Newspaper Page Text
February 2tJ, 1912 ] THE!
the grandfather droway, "well, aa I wuz about
to aay, we went off on a voyage; you wuz left
behind with grandma, an' we sailed off just like
a swallow, just like one of them which build out
in yon barn. "We wuz sailin' along just as quietly
as one could wish right off the coast of Maine,
an' I can see the whole thing now, when all of
a sudden a breeze came up, the sky 'came inky
black, an' in a moment the wind wuz a gale,
bellowin' like a dozen bulls, an' we just beat
about in the darkness like a tub. Durin' this
time the rain poured, just as though it wuz
goin' to last like Noah's time, an' the lightnin'
wuz worse than any skyrocket."
"Whew! wasnt you scared by this time? You
make me scared now."
"Yes indeed, little blessin', I wuz scared, for
our boat wasn't one of them new-fangled ones
as we have today. Presently there wuz a bump,
shoutin', cussin' 'an' praying to, an' a crunchin,
of timbers?say honey, why do you alius want
me to tell you this story? Grandpa can't tell
1 you any more tonight, for it just breaks him all
up, an' he feels sort o' creepy an' queer anyhow
tonight. But I must tell you, that youre all I
have now. The Lord only knows how I wuz
saved, 'cept that T wuz picked up an' brought
back to port."
"Thank you, grandpa. You must have made
grandma and mama happy many a time by telling
them stories. Do I make you happy??be
T i a - ft
cause x want to.
"Yes, Mamie child, yes, an' I thank the Almighty
for you. Sometimes I feel like grumblin',
'cause I'm just the same as one of them
old fishin' smacks you see bobbin' up 'round the
wharf?a little too good to destroy, an' not good
enough for work. Some day I'll sail away?
i ! -? I Letters
Dear Presbyterian: We live in the mountains
and we are having snow down here now.
My father got a flexible flyer and we go out on
it nearly every day and have lots of fun; sometimes
we pull baby Jack in his sled, and he loves
it. I hope you will print this letter.
Ellen and Anne Crawford.
Strasburg, Va.
Dear Presbyterian: I have been reading the
letters in your paper, so I thought I would write
one too. Papa takes your good paper and I enjoy
reading it. I go to school at Mt. Pisgah; my
teacher is Miss Maude Harrington; I like her
fine. I will close for this time as this is my first
letter to you, for fear it might reach the wastebasket.
From your little unknown friend,
Broadway, N. C. Irene MNell.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl eight
years old. I go to school. My school teacher's
name is Miss Draper Fultz. I like her very
well. I go to Sunday school. My Sunday
school teacher's name is Miss Mary Lackey. I
am in the third reader. Our school will be out
in seven more days. So good-bye.
From your unknown friend,
Timber Ridge, Va. Elizabeth Chittum.
Dear Presbyterian: When I wrote to you before
I was only six years old, now I am seven
and going to school. Last summer we had four
little colts. The men on the place made halters
for them and led them to pasture every evening.
They looked so cute, just like little circus ponies.
We children rode their mothers, the farm
horses, and thev were so big, mother said we
\
PRESBYTERIAN OF THE SO
'way orar tha tea, an' my little Mamia will hara
some one else to look after her, an' tell her
stories. Now get down, child, an' sprawl on the
floor, an' let gran'pa enjoy his pipe an' nap."
"With a loving look and kiss, the child obeyed,
and stretching herself before the mantelpiece,
resting her head on her hands, with her golden
curls touching the floor, she gazed into the fire.
What a world of elfin folk danced in the smoke
and flame. "What beautiful pictures opened up
before her?this hnnnv enreless livplv />ViiM I
rr^> W4VVM? ' * VV
Innocence itself, as she lay there with not a care
in the world, beating a tattoo with her feet on
the boards. It was no wonder that the old man
loved his grandchild. Little by little the small
head grew heavy, and the support of the dimpled
hands became less certain, and little Mamie
fell asleep.
The old grandfather was also quiet, continuing
to gaze intently and proudly upon the ehild
as the smiles of innocence flitted o'er her face,
and her lips moved with inarticulate sounds.
Gradually too, his head fell upon his chest,
his eyes closed heavily, and the pipe, from which
he had drawn many a whiff of comfort, fell to
the floor, bleaking into pieces. His slippered
feet were outstretched before the fire now mnk.
ing a struggle for life as it flickered.
The child slept on, neither did her gray-hair:
companion move as the shadows crept up the
wall, and last themselves in the darkness. The
old lamp too, ceased its flickering and at last
went out.
There was a knock at the door that night, and
a voice said: "This night thy soul is required
of thee." Grandpa answered the summons, and
his story was told for the last time.
"Be ye also ready.''
i From Tho C\
looked like little monkeys riding the elephants.
What two men were taken to heaven alive? "We
have a new pipe organ at our church, New
Providence. Your little friend,
Katherine Warren Houston.
Mt. Pleasant Farm, Fairfield, Va.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl nine
years old. I am going to school, and I am in
the third grade; my teacher is named Miss
Kathleen Morrah, and I like her fine. I have
three brothers and two sisters. I will ask a
question: Who was cast into the lion's den? I
hope to see my letter in print.
Your unknown friend,
Mt. Carmel, S. C. Eunice McCelvey.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little boy six
years old. I go to school every day I can. My
teacher's name i3 Miss Bessie Lambe. I like her
fine. I have a pet rooster, his name is Willie;
he is as gentle as can be. I named him after
my uncle. I have a little brother, his name is
Glenn. I am teaching him the letters. He is
four years old. How old was Jesus when he was
crucified? I will close as this is my first letter.
Your little friend,
Broadway, N. C. Elmer G. Harrington.
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl nearly
eight years old. I enjoy the little letters so
much that I think I will write one, too. "We
are going to a farm to live and sister and I
will have a liMle kitten. My Sunday school
teacher's name is Miss Lois Dean. I hope to
see my letter in print. Your little friend,
Harriet May Lancaster.
Spartanburg, S. C.
ifi ' i". fciyk, *SKI
U T H ' "T (?7) 7 1
A NEW USE FOR SQUIRRELS.
"One of the uses of education," said young
Mr. Quimby, when he settled down on his newly
acquired farm to put his agricultural studies
into practice, "is the ability to turn everything
to account." Having delivered himself of that
wisdom, he procured a board, painted a sign
upon it, and nailed it upon one of his pear
trees, where all might read:
"These trees and pears are infested with
Sciurus Hudsonius.
"The owner considers that this notice frees
him from responsibility for the fate of any persons
who disregard the warning."
All that year luscious pears hung unguarded
from Mr. Quimby's orchard boughs?Sheldons,
Bartletts, Clapp's Favorites, and other choice
varieties. Hungry boys stood just outside the
fence and eyed them, but none intruded.
""What are shurrus hudsonnicussest" they
asked Mr. Quimby, fearfully. |
"Little red things that eat into pears and
devour the seeds," said Mr. Quimby, in his
most learned tone.
Later, when the pears had all been picked
and sold, one of the small boys mustered courage
to put the question to the school teacher,
who looked it up.
"They are red squirrels," she announced,
authoratively.?The Youth's Companion.
Opportunities such as the world now presents
should be accepted and used as privileges, but
if not so used they become tremendous responsibilities
and these, if not assumed and discharged,
will become, in their turn, solemn responsibilities.
lildren i I j
Dear Presbyterian: I am a little girl eight
years old, and as my mama is dead, I live far
out in the country with my grandpapa. I walk
about two mile3 to school, and am in the second
grade. My teacher is Miss Carrie Rennie, from
Richmond. I go to Sunday school at a little
church called Lanes Chapel, a branch of College
cnurcii. uur pastor is iJr. W. J. King, and we
love him very dearly. Please do not let this
letter find its way to the waste basket, as I want
to surprise my aunt, who lives in Roanoke.
Your little friend,
Felden, Va. Elizabeth Chappell.
Dear Presbyterian: I'm a little boy nine
years old; my birthday is March 21st. I will
be ten years old. My grandmother takes your
nice paper, and I enjoy reading it. I have two
sisters and two brothers. I have one pet cat.
My grandmother is down here now. I have
written The Presbyterian once before. I hope
niir ?:il i 1 "
"j icuci wm uui reacn me waste-basket.
Your iviend,
Graham, Va. Vincent L. Sexton.
Dear Presbyterian: I have written to you
once, and I thought I would write you again.
I go to school every day. I have not missed any.
I am in the sixth grade. I go to the Old Stone
church. I will answer some questions. "What
cruel grandmother had all of her grandchildren
killed so that she might be queen? Athaliah.
What is the shortest verse in the Bible: John
11:35. "Who was the son of Haran and the
nephew of Abraham: Lot. Who was the second
son of Adam and Eve: Abel.
Fort Defiance, Va. Wallace McCuachan.