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Our Boys
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A SMALL SCHOLAR S WISH.
I'll tell you what I'd like to do,
I'd like to live next door to a zoo!
Then the animals Td have for chums.
And I'd get the adder to do my sums:
And when I'd a task in geography,
The kangaroo would bound for me;
The seal would seal my letters, you see;
Ana tne monney wouia sieai aaies irom me nistory;
The elephant would lend me his trunk, 1 know,
When off on my travels I wished to go;
I'd spend the eagles and fly the kites,
And the tapir would light my room o' nights;
I should have great fun, I think, don't you?
If I only lived next door to a zoo!?Ex.
A BOY SCOUT OF OLD.
ELSIE ROBERTSON.
One sultry day, many long years ago, two
eleven-year-old boys met on the bank of a small
river. It was long past noon, and the sun glowed
like a red ball in the haze, its rays casting a
weird light over the surrounding landscape.
The little village of log houses stood less than
half a mile away. Nearer still loomed the walls
of a stout log stockade, built, as was commonly
done in those days, for protection in case of a
sud h- i Indian attack.
The river banks were fringed with a stunted
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the preairie stretched as far as the eye could see,
the long grass dry as tinder from the summer
heat.
"Ain't this a regular scorcher of a day,
Fred?" asked one of the boys, throwing himself
at full length on the grass.
A fish darted away, as he dipped his hand
nto the cool water, and his companion watched
-t disappear before answering.
"Yes, it is, John; too hot to work. I got my
work done?worked like a good one to do it, too
?and father said I might go a-fishing. Here's
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illy line auu luiiici ? ucw nunc. yy c ctiu $;ci
a rod 'most anywhere along the river."
"Me, too; I'm going." And John exhibited
a stick with a fishline wound around it. "My
work is done, but father didn't exactly say I
could go so far from the stockade. He said he
was afraid of Indians. They are on the warpath
at Big Fork, and that's only thirty miles from
here."
"Nonsense! There hasn't been an Indian
round here for six months. I'm going fishing.
There must be lots of big ones by the bend now,"
and Fred moved on.
"I'm going, too!" cried John, jumping up to
follow his companion.
A quarter of a mile below them, the river made
a sharp bend, and flowed for some distance beof
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fish liked to hide in deep, shady nooks, and no
one knew it better than Fred. If you followed
the bank of the river, the bend was more than
a mile from the village, but it was not more than
half that distance across the prairie. Of course
the river hank was the pleasantest to travel on
hot days.
"We'll follow the bank and get our poles?
there's time enough," said Fred. "The grass
is high on the prairie, and so dry that it almost
crumbles when you step on it. The sun is like
a coal of fire, too. It will be lots better to follow
the river."
"Here, are some poles now!" exclaimed John.
" Aren.'t thev straight and limber, t.honcrh ! T hist
f w 7 ~ ? "
know T could slinpr out a three-pounder with one
of them."
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PRESBYTERIAN OF THE S<
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and Girls
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"Better hook him first! Let's see who'll get
to flip hpnrl firot "
Fred started ahead, and both boys ran as fast
as possible along the edge of the bushes which
skirted the bank. They were nearing the bend,
when Fred suddenly stopped, with a warning
gesture, and pointed to an object above the bank.
It was only a long black feather with a dash
of crimson across it, but the boys knew instinctively
that it adorned an Indian scalp lock.
John silently sank into the tall grass. Fred
dropped the pole and crept nearer?so near that
he eould see more than a score of hideously painted
savages, with their backs toward him, and
concluded that they belonged to the band upon
the warpath. Throwing himself Hat, he listened
as their voices became louder and more eager.
He had often visited the camps of friendly
Indians, and could understand enough of their
language to know that the village was to be attacked
that very night.
Cautiously he worked his way back to where
John waited in breathless suspense, and, without
uttering a word, motioned him to follow. With
a lingering, reluctant glance at the now useless
fishpole, John obeyed.
"We've got to leg it," Fred softly whispered,
when they were a few yards away from the dangerous
vicinity of the savages. "There's a whole
party of them, and they're out for all our scalps.
We've got to warn the folks. Here's the old
wagon trail, and the grass isn't quite so tangled.
Bend low, John, as low as you possibly can run;
that's it. Now go!"
For some minutes nothing was heard except
the rustling of the dried grass and the heavy
breathing of the hurrying boys. Then a wild
yell of angry surprise told them they were discovered
by the foe.
"Run, John, run! Leg it as you never did
before!" gasped Fred. "I got you into this
scrape, and I've just got to get you out of it!"
The yells had ceased, but Fred knew Indian
tactics too well to believe that they had given up
the pursuit. He looked over his shoulder fearfully.
It was as he thought. A head showed
plainly above the waving grass about a quarter
of a mile behind them. That was all, but it was
enough to chill every drop of blood in his body,
and make the sunny prairie grow black before
his terrified eyes.
"Run?on, John. Tell?the?folks?the?Indians?are?coming!
Run hard! I'll?stop 'em
?if?I?can?start?a?back?fire!" he panted,
waving his hand toward the stockade, which was
now in sight.
Without a single pause, John sped on through
the tangled grass, his breath coming in painful
gasps, but terror winging his feet. He did not
see Fred draw a match from his pocket with
nervous haste. It was all he had. If it failed
to burn, his life would pay the forfeit. But he
did not hesitate an instant. He raised one hand,
as he stopped abruptly. The wind was blowing
directly from the village, and that was what he
wanted.
He lighted the precious match, shielded it
from the breeze, and touched it to a bunch of
tall, dry grass. The little flame caught and
spread rapidly. But his work was not done.
Waving a blazing torch of grass, he started other
tires, which widened as they swept toward the
amazed Indiana, who fled with cries of rage and
dismay. Only a moment he paused to view his
work with heart thrilling with triumph, then he
.* *
)DTH [ March 27, 1912.
darted after John to the village, to tell his story
to the anxious erowd that now surrounded the
other boy.
"You are quite a scout, my son, and I'm proud
of you," said his father, clasping the brave boy's
hands in his own. "Always do your duty well,
Fred, and you will have nothing to fear. I miss
my eniess if our red nmcrhhnr? ? ?"?i
y come if they come tonight."
But they did not come and no sign of them
could be seen upon the blackened prairie.
Fred became a famous scout in later years, and
John a brave soldier, while the log village afterward
became a beautiful, prosperous city.?What
To Do.
A BOY WHO RECOMMENDED HIMSELF.
John Brent was trimming his hedge, and the
snip, snip of his shears was a pleasing sound to
his ears. In the rear of him stretched a wide,
smoothly-kept lawn, in the center of which stood
his residence, a handsome, massive, modern structure
which had cost him not less than $90,000.
"Hello, Fred! That's a very handsome tennis
racquet," one of them said. "You paid about
seven dollars for it, didn't you?"
"Only six, Charlie," was the reply.
"Your old one is in prime order yet. What
will you take for it?"
"I sold it to AVillie Robbins for one dollar and
a half," replied Fred.
"Well, now, that was silly," declared Charlie.
"I'd have given up three dollars for it."
"You are too late," replied Fred; "I have
promised it to Willie."
"Oh, you only promised it to him, ehf and he's
simply promised to pay for it, I suppose? I'll
give you three dollars cash for it."
"I can't do it, Charlie."
"You can if you want to. A dollar and a half
more isn't to be sneezed at."
"Of course, not," admitted Fred, "and I'd
like to have it, only I promised the racquet to
Willie."
'' But you are not bound to keep your promise.
You are at liberty to take more for it. Tell him
tnat I ottered you another time as much more,
and that will settle it."
"No, Charlie," gravely replied the other boy;
"that will not settle it, either with Willie or me.
1 cannot disappoint him. A bargain is a bargain.
The racquet is his even if it hasn't been
delivered."
"Oh, let him have it," retorted Charlie, angrily.
"Fred Fenton, I will not say that you
are a chump, but I'll predict that you'll never
make a successful business man. You are too
punctilious."
John Brent overheard the conversation, and
he stepped to a gap in the hedge in order to get
a look at the boy who had such a high regard for
his word.
"The lad has a good face, and is made of the
right sort of stuff," was the millionaire's mental
comment. "He places a proper value upon integrity,
and he will succeed in business because
he is punctilious."
The next day, while he was again working on
his hedge. John Brent overheard another conversation.
Fred Fenton was again a participant
in it.
"Fred, let us go over to the circus lot," the
other boy said. "The men are puttinsr un the
tents for the afternoon performance."
"No, Joe; I'd rather not," Fred said.
"But "why?"
"On account of the profanity. One never
hears anything good on such occasions, and I
would advise you not to go. My mother would
not want me to go."
"Did-she say yon shouldn't?"
"No, Joe."
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