—Mabel Dodge Holmes.
Questions
1. Make a list of the heroes whom you can remember in the procession.2. Was there any one of them whom you did not know about before?3. Which one would you like to read more about?4. Do you know any facts about any of these heroes that are not told in this story? If so, write a title for the story you can tell, and be ready to tell it to your classmates.5. Do you know the name of any hero whom you would have added to those in the procession?6. Some of the figures are not mentioned by name. Give the names of any of these you remember.
1. Make a list of the heroes whom you can remember in the procession.
2. Was there any one of them whom you did not know about before?
3. Which one would you like to read more about?
4. Do you know any facts about any of these heroes that are not told in this story? If so, write a title for the story you can tell, and be ready to tell it to your classmates.
5. Do you know the name of any hero whom you would have added to those in the procession?
6. Some of the figures are not mentioned by name. Give the names of any of these you remember.
In the poem that follows, the poet tells us of a strange and fearful visitor that once came to him—the spirit of some ancient viking of the Northland all dressed in armor and carrying sword and shield.In order to understand the poem, you must remember that the vikings were bold sea-rovers and fierce warriors who set out in their long swift boats in search after plunder and adventure. Some of them are even said to have come over to America long before Columbus ever dreamed of the new world. The poem was suggested to Mr. Longfellow by the finding of a skeleton clad in broken and rusted armor and buried in the sands of the New England shore, and by a very ancient tower that must have been built on the coast by the Northmen many years before 1492. These two facts are true, but of course the story that the poet made of them is merely a good story.The poet's strange guest is one of these sea-robbers, who tells how as a youth he had won the love of a blue-eyed princess of the far North, only to find that her father forbade their marriage. In the first stanza the poet asks a question; the rest of the poem tells what the spirit of the viking said.But you will want to read the story as the poet has told it.
In the poem that follows, the poet tells us of a strange and fearful visitor that once came to him—the spirit of some ancient viking of the Northland all dressed in armor and carrying sword and shield.
In order to understand the poem, you must remember that the vikings were bold sea-rovers and fierce warriors who set out in their long swift boats in search after plunder and adventure. Some of them are even said to have come over to America long before Columbus ever dreamed of the new world. The poem was suggested to Mr. Longfellow by the finding of a skeleton clad in broken and rusted armor and buried in the sands of the New England shore, and by a very ancient tower that must have been built on the coast by the Northmen many years before 1492. These two facts are true, but of course the story that the poet made of them is merely a good story.
The poet's strange guest is one of these sea-robbers, who tells how as a youth he had won the love of a blue-eyed princess of the far North, only to find that her father forbade their marriage. In the first stanza the poet asks a question; the rest of the poem tells what the spirit of the viking said.
But you will want to read the story as the poet has told it.
"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!Who, with they hollow breastStill in rude armor drest,Comest to daunt me!Wrapt not in Eastern balms,But with thy fleshless palmsStretched, as if asking alms,Why dost thou haunt me?""Then, from those cavernous eyesPale flashes seemed to rise,As when the Northern skiesGleam in December;And, like the water's flowUnder December's snow,Came a dull voice of woeFrom the heart's chamber."I was a Viking old!My deeds, though manifold,No Skald in song has told,No Saga taught thee!Take heed, that in thy verseThou dost the tale rehearse,Else dread a dead man's curse;For this I sought thee."Far in the Northern Land,By the wild Baltic's strand,I, with my childish hand,Tamed the gerfalcon;And, with my skates fast-bound,Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,That the poor whimpering houndTrembled to walk on."Oft to his frozen lairTracked I the grisly bear,While from my path the hareFled like a shadow;Oft through the forest darkFollowed the were-wolf's bark,Until the soaring larkSang from the meadow."But when I older grew,Joining a corsair's crew,O'er the dark sea I flewWith the marauders.Wild was the life we led;Many the souls that sped,Many the hearts that bled,By our stern orders."Once as I told in gleeTales of the stormy sea,Soft eyes did gaze on me,Burning yet tender;And as the white stars shineOn the dark Norway pine,On that dark heart of mineFell their soft splendor."I wooed the blue-eyed maid,Yielding, yet half afraid,And in the forest's shadeOur vows were plighted.Under its loosened vestFluttered her little breast,Like birds within their nestBy the hawk frighted."Bright in her father's hallShields gleamed upon the wall,Loud sang the minstrels all,Chanting his glory;When of old HildebrandI asked his daughter's hand,Mute did the minstrels standTo hear my story."While the brown ale he quaffed,Loud then the champion laughedAnd as the wing-gusts waftThe sea-foam brightly,So the loud laugh of scorn,Out of those lips unshorn,From the deep drinking-hornBlew the foam lightly."She was a Prince's child,I but a Viking wild,And though she blushed and smiled,I was discarded!Should not the dove so whiteFollow the sea-mew's flight,Why did they leave that nightHer nest unguarded?"Scarce had I put to sea,Bearing the maid with me,Fairest of all was sheAmong the Norsemen!When on the white sea-strand,Waving his armed hand,Saw we old Hildebrand,With twenty horsemen.
"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest!Who, with they hollow breastStill in rude armor drest,Comest to daunt me!Wrapt not in Eastern balms,But with thy fleshless palmsStretched, as if asking alms,Why dost thou haunt me?"
"Then, from those cavernous eyesPale flashes seemed to rise,As when the Northern skiesGleam in December;And, like the water's flowUnder December's snow,Came a dull voice of woeFrom the heart's chamber.
"I was a Viking old!My deeds, though manifold,No Skald in song has told,No Saga taught thee!Take heed, that in thy verseThou dost the tale rehearse,Else dread a dead man's curse;For this I sought thee.
"Far in the Northern Land,By the wild Baltic's strand,I, with my childish hand,Tamed the gerfalcon;And, with my skates fast-bound,Skimmed the half-frozen Sound,That the poor whimpering houndTrembled to walk on.
"Oft to his frozen lairTracked I the grisly bear,While from my path the hareFled like a shadow;Oft through the forest darkFollowed the were-wolf's bark,Until the soaring larkSang from the meadow.
"But when I older grew,Joining a corsair's crew,O'er the dark sea I flewWith the marauders.Wild was the life we led;Many the souls that sped,Many the hearts that bled,By our stern orders.
"Once as I told in gleeTales of the stormy sea,Soft eyes did gaze on me,Burning yet tender;And as the white stars shineOn the dark Norway pine,On that dark heart of mineFell their soft splendor.
"I wooed the blue-eyed maid,Yielding, yet half afraid,And in the forest's shadeOur vows were plighted.Under its loosened vestFluttered her little breast,Like birds within their nestBy the hawk frighted.
"Bright in her father's hallShields gleamed upon the wall,Loud sang the minstrels all,Chanting his glory;When of old HildebrandI asked his daughter's hand,Mute did the minstrels standTo hear my story.
"While the brown ale he quaffed,Loud then the champion laughedAnd as the wing-gusts waftThe sea-foam brightly,So the loud laugh of scorn,Out of those lips unshorn,From the deep drinking-hornBlew the foam lightly.
"She was a Prince's child,I but a Viking wild,And though she blushed and smiled,I was discarded!Should not the dove so whiteFollow the sea-mew's flight,Why did they leave that nightHer nest unguarded?
"Scarce had I put to sea,Bearing the maid with me,Fairest of all was sheAmong the Norsemen!When on the white sea-strand,Waving his armed hand,Saw we old Hildebrand,With twenty horsemen.
I Wooed the Blue-Eyed Maid
I Wooed the Blue-Eyed Maid
"Then launched they to the blast,Bent like a reed each mast,Yet we were gaining fast,When the wind failed us;And with a sudden flawCame round the gusty Skaw,So that our foe we sawLaugh as he hailed us."And as to catch the galeRound veered the flapping sail,Death! was the helmsman's hail,Death without quarter!Mid-ships with iron keelStruck we her ribs of steel;Down her black hulk did reelThrough the black water!"As with his wings aslant,Sails the fierce cormorant,Seeking some rocky haunt,With his prey laden,So toward the open main,Beating the sea again,Through the wild hurricane,Bore I the maiden."Three weeks we westward bore,And when the storm was o'er,Cloud-like we saw the shoreStretching to leeward;There for my lady's bowerBuilt I the lofty tower,Which, to this very hour,Stands looking seaward."There lived we many years;Time dried the maiden's tears;She had forgot her fears,She was a mother;Death closed her mild blue eyes,Under that tower she lies;Ne'er shall the sun ariseOn such another!"Still grew my bosom then,Still as a stagnant fen!Hateful to me were men,The sunlight hateful!In the vast forest here,Clad in my warlike gear,Fell I upon my spear,O, death was grateful!"Thus, seamed with many scars,Bursting these prison bars,Up to its native starsMy soul ascended!There from the flowing bowlDeep drinks the warrior's soul,Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"Thus the tale ended.
"Then launched they to the blast,Bent like a reed each mast,Yet we were gaining fast,When the wind failed us;And with a sudden flawCame round the gusty Skaw,So that our foe we sawLaugh as he hailed us.
"And as to catch the galeRound veered the flapping sail,Death! was the helmsman's hail,Death without quarter!Mid-ships with iron keelStruck we her ribs of steel;Down her black hulk did reelThrough the black water!
"As with his wings aslant,Sails the fierce cormorant,Seeking some rocky haunt,With his prey laden,So toward the open main,Beating the sea again,Through the wild hurricane,Bore I the maiden.
"Three weeks we westward bore,And when the storm was o'er,Cloud-like we saw the shoreStretching to leeward;There for my lady's bowerBuilt I the lofty tower,Which, to this very hour,Stands looking seaward.
"There lived we many years;Time dried the maiden's tears;She had forgot her fears,She was a mother;Death closed her mild blue eyes,Under that tower she lies;Ne'er shall the sun ariseOn such another!
"Still grew my bosom then,Still as a stagnant fen!Hateful to me were men,The sunlight hateful!In the vast forest here,Clad in my warlike gear,Fell I upon my spear,O, death was grateful!
"Thus, seamed with many scars,Bursting these prison bars,Up to its native starsMy soul ascended!There from the flowing bowlDeep drinks the warrior's soul,Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!"Thus the tale ended.
—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.Courtesy of Houghton, Mifflin Company.
Here is another set of "movie" scenes. If you forget how we played the first set, look on page 38 and see just what to do.
Here is another set of "movie" scenes. If you forget how we played the first set, look on page 38 and see just what to do.
1. The blind man came slowly down the road, tapping restlessly with his stick to guide him, and stopping every now and again to listen for some fellow traveler who might lead him to the town beyond the hill.
2. When they reached the open country, Aladdin had to gather sticks and to build a great fire for the magician, his uncle.
3. Aladdin's uncle stirred the fire until it blazed brightly. Then he threw in some magical powder and as a thick cloud of smoke arose, he made mystical signs over the fire, and muttered some strange words that Aladdin could not understand.
4. The Indian squatted down with legs crossed under him and waited for the morning sun to enable him to take up the trail again. Whenever the fire died away, he arose silently and replenished the fuel, but except for these breaks, one might have thought him a beautifully carved image.
5. None of the villagers knew Rip when he came back. He was old and stiff and bent with age. He carried on his shoulder his cherished musket, now useless and covered with rust. As the people crowded round him he scanned each face in turn, hoping to recognize some former familiar acquaintance.
6. Sir Roger drew his sword, and taking advantage of a corner in the garden wall, which might make a cowardly attack in the rear impossible, he waited for the band to approach. He knew that he was caught like a fox in this narrow garden, and he looked eagerly to count how many were against him.
7. Hardly had the Sheriff ridden off with his men, before Robin Hood came down the road, still dressed in the long gown that old Mother Hobbes had given him, and walking with the help of a cane, like an old woman, bent with years.
8. The savage raised his spear, and was about to cast it, but some slight sound caused him to hesitate an instant with the long shaft balancing lightly in his grasp.
9. An aged palmer came down the road. He was evidently returning from a long pilgrimage, for his cloak was old and tattered, his shoes were dusty and patched, and every few steps he stopped to rest on his long staff.
10. The tinker, very tired from his run, sat down on a large stone by the roadside. After looking cautiously about, he took the king's letter from his pocket and read it. Then folding it carefully again, and returning it to his pocket, he rose and started down the road singing cheerily.
11. He had tramped for three hours and had not discovered a single familiar sign. There was no sign in the cloudy sky to serve him as finger post. He climbed a tall tree that seemed to promise a view of the surrounding landscape, but everything was strange. He had read somewhere that the trees are mossy and green on the north side, but when he looked, even the trees seemed to be as uncertain as he. In despair he sat down on a fallen log and waited.
12. White Eagle looked far out over the plain. Beyond the now dry river basin and the green strip of brush and scrubby trees that bordered it, he could trace the slow, crawling wagon-train trailing out and winding like a lazy serpent through the dust. When he had counted for a second time to be sure, he drew back from the edge of the bluff, built two tiny fires, and watched the thin columns of smoke as they curled straight up in the air.
Here is a story of real human interest. We are all foreigners here in America except the American Indians. The ancestors of some of us came before those of others; and it is the duty of those of us whose ancestors have been here the longest to help the strange-looking, strange-speaking people who come to us from Europe to feel at home in our country.The government has tried hard to protect the immigrants from dishonest people who have tried to cheat them out of their earnings. One of the good things that came out of the World's War was a knowledge on the part of almost all of our people of the safe investments that the government offers in bonds and thrift stamps.
Here is a story of real human interest. We are all foreigners here in America except the American Indians. The ancestors of some of us came before those of others; and it is the duty of those of us whose ancestors have been here the longest to help the strange-looking, strange-speaking people who come to us from Europe to feel at home in our country.
The government has tried hard to protect the immigrants from dishonest people who have tried to cheat them out of their earnings. One of the good things that came out of the World's War was a knowledge on the part of almost all of our people of the safe investments that the government offers in bonds and thrift stamps.
"At last the way is clear!"
Stefan spoke with much emotion as he counted the roll of notes, clean and soiled, that lay before him on the table in his little room in the over-crowded boarding house.
As he fingered the bills, he saw before him each detail of the past two years—New York harbor with Liberty flinging up her welcome torch; the thrill of arrival in the city of his dreams; the days that followed, days of discouragement, home-sickness, and poverty, among strangers speaking strange tongues, with a medley of unfamiliar manners and customs. He saw with vivid clearness the first dollar he had earned, and he forgot the slow, painful processes of saving—the self-denial and the sacrifice—in the picture of what those sacrifices were to bring.
"She will come," he murmured. "On the same boat perhaps. When she gets the ticket, she will leave that war-threatened land and she will come to me." He smiled. Then as his face suddenly clouded he started forward on the rickety chair with a violence that threatened its frailness."If anything should happen! If I should lose the money!"
Greatly disturbed he gathered up the precious bills as though to shield them from possible loss. He rose to place them in the old hiding place in his trunk, but that no longer satisfied him. He wavered, then said:
"No, that won't do. I must see Ian about this. He knows. He is wise. I will see Ian this very minute."
Wrapping the money in a piece of old newspaper and carefully placing it in an inner pocket, he set out. He went straight to the dingy office in a side alley of the foreign section of the town, where through the dusty window could be seen the grizzled head of Ian Skeemersky, the real estate agent and private banker, whose sign, written by his own hand, hung over the entrance.
After greetings had been exchanged, he anxiously put the case before his shrewd friend, whose eyes sparkled with eagerness as he replied smoothly.
"Nothing so easy and so safe in the world, my dear fellow. Put your money in my bank. You will get good interest and can withdraw it whenever you want it."
Stefan hesitated for a second. So much was at stake! His slow mind must have time to weigh the proposal. As he noted the earnestness and assurance of Skeemersky's face, belief in this shrewd friend decided. He drew out the pack and laid it on the desk before Skeemersky, whose long fingers closed over it at once.
"You have done well, Stefan Broda, your money is as safe with me as if it was in Mt. Vavel," he declared.
Stefan felt that he had done well. The phrase "as safe as Mt. Vavel" lingered in his mind. It helped him be patient in the long weeks in the factory where he worked during the winter; it consoled him during the dull dayswhile he waited for the open springtime when he planned to send for Agatha. When he heard of others losing their small savings in various ways he congratulated himself on the security of his own, "as safe as Vavel," he would repeat.
One sunny morning in March, just as he decided to stop on his way from work to withdraw the three hundred dollars for Agatha's expenses, there came to him a neighbor, in great excitement. Peter's face was red, his eyes startling and his voice hoarse.
"That—that robber, that scoundrel!" he stuttered. "That Skeemersky. He has gone, gone, do you hear? He has taken it all, all the money in his cursed bank."
Stefan could not believe his ears. Skeemersky gone, and the money, too! "As safe as Vavel!" he had said. He stared for a moment and then broke out, weeping for the first time since his mother's death, cursing the smooth trickster with hearty Polish curses.
"May the thunder-bolt strike him!" he cried. "I will lay hands on him. I will choke that money out of his black soul. Come, we will go!"
They rushed out, boiling with rage, only to find a crowd of other dupes before the shabby little office in the side-alley. The tightly closed door and the blank windows told the story more clearly than any words. Skeemersky had gone—the bank was no more!
Despair took strong hold of Stefan. For two days he roamed the streets, not eating nor drinking, sleepless. He saw no further, no hope—all was blackness and desolation. When he came back to the boarding house on the third day he found a letter from Agatha. He read it with tears and intolerable anguish and he passionately kissed the final sentence: "Every bit of me is yours and I shall never change." This tender faith was balm to his anguish.
He put the letter in a pocket nearest his heart, while a new look came to his tired face. Almost unconsciously he began to build a new future on the ruins of the old.
He swiftly mapped out his course. The season for farmwork was at hand. He would go back to the open skies and broad fields of God's world. He packed a few belongings in the rusty brown-paper suitcase and boarded the trolley for the long ride. He knew what he should do if he could rent a suitable piece of land.
He had spent the previous summer on a farm in the onion-growing section of the Connecticut Valley; he knew what large profits might be gotten with hard labor from a comparatively small plot of ground. He figured that three or four acres would give him the needed amount in the fall, if he had health and good weather.
He found the man whom he sought, secured the land, and went to work. All that season he slaved early and late, weeding on his knees in the damp earth the interminable rows of tiny, delicate plants where the weeds sprang like magic. He heeded neither scorching sun, nor soaking rain. He cared nothing for the monotony of the toil. Always he saw before him the steamer that should bring Agatha, from the hazards of war, to him and security.
By September he had once again the dream within his grasp. He was back in the old room in the crowded boarding house, and in his bluish tin trunk at the foot of the bed were hidden five hundred and fifteen dollars in crisp, clean notes. His earliest belief in his trunk had come back a hundredfold. He would not trust any bank, private or national, with the fruit of his heart-breaking toil. Banking systems and government investments were all beyond his grasp. Skeemersky had taught him to distrust others—the little thin trunk would not run away.
This conviction of safety obsessed him. He preached it to others, to his fellow-boarders, especially to the friendly young man in the room across the hall. "See," he would say, waving a hand toward the great untrustworthy world of finance beyond his little window. "They run away—those bankers. I have a better place."
He did not tell the friendly young man where or how much he had hidden. He merely smiled mysteriously. His faith in his trunk was absolute. Day after day, when returning from work in the factory, he took out his roll of notes and rejoiced that he had found the solution; he counted the days when he should send for his love. It was hard for him to wait for the lagging spring, but a winter journey in war-time from Russian Poland to New England was not to be thought of for his Agatha.
Blind faith often leads to the pit. Stefan, upon a night in late winter, found his theory shattered. The friendly young man had gone, and the crisp, clean notes had disappeared with him!
In this second crash of his hopes he was numbed. He neither wept nor cursed. He silently shrank into himself. He grew abstracted. He stared at the world with unseeing eyes. In the turmoil of his distracted mind there was but one growing determination not to be beaten by fate.
It was not, however, until the news of the German campaign in Warsaw, that his resolve took definite shape. Borrowing two hundred dollars, he sent the money to Agatha in Poland, and regardless of winter or war, urged her to come at once.
When, after long weeks of suspense, he stood by the gate at Ellis Island waiting for the sight of her dear, familiar face among the surging crowd of tagged and numbered immigrants beyond the iron barrier, a great wave of joyoushope flooded his heart. All his disasters were forgotten when he caught the glint of her pale hair under the embroidered kerchief. Banks and trunks went to oblivion as he took her small roughened hands in his own. Destiny had no terrors for him.
On the train he poured out his heart to her. He told her of his great efforts and his greater misfortunes. He made her see his challenge to destiny. He pictured his emotions in the last weeks. And he wound up with an eager entreaty for immediate marriage.
"Let us no longer delay," he urged. "Let us find the good priest." But Agatha was not to be hurried. Her blue eyes showed her own sorrow for the words her lips spoke. "Our love, my Stefan, will not change. But your money is gone. We cannot live without money. I shall work, and you shall work. Then we will marry."
Stefan protested vigorously, but he knew that she was right. He saw that he must yield. He proposed a compromise. "Let us work then for this spring and summer—you in the silk mill and I in my onion patch," he said, "and marry in the fall. I can wait no longer than that."
Agatha could find no fault with this. It won her approval of both heart and her reason. Slipping her hand in his, she nestled closer and they began their hopeful planning, while the train sped on, bearing them to the peaceful valley of their future labors.
All the plans—sensible and practical—they made that wonderful first day, were marvelously realized, not by mere happy chance, but through a great steadfastness of purpose and unfaltering toil. By thrift and frugality, by self-denial and sacrifice, they accomplished the miracle. And they were happy in the doing of it, because they worked together. Neither Stefan nor Agatha had everlabored so willingly. The radiance of a united future lighted the way—always just ahead they saw the hearth-fire gleaming.
The spring and summer passed swiftly. Stefan and Agatha learned of America's entry into the world war with anxious hearts. They dreaded the quenching of that hearth-fire. But their fears were groundless. Instead of depreciation and loss the war brought added prosperity. The wages in the silk mill were raised. Stefan's onion sets sold at double prices. At the end of the season they found that they had exceeded their hopes, in spite of paying off the debt and the increased cost of living.
At last, as Stefan had said, the way was clear. The crown of their hopes, the wedding day, was set and their friends invited. A stone house with a little ground had been secured. The furniture was installed. Everything was ready for the marriage feast on the next day.
As they left the cozy little house in the long shadows of the September sunset, Stefan turned at the gate to look back. His dream was realized. Destiny had not taken up his challenge so far, and he determined to make the future sure. Unconsciously his hand stole to the inner pocket where a modest roll of notes—the remains of their combined savings lay warm and safe. In all their anxious discussions, he and Agatha had not been able to find a place safe enough to satisfy their fears. Bankers and trunks had betrayed their trust. Stefan sighed. He had hoped to have this matter off his mind before the happy morrow. He wished Agatha would offer some solution and he turned to her with the old question on his lips. But he did not ask it. Another voice took up the story.
It was old Shelton, the farmer for whom Stefan had worked the first summer in the valley. His small eyeswere twinkling and his long chin beard wagged importantly. "Hello, Steve, how'r ye? Settin' up in fine style, I see. Must be gittin' rich these days."
Stefan thought at first that the shrewd old fellow's chuckle of delight was a tribute to his and Agatha's achievement. But he was soon enlightened as to its real source. Old Shelton bestowed hearty praise on the little house and neat garden, he congratulated him in advance for the morrow, but his small eyes fairly snapped as he added, tapping his own pocket.
"Ye'v spent a pile of money on all this there, and I s'pose you ain't got much left—I got somepin here that 'ud interest ye."
It was the answer to Stefan's unuttered question. He started as old Shelton pulled out from his pocket two yellowish, stiff folders with much black lettering upon them, which, when opened by Shelton's toil-worn fingers, disclosed a number of large square stamps pasted on the printed squares. Agatha, woman-like, was quick to inquire. Old Shelton explained with zest.
He showed them first the Thrift card with its green twenty-five cent stamps. "I got them at odd times, at the post office," he told them with his exultant chuckle. "These here," showing the Savings Certificates with blue five-dollar stamps, "I bought right out when I saw what a sure thing it was. Safe as Uncle Sam's Capitol at Washington. Can't never bust up, these can't. No, siree! Long as this here country holds out, these here stamps are worth the coin! And look at the money ye make on 'em."
And he explained the process by which today's purchaser of a blue stamp would be the possessor of a five-dollar note when the stamps matured at the end of five years. "Only four-nineteen, ye see," he pointed with a horny finger."Only four-nineteen today, but five good round dollars in five years. Ye can't beat that, I tell ye. Not to be safe and sound, ye understand."
Stefan and Agatha looked at each other. They knew old Shelton to be the shrewdest, most cautious man in the community. In a moment they knew what they should do with the modest roll of bills. The safe place had been found. The United States Treasury was the only spot.
"As safe as Vavel!" murmured Stefan as the old farmer after repeated congratulations and chuckled approval of the young people's eager acceptance of his gospel of thrift, disappeared down the long road.
"As safe as Vavel," he repeated, and a great surge of joyful relief flooded his very soul.
He put his arm about Agatha and they turned their faces toward the sunset glow. In the dim glory of the skies they saw the steadfast gleam of their own dear hearth-fire.
"The good God has shown us the way," they said.
—Casimir A. Sienkiewicz.Courtesy Federal Reserve Bank of Philadelphia.
This story can be easily divided into a definite series of shorter stories. The titles of these shorter stories will serve as an outline. Look over the selection quickly, and write the outline.
This story can be easily divided into a definite series of shorter stories. The titles of these shorter stories will serve as an outline. Look over the selection quickly, and write the outline.
Questions
Even government bonds and thrift stamps have to be guarded so that they will not be lost, burned, or stolen.Where is the safest place to keep such valuable things as liberty bonds and thrift stamps? How much does it cost to rent a safe place for your savings? Where can you rent one in your town?
Even government bonds and thrift stamps have to be guarded so that they will not be lost, burned, or stolen.
Where is the safest place to keep such valuable things as liberty bonds and thrift stamps? How much does it cost to rent a safe place for your savings? Where can you rent one in your town?
Are you careless? That makes you stop and think a bit, doesn't it? If you are honest with yourself, the answer probably will be "Yes," for almost everybody in this country is careless. That is the principal reason why we have so many fires.
Here are some figures that should open our eyes. In 1913, the year before the outbreak of the war, the average fire-loss for each man, woman and child in France was 49 cents; in England it was 33 cents; in Germany, 28 cents; in Austria, 25 cents; in Italy, 25 cents; in Switzerland, 15 cents; and in Holland, only 11 cents. In the United States for the same year the direct loss was $2.10—and the indirect loss was far higher. Our record was, therefore, more than four times as bad as that of France, and nearly twenty times as bad as that of Holland.
Vienna and Chicago are cities of about the same size. Vienna had fire losses for the year 1913 of $303,200; Chicago's were $5,513,237, or more than eighteen times as great. New York City's fire losses were about four and one-half times as large as those of London. A similar comparison might be made with many other cities. Can we be proud of such figures?
Of course there are more wooden buildings in America than in Europe. This is a condition which will take many years to change. But the most serious cause of fires could be removed at once, if all the people would assist; this cause is found in one word—carelessness.
It must be admitted that the United States, with all its advantages, is a nation of careless people. Carelessness is not a thing to be proud of; it is a great national sin. It shows itself in many habits of recklessness, wastefulness, and untidiness. It burns our towns; it leads people torisk their lives at railroad crossings and other places of danger; it takes chances with health; it is shown in all dirty streets, littered back yards, and untidy homes. It has been well described by Roy K. Moulton, a writer in the "News" of Grand Rapids, Michigan, as follows:
WHO AM I?
I am more powerful than the combined armies of the world.
I am more deadly than bullets, and I have wrecked more homes than the mightiest of siege guns.
I steal in the United States alone over $300,000,000 each year.
I spare no one, and find my victims among the rich and poor alike, the young and old, the strong and the weak; widows and orphans know me.
I massacre thousands upon thousands of wage-earners in a year.
I lurk in unseen places, and do most of my work silently. You are warned against me, but you heed not.
I am relentless. I am everywhere; in the home, on the street, in the factory, at railroad crossings, and on the sea.
I bring sickness, degradation and death, and yet few seek to avoid me.
I destroy, crush and maim; I give nothing, but take all.
I am your worst enemy.
I AM CARELESSNESS.
If a foreign army should land upon our shores, it could not wreak more destruction than this. If such an army should come and any American were found to be giving it aid, he would be called a traitor to his country. Every patriot would rise against such a foe.
The spirit of carelessness in the United States is really a greater enemy than any foreign invader, and it is foundin millions of little unconscious acts of carelessness. Whenever you, yourself, commit such an act, therefore, you really range yourself as an enemy of your country, but if you begin earnestly to watch your actions and to form new habits of carefulness, you will be helping our great nation to become safer, healthier, happier, and more useful to humanity. This is the spirit of true patriotism.
If, then, you are determined to try with all your might to form these new habits of carefulness, the first great step toward preventing fire will have been taken.
—National Board of Fire Underwriters.
Questions
When you have finished reading, write the answers to these questions. If you can not answer immediately, find the answer somewhere in the story, but do not read it all again; read only enough to get the correct answer.1. What two reasons can you find to account for the greater loss by fire in the United States than in Europe?2. Which of these two reasons can be the more quickly removed? Which one can you help to remove?3. What other bad results besides fires come from our great national sin?4. Do you think it is fair to call a careless person unpatriotic? Why?
When you have finished reading, write the answers to these questions. If you can not answer immediately, find the answer somewhere in the story, but do not read it all again; read only enough to get the correct answer.
1. What two reasons can you find to account for the greater loss by fire in the United States than in Europe?
2. Which of these two reasons can be the more quickly removed? Which one can you help to remove?
3. What other bad results besides fires come from our great national sin?
4. Do you think it is fair to call a careless person unpatriotic? Why?
Can you memorize by one careful reading these five lines which tell of the great result of a small piece of carelessness?
For want of a nail the shoe was lost;For want of a shoe the horse was lost;For want of the horse the rider was lost;For want of the rider the battle was lost;For want of the battle a kingdom was lost.
For want of a nail the shoe was lost;For want of a shoe the horse was lost;For want of the horse the rider was lost;For want of the rider the battle was lost;For want of the battle a kingdom was lost.
This story, "Caliph for One Day," is a tale from "The Arabian Nights". If you have never read this story, you will find it very interesting. Of course you have heard of Ali Baba, and of Aladdin with his wonderful lamp, and of the Old Man of the Sea.Your teacher would like to know which of you have read any of the "Arabian Nights" tales and which of these tales you have read.You ought to try to read such stories as this rapidly. To some extent the rapidity with which you read is a habit. Every one forms his own habits; and if you will try hard you can form habits that will be useful to you as long as you live. One of these habits is that of reading rapidly.
This story, "Caliph for One Day," is a tale from "The Arabian Nights". If you have never read this story, you will find it very interesting. Of course you have heard of Ali Baba, and of Aladdin with his wonderful lamp, and of the Old Man of the Sea.
Your teacher would like to know which of you have read any of the "Arabian Nights" tales and which of these tales you have read.
You ought to try to read such stories as this rapidly. To some extent the rapidity with which you read is a habit. Every one forms his own habits; and if you will try hard you can form habits that will be useful to you as long as you live. One of these habits is that of reading rapidly.
The sun was just setting, and its last rays gilded the roofs and towers of the City of Bagdad, on the river Tigris; and far away, also, on the ripples of the river fell the evening light, and the numerous boats and ships which moved about on the surface of the water seemed to plough through melted gold. On the railing of a high bridge which led over the Tigris leaned a young man, who now turned his face towards the sparkling water, now towards the people passing over the bridge. His attention, however, appeared to be given less to the inhabitants of the city than to those who might be taken for strangers through their appearance and behavior. The eyes of many a passer-by were turned also upon him, and it seemed many times as if one or another of them wished to approach him. But a stern, repelling glance from the young man had the effect, each time of making them go on their way after a slight hesitation, shaking the head.
Suddenly two men drew near. The first of them seemed, judging from his clothing, to be a rich business man fromthe city of Mussal; the second, who followed him at some distance, was apparently his servant. When the man waiting upon the bridge saw them come up to him, he straightened up and went to meet them. Greeting respectfully the man who was apparently a merchant, he said: "Sir, if, as I assume, you are a stranger in this city, I beg you to come home with me and sleep in my house."
As the stranger seemed rather taken by surprise, he continued: "I am called 'Queer Abu Hassan', and live in my own house. I have made it my duty for some time to take a stranger home with me every evening as my guest, and entertain him there as well as I can until the following morning. You would do me a great honor if you would accept my invitation."
The stranger was no one else than the Caliph Harun Alrashid, who was thus caught on one of his favorite wanderings through the city accompanied by one of his slaves.
After a few kindly words he agreed, called his servant to him, and both joined Abu Hassan, who soon brought them to his house not far away. Here he bade them lie down and make themselves at home. Soon a servant appeared and brought their supper. It consisted of several well prepared dishes, and seemed to please both strangers very well. All kinds of fruit were placed upon the table for dessert, and after the meal was finished they had a lively conversation, in which Abu Hassan's mother took part when she came in to greet the guests. Although neither she nor her son had any idea of the lofty position of their guest, they bustled around him so pleasantly and kindly that Harun stretched himself out comfortably on a divan and took his share in the talk with real enjoyment. At last the Caliph requested Abu Hassan to tell him his history. And so the host of the evening began as follows:
"I am the son of a very rich merchant, who died only too young, and I had a good education as a boy. But if my father made any mistake at that time, it was that he gave me very little money, and so prevented my learning how to spend more wisely, which must really be learned in order to be done properly. So, after his death, I devoted myself to this occupation with a number of other young fellows, and enjoyed myself at such a rate that I soon had got rid of a great part of my property. Fortunately I saw soon enough the abyss into which my way of living must lead me. For this reason I drew back, but first decided to test my friends and see whether they were true or not. I told them that I had gone through all my money, and asked them to help me. Not one of them gave me a reassuring answer. Furthermore, they avoided me, and acted on the street as if they had never known me. This contemptible behavior hurt me so deeply, that I came near to hating the whole human race. But after I had lived a long time in melancholy loneliness, I pulled myself together again, and decided to go out among people once more. I promised myself, however, never again to invite a friend, but only strangers, and never to keep one longer than one night in my house, and if I ever saw them again to act as if I had never seen them. So this evening, just before I saw you, I turned away from several persons who had been my guests before, and who were about to speak to me."
The Caliph laughed, and said: "No one can blame you under such circumstances, and because of your extraordinary experience."
After Abu Hassan's mother had retired the young man brought out a bottle of his best wine, and presented a glass of it to the Caliph, after first politely tasting it. TheCaliph drank to him, and asked Abu if he could not do him a favor in return for his kind hospitality. But Abu answered with a smile: "You understand, sir, that I do not count upon recognition, and to-morrow morning will not know you any more."
"That's so," laughed Harun; "but I had forgotten it. You can, however, pay no further attention to me if you wish, and yet if it is distasteful to you to ask a favor for yourself, request a helping hand to be given to somebody else."
"Sir," cried Abu Hassan, "my friends were not of the quality that I would want to do anything for them, nor will I harm them, either. So I would not know what wish I could make. But wait!" he broke out suddenly. "There is one wish which I have often thought of and will tell you of, although you cannot fulfil it, and perhaps will find it extremely ridiculous. But you will at least understand why people call me 'Queer Abu Hassan'."
"Let's hear it," said the Caliph.
Abu Hassan sighed, and announced: "Just for one day I would like to be Caliph."
"And what influences you to this wish?" asked Harun. "Would you carry out some important law in the State? Or look out for yourself immediately?"
"Neither one nor the other," answered Queer Abu Hassan. "I would just like to have some scamps among my neighbors thoroughly beaten."
"And you would like to be caliph merely for this purpose?" laughed Harun Alrashid.
"Certainly, sir," replied Abu Hassan, "because I cannot get a suitable punishment measured out to them in any other way. Since they are rascals, they would easily get away from the judge to whom I might denounce them."
"Do you think so?" asked the Caliph.
"They would the more surely avoid punishment," said Abu Hassan, "because their ringleader is a holy Imam of respected appearance, whom the judge would never believe capable of any wrong action, and yet they slander all the respectable people in this quarter of the city, and try by using every means to gain an influence over the consciences of the Faithful, while they themselves pay but scant attention to the laws of the Koran."
"Well," said the Caliph, as he tried to calm Abu Hassan, who had worked himself up to a rage, "perhaps your wish to see these scoundrels properly punished will come true in some way, even if you are not the Commander of the Faithful. Let us drink to the realization of your wish."
The Caliph seized the bottle and filled the glasses full, at the same time dropping a pinch of white powder into Abu Hassan's glass without his noticing it.
Hardly had they drank it off before Abu Hassan nodded his head and fell into a deep sleep. The Caliph immediately called his slave, and ordered him to take the sleeping man on his shoulders and bear him to the palace. Then he left Abu Hassan's house, pulling the door to, but not shutting it.
Once arrived at his palace, Harun Alrashid ordered Abu Hassan to be clothed in a splendid night robe and laid in the Caliph's own costly bed. Then the officers, servants, slaves, and slave women received the strictest orders to carry out Abu Hassan's commissions faithfully next morning, and, above all, to treat him as if he were the Commander of the Faithful.
You can imagine Abu Hassan's astonishment when he woke up next morning in the splendid bed and looked around at the room so beautifully decorated with gold and expensive wall hangings. At first he thought he was dreaming. He kept opening and closing his eyes, trying to find out for sure if he were asleep or awake. Still greater was his amazement when he caught sight of a garment of woven gold near his bed, and a caliph's cap on a silken cushion. But yet he could not believe that these were all real things, and he had to convince himself by feeling them that he was not in a world of dreams.