it in ve Sabbath school,
all ve verses. Good-bye."
She waved her hand, and as Billy and Ethel
disappeared into the undergrowth, breaking
bushes and calling now and then, they heard behind
them the voice of little Ruth singing in
xl. - 1 1? *
me mneiy wooas:
"Vere's a Friend of Little Children,
Above ve bright blue s'y;
A Friend who never changes,
A couple of rods away Billy climbed up a
stnmn to rret wider view, but all looked unfamiliar.
There were the trees and flowers that
were the same in all parts of the woods; there
was the calling of the cows, who must have
known where the camp was, and who would not
tell. But nowhere was there a sign of beaten
path or any "blazed" tree or a glimpse of the
white canvas of the tents.
He was nearing the top of a little hillock,
and Ruth, hidden among the dense brush, had
finished her song and begun again, when suddenly
be stopped and listened. Was the vo5ce
fainter? Or?no; it was moving away. What
could it mean ? It was dangerous hurryine: one
might miss the trail. But he went back from
broken bush to broken bush twice as fast as be
had come, and stopped, panting at the base.
There hung the waving handkerchief, there was
the mo<w-grown log, but no sign of Ruth or
of Ethel. He shouted, listened and then the
next moment Ethel hurst through the undergrowth.
"What's the matter!" she asked.
"She's gone."
Ethel was crying now and very badly fricrht
ened.
"Ruth!" shouted Billy at the top of his voice.
"Ruth, come back! Come back here."
It seemed a long, long time, and then a wee,
small voice answered in the woods far ahead.
"I c-a-a-n't come back. He won't let me."
DOTH [ September 20, 1911
Ethel's team burst out afresh, for this
sounded very bearlike. Could it be some animal
dragging the child away? They dared not think
what they would do; they could only press on
on.
"What's the matter?" he called. " Tell us
who is with you?"
"TTe've got me by ve dress. Let go, you
naughty, bad?let go or I'll stwike you?I'll
And the rest was lost in a sound of scuffling
and sobs.
The rescuers were hurrying as fast as they
could, but there was daneror of havinc nn smm/l
to guide them. They looked this way and that,
and Billy called once more.
"Ruth. Ruth," he commanded, "sing, sing,
sing loud as you can!" "We'll be there in a
minute!"
And in obedience came though the matted undergrowth,
in broken and interrupted snatches,
tears in the child's voice, hut bravely as well:
"Vere's a Friend?of little chil'ren?
Above?ve bright?blue sky?
A Friend"?
And then, as thev hurst through a tangle of
sumac and hazel, they saw it all?faithful Watch,
with his teeth firmly set in Ruth's skirt, and
dragging her relentlessly along, in spite of her
cuffs and kicks.
That night when Billy lay snug in bed and
the rain he so loved to hear had begun to fall
softly upon the canvas roof, he called: "How
did Watch happen to come looking for us,
mnmo J''
"Aunt Lida sent him. She said: "Watch,
I haven't seen the children for a long time.
You go find them; and he started off, as if he
knew what she meant."
"But I think," said Billy, "that 'the Friend
of little children' helped a good deal."?Youth's
Companion.
THE LITTLE BOY WHO TRIED
Every time the neighbor's drove
pa Brown's melon patch they shook their
heiads and said, "Too bad." There was nothing
wrong with the melons. No one in the
country raised a better crop; round watermelons
and long watermelons covering
"The trouble is," Qrandpa Brown ?
to little John, "there's no markei.^^^^^^^^BBWBl
can't give them away. Seems as if every
farmer in the county planted melons this year.
The grocery stores won't take them. Last season
it was different. Melons scarce and prices
high."
"Too bad," sympathized little John, echoing
the sentiments of the community.
Everyone respected Grandpa Brown. He
was a good man, a kind neighbor, always did
what was right so far as he knew, and he made
it his business to know what was right.
"I can't believe," said Grandpa Brown to
Grandma Brown, "I can't believe that crop of
fine melons is going to waste."
"But it is," commented little John, as he
trudged toward home, "it is, because my father
says so. Too bad "
Three days later Grandma Brown asked little
John over the telephone if he would do an
errand for Grandpa Brown.
"Yes, a big yes," answered the child.
"Then let me speak to your mother, please,"
continued Grandma Brown.
This is what little John heard his mother say
between pauses: "Oh, good." "Oh, if my
husband was only home instead of way out
West." "To be sure." "A fair price?" "Well,
well, well. "Yes?" "No, oh no." "Possibly."
"Yes, T will send John right over "
"Indeed you did!" "He will be so glad," etc.
Little John was relieved when his mother