THINKING

—Arabian Nights.

Arrange your paper with your name on the first line, at the right, and your grade below it on the second line. Put nothing on the next line. Here are ten problems to be answered, not with figures, but with the word,yesorno. No other answer will be satisfactory. Put the answer to the first problem on the fourth line, and in the margin of your paper mark it number 1. Use a new line for each new answer guess at it, and pass on to the next problem.

1. One day last June, I picked sixty-five pounds of cherries. My mother wanted about thirty pounds. Did I have enough to sell Mrs. Clark thirty pounds also?

2. Sugar-cane grows in a moist tropical region. If you were a farmer in Kansas, would you plant most of your farm with sugar-cane?

3. All the boys and girls of the Sixth Grade belong to the School Library. Marie is in the Sixth Grade. Is she a member of the Library?

4. John is older than Robert. I am younger than John. Do you know that Robert is older than I am?

5. I have been saving since last vacation in order to buy a bicycle. It will cost me $19.50, but I have already saved more than half of this. If my father gives me ten dollars for my birthday shall I be able to get the bicycle?

6. All the boys in the Sixth Grade have enlisted in the United States School Garden Army. Robert is a member of the United States School Garden Army. Does that prove that he is a member of the Sixth Grade?

7. Hawaii has a warm moist climate. From what you read in the second problem, would you expect to find sugar-cane growing there?

8. John is three years younger than Robert. I am one year older than John. Is Robert the oldest?

Perhaps you are a Boy Scout already, though not a very big one. Perhaps you intend to be one some day. In this description of the best kind of Scout, find reasons why you would like to be one.

A Scout enjoys a hike through the woods more than he does a walk in the city streets. He can tell north or south or east or west by the "signs." He can tie a knot that will hold; he can climb a tree which seems impossible to others; he can swim a river; he can pitch a tent; he can mend a tear in his trousers; he can tell you which fruits and seeds are poisonous and which are not; he can sight nut-bearing trees from a distance. If he lives near the ocean or a lake he can reef a sail or take his trick at the wheel, and, if near any body of water at all he can pull an oar or use paddles and sculls; in the woods he knows the names of birds and animals; in the water he tells you the different varieties of fish.

A Scout walks through the woods with silent tread. No dry twigs snap under his feet, and no loose stones turn over and throw him off his balance. His eyes are keen and he sees many things that others do not see. He sees tracks and signs which reveal to him the nature and habits of the creatures that made them. He knows how to stalk birds and animals and how to study them in their natural haunts. He sees much, but is little seen.

A Scout, like an old frontiersman, does not shout his wisdom from the housetops. He possesses the quiet power that comes from knowledge. He speaks softly and answers questions modestly. He knows a braggart but he does not challenge him, allowing the boaster to expose his ignorance by his own loose-wagging tongue.

A Scout can kindle a fire in the forest on the wettest day, and he seldom uses more than one match. When no matches can be had, he can still have a fire, for he knows the secret of the rubbing sticks used by the Indians, and he knows how to start a blaze with only his knife blade and a piece of flint. He knows, also, the danger of forest fires; so he kindles a blaze that will not spread. The fire once started, what a meal he can prepare out there in the open! Just watch him and compare his appetite with that of a boy who lounges at a lunch counter in a crowded city. He knows the unwritten rules of the campfire, and he contributes his share to the pleasures of the council. He also knows when to sit silent before the ruddy embers and give his mind free play.

A Scout holds his honor to be his most precious possession, and he would rather die than have it stained. He knows what is his duty, and all obligations imposed by duty he fulfills of his own free will. His sense of honor is his only task-master, and his honor he guards as jealously as did the knights of old. In this manner a Scout wins the confidence and respect of all people.

A Scout practices self-control, for he knows that men who master problems in the world must first master themselves. He keeps a close guard on his tongue, for he knows that loud speech is often a cloak to ignorance, that swearing is a sign of weakness, and that untruthfulness shatters the confidence of others. He keeps a close guard on his appetite and eats moderately of food which will make him strong; he never uses alcoholic liquors because he does not wish to poison his body; he desires a clear, active brain, so he avoids tobacco.

A Scout never flinches in the face of danger; for he knows that at such a time every faculty must be alert to preservehis safety and that of others. He knows what to do in case of fire, or panic, or shipwreck; he trains his mind to direct and his body to act. In all emergencies he sets an example of resourcefulness, coolness and courage, and considers the safety of others before that of himself. He is especially considerate of the helpless and weak.

A Scout can make himself known to a brother Scout wherever he may be by a method which only Scouts can know. He has brothers in every city in the land and in every country in the world. Wherever he goes he can give his signs and be assured of a friendly welcome. He can talk with a brother Scout without making a sound or he can make known his message by imitating the click of a telegraph key.

—From "The Boy Scouts' Year Book",Courtesy of D. Appleton and Company.

Questions

1. Why would you like a Boy Scout as a companion if you were lost in the woods?2. What is meant by, "His sense of honor is his only task-master"?3. Why would you trust a Boy Scout who lived up to the teachings of the Boy Scouts?

1. Why would you like a Boy Scout as a companion if you were lost in the woods?

2. What is meant by, "His sense of honor is his only task-master"?

3. Why would you trust a Boy Scout who lived up to the teachings of the Boy Scouts?

Some of the pledges which the knights of King Arthur's Round Table had to take were not unlike the code of the Boy Scouts. Find the points of likeness in these lines from Tennyson's version of the vows:

"To honor his own word as if his God's;To ride abroad redressing human wrongs;To speak no slander, no, nor listen to it."

Here is a splendid story that makes the discovery of fire real to us because it shows us how a man might have felt.This is a story to read and enjoy. No questions will be asked about it, but you may ask your teacher to explain anything you do not understand. Perhaps you would like to tell the story to your parents or friends or to some class below yours in the school.

Here is a splendid story that makes the discovery of fire real to us because it shows us how a man might have felt.

This is a story to read and enjoy. No questions will be asked about it, but you may ask your teacher to explain anything you do not understand. Perhaps you would like to tell the story to your parents or friends or to some class below yours in the school.

Before the years were counted or the circuit of the seasons reckoned, man lived where it was always summer, and summer heat ruled the Northland, now ruled by winter cold. As the scepter of the Frost King reached farther and farther south, men slowly and reluctantly retreated from the old homes. But some lingered through the fireless winters for the love of the familiar places and the beauty of the northern spring and summer.

Among those who lingered was Ang, the mighty hunter. His home was in a cave at the edge of the great forest. It faced the south so that it could catch all the scant rays of the winter's sun. The mouth of the cave was partly closed by a screen of fir boughs, while a bark slab, torn from a big tree, formed a rude door. Inside the cave were bunks piled high with dry moss and leaves, with the skins of animals which Ang had slain thrown over them.

It was not yet midwinter, but it was cold, bitter cold. As Ang sat in front of his cave, chipping knife blades and arrow points from flint, he moved from time to time to keep in the feeble light of the sun, but it seemed to have little warmth, and he shivered and grumbled to himself: "Every year the cold grows stronger. The old men tell of a time when it came late and went soon, but that must have been long ago. Ugh! but it is cold! It gets under my bearskin; it nips my ears and numbs my hands. I wishI had taken the long journey to the Southland, but it was far for the woman and the child, and I hoped that the Ice Giant would grow old and lose his strength—and I was born here; my father and my father's father hunted in these woods and fished in this river, and men, like trees, take root."

The sun sank into a cold gray cloud in the west. The bite of the wind grew sharper. The hoarse cough of a child echoed from the cave behind him, and the dull crooning song of the mother, as she tried to warm the sick child at her breast, could be heard as the wind was lulled for a moment.

Colder and more cold it grew, but Ang would not enter the cave. He could not bear to hear the troubled breathing of the child or see the face of the mother. He dreaded the coming of the grim White Spirit for this, his last child. Sometimes he fancied he could hear him rushing through the woods above the cliff, and feel the chill of his breath on his face. Had he no other food but children, this dread hunter?

Colder and more cold it grew, but Ang still lingered. He piled dry moss about his feet and tried to bring warmth to his numb hands by hammering off flakes of flint which he would later shape into rough weapons and tools. He struck two flints together in a kind of dumb fury. It was a glancing blow, and one of the flints dropped into the dry moss at his feet with a flicker of sparks. A coil of gray smoke crept out of the moss like a serpent coming out of his hole. A bright spot at its heart grew brighter and brighter, and then red flames lapped hungrily.

Ang leaped to his feet in astonishment. At the smiting of the flint the Fire Spirit had been born. Its breath was the breath of summer. He stretched out his hands over the flames, and the cold loosened its grip. He touched the flame, and it stung him like an angry bee. Clearly the Spirit must not be handled. Awe and wonder filled the mind of Ang. He fell on his knees and prayed to the Fire Spirit: "Spirit of light and heat, Thou hast come in our hour of need—I know not whence. Stay and keep away the terrible cold Spirit with thy red arrows. Stay! I will deny thee nothing. If Thou art hungry, I will feed thee."

The Fire Spirit

As Ang watched the fire, it hungrily ate up the dry moss,and lapped the dry sticks. He brought more and fed them to the reaching flames. The northern darkness had shut in the rest of the world, light lingered at the door of the cave of Ang, and the warm breath of the fire brought back the heat of summer in the midst of winter. Joy filled the heart of Ang, and he called to the mother and the child: "Oma, Om, come! The Great One has heard. Come, come, come quickly."

The bark door opened, and the mother came out holding the child to her breast. A cry of wonder broke from her as she saw the fire, but wonder gave way to the mother instinct. The All-Father had heard. Here were warmth and light. The gray huntsman should not have her child. She crouched by the fire, holding the babe in her arms so that she sheltered it from the encircling cold while the glowing fire warmed and healed it. With gratitude and awe she watched the color come back to the child's face, and then she looked with eager questioning at the face of Ang, as it shone with a light brighter than that of the fire.

Finally he spoke: "I sat at the going in of the cave. Fear gripped me; the cold smote me. I said, Odin has forgotten. It may be that he has gone to the Southland because the cold was stronger than he. I heard the barking of the child. The dread of the great robber was on me.I tried to forget. I smote the flints together. Star-flies seemed to leap from the stone, and the fire was born in the heart of the moss."

Then Ang stood by the mother and the child and placed his left hand on the head of the mother and raised his right hand to the sky to which the leaping flames pointed and said: "Great Father, now I know that none is greater than Thou; not even the giants of the North. Thy shining arrows have driven the huntsman back. And I know that Thine eyes see farther than the eagle floating in the sky, for thou hast seen us alone in the great woods, and Thine ear is quicker to hear than that of the mother listening for the cry of her first-born, for thou hast heard the cry that did not rise to our lips. Henceforth the fire shall be the sign of Thee. As the flames leap up the sky, so shall our thoughts leap to Thee, Our Father."

All through the long cold winter Ang and Oma fed the fire, and Om grew well and strong again. They very soon found that the fire, though it gave so freely the life-giving light and heat, had to be treated with great care. It was a good servant but a poor master. One day little Om toddled too close and burned his hand on a live coal. On another day the wind blew the sparks from the fire into the dry rushes which screened the entrance to the cave, and in a moment the cave was filled with flames and smoke, and Oma had to cover her head and that of Om with skins, and dash out into the open. All the bedding of dry leaves was burned up, and some of the skins were badly scorched. The wooden handles of many of Ang's spears and arrows and knives were burned also. It took many days of hard work to replace what the fire had eaten. So they came to fear as well as to love it.

But Ang and Oma learned one thing from the fire whichburned out their cave that was worth more than a thousand fires could destroy. Part of a deer, which Ang had killed, hung inside of the cave. It had been very hard to get, and it was almost the first thing which Ang thought of after the fire had burned down. If that had been destroyed, they might starve before he could kill another one. He dashed into the cave to see if anything was left, the fear of hunger already gripping his vitals. A strange new odor filled his nostrils and doubled his hunger—the smell of roasted venison. The deer still hung from the side of the cave. The hair had been burned off and the skin hung in rolls, but the flesh was there, brown, hot, dripping red.

At Ang's call Oma hurried in. It needed but one whiff of the fragrant air to convince her that the touch of fire had made of the cold frozen meat food more delicious than the fruits of summer. She snatched a long stone knife from her belt and cut strips of venison steak from the smoking mass and gave to Ang and Om.

After they had eaten, Ang looked into the glowing embers of the fire in front of the cave and pondered. The Fire Spirit had grown angry because they had taken only one of the gifts of the Great Father and had burned out the cave, but it had showed them what its magic touch would do to the frozen meat. The wonder of it grew on him. As he looked into the world at the heart of the coals, he saw the promise of a better one than that in which he lived—a world in which the sons of his son's sons should have discovered all the gifts of the Fire Spirit.

As Ang looked into the fire, Oma looked into the face of Ang and wondered at what she saw there. His look seemed to pierce the blackness behind the fire a hundred days' journey. "Father of my son, what seest thou in the fire?" "I see," said Ang, "the spirits of the things which are tobe. I see, but do not understand all that I see. I see our son's sons talking fire, the flames leaping from their mouths like tongues; I see them crossing the Big Water in great logs which breathe out fire and smoke. I see—but there are no words to tell thee all that I see."

And Oma looked into the embers, and she too saw the flickering spirits of the things to be. She saw countless fires—fires in the woods, fires in caves, fires on altars—but those who tended the fires were the daughters of her daughters.

In a few days the damage done by the fire was repaired. It was Oma who discovered that water stopped the hunger of the fire, and when it grew too fierce she beat it back with boughs dipped in the stream which ran before their cave.

The warmth of the fire and the cooked meat made little Om grow as no boy had ever grown in the cold season, and before the winter was over he was running about as sturdily as a young bear. But it made trouble for Oma. The woods were full of savage wild beasts, bears, panthers, and wolves. Even Ang, with his strength and cunning and great stone axe and sharp knives, was in constant danger. When he went out to hunt, Oma always feared till he came back. What chance then would little Om have? So she tried to keep him always in the clearing before the cave, but the task grew harder and harder as the weather grew warmer and Om's legs stronger and his eyes more curious.

One evening, just as the dark was shutting in, Oma was cracking some bones to get some choice marrow for Ang's supper after he returned from his hunting, and for a moment her back was turned to the boy. When she looked for him he had slipped away into the darkness. The cry of a hyena broke on the stillness of the night, savage, blood-curdling. Then came a terrified scream from little Om.She leaped to her feet in terror. Where? Where? Which way? The sound seemed to come from all directions. Not knowing what she did, she snatched a burning brand from the fire and dashed into the darkness, leaving a trail of flame behind her.

She had gone only a few yards when she came upon the beast crouching over little Om. Thoughtless of all danger to herself, Oma leaped at the savage beast, whirling the burning brand about her head. The hyena gave a snarl of surprise and fear, dropped Om, and sprang away into the thicket, with leaps longer than any he had made in his life, for the fear of the fire was on him.

Oma snatched her baby to her breast and hurried back to the cave, crooning over him as she went. She brought him to the fire and stripped off his little fur coat; that was in shreds, but the child's skin was only slightly scratched.

As she locked him in her arms to comfort him, Ang suddenly leaped out of the darkness, his great stone axe swinging in his hands. Terror was in his face; sweat dropped from him like rain. "The hyena! I heard his cry here and that of little Om!"

Oma pointed to the baby in her arms, to the torn skin at her feet, to the smoldering branch and to the darkness which had swallowed the great beast. "It was only a moment, but he slipped away into the darkness; I heard the cry, the cry of the beast and the cry of the child. I caught up a brand from the fire and ran; the fearless one ran at the sight of it. The child is safe, see!" And Om looked at his father through tear-dimmed eyes.

Then Ang knelt by the side of the child and its mother and prayed: "O Thou who are greater than the greatest and mightier than the mightiest, again Thou hast saved us by the red magic. By it Thou hast made us, Thy children,masters of the beasts of the wood, for the fear of the Red One is upon them all."

As the strength of the winter passed and the snow began to melt, Ang had a visit from Wang, who lived some days' journey to the east. During the winter the men of the North saw little of each other. Each family needed a large hunting ground, and men had not learned to live together. The distances between the families were so great that when the snow was deep in the woods months passed in which the isolated families saw no human beings outside of their own circle. But when the ice broke up and the snow melted, the men who were on fairly friendly terms paid visits to each other and exchanged stories of the winter's experiences.

Now Wang approached the cave of Ang with great ceremony. It was neither good manners nor safe to approach another man's home too suddenly. One could not be sure of a welcome, and it was always assumed that one who came suddenly was an enemy. So Wang strolled out on an open spot by the bank of the river which flowed by the cave of Ang, and acted as if he did not know that there was another human being within a day's journey. He tossed stones into the water and watched the ripples. Then he imitated the call of the wild fowl on the river banks.

For a time Ang ignored him, going about as if he saw no one. But Oma and Om peered out curiously from the mouth of the cave. At last Ang wandered down to the river's edge and looked aimlessly everywhere but where Wang stood. He too tossed many stones into the river. Finally, apparently satisfied that all the demands of primitive etiquette had been met, Ang turned to Wang and put his left hand over his heart and raised his right to the sky. Wang did the same; they were of one blood and children of the Great Father.

Both dropped their weapons where they stood and went to meet each other unarmed. Ang and Wang had played together as boys, hunted together as young men, and taken wives from the same family, but each spring, after the winter's separation, they met with the same elaborate ceremony, because it was the man custom.

When the men were seated, Oma and Om came out and sat near by. "A long winter," said Ang. "A long winter," answered Wang. "Much cold," said Ang. "Much cold," answered Wang. "The woman and the boy?" asked Wang. "The woman is well, and the child grows like a bear's cub," replied Ang.

Wang turned and looked at Oma and Om and gave a grunt of surprise. "Why, they are as fat and sleek as if it was the time of fruits and nuts instead of the end of the great cold, when even the bear is so thin that he casts no shadow. Has the eagle carried thee to the Southland on its wings? Have you found food that cold does not harden? Has Odin fed you? My woman sits all day at the going in of the cave. She looks old like the moss-bearded oak. She notices nothing, but talks ever about the little one whom the Black Robber took; she cares not for the child that is left, who cries for food like a young kid whose mother the wolves have eaten. And my strength has not come again. My traps and snares take nothing, and my arrow is slower than the flying deer."

At this Oma leaped to her feet and brought a piece of dried venison from the cave and a cake made from a flour of pounded nuts and seeds and put them before the hungry man. He ate ravenously, like a famished wolf, in silence, but questioning with eager eye, "How? Why? What?"

And Ang answered the unspoken question: "It was cold, so cold that the blood in one's body ran slow andbecame like ice in the stream. The meat became like stone. The supply of nuts failed. The woman grew weak. The huntsman from the north took the child by the throat. His breath came hard. I said, 'He will be taken as the others have been taken, and the mother will not stay without the child, and I shall be alone,' and I cried to the Great One, to Odin, the All-Father: 'We are cold, give us heat; we are hungry, give us food.' I heard no answer; there was no voice; but the prayer was heard. I sat by the going in of the cave, making knives of flint, not thinking to use them, but hoping to forget and cover up the hoarse crying of the child with the noise of the flints. So I smote two stones together, and the chips fell into the dry moss at my feet. There was a buzzing noise like that of a bee in a flower; a little white cloud rose from the moss, then spots of light like star-flies at night. Red tongues reached out and ate up the moss and the dry sticks. I saw that the Red One was hungry, and I gave him more moss and dry wood to eat. He grew big and bright, and his breath was warm like that of summer, and Oma brought out the child, and he drove away the barking sickness from the child's throat. Then we knew that Odin had heard us."

And Ang told Wang how they had learned to cook the venison; how they had learned to feed the Red One and keep him from wandering. He told how the fear of him was on all the beasts of the woods, so that not even the most savage and the most hungry dared stand before him; and the smallest child was safe within the circle of light.

Then they took the wondering Wang and showed him the sacred fire, gift of the Keeper of Secrets; they cooked venison over the coals so that he might taste it. And when Wang started for home Oma gave him a shoulder of smoked deer's meat and cakes made of acorn meal.

And now a strange thing happened. Pity stirred the heart of Ang. Odin had helped him in the time of his troubles; why should he not help Wang? He turned to Oma. "The hunting is good; the stream is full of fish; the Red One can warm more than three. I will go and bring Wang and his woman and his child. They can live in the cave which we thought should be Om's. It is the will of the All-Father that men should live together."

And the men went together and brought Wang's wife and child, and they made a screen and bark door for the new cave home. Oma taught Suta, wife of Wang, the mysteries of the fire, and Ang and Wang became the first neighbors, and that also was one of the gifts of the Revealer, through the Spirit of the Fire.

As time went on, the story of Ang, the fire-man, spread through all the north country, and often men came as Wang had done, many day's journey, through trackless forest, to see the wonderful fire in front of the cave of Ang. But Ang told to no one but Wang the secret of how to call the Fire Spirit. To men who were friendly he gave live coals to carry away in bowls hollowed out of soapstone. Men who were the enemies of Ang did not dare come near his cave for fear of the red knives which guarded it.

By and by men began to say to each other, as they went to hunt or sat about the carefully tended fire, that Ang, the fire-man, must be loved by Odin, and they came to Ang and said: "Tell us of the Great One," and Ang was troubled because he had not heard his voice or seen him. As he hunted in the stillness of the forest, he pondered: "Why had no one ever seen the Great Spirit? Or was the sky his face and the sun and moon his eyes? Why had no one heard his voice? Or was the thunder his voice? If so, no one understood his language." The more he thought, themore troubled he became. For days at a time he rarely spoke and went about as one in a dream, and Oma said to Wang and to others who came, "The spell of Odin is on him," and they began to look on Ang with awe and wonder.

One night as Ang was far from home and slept in a cave on a hill-side, he dreamed that his shadow self left his body and journeyed to a far country, and there he saw his father and his father's father and the men of long ago. They all sat about a great fire and beckoned to him to join their circle. There was a silence like that before the storm, and each one in the circle looked steadfastly into the fire, which burned on and on, though no one fed its flames.

As Ang continued to look into the flames, it seemed as if something was lifted from his eyes and he saw what no one had seen before. The earth was the body of Odin. His life was the life of all. He had not one voice like man, but many. He spoke in the thunder, in the voice of the storm, but also in the song of the birds and in the words of one's best beloved.

Ang awoke just as the sun was driving the mists from the valley beneath him, and these words came to his lips as if they were a message from the dream-world which he had just left: "The wise son of the All-Father sees him everywhere and hears his voice always." For the first time in his life Ang saw the beauty of the world at his feet, and the song of the birds which filled the vibrant air awoke a new joy of melody and harmony in his soul.

As Oma and Om came out to meet him, he looked at them with newly opened eyes. How beautiful was the ruddy brown sheen of Oma's hair and the light in her eyes as she welcomed him! And little Om's eyes sparkled like dewdrops in the light of early morning, and his laughter was like the splashing of a brook over its pebbles.

When Ang told Oma of his dream, she answered: "The men were right. The spell of the Keeper of Secrets was on thee. Thou art a man apart. Henceforth thou shalt tell men the will of the One who hides himself."

And so Ang became one of the voices of Odin. From far and near men in trouble and men in doubt came to him, and he spoke words of comfort and wisdom. And every year before the cold kept men apart they gathered at the home of Ang. They built a great stone altar, and each man threw a log upon the fire which Ang had kindled. And they brought the choicest from their hunting and had a great feast, but they always gave the best to Ang, and he put it in the fire, saying, "The best we have is Thine and we are Thine." And when they had feasted and were satisfied, Ang talked to them of the All-Father, and each year his words were wiser and more winning.

Before the men departed each took a brand from the fire and marched about the altar chanting:

Spirit red, Spirit red,Thine hunger has been fed.Spirit hot, Spirit hot,Forget us not, forget us notAs the year grows oldKeep us from the cold!In the darkness of the nightBe our shining light,Spirit white, Spirit white!

Spirit red, Spirit red,Thine hunger has been fed.

Spirit hot, Spirit hot,Forget us not, forget us not

As the year grows oldKeep us from the cold!

In the darkness of the nightBe our shining light,Spirit white, Spirit white!

—From "Around the Fire", by Hanford M. Burr.Courtesy of Association Press.

During the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries there took place, first in Italy and afterwards in the other countries of Europe, a great change known in history as the Renaissance. The long word simply means "rebirth", and the name was given to this period because then all the interest in art and literature and music and beauty of every kind, which had seemed for centuries to be dead, came to life again. Painters and poets and musicians began to fill the world with their songs and their pictures. You are going to read now the story of one of the most famous of the painters of the fifteenth century in Italy.

Leonardo da Vinci, the great painter, was the son of a lawyer in the beautiful city of Florence. Even as a tiny child he began to show what profession he was likely to follow, for as soon as he could crawl, he would scramble away when his mother was not looking, to a place in the garden where after a shower there was always a pile of mud. He would sit happily on the ground pinching the mud into some sort of shape, and the older he grew the more the shape became like that of some object that he knew. When his mother missed him and came in search of him, the baby would scream in disgust, and the only way to quiet him was to play on the lute, an instrument very much like our mandolin.

Ser Piero, Leonardo's father, was very proud of his astonishing little son, and resolved that he must have the very best teachers that could be found. So the boy was still very young when his lessons began. Lessons were no trouble to him, for he quite took away the breath of all his teachers by his amazing quickness, no matter whether the work was arithmetic, or languages, or music. Whatever he heard once he understood and remembered.

Whatever lessons he might be doing, however, Leonardo spent his spare time in drawing and in modelling figures in clay. His father decided that this was the talent which the boy ought specially to make use of. So he took his son to his friend the sculptor Verocchio. When they reached the studio, Leonardo was given some clay and told to model anything he liked. He sat down on the floor, and soon finished a tiny statuette which was so lifelike that it might have been the work of the sculptor himself. Verocchio was delighted, and declared that he must have this boy as a pupil at once.

As Leonardo grew older, he began to outstrip his master in the art of painting, though not in that of sculpture. At one time, it is said, Verocchio was working on a picture of the baptism of Jesus by John, in which an angel was represented as standing at one side. He entrusted the painting of this angel to his pupil. When the master came to look at the finished figure, he stood gazing in astonished silence. He was too true an artist not to feel that he and Leonardo had changed places, and that the boy's painting of the angel was worth all the rest of the picture. The story goes that Verocchio was so impressed by the feeling that he could only do badly what Leonardo could do perfectly that he never painted again.

One of the most interesting tales of the artist's boyhood tells of his painting of a shield. His father, Ser Piero, had gone to his country house outside of Florence. One evening a farmer of the neighborhood was brought to him as he sat in the garden, asking that he might speak with Ser Piero. He knew the farmer well, for they had often gone fishing together. "Well, what now, Francisco?" he asked, as the farmer came up bowing and bearing in his hands a wooden shield. Francisco explained that he had cut downa fig tree near his house, as it was too old to bear fruit, and that he had cut out of its wood the shield he was carrying. He had brought it to Ser Piero, hoping that the master would have the goodness to get it painted with some design, for he wished to hang it up in his kitchen as a remembrance of the old tree.

So when Ser Piero next went to Florence he took the shield to his son, not telling him to whom it belonged, but merely asking him to paint something on it. Leonardo, examining the piece of wood, found that it was rough and ill made, and that it would need much finishing before it would be possible to paint on it. So he held it before the fire till the fibres were softened and the crookedness straightened out, and then he planed and polished it. When it was all ready, he began to think about what the picture on it should be. A look of mischief came into his eyes.

"I know!" he said to himself. "A shield ought to have on it some frightful thing, so that the very sight of it may make the enemies of its wearer tremble. The person who sees this shield shall be as frightened as if he beheld the head of Medusa; only instead of being turned to stone, he will most likely run away." You see, he did not know that the shield was to adorn the home of a simple farmer.

Smiling to himself, Leonardo went out into the fields and hunted about until he had collected a large number of strange creatures, hedgehogs, lizards, locusts, snakes, and many others. These he carried home and locked up in the room he used for a workshop, where no one was allowed to enter but himself. Using the ugly things as models, he began to paint on the shield a monster formed out of all the creatures, with eyes and legs everywhere. It was a long time before he succeeded in making anything frightfulenough to suit him. Again and again he erased his work and did it over, trying to combine his creatures differently. But at last something so terrible stared him in the face that he almost felt frightened himself.

"The monster is ready," he said with a laugh; "but I must find a background fitting for him."

So he painted as a background a black and narrow cavern, at whose mouth stood the shapeless creature he had made, all eyes, all legs, all savage jaws. Flames poured from it on every side, and a cloud of vapor rose upwards from its many nostrils. After days of hard work, Leonardo at last went to his father and told him he had finished the shield, which he hoped would please its owner. Ser Piero came at once, and was led into the partly darkened studio, where in just the right light the shield stood on an easel. But no sooner was the father within the room than he turned to fly, so terrible was the object that met his gaze.

"It will do, I see," said Leonardo. "I wanted to make something so dreadful that everyone would shiver with fear at the sight of it. Take it away with you now; but I had better wrap it up, or you will frighten people out of their wits as you go along."

Ser Piero took the shield and went away without telling his son anything about old Francisco. But he was quite sure that the farmer would not like the picture, and that it was not at all suitable to hang in a farmhouse kitchen; and more than that, he felt it was far too wonderful a painting to fall into the hands of a peasant and never be famous. So in order to save the old man's feelings, he went to a shop and bought a shield of the same size as the first one, which had on it a device of a heart pierced by an arrow; and the next time he went to the country he sent for Francisco to come and get it.

"Oh, your Excellency, how beautiful!" cried the old man in delight, as he received his shield after his long waiting.

"I thought you would be pleased," answered Ser Piero, thinking to himself how frightened rather than pleased the farmer would have been with Leonardo's monster.

—Adapted from "The Strange Story Book", by Andrew Lang.

Questions

This selection consists of three parts. Where does each part end? Write an appropriate title for each part.

All should begin reading at the same moment. Can you after one minute give a good account of the meaning ofcivil death?

According to law a person may be alive and enjoying good health and still under certain conditions be dead to all his civil rights. In some states, as New York, this is true of one sentenced to the state prison for life; all his civil rights are taken from him and to the world he is as dead. In all states, absence for a specified time without any knowledge of the whereabouts of the individual renders him legally dead to his civil rights; this period is in most states seven years. Supposing A, living in Wisconsin, should leave his home and family and go to Alaska. If at the end of seven years no word had been received from him, the law assumes him to be dead; his estate can be settled by probate, provided the family consents, and his wife may legally marry again. Should he afterwards return he could not compel the court to restore his estate or family; these are legally forfeited, beyond all redress.

—From "The World Book".Courtesy of W. F. Quarrie & Co.

In the "movies" you have surely seen pictures of the Far North—Alaska or northern Canada, or even the northern United States—with the brave, rough men who live about mining or lumber camps or trading posts. In many of the pictures, you remember, there have been Indians. Here is an account of the life of those Indians when they are away from the trading posts.At the end of this story you will find an outline partly made out. After you have read the story through, compare it with the outline, and fill in the topics left blank undera,b,c, etc. You may add more sub-topics if you think you need them.

At the end of this story you will find an outline partly made out. After you have read the story through, compare it with the outline, and fill in the topics left blank undera,b,c, etc. You may add more sub-topics if you think you need them.

When white men first came to America, they thought it was a country called India of which they had often heard. So they called the people they found here Indians. They also called them red men, because they were about the color of a copper cent that has been carried a while. These red men did not have many tools and other things to make it easy to work and to live. They had no horses, cows, pigs, sheep or chickens, so they had to catch wild animals for food. They had no guns nor rifles, but made spears and bows and arrows with which to kill their game. They had no iron. Their arrow points and spear heads were of sharpened stone, as was a heavy tool they made something like our hatchet. It was a very dull, poor hatchet. They had no cloth to make clothes. Instead, they used the skins of wild animals they caught or shot with their bows and arrows. Instead of houses they had tents or wigwams made of skins. The Indians thought the white men's things were wonderful, and they were much pleased to trade furs and game for blankets, guns, powder, and bullets. The Indians like bright, pretty things, so they were veryfond of trading for beads to make necklaces and ornaments for their suits.

After a long time, the white men took most of the Indians' country, but there is still a large part of North America where there are more Indians than white men. This is far to the north in Canada, in a wide strip between the towns and farms of the white men and the cold, snow land of the Eskimos. The soldiers who have been to the Great War tell us much about England, France, and Germany; but the country where the Indians still have their hunting grounds is larger than all of these countries put together. The region is covered with evergreen forests, a great silent land of deep snow and trees and cold. It is too cold and rocky for the white man to make farms, so he has not cut down the trees. There are no cities nor houses, nothing but forests where the Indian hunts game and lives in his tent as he has always lived.

To trade with these Indians, the white men have built stores in the edge of the Indian country. They are called Posts—Trading Posts. When the warm days of June come and the ice is all melted, the keeper of a Post begins to look up the river watching for canoes to come around the bend. At last he sees one. In front sits an Indian woman paddling, and in the stern of the canoe sits Otelne, her husband, paddling and also steering. They are coming to the post to trade. In the middle of the boat are a boy, a girl, a brand new baby, and a dog. The boy's name is Akusk (arrow); the girl's name is Wabogum (flower). The baby's name is Wabshish (little white hare). He is tied to a board to keep him safe and warm. The canoe contains one more thing, very precious, a big bundle of fur skins. This is the wages of a whole year, the result of a hard winter's work in the forest.

The keeper of the Post shakes hands with Otelne. Otelne opens the bale of furs, and the first afternoon he and his wife trade a few muskrat skins for some flour, beans, bacon and canned peaches. Then the Indians camp and have a feast. Other canoes come down the river bringing other families until the post becomes a great picnic ground. They talk over the happenings of the winter, of getting lost in storms, of upsetting their canoes, of falling through the ice, of the bears they have caught, and the wolves that have chased them. They wonder what has happened to the Indians who do not come back. They have canoe races and the different families, or tribes, play match games of la crosse. This game, which the white men learned from the Indians, is now the national game of Canada, as baseball is of the United States.

In August the trading is over, and the Indians start back to the hunting grounds for another year's work. The canoe is loaded full. Instead of the bale of furs, Otelne has in his canoe a new tent, a sheet-iron stove, some stove pipe, twenty-five steel traps, a rifle, one thousand cartridges, fish hooks and fishing line, a wood saw, knives, axes, buckets, blankets, and a lot of white men's clothes. He did not buy any shoes because he would rather have the moccasins he makes himself.

It is hard work to paddle the heavy load up the river against the swift current. Presently they hear the roaring noise of a waterfall where the stream jumps down over some rocks. The canoe cannot pass this, so they all get out and carry the canoe and all its load, bit by bit, along a little path that leads to the quiet water above the falls. Here they load the canoe again and paddle on, but they soon come to another carrying place, or portage as it is called, and have to unload again. They are not afraid toleave their belongings while they go back to the foot of the falls, for no Indian would think of stealing anything he found in this way.

You can see why the Indians do not use white men's boats, for no white man's boat is as light as the birch bark canoe. You can also see why they do not take much food from the post. They cannot carry it and all they need for camping and hunting too. They must have the tent and traps, so they take only food enough to last until they get far enough from the post to find game.

After a few days' journey they leave the main stream and go up one of its branches. Here they come to a place where the stream widens into a lake. The water is very still, and as the fishing is good, the Indians camp here for a week and rest. There are so many wolves and wild cats in the woods that Otelne puts up the tent on a little island out in the middle of the lake.

For many days they go on upstream. Over and over again they have to carry their goods around rapids. The dark branches of spruce, hemlock, and fir trees often hang over the stream.

Trout, pickerel, and other fish dart in behind the rocks around which the currents flow. Sometimes a muskrat, a beaver, or an otter swims quickly into his hole in the bank. But sometimes the rifle is too quick for him and the Indians have fresh meat for supper. Each day they pass the mouths of little streams and the main stream gets smaller and smaller, till at last it is hardly more than a brook.

They are busy nearly all the time carrying their supplies around rapids. At last they can go no farther in the canoe because the stream has grown too small and rocky. To go still farther in their direction, the Indians must find a stream which flows the opposite way. To find this streamthey must cross a hill, because, you see, the water will run down the hill on the other side, gathering more and more water, and getting larger as it goes. This water parting is called a divide, or watershed. There is such a divide at the top of every mountain range. For instance, all the rivers flowing east of the Alleghany Mountains run east to the Atlantic Ocean; all those flowing west run finally into the Mississippi River. So the Alleghany Mountains are a divide.

Otelne knows of one place where the streams bend in such a way that he can, in an hour, carry his canoe from canoe-water on one stream to canoe-water on the stream over the hill. The Indians know where these good portages are just as country boys know where they can catch rabbits, or as city boys know where they can find a place to play. For many days, Otelne steers his canoe down stream, camping on the bank each night.

In late October the first snow falls. They camp beside the lonely river, and the fur hunting begins in earnest. Otelne fixes a round of traps. He starts away from his tent and makes a large circle in the forest, fixing a round of traps as he goes. When he cannot see the sun, he keeps his direction through the forest by noticing the moss which grows only on the shady side of a tree trunk. He can keep his direction at night, too, if he can see the stars, for long before white men came, Indians had noticed that one star always seemed to be in the same place. They call it the "Great Star". We call it the "North Star". The pointers in the Great Dipper show us where it is. Otelne watches them every clear night.

Twenty miles he travels, setting his traps wherever he sees in the snow the tracks of the animals he wants. He drags sweet-smelling meat along the snow, hoping that animals crossing this trail will follow it to the traps. After a day or two, he goes around again, putting fresh bait on his traps and taking out the animals he has caught. After several rounds, he finds that game is getting scarce here, so he and his wife put the tent and all their things on two toboggans (sleds), tuck the baby down in the blankets, and trudge all day through the forest. When night comes they put up the tent on the snow, cut evergreen boughs to make a thick carpet, and build a fire in the sheet-iron stove. All winter long they move every two or three weeks, finding a new camp whenever a new hunting-ground is necessary.

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