The Tar Baby and the Tomahawk: Race and Ethnic Images in American Children's Literature, 1880-1939

The Brownies' Book
February, 1920
One Dollar and a Half a Year
Fifteen Cents a Copy


This is
The Brownies' Book

A Monthly Magazine For the Children of the Sun


It aims to be a thing of Joy and Beauty, dealing in Happiness, Laughter and Emulation, and designed especially for Kiddies from Six to Sixteen.

It will seek to teach Universal Love and Brotherhood for all little folk—black and brown and yellow and white.

Of course, pictures, stories, letters from little ones, games and oh—everything!

One Dollar and a Half a Year
Fifteen Cents a Copy
W.E.B. DuBois Editor
A.G. Dill Business Manager
2 West 13th Street New York, N. Y .



Published Monthly and Copyrighted by DuBois and Dill, Publishers, at 2 West 13th Street, New York, N. Y. Conducted by W. E. Burghardt DuBois; Jessie Redmon Fauset, Literary Editor; Augustus Granville Dill, Business Manager

VOL. 1. FEBRUARY, 1920 No.2


COVER PICTURE. Photograph of Abbate's Bust of a Boy: "I am an American Citizen.".
A VISIT TO FAIRYLAND. A Story.Bertie Lee Hall. Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson 35
A GREAT SAILOR. Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson 38
THE STORY OF "CREASUS." Katie Jone Harvell. Illustrated by Laura Wheeler 39
FOLK TALES. The Hare and the Elephant. Illustrated by Hilda Wilkinson and Laura Wheeler 46
A GIRL'S WILL. A Story. Ella T. Madden. Illustrated byHilda Wilkinson 54
PLAYTIME. FOLK DANCE. Helen Fauset Lanning With Music 56
To ARIZONA ROSE. A Poem. Kathryn Tabron. 57
FOOD FOR "LAZY BETTY." With Illustrations 60


  • RENEWALS: The date of expiration of each subscription Is printed on the wrapper. When subscription is due a yellow renewal blank is enclosed.
  • CHANGE OF ADDRESS: The address of a subscriber can be changed as often as desired. In ordering a change of address, both the old and the new address must be given. Two weeks' notice is required.
  • MANUSCRIPTS and drawings relating to colored children are desired. They must be accompanied by return postage. If found unavailable they will be returned.
  • Application pending for entry as second class matter at the Post Office at New York, N. Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879.

[illustration - "The World That Awaits Him!" The Steel Works at Birmingham, Ala. Underwood & Underwood ]


The Brownies' Book

Vol 1. February, 1920 No.2



[illustration - The Grasshoppers and the Crickets Were Great Musicians]

Once there was a very adventurous little girl named Esther. Her skin was brown and her hair was a shower of black curls. She was kind and loving to all she met. One day Esther was lost in a forest. She wandered here and there until at last she was so tired that she sat down to rest at the foot of a great oak tree. After a while she was surprised to see a tiny lady coming toward her. Her shoes were so dainty that they reminded Esther of rose petals; her dress seemed to be made of silvery cob-webs. Her golden hair was bound by a wreath of leaves and daisies. In her hand she carried a little box.

"I am a fairy," said the tiny lady.

"Oh," said Esther, " I did not think there were any more fairies."

"If you don't believe me," said the fairy "you may come with me and see."

"I'll be just delighted," said Esther.

The fairy bade Esther shut her eyes and count three. Esther did as she was bid; when she opened her eyes, she was in a cozy little room. The fairy led her to a small table and gave her a small glass of nectar; immediately
all her tiredness passed away, like snow before the sun.

"Now come," said the fairy, "we will visit the Insect Fair."

Esther followed the fairy, and she beheld crowds of every kind of insect. Some she knew and some she had never seen before. She came face to face with a beetle that had a monocle in his eye. Indeed, he looked so funny that Esther Could not help but laugh at him.

There were pretty, colored banners streaming from the tiny booths; it all seemed very gay. The caterpillars looked very warm in their fur coats. The humming and buzzing of the insects made quite a noise.

"Here," said the fairy, "is the Ants' Booth." Esther could hardly believe her eyes, to see so many ants all around a large ant hole. There were about ten large hills. The ants were busy even at the Fair. Some were carrying seed, some roots, some jam, and some little, small cakes.

"You may eat of what you like," said the fairy.

"Oh no!" exclaimed Esther.

"Why?" asked the fairy.

"I've just seen that large red ant sting a little fly for eating some jam," said Esther.

Then they went to the Grasshoppers' Booth. The grasshoppers were great musicians; they played and sang to the people at the Fair. Then they went to the Bees' Booth. The bees were very smart and had many grubs, or baby bees. They made honey and had made some wine of honey and dew: it was called honey-foam. Esther tasted it and found it very nice.

The fairy led Esther to the Spiders' Booth. The spiders were great spinners. One showed Ether some dresses she spun for the fairies. One showed many articles of the finest spinning.

Then they went to the Crickets' Booth. The crickets were, also, musicians: one had a morning-glory horn, another had a buttercup drum, others had other curious instruments found only in Fairyland.

"But why do you stare at Miss Lady Bug so?" asked the fairy.

""I know her," exclaimed Esther, "for she is the very one I told this to in the garden, "Lady Bug, Lady Bug, fly away home, Your house is on fire, And your children will burn!' "And away she flew, and here is the same Miss Lady Bug in her silk dotted dress, at the Fair."


The June Bugs had on their changeable colored coats.

"I know one of them, too," said Esther.

"Let's go to the Butterflies' Booth," suggested the fairy. You can guess what a splendid booth the butterflies had. There were flowers of every hue.

Esther was aware of the King coming toward them.

"Come take a ride," said he. Esther got on one side of his broad wings and the fairy on the other. They rode a long time around the Fair.

Esther saw the dragonflies with banners in their hands, inviting everybody to the Fireflies' Dance. The fairy and Esther hurried along until they came to the ball-room. It was brilliantly lighted by lights; Esther knew not from whence they came. The room seemed to be made of glass, and beautiful green light glowed beneath their feet. The fairy told Esther the glow-worms made the lights. It was a very pretty sight to see.

The fairy carried Esther to the garden and told her how the blind mole plowed it for them.

"Oh dear," said Esther, "I want a drink of water." The fairy gave her a drop of dew in an acorn. Then Esther said she was sleepy, so the fairy put her in a little bed.

When Esther awoke, she found herself under the oak tree. She found her way home as best [illustration - Bertie L. Hall—the author] she could and related to her mother the wonderful sights she had seen in Fairyland.

"Mamma," said she, "the fairies forbid birds of any kind to come to the Fair; I do wonder why!"


Four Poems by Children

THE golden and red trees are here again,
Nodding their heads that Winter is near;
Then the snow will come to lay a blanket over
their heads,
Until happy Springtime comes again.
The Autumn leaves are falling,
And the birds are cheerfully calling,
Telling us that Summer has gone,
And Fall is slowly creeping on.
Our happiest school days will start after
When the snow begins to fall;
Then shall we be dressed in our warmest
So that we will keep warm and enjoy the snow.
Summer is gone,
Autumn is here;
The leaves are falling, winds are blowing,
To let us know that Winter is near



Boys who dream of becoming sailors will like the story of Paul Cuffee, who more than a hundred years ago made voyages in his own vessel to the Southern States, the West Indies, England, Russia, and Africa. That was no small adventure in those days, when the Atlantic sea lanes were comparatively uncharted and life-saving devices few and uncertain.

Paul felt the call of the ocean when he was still a little boy, but it seemed unlikely that he would ever be able to fulfill his dearest wish. He was one of the ten children of John Cuffee, a slave who had, through great and unswerving persistence, bought his freedom. That was a happy day when, in addition to the ownership of himself, he became the owner of a farm on one of the Elizabeth Islands, near New Bedford, Massachusetts.

[illustration - At First He Owned Only An Open Boat]

Of course, in the beginning when Paul was a little fellow, sheltered and protected by the love of his brave father and his dauntless Indian mother, all things seemed possible. But in 1773 the father died, and Paul, who was then fourteen, had to enlist with his three brothers, in the business of taking care of his mother and six sisters.

For a while, it seemed as though fishing were the only industry which would keep him in touch with the sea. But no matter what his duties, he never gave up his secret desire to guide a ship over the waves. All his studies— and there were no schools about—tended in this direction. Before long, he was known for some distance around as an expert in navigation. When he was not studying, he was engaged in teaching this useful art, and at night during the rigorous winters many a boy learned of the sea and the stars from Paul Cuffee.

He must have inherited his father's perseverance, for although he started out as owner of only an open boat, by 1806 he was the owner of a ship, two brigs, and several smaller craft. Nor were his possessions only those for the sea, for he had invested to a considerable degree in land and houses.

After Cuffee had thus gratified the wish of his heart,—the desire to ride the seas,—he bent every effort toward satisfying his other ruling passion,—that is, his ambition to help his fellowman. The people in whom he was most deeply interested lived in two widely separated lands,—in Massachusetts and in Africa. Captain Cuffee first built a school for his own children on his own estate and gave his neighbors the free use of it. He himself had never gone to school, and it gave him a vast satisfaction to see his boys and girls and others gaining, through his efforts, the thing which he had so much missed.

Having done thus much for American Negroes, he turned his attention toward his people in Africa. He had long yearned to do something serviceable there, and in 1811 he manned his own brig with colored people and set sail for Africa. He went first to Sierra Leone, which is a portion of Africa lying to the north and slightly to the west of what we now know as Liberia. The British rule in Sierra Leone, so after many, many talks with the Governor, Captain Cuffee sailed to England and laid his ideas before the Board of Managers of the African Institution. They listened to him with great respect and assisted him in every way in carrying out his plans. But the real expense of the trip to Africa was on the shoulders of Paul Cuffee, and his was the mind that conceived and carried out his benevolent intention.

That first visit to Africa was necessarily brief, for the Captain had many business projects awaiting him on this side. But it was long enough to fire him with enthusiasm and with the desire to make another voyage. The War of 1812, between England and the United States, thwarted this desire; but by 1815 it was
possible for him to start out again. This time he took with him thirty-eight colored people, who were to instruct the natives of Sierra Leone in agriculture and mechanics. It took them thirty-five days to make that voyage! This in itself shows Captain [illustration - A Brig] Cuffee's vast determination. Thirty-five days on board ship even in these days would mean several days of discomfort, but a hundred years ago, it meant a solid month of inconvenience and peril.

After a stay of two months, Captain Cuffee returned to America and presently started making arrangements for a third voyage. But he was taken ill with his final illness and died in 1817, at the age of fifty-nine. He did his life work in less than sixty years. From a poor little boy, the son of an ex-slave, he developed into a Captain and ship-owner and a great doer of good to people of Negro blood, both in America and Africa. The best people both of this country and of England respected him and his opinions. The world is truly better because he lived in it.


The Story of "Creasus"

Grandfather was in the yard under a large shade tree, with the back of his old, leather-bottomed chair leaning against the trunk.

"Hello, Uncle Parker," the boys yelled as they came up.

"Howdy, boys, howdy. What does you want today?"

"These boys been tellin' stories," said Frank. "But I tell 'em you're the only one can tell tales."

"That's right, Tell us a sho' 'nough tale, Uncle Parker," said Bob,

"Yes, tell us a tale," they all said as they drew closer to Uncle Parker.

"If you will, I'll git mama to give you a big piece of her chocolate cake tomorrow," Teddy added.

"I know y'all wants water, so run ter de well end git yer a cool drink end bring me some; den I guess I'll have ter tell you one,"

Off they ran to the well and soon returned with a gourd of water for Uncle Parker.

When they had seated themselves around him, he began his story.

"When I'se see folks gwine 'bout in de woods huntin', hit makes me think o' a tale my ol' daddy tol' me way back, fo' de war, 'bout a young man name Creasus.

"You mout heard tell o' dat rich man Creasus, dat libed 'way, long time ago,—'bout ol' King Solomon's time.

"Once Creasus wus po' is Job's turkey—"

"How did he ever git so rich?" Teddy asked.

"Well, ain't I fixin' t' tell you, now?

"Well, in dem days deer skins wus pow'ful high. Now dar wus a forest whar a lot o' deers libed, but witches libed dar, too, and mighty few folks dat went out dar ever got back. Now dis man Creasus wus po' is Job's turkey, is I done fo' said, but he had a mighty big mind; so he got two other men end dey up end went out huntin' deers.

"Dey didn't had no hosses, so dey had ter walk. When dey got dar, dey found mo' deers den dey could shake a stick at. Dey kilt end kilt end kilt, till 'bout dark when hit commenced ter drizzle rain, end dey didn't had no tents ter stay in.

"Dey wus huntin' 'round fer some limbs ter make a bresh house when one o' em found a path end looked 'way up de way hit led end seed a little house wid a light it hit. Creasus 'lowed dat he's gwine ter dat house end ef witches
libed dar, he didn't kere, 'cause he ruther stay in a house den out doze, 'cause dat rain wus wet, end cold wid hit. De other two didn't wanter go, but dey seed he wus bent on gwine, so dey went wid him.

"When dey got dar end knocked, a ol' man come ter de do'. Dey told him dey 'stress. He says, 'Mens, dis place 'round my house is a graveyard. I'se sorry I ain't got no room in my house fer you, but I'll give you de keys ter de tool house. Hits got a fireplace and some dry wood end cheers ter set in.'

"Dey took de keys, thanked him, end went down ter de tool house.

"De ol' man walked a piece de way wid 'em end told 'em dat dar wus a ol' 'oman dat wus a witch end dat she loaped 'bout de graveyard ter kill folks end rob 'em, end fer dem ter watch out fer her. When dey got dar, dey put deir skins in a corner end went out ter kill some meat for dey supper.

"De youngest one wus fust ter git back; after he built a fire, he put his rabbit on ter cook; he sot down ter smoke whilse hit cooked. In a few minutes somebuddy knocked at de do'.

"'Who dat?' he asked.

"'I'se a ol' 'oman kotched out in de rain end dark. Kin I stay in dar wid you till morning?'

"'You kin come in end wait till de others come, end see whut dey say,' he said, end let her in.

"'You cookin', I see,' she said.

"'Yes'm; me end my two buddies got kotched in de rain, too,' he said.

"'Is you got any salt on yo' meat?' she axed.

"'No'm,' 'lowed de man.

"'I make hit a habit ter ca' salt 'bout wid me,' de 'oman said, is she handed him some salt out a lil' bag she had.

"He tuck his rabbit off, sprinkled de salt on hit, end 'gin ter eat. Two minutes after he tuck de fust swaller, he keeled over end died fum de pisen he done put on his meat.

"She den got offen him whut wus wuf gittin', —got all de deer skins, drug him end tuck other things off end hid 'em,—end come back 'bout time de next man wus cookin' his rabbit. She said perzactly de same things ter him dat she said ter de other fellow, end handed him salt end drug him out de same way.

"By end by, Creasus he come back wid two rabbits, 'cause he wus a mighty big fool 'bout his eatin'.

"He seed de fire end rabbit hair end wonder whar his buddies went after dey et.

"Treckly long come dat same ol' 'oman agin. She knocked.

"'Who dat?' Creasus 'lowed.

"'I'se a po' ol' 'oman kotched out in de rain end dark,' she says. 'Kin I set in dar wid you till daybreak?'

"'Ef yo' face clean, you kin come in; ef it ain't, you kin stay out, 'cause I'se cookin' end don' want no dirty face folks hangin' 'round.'

"She say her face was clean; so he let her in. She wus tryin' ter shiver, makin' out she wus cold. She sot dar a while watchin' him cook end 'lowed,

"'Got any salt on yo' rabbit?'

"'Naw, end don' want none,' Creasus say.

"'Dat rabbit tase mighty good wid salt on hit. I got some. I ca's salt wid me all de time.' She got up end started ter sprinkle some on de rabbits, but Creasus pushed her back end say,

"'I tol' you I didn't want none o' yo' salt; don' you put none on dat meat neither, or I'll split yo' haid open wid my gun. I don' 'low nobody ter fool 'round whut I got ter eat. If you wanter stay in here, set down end 'have yo'self, or I'll kick yer out doze.'

"She went back end set down, but jes' is Creasus turned 'round ter git some bread out his coat pocket, she slipped up end tried ter put salt on de rabbit anyhow; but he wus 'spicious end had kep' his eyes on her, 'cause he thunk she wus de ol' witch 'oman dat sexton tol' him 'bout.

"When he seed her, he wheeled 'round, grabbed up his gun, end knocked her up aginst de wall wid de butt end o' hit.

"She jes' hollered, 'Please don' kill me! Please don' kill me! Would you do a po' 'ol 'oman dis a way?'

"'Naw, I wouldn't. Ef you wus a sho' 'nough 'oman, I wouldn't hit you, but youse a witch end I knows hit and I ain't skeered o' you, neither. You been killin' a heap o' folks, but ter night you goter die.'

"'Ef you don' kill me, I won't never bother you no mo' end I give you a magic treasure wot'll help you out in mighty tight places.'

"He ax whut hit was, 'cause ef hit looked lak a bargain ter him, he'd let her off. She tuck a red flannel rag out o' her bosom and showed him a little bottle wid three draps o' water in hit end said,

[illustration - Story Hour, Howe Branch, Cossitt Library, Memphis, Tenn. Mrs. Harriet A. Lee, Librarian. "The Story of 'Creasus'"]

"'Dis is magic water; ef you drap hit on de ground end say, "Grow, water, grow," in two minutes atter, a riber will rise,—so long you can't go 'round hit, so wide you can't swim over, so deep you can't wade across. Den here is a grain o' corn; if you drap hit on de ground end say, "Grow, corn, grow;' a field o' corn will spring up in two minutes,—so long you can't go 'round' hit, so thick you can't go through. End here is a clod o' mud; ef you drap hit on de ground end say, "Grow, clay, grow," a mountain will spring up,—so long you can't go 'round hit, so steep you can't climb up hit. Den here is a acorn; ef you drap hit on de ground end say, "Grow, acorn, grow," in two minutes a oak tree will grow dat will mind de one dat planted hit, but nobody else; hit'll do anything you say but git up end walk, 'cause hit can't walk. Now ain't dat wuf havin'?' she say.

"Creasus 'cided he mout make good use o' dat, so tuck de bargain, end let her go."

"I wouldn'ter let her went if I'd been him," interrupted Frank.

"Me neither," Bob said.

"Couldn't she have killed him anyway?" Teddy asked.

"Well, she mout, end agin she mout not, least ways she didn't," Uncle Parker said. "Creasus was a mighty good hand on tellin' de truth, so he didn't kill her lak he promised.

"Nex' morning he found his two buddies behind de house. Him end de sexton dug graves end put 'em in 'em; den Creasus went on feelin' mighty lonesome by hisse'f. By end by he got los' in de thick woods, He kep' blundering 'round till he blundered upon a nother man, los' in de woods lak him. Dey kep' on till dey come to a little house in de woods. When dey knocked, a lil' ol' 'oman come ter de do' end ax' em in, Dey ax her whut road ter take ter git ter de city. She 'lowed dat two o' her sons gwine ter de city in de morning, end dey better spend de night end have company de next day. Dey 'cided ter stay.

"By end by another los' man drapped by, and he 'cided ter stay, too.

"After supper dat night, de ol' 'oman say dey all had ter sleep in de same bed, end her three sons would sleep in de same room in another bed, 'cause she didn't have much room.

"Now when dey went in ter go ter bed, dese men got very 'spicious end 'cided ter change beds; so dey make out de bed wus too soft, end made dem other men change beds wid 'em; but while dey wus changing, Creasus noticed dat dey had red night caps, whilse dem other mens had on green uns.

"When ever'body else wus sleep, he crep' up, he did, end tuck all dey caps off end put 'em on dem other men; den he put de men's caps on 'em. But he wan't saterfied yit; so he woke his mens up, end dey stuffed de pillers in dey caps end put 'em in de bed lak dey was dem; den dey hid in de room, 'cause de do's end windows wus locked end dey couldn't git out.

"Trectly de ol' 'oman eased in, tipped ter de bed whar de green caps wus, end seed dey wus sleep. Den she went ter de bed whar de red caps wus, pulled a great, long knife, dat looked lak a sword, out fum under her apron; den she give one good lick on each neck end whacked 'em clean off. She went den ter t' other bed, shook 'em end say,

"'Git up fum dar, you lazy bones. Do you think I hired you ter lay up end sleep? Well, I didn't. I hired you ter he'p me; so git up end ca' dese mens out o' here.'

"Dey wouldn't git up; so she snatched de cover off ov 'em.

"Lo end come behold, twon't nothin' dar but pillers. She run ter de other bed end seed she done kilt her hired men.

"'Bout dat time Creasus end 'em jumped out on her, end dey had a time, I tell you, tryin' ter tie her; but dey done hit.

"Dey lit in den, sarching de house, Dey found gold, silver, rubies, diamonds, end all kinds o' jewl'ry; deer hides; silk, end a lot o' fine hosses end camels; end mos' ever'thing under de sun dat had any wuf ter hit, end dat didn't had no wuf, 'cause dey found a big graveyard in de garden, wid three open graves made fer 'em.

"Dey got all dey could ca' end put de ol' 'oman in a hole she had made fer 'em; den dey lef' her in dar.

"Fo' dey could git started off wid dey hosses end things, dey spied de ol' witch done got loose, end wus comin' atter 'em. Dey jumped on a hoss end lit out, De 'oman jumped on one end lit out atter 'em.

"Creasus wus leading dat race, bless yo' life. De ol' witch kotched one man find whilse she stopped ter kill him, de others wus makin' time. Trectly she kotched t' other man. Whilse she stopped ter kill him, Creasus wus most nigh flying; but when he looked back, she wus in twenty feet o' him. He thunk he was done fer den, but he jes' thunk o' his lil' red bag. He
tuck de grain o' corn out, drapped hit on de ground, end tol' hit ter grow. He felt sompen push him down end shove him on; he thunk sho' de whole jig wus up den, but hit wus jes' de field o' corn pushin' him out de way so hit could grow.

"De witch wus s'prised ter see de corn end tried ter ride through, but hit wus too thick; she tried ter go 'round, but hit wus too long end wide; so she went back home fer er ax ter cut hit down. Whilse she was doing dat, Creasus wus makin' time; but she was pretty swif' end hit didn't take her long.

"Creasus looked back end seed her, 'bout fifteen feet o' him. His heart jumped in his mouf, but he thunk o' his lil' red bag. He drapped—"

"Uncle Parker, how did she cut all dat corn dat quick?" asked Bob.

"She didn't cut t' all,—she had mens ter he'p her, maybe; she jes' cut a path through hit."

"Where did she git the men from?" Teddy asked.

"Look a here, now, if I'se tellin' dis, you let me tell hit, 'dout being pestered. My ol' mammy always teached me not ter cross-talk folks when dey wus talkin', 'specially ol' folks. When my pa wus tellin' me dat story, I sot quiet end lis'ened, end didn't think 'bout sich fool questions; 'sides dat, I wan't dar, end don' know no mo' den he tol' me.

" Is I afo'said,—Creasus drapped de draps er water on de ground end made de riber come. De ol' witch tried ter swim over on her hoss, but hit wus too wide ter swim end too deep ter wade. She tried ter go 'round, but couldn't find de end, so she went back end got a whole lot o' hosses, cows, end camels ter come drink de water up; den she went on after Creasus.

"When he looked back, he seed her 'bout ten feet o' him, wid her knife drawed back. His hair riz up on his haid, 'cause he wus so tired he couldn't go fas'; but he thunk o' his lil' red bag, end drapped de ball o' mud on de ground.

"De witch throwed de knife at Creasus, but hit stuck in de side o' de mountain dat riz 'tween him end her. She wus mighty s'prised ter see all dem things, but she 'termined she wus gwine ter kill Creasus."

"Wus she de same witch dat wus at de graveyard?" asked Bob.

"Naw," said Uncle Parker; "boy, if I'd axed questions, lak y' all chilluns do now, in my days de ol' folks woulder gin me a lick side my knot; now if you want me ter finish dis, you jes' keep yo' mouf shet.

"Now here's whar I lef off, 'bout when de mountain riz up. Well, she tried ter go over, but hit wus too steep; she tried ter go 'round hit, but couldn't find de end; so she went home, got mens end shovels, end dug a hole through hit.

"When she come out on t' other side, Creasus wus so weak end tired end hongry, end his hoss done died. Dat made him set down ter res', end he hadn't run a bit.

"When he seed her comin', he drapped his acorn on de ground, made de tree grow, end climb up hit. De ol' 'oman come up end ax him fer ter come down, but he say he wan't gwine do hit. She shook de tree, but he wouldn't fall, so she tuck her big ol' knife end commenced chopping on de tree.

"De tree commenced ter shake end de chips begin ter fly. Jes, 'bout time de tree wus ready ter fall, Creasus said,

"'Ol' tree, who made you?'

"De tree said, 'Creasus.'

"'Well, obey Creasus, chips, end fly back ter yo' places,' de man said.

"De witch wus mighty s'prised ter see de chips jump up offer de ground end git back in de tree, jes' lak dey ain't been cut. She cut hit some two er three times, but ever time Creasus made de chips fly back ter dey places.

"De ol' witch got so mad she begin ter throw rocks up de tree, but de leaves wus so thick she couldn't hit Creasus; den she lit in cuttin' agin: when she cut till de tree wus mos' ready ter fall. Creasus said,

"'Ol' tree, who made you?'

"'Creasus,' de tree said.

"'Well, I want you ter fall, end fall on de one dat chopped you down.'

"When de witch heard dat, she broke end run; but de tip top o' de tree kotched her end fell right on her neck.

"De fall didn't hurt Creasus much, 'cause de leaves end limbs made de fall kind o' easy. Creasus scrambled out from 'mong de limbs right quick, grabbed up de big knife, pulled de limbs back so he could find de ol' 'oman, den he whacked her haid off. Creasus waited end seed dat she wus sho' 'nough dead, den he got on her hoss end rid back ter her house.

"When de mens dar seed him comin' on de ol' witch's hoss dey knowed dat she must be dead; so dey all lit out, for fear Creasus mout kill 'em.

[illustration - "De Tree Begin to Shake, end de Chips Begin to Fly!"]

"Creasus had de whole house ter hisse'f den, so he went ter huntin' end ramblin'. He brung out ever'thing he wanted ter eat or ca' off. He loaded de fine hosses end mules end camels wid finery, put 'em in de road, end started off drivin' 'em lak folks drive a herd o' cattle. He didn't know de way ter de city, but he knowed dat road led ter somewhar, so he jes' went on.

"Hit wus way atter de full moon done sot when 'bout daybreak, Creasus seed dal he done come ter a city. He looked all about him, end nearly shouted when he found out dat he wus in de city whar he lived.

"Atter a few days Creasus moved fum dat little house, he been livin' in, ter a big, fine house wid big barns end stables, end nobody in de world, at dat time, had much is Creasus."

Uncle Parker locked his hands behind his head and leaned back in his chair as he finished his story.

"Dat's all I know 'bout Creasus end his richness, boys."

The boys moved about, stretched their tired limbs, and rubbed their sleepy eyes.

"Is that the truth?" asked Teddy.

"I don' know; my pa tol' me. I wan't dar when hit happened."

"Tell us another, please," said Bob.

"Now hit's gittin' dark, end you lil' boys better run 'long home, fo' yo' ma's be callen' er sendin' fo' you. I mout tell you one tomorrow night or evenin', ef I feels lak hit."

The boys obeyed and began to get their hats and buckets.

"What will the other one be about?" James asked as he started off.

"Lemme see," said Uncle Parker, as he rubbed his hand across his face.

"Well, 'bout Jack o' Lantern, I reckon."



I HAVE been waiting with some interest for the appearance of THE BROWNIES' BOOK, but I understand the printers' strike has delayed it. I am sure you have many good plans in mind for our children; but I do hope you are going to write a good deal about colored men and women of achievement. My little girl has been studying about Betsy Ross and George Washington and the others, and she says: "Mamma, didn't colored folks do anything?"

When I tell her as much as I know about our folks, she says: "Well, that's just stories. Didn't they ever do anything in a book?" I have not had much schooling, and I am a busy woman with my sewing and housekeeping, so I don't get much time to read and I can't tell my little girl where to find these things. But I am sure you know and that now you will tell her.

My husband worked in a munitions plant during the war and there were a few foreigners there. He said they often spoke of some big man in their country, but didn't seem to know about any big colored men here. And he said that when he came to think of it, he didn't know much about anybody but Booker T. Washington and you and Frederick Douglas.

Our little girl is dark brown, and we want her to be proud of her color and to know that it isn't the kind of skin people have that makes them great.


I AM a married lady. Have been married for six years, and we are not blessed with any children.

If you know of any home where we can adopt a nice little girl, please let me know by return mail. You will find stamp enclosed in letter for return. There are so many poor little children in the world without mother or father and my heart goes out to them each day, and if I could only get one out of so many, all for my own, and love and bring up as my own, I would be so happy, as myself and husband dearly love children and have a good home and can give a child anything a child's heart can wish for; so that is why we are writing to you.

MR. & MRS. CHARLES J. MARTIN, Atlantic City, N.J.

[illustration - "Once Upon a Time," in Uganda "FOLK TALES"]

The only thing that is nicer than telling a story is to listen to it. Did you ever stop to think that just as you sit very still in the twilight and listen to Father or Mother telling stories, just so children are listening, all over the world,—in Sweden, in India, in Georgia, and in Uganda? I think you probably know where the first three countries are, but maybe it would be best for me to tell you that Uganda is in beautiful, far-off, mysterious Africa.

Some people are specially fond of telling stories about animals. About twenty-five hundred years ago a poor Greek slave, Aesop, told many and amusing tales about the fox and the wolf and all the rest of them. And you High School boys and girls probably have already read the clever animal stories told by Jean de la Fontaine in the seventeenth century.


Now here is a story about animals which African Fathers and Mothers tell to their little sons and daughters. The story is very old and has come down from father to son for many generations and has probably met with almost no changes. Such a story is called a folk tale. There are many folk tales to be gathered in Africa, and Mr. Monroe N. Work, of Tuskegee, has collected very many of them from various sources. This one, "The Hare and the Elephant," has been selected by Mr. Work from Sir Harry Johnston's book called "The Uganda Protectorate."

Folk tales, folk songs, and folk dances can give us—even better than history sometimes— an idea of primitive peoples' beliefs and customs.

The Hare and the Elephant

ONCE upon a time the hare and the elephant went to a dance. The hare stood still and watched the elephant dance. When the dance was over, the hare said,

"Mr. Elephant, I can't say that I admire your dancing. There seems to be too much of you. Your flesh goes flop, flop, flop. Let me cut off a few slices and you will then, I think, dance as well as I."

The hare cut off some huge slices and went home. The elephant also went home; but he was in agony. At length he called the buffalo and said,

"Go to the hare and ask him to return my slices."

The buffalo went to the hare and asked for the slices.

"Were they not eaten on the road?" asked the hare.

"I heard they were," replied the buffalo.

Then the hare cooked some meat,—it was a slice of the elephant, and gave it to the buffalo. The buffalo found it very tender and asked him where he got it.

"I got it at a hill not far from here, where I go occasionally to hunt. Come hunting with me today." So they went to the hill and set up some snares. The hare then said to the buffalo, "You wait here and I will go into the grass. If you hear something come buzzing 'Zoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo,' hang down your head."

The buffalo waited. Presently he heard, "Zoo-oo-oo -oo-oo-oo-oo-oo—". He hung down his head. The hare threw a big rock, hit the buffalo's head and killed him. The hare then skinned him and carried home the meat.

When the buffalo did not return, the elephant sent an antelope to ask the hare to return his slices. But the hare disposed of him in the same manner as he had the buffalo and carried home his meat.

The elephant sent a succession of messengers for the slices, but none of them returned. At last the elephant called the leopard and said, "Go to the hare and ask him to return my slices.

The leopard found the hare at home. After they had dined, the hare invited the leopard to go hunting on the hill. When they arrived and had set up their snares, the hare said,

"Now you wait here and I will go into the grass. If you hear something come buzzing, 'Zoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo', hang down your head."

The hare then went into the grass and presently the leopard heard a buzzing, 'Zoo-oo-oo- oo-oo-oo-oo-oo', but instead of hanging down his head, he held it up and a big stone just missed him. Then he hung down his head, fell over and pretended that he was dead. He laughed to himself, "Ha! ha! Mr. Hare, so you meant to kill me with that stone. I see now what has happened to the other messengers. The wretch killed them all with his 'Zoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-o', Never mind, Mr. Hare, just wait."

The hare came out of the grass and when he saw the leopard lying stretched out,
he laughed and jumped and scraped the ground. "There goes another messenger," he said. "The elephant wants his slices back. Well, let him want them."

Having said this, the hare hoisted the leopard on his head and walked off with him. The leopard enjoyed riding on the hare's head. After the hare had carried him a little way, the leopard put forth his paw and gave the hare a deep scratch. He then drew in his paw and lay quite still. The hare at once understood how matters lay and put down the bundle. He did not, however, pretend that he knew, but said,

"Oh, there seems to be a thorn in the bundle."

He then roped the bundle very firmly, taking care to tie the paws securely. He then placed the bundle on his head and went along to a stretch of forest. Here he placed the leopard in the woods and went off to get his knife.

As soon as the hare had gone, the leopard tore open the bundle and sat up to wait for the hare's return. "I'll show him how to hunt and to say, 'Zoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo, hang down your head'! I'll show him how to cut slices off my friend, the elephant." The leopard looked up and saw the hare returning with his knife.

When the hare saw the leopard sitting up, he ran into a hole in the ground.

"Come out," said the leopard, sniffing vainly at the hole.

"Come in," said the hare.

The leopard saw that it was useless to try to coax the hare to come out, so he said to a crow that sat on a branch just above the hole, "Mr. Crow, will you watch this hole while I run for some fire to burn out the hare?"

"Yes," replied the crow, "but don't be long away, because I will have to go to my nest soon."

The leopard went for the fire. After a while the hare said,

"I am certain, Mr. Crow, that you are very hungry."

"Yes, very," replied the crow.

"Are you fond of ants? If you are, I have a lot of them down here."

"Throw me up some, please."

"Come near the hole and I will."

The crow came near. "Now open your eyes and mouth wide."

The crow opened his mouth and eyes as wide as he could. Just then the hare flung a lot of dust into them, and while the crow was trying to remove the dust, the hare ran away.

"What shall I do now?" said the crow, as he finished taking the dust out of his eyes. "The leopard will be angry when he finds the hare gone. I am sure to catch it. Ha! Ha! I have it. I will gather some ntengos (poison apples), and put them in the hole. As soon as the leopard applies the fire to the hole. the ntengos will explode and the leopard will think that the hare has burst and died."

The crow accordingly placed several ntengos in the hole. After some time, the leopard came back with the fire.

"Have you still got him inside?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Has he been saying anything?"

"Not a word."

"Now then, hare," said the leopard, "when you hear 'Zoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo', hold down your head. Do you hear?" No reply. "You killed all of the elephants messengers just as you tried to kill me; but it is all finished now with you. When I say, 'Zoo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-oo-o', hang down your head. Ha! ha!"

Then the leopard put the fire in the hole. There was a loud explosion. The leopard thought that the hare had burst and died. But instead, the hare was at home making a hearty meal of the last of the elephant's steaks. None of the other animals ever bothered the hare after that. They remembered what happened to the elephant's messengers.



The boy has been whipped. This is a tremendous thing in his life. As he looks back upon it, in tears and pain, it seems outrageous and an interference with his liberty and happiness which he cannot at all understand. Therefore, the Judge, from his high bench, shakes his white wig mournfully and looks down upon this little culprit in his woe, and makes a long speech on being whipped. And he speaks to Billikins,


BILLIKINS, little friend of mine, this is a world of pain. Pain is always near us. We cannot run away from it. We cannot dodge and fool it. It leaves us sometimes for days, and even years; and then suddenly, it comes back and hurts us.

Without doubt, you will say to this,—"Why, then, does Mother want to make more pain in the world? Is there not enough already?"

There is. There is too much. But this is a funny world, and sometimes, in order to make less, you make more. I mean, for instance,— little water makes mud, but more water clears the mud away; a single blow may break your sled, but a lot of blows carefully given may mend it again, with nails. Do you see what I mean? Mother gives you pain and makes you suffer for a little while, so that you may not suffer a great deal more in the future. If she slaps your hands, good and hard, for playing too near the red-hot stove, she may keep you from suffering a terrible burn, or even from losing your hand altogether; and wouldn't you rather have your fingers smart for five minutes than to have them burn terribly for five hours? This is what whippings mean, Billikins. And although the Judge hates them just as you do, he knows you need them now and then. Don't you?


HERE Billy comes in and remarks,—"That's all right, but suppose you're a big kid, and the thing's already done? What's the use of messing in and adding to it?

"Listen, Mr. Judge,

"Last week, it snowed,—big, heavy flakes. People walked on it, and yesterday, it was clear and cold. The hill, down back of the house, was simply dandy for coasting. I went out and stayed an hour, as Mother said I could. Now you know perfectly well that a fellow can't do much in an hour on a hill like that,—so I stayed another hour, just long enough to get the hang of my new sled. Then, I thought, since the thing's done anyway,—I just stayed right up until it was dark, and went home and explained to Mother. And do you know what she did? She gave me an awful licking, and sent me to bed without any supper. Now, do you really think that's fair? You see, I didn't get hurt, and I had all my home-work done before I went out,— and it didn't do any good just to spoil that day by whipping me."

Billy's case is important, extremely important. It is really one of the great questions of the day. And I, the Judge, say this seriously,— and if the Grown-ups back in the corner there, smile over it, I shall order them out of this court.

I maintain that this is a serious matter. You see, it is not Billikins' case, at all, apparently. Billy goes out and has a good time, and adds some more good time to it, and caps it all with a perfectly splendid time, and then comes home and is punished.


For a very simple reason, Billy. When your Mother told you that you could go and have a good time with your sled for an hour, she did not name "one hour" arbitrarily or foolishly. She knew that one hour was;

(a) As long as you ought to exercise in the wet and cold, on account of your strength; or (b) As long as the hill was usually safe, on account of traffic; or (c) As long as she could spare you from helping her; or (d) As much time as you ought, for the sake
of your education, to put on this kind of play.

One or more of these reasons were the thoughts she had in mind. She stands high above you, on a great mountain made of years, and she knows what the World and Life mean. And she particularly knows that if every little boy when he has a chance to have a good time, has as much good time as he can, and for just as long as he can, he is liable to have trouble; that there may follow a cold and diphtheria; or a terrible accident, leaving him a cripple for life; or overwork on her own part, leaving her little time to help and guide her children; or a one-sided little boy,—a little boy who can slide down hills, but who doesn't read books; who can run fast, but cannot listen to music; who knows how pretty the snow is, but doesn't know how pretty pictures are.

Now for all these reasons and others, Mother has got to make Billy remember that in this world, around the corner, always stands a Penalty, which makes men pay for overdoing things. And if you are trained when you are little, not to overdo, then you may grow up to live a sane, temperate. well-balanced, and efficient life.


I AM afraid Wilhelmina is sulking. She has not been allowed to go to the basketball game. It would have been much more satisfactory in certain ways to have been whipped, but she was not whipped. Father simply said, "No!" He said it with that absence of a smile and click or his lips, which was notice to Wilhelmina that the subject was not to be further discussed.

Now, says Wilhelmina, to herself,—"What earthly reason is there for acting in that way?"

The real reason, of course, Father did not state. Possibly he was wrong there. Possibly he should have sat down and taken fifteen or twenty minutes and explained to Wilhelmina. But the difficulty was, she would not have understood his explanation.

And that explanation was something like this: The basketball game was a public game. Everybody who wanted to, could go there. The teams that were to play were composed of young fellows,—good-hearted, but poorly disciplined, who had been brought up without whippings and admonitions, etc. The result had been that these basketball games were places where rude and undesirable people were thrown in the company of good folk, and where the teams instead of playing basketball, spent their time in quarrelling and even in fighting. Now out of a circumstance like that, could come the most unpleasant consequences. This world has long been unfair to women and girls. It is doing a little better now, but it is not yet doing well. One of the worst things that could happen is for a half-grown girl to be found, quite innocently, in some assembly of this kind, and then be blamed for the actions of other people,—if a fight takes place, or if the police have to arrest folks, or something of that sort. Often, explanations and excuses do not avail, and people have to suffer from this wholesale injustice, —but this is the kind of Devil which we have to meet in life. It is an unpleasant thing, and a thing that must be driven out; but until it is driven out, Mothers and Fathers have to guard their young daughters, and sometimes to say simply, "No," without much explanation,—when the "No" seems to Wilhelmina unusually hard and unfeeling.


WILLIAM says that he does not understand why there should be Pain in the world, anyway. "Why couldn't we have a world where everything was nice and pleasant and good, without evil, or suffering, or wrong?"

Well, William, the obvious answer to this is, that we have not. Moreover, I am not altogether certain that a world like that would be best for you or for me. Of course, there is absolutely no doubt that we have today more Pain and Wrong and Suffering than serves any possible good; and for that reason, you and I must work, and work hard, to get rid of it. We must even sacrifice more of our pleasures and happiness, so as to increase the total amount of happiness in the world.

But, on the other hand, in a world where there was no need of Sacrifice, no need of hard and unpleasant work, it is a question whether we could develop the kind of sound, strong character in human beings that we ought to have. Such characters are beautiful; the need of the world is Beauty. It is the law of the world that we achieve Beauty only through suffering. Perhaps that law could be improved; but I do not know.

So much for the Kiddies; now for the Parents.

[illustration - Abraham Lincoln; the Borglum Statue at Newark, N.J. Central News Photo Service ]



I AM a girl sixteen years old. I am an orphan, having neither mother nor father. My mother has been dead eleven years and my father, four years. White people have kept me, —that is, I have worked for them to earn my living. Realizing that I did not always want to be a scrub girl, I have tried to educate myself, as I could not go to school....

Do you think I could through THE BROWNIES' BOOK get a home among a good Christian colored family? I would like to be in a family where they had no large children. I wouldn't mind one small baby, as I love them. I wouldn't mind being with elderly people. Just anywhere among good Christian people, where I could go to good public schools. I can do any kind of work and am a good cook and housekeeper....

I am a dark brown skin girl, with Negro hair, not being very tall nor good to look at. But I wear my clothes nicely.

I would ask you please not to put my full name in THE BROWNIES' BOOK, if you will advertise for a home for me, I don't want anyone to support me. I want to be among MY people, and have a chance for an education.

Fairmount, W. Va.

WHEN the inhabitants of Chambéry heard that their town was going to have American soldiers, it was a great joy. Everyone was eager and impatient to show to these brave soldiers our gratitude and our admiration,

About a year ago the first boys arrived. It was on a spring day; all nature was in feast to welcome them. In the streets, the little babies who knew only one English word were crying very loudly, "Good-bye, good-bye," and the American soldiers sometimes answered with a smile or sometimes took the babies in their arms or caressed their faces. Men and women came near the soldiers and shook hands with them and said to them words of welcome.

The homes of the French families were open to them and those merry men were received like children of France. They passed sweet moments and everyone was anxious to make them a nice stay.

Among all, the happiest were the colored boys. They were unhappy in America, and for that reason they were particularly cherished among us. They were eager for a good word and glad to see that the French made no difference between them and the white,—and when time came for them to return to America, one of them wrote—

"My stay in Paradise is over."

And he wrote, also:—

"I shall hold the dream forevermore of those glad moments found in Chambéry."

If the black Americans shall hold forevermore the dream of the glad moments found in Chambéry, we, also, shall keep forevermore the remembrance of their self-sacrifice. They gave their blood for France.

We shall remember, also, forevermore, their affection and we shall not forget that in America they are unhappy, and on this side of the ocean we shall do all that we can to help them.

The old world must help a part of the new to conquer their liberty and rights.

Chambéry, France.

As I am thinking of giving my little brother a Xmas gift, I would like to have a copy of your journal, THE BROWNIES' BOOK that you were to publish. How much is it a year? As I have heard my father, mother, and uncle talk about your Crisis, I thought your journal for little folks would be just the thing, I am using Papa's paper. Do not send it to the given address, but please send it to Springfield, Mass., 19 Catherine Street, where mother and brother and I are during the winter on account of school. I am (ll) eleven years old and in Jr. High School. My brother is (7) seven; he is doing nicely and is in three A.


[illustration - Serving Their Country]



ALONG the edge of a Southern forest, flows a stream called the Isle of Hope River. Void of the rush and hurry of youth, slowly, silently it flows, with an air of quiet serenity and infinite calm; along the edge of the wood, past the villages of Isle of Hope and Thunderbolt, it flows, until it is lost in the waters of the Atlantic, eighteen miles away.

In one of the weatherbeaten fisherman's hub, which nestle under the branches of the great, gnarled, twisted, live oaks which grow along the river's bank, lived Helen La Rose. As the keynote of the stream's personality was repose, the most striking thing about Helen's character was its deep unrest and consuming ambition, coupled with a high-minded, lofty idea of the infinite power of the human will.

It was the week of our graduation from Beach Institute. Helen and I were walking along the water's edge, discussing our future with all the enthusiasm of sixteen. I could talk of nothing but the wonderful career I expected to have in college the next year, for my parents were "well-to-do," and I was the only child. Suddenly, in the midst of my gay chatter, I stopped and looked at Helen,

"Oh, I'm so sorry you can't go, too, Helen; what fun we would have together," I burst out sorrowfully, for pretty, ambitious, Helen La Rose was very poor. Her father had all he could do to support his wife and seven children. Helen had paid her tuition at Beach by helping Mrs. Randolph before and after school and on Saturdays.

"But I am going to college," said Helen, in her quiet voice. "I am going to college and I am going to become the greatest teacher that ever was, if I live long enough. Booker T. Washington worked his way through Hampton and Robert Dent is working his way and so did Mr. Ross. He told me so himself."

"Yes, but they were all boys," I said with emphasis.

"And I'm a girl," replied Helen, "and as smart as any boy. Dad said so. Besides," and her eyes grew large and deep and her voice tense, "I can do anything I want to, if I want to hard enough."

The next week was commencement. Helen was "val," and looked sweet and girlish in her cotton voile dress, fashioned by her own little brown, work-roughened fingers. For her eager face, lit up by the great eyes and a happy,— though rather tremulous—smile, did not require a fine toilette to make it attractive.

The weeks passed and I did not see, Helen again until the middle of July. We were sitting in my room and I had been showing some dresses I had bought.

"I am going to begin making my things next week," said Helen, happily. "Daddy has let me keep all the money I have earned this summer and I have put it all in the savings bank. Just think, I have been working only nine weeks and I've saved forty dollars. I'll make forty more between now and October and that will be enough for railroad fare and my first quarter's tuition. Mrs. Randolph is going to give me a letter of recommendation to a friend of hers in Chicago and I know I'll get work. Oh, I am so happy! And everybody is so good to me!" Helen danced around the room, hugging herself for very joy.

Early in August, Mrs. La Rose contracted malaria and died after a short illness. Mr. La Rose was heartbroken. There were six small children, ranging in age from three and a half to thirteen years. Quietly, unobtrusively, Helen took her mother's place in the household. She did not allow even her father to realize what the sacrifice of her plans meant to her. She cooked and scrubbed and washed and ironed and cared for her swiftly aging father and little brothers and sisters with loving devotion. The little house was spick and span, the children happy and contented; and Mr. La Rose, grown suddenly old, became as calm and placid as the river that flowed past his door.

Four years passed and I received the degree of A. B. and soon after was appointed teacher of English in the high school. I lost no time in looking up my old school chum and telling her of my good fortune. She met me with a glad cry of welcome and rejoice in her old, frank, exuberant way over my success. But after the first few moments of greeting, I could not help noticing the change in her appearance.

[illustration - "Helen and I Were Along the Water's Edge"]

Her figure had grown thin and old-maidish; and the brown cheeks had lost their soft roundness. The eyes, that had held such a marvelous vision of achievement and such undaunted hope in the future, were as deep and dark as ever; but in their depth brooded a wistfulness and a poignant unrest that made me catch my breath, for there came to me a vague realization of the story those eyes told. Bitter must have been the battles waged between ambition and duty. Not a hint of this, however, was in her demeanor. There was not a trace of self-pity or jealousy in her manner as we talked of the past and the present and drew bright pictures of the future.

Then Mary, Helen's eighteen-year old sister, finished high school. Mary was not studious and had no desire to go to college.

"Now," I said to myself. "Mary will take charge of the house and the younger children and Helen can have her chance. It is no more than right." But I reckoned without my host. Six months after Mary's graduation, she was engaged to be married.

The years flew by, swift as a bird on the wing, and Helen's young charges grew to young manhood and womanhood. Mr. La Rose was dead. The baby was in his senior year at Howard University. Tom was in the mail service and Rose was the happy mistress of her own home. Helen, at thirty-five, was free to live her own life. I went to see her one bright sunny morning in June and found her sitting under her favorite oak tree, her hands lying idly in her lap, her eyes looking off across the water. She greeted me with a happy smile and a humorous glance of her fine eyes.

"Elise, do you remember our old saying, 'You can do anything you want to, if you want to hard enough?' I am going to college in the autumn!"



Folk Dance



HEY! Lassie, will you kindly have me?
Here are gloves to wear, if you will have me;
I'm from the East; you're from the West;
I have shoes, but your little ones are best,—
Pull all together, in sunny weather.


1—Boys bowing, sing first line
2—Extend hands, for gloves
3—Point to self; then, to girl opposite
4—Point, first, to own shoes; then, to those of girl opposite
5—Each boy clasps both hands of girl opposite, and swings around.


Yes, Laddie, I'll be glad to have you,—
I'll wash and sew, too, when I have you;
You're from the East; I'm from the West;
We'll have a home, cosy as a birdie's nest,—
We'll pull together, in all sorts of weather.


1—Girls curtsy to boys
2—Make motions of washing and sewing
3—Point to boy; then, to self
4—Clasp hands, and swing around.


Before we go and see the Parson,
Let's take a hop and skip, and then a run,
Tra, la la la, etc.


Boys bow; girls curtsy; turn side to side, clasping hands
All singing—tra la la la, through verse. Swing clasped hands, skipping around in circle.

[illustration - Old Melody Quickly and with spirit Arranged by Helen Fauset Lanning ]


To Arizona Rose

LIKE a ray of sunshine on a day there came
A wee little baby, who hadn't any name.
From 'way out in the desert where the hot sand blows,
'Twas you who came, my rosebud—Arizona Rose.
Arizona Rose! What a name for baby,
'Twould better fit a handsome, grown-up damsel, maybe;
But babies and rosebuds, as everybody knows,
Make ladies and roses;—Arizona Rose.
So, I'll nurture you tenderly, close to my breast,
Little rosebud in whom I feel supremely blest.
I'll stand between you and each cold wind that blows,
Till you stand forth full blown—my Arizona Rose.


Little People of the Month

GEORGIE E. MAGEE is saving money with which to educate herself.

How many little girls and boys are doing likewise?

She is the holder of the first issue of the Liberty Bond for $100 and of the fourth issue for $50; she has Eleven Dollars in War Savings Stamps.

And Georgie is only five years of age; she lives in Washington, D. C.

VIRGIL RUDOLPH CHANDLER, of Oklahoma City, Okla., at the age of two and one-half years could recite thirty-seven "Mother Goose" rhymes.

He is now one year older.

Who can beat Virgil's record?

In Shreveport, La., live the Brown brothers. The oldest boys,—Robert, fifteen. and Frederick. twelve,—play the piano, horn, and violin; Robert is in Junior High [illustration - Claudia Davis, Graduate Wadleigh High School, New York City Scientific Course] School and Frederick is in the sixth grade grammar. Richard, nine, is in the fourth grade grammar and Lyman, six, is in the second grade.

When the Children's Number of THE CRISIS was being read in their home, guess what Lyman said! "Papa, I don't see my picture; I'm a baby and good, too!"

THELMA IOWA HENDERSON, at Watonga, Okla., graduated from the Attucks School at the age of ten.

You'll have to hustle kiddies, to make a record like Thelma's.

FOUR-YEAR-OLD Ida Josephine Clark sings, and she has recited to an audience of over one hundred people.

Aren't you, too, proud of Little Ida?

She lives in Elyria, Ohio.

IN a class of seventy-five pupils, from six to nineteen years of age, Georgia Lowder, twelve years, stood the highest test in an examination.

She lives in Sumter, S.C., and—

Who said it didn't pay to study hard?

THINK of being a violinist at the age of seven. Well, Charles J. Donald, Jr., of Atlanta, Ga., is,—and he has played for two recitals at Morehouse College.

His teacher is Professor Harreld, and although our little friend has been taking violin lessons just a bit over a year, he is nearly through his second book.

THE BROWNIES' BOOK wants the pictures of all High School graduates, together with the name of the school and the course pursued. In the case of Grammar School graduates, we can use only pictures of those who have done exceptional work, or stood at the head of their classes. Please send us clear photographs, with the name and information carefully written on the back. In fact, whenever you hear of anything that a colored child has done well, hasten to tell us. But, of course, tell the exact truth—don't exaggerate or over-state. Oh, yes, and remember that a poor photograph will not make a good picture.

[illustration - Ida J. Clark] [illustration - Virgil R. Chandler] [illustration - Georgie E. Magee] [illustration - Robert, Frederick, Richard and Lyman Brown] [illustration - Thelma I. Henderson] [illustration - Georgia Lowder] [illustration - Charles J. Donald, Jr.]


Food for "Lazy Betty"

CHILDREN in Philadelphia used to play a game called "Lazy Betty," in which the mother asked plaintively, "Lazy Betty, will you get up today?" Betty, who seems to have deserved her description, used to answer her mother's question with another.—

"What will you give me for breakfast, breakfast, breakfast!

What will you give me for breakfast if I get up today?"

Her mother's answer was none too satisfying, for it consisted merely of "a cup of tea and a piece of bread," a repast which is not very attractive. The dinner which the mother promised to Betty's inquiries about that, was even worse, for it was to be,—

"A roasted cat
And a piece of fat!"

Imagine Betty's gesture of disgust and refusal! [illustration - Thomas at Breakfast Milk Cereal Mush Toast-Butter Apple Sauce States Relations Service ]

The promise of "a nice young man with rosy cheeks" for supper, usually brought Betty to her feet. But even that was hardly the right nourishment for a lazy Betty of such tender years. On the whole, I'm inclined to suspect that the reason Betty was so lazy was because she never at any of her three meals had the right kind of food set before her.

Betty would fare better in these days, for wise mothers offer their sons and daughters more sensible food. Most mothers and all teachers know that if Betty seems lazy or Jerry is delicate, or Thomas sits around at recess looking "droopy," it is because these children have not really had enough to eat. Of course, they think they have, and so do their mothers until they stop to think; but presently Betty's mother comes to realize that not quantity, but quality of food is the thing to be considered. A child may eat three large meals a day and yet be as unnourished as the poor youngster who barely receives one.

[illustration - Betty's Dinner Milk Baked Potatoes Bread Rice with Jelly Milk Gravy Butter Greens States Relations Service ]

The danger in lack of nourishment for the child lies in the fact, not so much that he remains a sickly and nervous youngster, but that he produces the listless, inefficient grown-up. Many an adult who is without power of endurance owes it to the fact that in childhood he was really undernourished.

Parents cannot begin too early to select a diet which will strengthen and foster children. Of all food for little folks, milk is the perfect one, because it contains all the elements which the body needs for growth—carbohydrates, to give the body energy; minerals, such as iron, to make "red" blood; and calcium, to make the little bones grow strong and straight; water, to purify the body; fats, to keep it warm; and proteids, to furnish tissue and muscle.

For children, iron and calcium are always required. Iron is to be found in the yolk of egg, in meat, and in green vegetables. When milk and eggs are scarce, fresh green vegetables afford an excellent substitute. There is never any excuse for lack of this element, for it is to be found in the commonest of green growing things,—lettuce, spinach, dandelion greens. And how lovely to eat flowers!

Fruit should be eaten every day,—fresh fruit if possible, but if that cannot be had, dried fruit does very well. And a child should eat plenty of bread; the gluten or starch in it belongs to the group of carbohydrates which form one of the chief elements needed to nourish the body.

Wholewheat bread and graham bread are fine for Betty, Thomas and Jerry, because by preventing constipation, they aid greatly in assisting the process of digestion. Fruit and vegetables lend the same sort of assistance. If it is not easy to provide these two last, coarse bread should be used now and then. But more attractive and more palatable than such bread, is the mush made from various cereals. Oatmeal mush is good and so is that made from cracked wheat, but best of all is corn-meal mush. And what can be nicer than coming from school or from skating in the cold winter twilight and sitting down to a steaming plate
of corn-meal mush, all gold and glowing, with an island of snowy milk in the middle and silver grains of sugar glittering here and there! You take your spoon and begin at the outside edge, where it has cooled off a little, and soon, "Oh, mother, PLEASE may I have some more!"

Betty and her brothers do not begin to need all the sweets they beg for and often get. OF course, children do need sugar, for it is a carbohydrate; but the best way to serve sweets is for a dessert. Plain cup-cake is good and cookies, cut in shapes like Betty or Jerry, with currants for eyes. And goodness gracious! Who ever tasted anything better than plain bread spread with butter and brown sugar? Not to mention raisin bread, just the least bit sweet, with butter. Thomas always imagines himself little Jack Horner when he eats this, and puts

"in his thumb
And pulls out a plum!"

The United States Department of Agriculture has sent out pictures of Betty, Thomas, [illustration - Pleasant Dreams Follow Jerry's Supper Bread-Milk Plain Cookies States Relations Services ] and Jerry, each eating a meal. Thomas, who is feeling anything but "droopy" today is enjoying a breakfast of milk, stewed fruit, toast and butter, and oatmeal mush, Betty is having a dinner of baked potatoes, milk gravy, made with bacon or salt jerk fat, greens, bread and butter, with sugar on the final slice.

See Jerry at supper. It is simple, but good, and there is plenty of it. He has bread and milk and plain cookies. And he likes it so much that, like Tommy Tucker, he falls to singing, only he does it after supper.

All these children are healthy and happy. Look at Betty now. She no longer seems "lazy," does she? She has had the nicest breakfast and a "scrumptious dinner." And—

"I eat only bread and milk for supper now," she says confidentially, as the red blood shows up under the brown of her pretty skin. "I'm sure I like it ever so much better than I shall ever like,—

'A nice young man
With rosy cheeks.'"



HIGH in the limpid air I sail, looking down on the swarming of men. I preen my block and splendid plumage and putting my head to one side, what did I see last December and January, when the New Year crossed the equator?

  • I saw the world hungry and frightened, cold and poor, hysterical after its long, bitter, hateful war. And this is what that war cost:
    • Dead soldiers 9,998,771
    • Dead civilians 10,000,000
    • Direct cost of war $186,336,637,097
    • Indirect coat of war 151,612,542,560
    • Total money cost 337,949,179,657
    Think of it: Three hundred and thirty-seven thousand millions of dollars!
  • I never before saw so many hungry children. They are begging, and half-naked on the streets of Vienna, in the bitter winter weather. They are dying in Poland, Serbia and Russia. They need food and clothes and coal, and it will be a long time before industry is organized to supply their wants. Is not war an awful thing? We must do all we can to avoid another war.
  • In Paris, they are still engaged in finishing up the final details of the Peace Treaty. Bulgaria must pay 445 millions of dollars and give up territory. The German shipping has been divided,—70% of it going to England.
  • France has little coal and wood for fires, and food costs much; but she is beginning to rebuild her devastated region, and has elected Paul Deschanel as her next President.
  • Russia is still fighting. The Soviet government —that is, the government of the working people—has defeated Kolchak, in the east, and Denikin, in the south, and has made peace with Esthonia, in the northwest.
  • Germany is having a hard time. She is trying to finish the Peace Treaty with the Allies, keep the monarchists from plotting to restore the former Emperor, keep the extreme Socialists from precipitating a new revolution, and start up the industries ruined by the war. She deserves the sympathy of all.
  • The brown people of India have been given a share in their own government by the English. It is a small share, but it marks the beginning of Justice to 315,000,000 colored people.
  • The brown and black people of Egypt are protesting bitterly against the Protectorate which England has established over their land. England had promised never to annex Egypt; but England does not keep her promises. Egypt wants to be free, and ought to be.
  • Italy is full of unrest. She wants to annex the chief seaports of the Adriatic; but these ports are the only outlets to the sea for the new country of the Jugo Slavs. The Supreme Council of the Allies is trying to settle the matter. Meantime, there is much turmoil and unrest in Italy.
  • Norway has adopted the prohibition of strong alcoholic liquors, by a vote of 428,455— 284,137.
  • Many of the most beautiful art treasures of Austria will be sold to obtain food for the starving.
  • The great University of Strasbourg, in Alsace-Lorraine, has been changed from a German to a French institution, since the province has been restored to France.
  • France is proposing a Peace Army of only 350,000 men. It will include three corps of African troops.
  • England will spend $8,000,000,000 next year for the expenses of her government. The national debt is $40,000,000,000.
  • German East Africa has been divided between England and Belgium, and German West Africa between England and France.

All this I, the Crow, saw, as I flew across the water and over land and sea; but, of course, I belong at home; and now I shall settle lazily on the branch of the big black tree and tell you what's happening here.

  • In December, the 66th Congress met in Washington, in the great domed Capitol—the Senate, at the left, and the House of Representatives, at the right. The President is still sick, and sent his message instead of delivering it in person, as he has always done. He asked Congress to combat unrest, reduce the cost of living, and consider the relations of Labor and Capital.
  • The Secretary of the Treasury says that it will cost five billion dollars to run the government this year.
  • The railroads are to be given up by the Government, March 1, and to be restored to private companies. Congress must pass a law for regulating them.
  • After January 16, intoxicating alcoholic liquor cannot he made or sold for beverage purposes in the United States. This is by Constitutional amendment.
  • Twenty-four states have ratified the amendment giving women the right to vote. Thirty-six states are needed, and they will undoubtedly be added soon. Then every woman twenty-one years old can vote.
  • The Presidential election will take place next November. At present, the committees of the various parties are arranging for the nominating conventions. The Republicans will meet in Chicago, next summer, and the Democrats in San Francisco. Candidates will then be named and during the fall the campaign of speaking and writing will take place.
  • The International Labor Conference held its first meeting in Washington. It established a permanent office in Paris, with Albert Thomas, a Frenchman, at its head.
  • The President's first Labor Conference was unable to agree. A second conference has recommended national and local committees to settle labor disputes.
  • A beautiful new colored hotel, The Whitelaw, has been opened in Washington.
  • One hundred and three years ago this month there was born in Maryland a little brown baby who was afterward named Frederick Douglass. He was born in bondage, but in time became "the noblest slave that ever God set free!"
  • America has not yet ratified the Peace Treaty. The Senate, led by the stubborn Senator Lodge, does not want to sign the treaty unless the responsibilities of the United States in the new League of Nations are made very much smaller. The President, also stubborn, wants the treaty signed just as it stands. Most folk would like a compromise.
  • The annual meeting of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People has been held in New York City. It has 90,000 members and is the greatest organization now fighting for the rights of the Negro.
  • Some folk are making continued effort to embroil Mexico and the United States in war. Mexico is a poor, struggling country, which the United States has grievously wronged in the past and deprived of territory. Today, many Americans own vast property there,—in oil, minerals, land, etc.,—and they want to control the policy of Mexico, so as to make lots of money. Mexico wants to conserve her resources and limit profits. At the same time, there is much internal unrest and the poor, ignorant Indians, oppressed for ages, are not always law-abiding.


That Story of George Washington

He did it with his little hatchet,
And just because he didn't catch it,
We write the theme in prose and verse,
And year by year we it rehearse.
Says Young America forsooth,
With all the logic wise of youth,
"If I, like George, cut down a tree,
I shall be like George, Q.E.D.
"If I like George am,"—thought heaven-sent—
"Then I, too, shall be President."
And so, like George, he plies his hatchet;
The difference is—George didn't catch it!