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

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AMERICA FOR ALL Benefits of Enlistment in the UNITED STATES ARMY

SAM was white, Billy Boy was brown. They were two little wanderers belonging to nobody and living nowhere in particular. They were always together, and the one apple or the last dime was shared equally between them.

Tonight they occupied an obscure seat in a dark corner of the city auditorium.

The band began to play "My country" and everybody stood up and sang.

"Sam," said Billy Boy, when I hear that song, I wonder if it is meant for me."

"Course 'tis, Billy," replied Sam, "ain't this your country same's 'tis mine! Uncle Sam don't keer whether you is white ner black ner blue ner brown. jest so youse true 'Merican."

"Gee!" said Billy, "jest see that soldier guy! Ain't them the swell togs he's wearing!"

"Sure thing," answered Sam, "an' see how straight he is. Listen, he's speaking."

Then across that great throng came the words of the soldier-orator.

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"Fellow Americans, your country is calling to you. Old Glory, symbol of equality and justice, appeals to you; the sacred blood of your fathers implores you to loyally support the United States Army."

"Sam," said Billy, "his voice sounds smooth an' easy like deep running water."

"Yes, Billy, it makes you feel all sorter warm an' trembly inside."

The speaker continued:

"Our country offers health, training, and a liberal education, classical, scientific, and vocational."

"Gee, Sam," said Billy, "the army must be some swell place."

"You said it, Billy."

The speaker continued:

"Young Americans, your country needs you to become a part of her national university and to be prepared to defend your home and your loved ones. Your loyal hearts will not let Columbia plead in vain."

The speaker closed.

"Billy Boy," said Sam, "we's good 'Mericans, so me and you fer the United States Army."

My, you are having a corking time in Esquimau Land!

But listen! I have crossed the Rockies, have sailed on the Pacific, have seen Hawaii's beautiful skies, and in the mellow moonlight have listened to the music of the ukelele.

Now, here I am. Oh boy, this is the life! I am a baseball pitcher, an electrical engineer and a movie fan.

I save all my money. No way to spend it.

Mess is calling. Chicken and ice cream today! Me for the eats!

THIS IS A DOG'S LIFE

About seven years ago, the subject of this story began his eventful passage through this vale of tears, sorrow and excitement; and through the entire time, every minute of his life has been crowded with strenuousness. One bright summer morning I observed him sitting on the doorstep of his new home across the way, looking up and down the street with timid curiosity depicted on his face, ready at the first sign of danger to retreat to safety. Babe has always believed in "safety first" though at one time recklessness got the better of his usual caution, and the result was almost disastrous to the point of cutting off, yes, winding up his earthly career in a most ignominious manner; but of that later. I called to him, and cocking his head on one side, his ears pricked up and eyes showing questioning wonderment, he regarded me with a sort of diffident cordiality. I invited him to come over; and he came, his timidity increasing as he approached, his curled-up tail wagging doubtfully.

The expression of his homely but intelligent, good natured face plainly said "I'll come but please don't hit me." Crouching and creeping cautiously he came to me. I put out my hand to his little shaggy head and he licked my fingers with a dog's caress; and so the homeliest, cutest and most intelligent little mutt became my most faithful friend and has so remained till this day.

Babe from a puppy has grown in dog wisdom; and his many friends, (he has no enemies) unanimously declare that that dog has got sense. When Babe does a thing simply to amuse, it is for his own amusement; if it is to amuse you, you must make him know that you are going to pay him for what he does, otherwise he doesn't do it. Just ask him to sit up and he will look at you as if to say "nothing doing"; but give him a smell of roast turkey [illustration - HRW ] or fresh roast pork, or cake,— though don't offer him anything common like ginger bread and expect him to beg for it,— and you'll see. There isn't any dog in the world that can sit upon his haunches any quicker or any oftener than Babe can for anything he likes, until he gets his appetite satisfied, then he forgets.

Babe's real name is "Baby" but most of his personal friends know him as "Babe" or "Boy", but no matter by which name he is known, he has had more adventure slipped into his seven years than usually falls to a dog of his size or station in life. He is a regular Teddy R. and he would rather fight than eat, until he gets licked, then he doesn't care for either fighting or eating until his wounds cease paining.

Although today Babe is something of an epicure, he formed one habit in his very youthful days that still sticks to him; he does love to inspect garbage cans. If he is out with any of his people for a stroll, no garbage can on either side of the street escapes his notice; sometimes he will extract a bone, then run ahead for a block and make a meal while you are overtaking him. He used to be great for burying bones when he was a puppy; often he would bury his bone, and when he turned around would see some other dog intently watching the proceeding; he would immediately dig up his bone, take it somewhere else and rebury it in a spot where he wasn't observed.

Let me make you recognize Babe, for if he has met you at any time and likes you, he is bound to recognize you. He is a little fellow, stands 14 inches high perhaps; his body is covered with a coat of shaggy gray-black hair sprinkled sparsely with white, with a white streak on his breast. He always travels on a trot and always has a certain point of destination in his mind; his object is to get there and his time is limited. He is something of a fighter and generally out of his class. There is no glory in it for him to tackle a dog of his own size; but sometimes a small dog will start an argument with him and there is no way out of it but to fight; and he promptly sails in. Usually he vanquishes his adversary right there and then; after he gets the enemy down, he will stand over him like a prize fighter waiting for the count, ready for the finishing wallop if he attempts to rise.

Babe was not born a fighter, for naturally he is the most
brownies.192007.009.jpg harmless and innocent of dogs; but he is so homely that most dogs get mad when they look at him and want to whip him just for spite; but from puppyhood, he and another four footed chum of just about his age, were befriended by Jack the champion fighting dog of the neighborhood and Jack made scrappers of them both. If a strange dog came in the neighborhood and was seen by either one of the three, he must turn back or fight; and it was a chance if they let him turn back without a fight. On one occasion all three held up a stranger. The three chums would not let him go about his business; he realized that he had to fight, and as Babe was the nearest for attack, he caught it first; before reinforcements reached him he had all he wanted; when he got free he turned tail and flew for his own doorstep, and seating himself, looked on the combat from afar, while the expression on his face plainly said, "This is no place for my mother's son." Babe has been in many a conflict, some of them desperate, and he bears the scars of some painful wounds. One day he came in with his side laid open for about two inches right down to the flesh; it looked as though some one had thrown a broken glass bottle at him and they sure found the mark. It was the most troublesome wound he ever had and it put him in the sick ward all right and before it would heal up Babe had to wear a real baby's shirt over his body to keep him from constantly licking that sore.

When he began to convalesce he caused much amusement by appearing on the street wearing his shirt with his forelegs stuck through the sleeves like arms and the tail of the shirt fitting tightly around his body; but he didn't mind being laughed at so long as he was able to be out. Babe is little and his legs are short, but there are two times when he can run some; one is when he is going to whip the other dog if he can catch him, the other time is when he thinks the other dog is going to whip him. How that dog can run when he is scared! We were strolling along the street one day, and had got opposite a high stoop; a large dog on the landing spied Babe and he made a mad rush down those steps. Babe seemed to feel him coming rather than to see him. He had no chance to get me between himself and danger ; he had to light out right straight ahead. You ought to have seen him stretch himself; with his head turned so he [illustration - He caused much amusement H.R.W. ] could look over his shoulders to see how fast the other was coming, terror shooting out of his eyes, his long hair streaming in the wind that his own flight created; he laid low to the earth and stretched himself his full length at every leap; his ears back and tail straight out, he seemed to be saying to himself, "I've got to go some more." And he did go. The expression on his face was ludicrous in the extreme. I felt sorry for Babe if the big dog got him, but I had to laugh. He outran the big fellow and saved his skin.

On another occasion it was a bull terrier of class, belonging to a young woman who had him out for an airing I suppose. She had removed the leash from his collar and was letting him run free. He caught sight of Babe when he was a half block away and bore down on him like a troop of cavalry making a charge. He almost upset a woman who happened in his path. The collision broke the force of his onslaught somewhat, but he struck Babe fair and square; they
brownies.192007.010.jpg landed out in the roadway three feet from the curb, with my dog underneath and on his back, and the bull over him eating his shoulder. I jumped to his rescue and with a swift kick to the side of the bull's head induced him to stop making a meal off my pal. But Babe was in distress; he held up his leg and whined. I patted his head and encouraged him a bit and he started off on three legs; but on coming back when we drew near the place of the encounter, he excused himself and took the other side of the street.

For some years now he has lived in another part of the city, but knowing my hour for breakfast which he learned from his habit of accompanying me on my daily morning rounds, he makes it a point to be on hand at 8 o'clock; and if by any chance I get away before his arrival, he will go over the route, first to the newsstand (if the store door happens to be closed he will stand up on his hind legs, look through the glass to satisfy himself that I am not there) then across the street to the restaurant. Broad street is a very busy thoroughfare at this point; autos, motorcycles and street cars are flying back and forth every minute; pedestrians are always on guard for fear of being run down; and many are the times I have held my breath as Babe would become entangled in the passing maze of vehicles as switching his tail out of the path of the flying motorcycles and dodging an onrushing jitney back to the rear end of a trolley car, he at last appeared on the other side of the street calm and unperturbed. If he does not find me at the restaurant, back to the shop he comes, and if I have not arrived on his return, he goes down to the corner of the street, seats himself on the curbstone and patiently awaits my appearance. If he thinks he sees me in the distance, you will see him stretch his neck for a more intense look; and when he recognizes me, then for his glad rush and exuberant welcome!

Babe is a dog of good morals; and he is some church going dog too; though like many of our good church going people he will frequent saloons. He counts among his friends a worthy church deacon. One day he overtook the deacon on his way home and gave him the surprise of his life. He greeted him in his usual manner when he recognized a particularly intimate friend; he rushed up and with a bound clear from the ground of about a foot, planted his forepaws in the small of the deacon's back, his way of saying "hello there!" then he trotted along at the deacon's side till he came to a sa- loon. Babe stopped, looked up expectantly, his tail wagging; then he ran over to the saloon door, again looked up in the deacon's face as much as to say "Come in and have something." The deacon said "Oh no, Babe, I don't go in those places." Babe's tail wagged a "So long then" and he disappeared under the swinging doors. The deacon in telling of the incident later said that that dog knows every saloon on the street. To the dog's credit I must say he did not go in for a drink but through his keen instinct he has learned that saloons often run free lunch counters; and some of the human frequenters lose the way to their mouths and drop morsels on the floor which he can have for the picking up; and he has the nerve to do it.

Babe is so much of a church going dog that to my knowledge he went to church twice to one service; and that beats some churchgoers. On this particular Sunday evening, I passed through the street on which he lives; he happened to be at home and, as on the day I first saw him, sitting on the door step. He was overjoyed at seeing me. I stopped and said a few words to him and told him to stay there till I came back. He stayed till he thought he could follow me without being observed; then he got in the procession but kept a long way behind. Well to make the story short, I had been seated in church about five minutes when Mr. Babe came trotting down the isle looking for me; before he got to the pulpit, an usher who was acquainted with him grabbed him and put him out. This was before service commenced. Not in the least discouraged he hung around for half an hour or so, then he thought he would try it again. This time he reached the space in front of the pulpit, passed along to the choir, which is at the right of the pulpit, and took his seat on the floor in the vacant space between the first row of seats and the singers. His mistress is one of the singers and he sat down where he could look up at her and hear her sing. He wanted her to invite him up, so he begged ; that is sat up on his hind legs and waited; that was too much for the choir, they smiled; and very much to Babe's disappointment and disgust his mistress came down from her seat, and for the second time he was escorted to the outside, also home and locked in.
brownies.192007.011.jpg I know Babe said to himself, "What's the use of trying to be good?"

Babe's people are Baptists. Three years ago he was immersed; we went up to the canal where it runs under Bloomfield avenue and I dropped him in the water; he didn't seem to like it at first, for he began clawing at the bank with his fore paws [illustration - "Come in and have something" Hilda Rue Wilkinson ] while his hind legs were trying to find something solid to stand on ; but after one or two plunges he began to enjoy it. The second time I took him for a swim, he just stayed with me long enough to make sure where we were going, then he forged ahead, and when I got near the place, he was just coming back to meet me and he was soaking wet; he had already been in swimming. Now he is a confirmed Baptist, too.

The momentous event in Babe's career came in the early summer of 1917 when he fell into the hands of the law. He was charged with a crime, the penalty of which is death; and he came within an ace of paying the price. He had been warned repeatedly; his friends knew that he was courting danger, but Babe was reckless like many a human being. He thought "Oh, I have got by all right for six years, I am too smart for that bunch of low foreheads!" And he would not wear his muzzle. When I first put it on him he felt terrible and put up a big kick; he tried in every conceivable way to get it off; used his forepaws in an effort to dig it off; got down in the gutter and tried to rub it off against the curbstone. After his seemingly useless effort to free his head from the contrivance, he gave up apparently, and trotted off shaking his head viciously. About an hour later, he trotted back as unconcerned as though nothing had happened to mar the pleasure of living, with the muzzle dangling to his collar but his head was as free as he desired it to be. And so it went on. Once he came home without bringing the muzzle with him and no further efforts were made to curtail his freedom.

On the morning of which I write, we started for breakfast as usual. On the corner of Eighth avenue and Broad street, Babe met three
brownies.192007.012.jpg strange dogs; they greeted him in a very friendly manner. I remember, the thought came to me, "Those dogs act just as though they were out for a good time." They must have invited Babe to go along with them for no amount of calling would induce him to come with me. He looked at me, wagged his tail as if to say "Go ahead ; I'll be there by the time you get through eating." When I came out he was nowhere in sight. It bothered me a little at the time, for generally if he did stay outside for a while, he knew about how long it took me to eat, and he would be on hand when I got through. Anyhow he didn't show up, and I thought again about those dogs getting him in trouble. I went back to the shop and perhaps an hour passed by. No Babe. I had occasion about this time to go over to my lodging place.

As I was passing through Clark street, I saw a lady I knew and she seemed greatly excited, trying to catch her pet dog. I asked her "What's the matter?" "Why," said she, "there's the dog wagon!" Then the idea struck me. I said "I'll bet they have got Babe." Well at noontime he hadn't shown up; at supper time he was still missing, and I knew that the boy was in limbo, for it used to break his heart to miss going to supper with me: After closing shop I went to his home and inquired if he was there. No; they hadn't seen him since morning. We concluded that the dog catchers had surely got him. His mistress said she would go to the pound first thing in the morning; that was Saturday. Everybody who learned that the dog was missing was worried; for twenty-four hours after capture the dog criminal goes to the electric chair; an ignominious end for such a dog as Babe. sure enough Babe was in jail. His mistress saved his life by putting up $2.00 bail. After he was freed on his way home he stopped in to say "good morning". I asked him where he had been ; with a "please don't ask me look" he walked out the door, and hasn't been much in this neighborhood since, until recently.

Since he was in jail, he has been missed by his many friends on the street, for since his escapade, he has been confined in the back yard during the day. He had become a character of note; and I often hear the inquiry from men who are strangers to me, "Where's the little dog? I don't see him any more." Babe's night in prison must have been one of terrible anxiety and suspense to one of his sensitive nature. To be deprived of his liberty and freedom to go to his home when he wished to go, to be thrown in a cage with all of those strange companions when he was used to sleeping in a house with human beings, must have hurt his feelings; anyway for months after his liberation he felt his disgrace keenly; he was a changed dog.

Sometimes Babe stays out till very early in the morning, but no matter what the hour of his arrival home he expects to be let In. And everybody in the neighborhood knows that he is coming; for when within half a block of home he begins to bark, and will continue until some one gets up and opens the door. A tenant in the house once said, that his people ought to give him a night key so he could open the door for himself. Although Babe is getting along in years, he is still vigorous and full of ambition. His gray hairs are increasing, but he retains many of his youthful ways; and soon his friends may refer to him as "old Mr. Young".

People have said to me "It's strange that that dog has taken such a liking to you",—and sometimes I think it is strange. It causes me to wonder and sometimes it seems to me as though the light of human intelligence was shining through this dog's eyes. If the souls of the dead come back to earth to revisit familiar scenes and to be near those they loved while on this earth, is it not more probable that they would come in some pleasing form rather than in the ghostly and fear inspiring form invariably pictured? So when Babe comes, I always welcome him as my truest and sincerest friend. There is no deceit in him. He either loves entirely or he is entirely indifferent. He does not smile with his face and frown in his heart, but if he loves you, he smiles all the way from his little black nose to the tip of his curly tail. That's why the more I see of some people, the better I like my dog.

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AMERICA'S FIRST MARTYR-PATRIOT A TRUE STORY

ALMOST every land boasts of some man who has particularly distinguished himself in the service of his country. Sweden has its Gustavus Adolphus, Italy its Garibaldi, Poland its Kosciusko and America its Crispus Attucks.

Long ago when these United States were still a part of the British Empire and were known as "colonial possessions", a revolt broke out on the part of the colonists against the mother country. English soldiers who were guarding the province of New England—as it was then known—conducted themselves with such arrogance and swagger that finally the "colonials" could stand it no longer. So one never-to-be-forgotten day, the 5th of March, 1770, a small band of citizens made an attack on some British soldiers who were marching through State Street, Boston, and the affray which has come down to us under the name of the "Boston Massacre" took place.

The leader of this band was Crispus Attucks. He was a tall, splendidly-built fellow, and must have been very impressive as he rushed with his handful of men pell-mell into the armed opposition. He knew only too well how precious a thing is freedom and how no sacrifice is too much for its purchase. For Attucks had been a slave and perhaps still was at this date, though a runaway one. Of this we cannot be sure, for history goes blank at this point, but in any event twenty years earlier in 1750 this advertisement had occurred in The Boston Gazette or Weekly Journal:

"Ran away from his master, William Brown of Framingham, on the 30th of September last, a Molatto Fellow, about 27 Years of Age, named Crispas, 6 Feet 2 Inches high, short curl'd Hair, his Knees nearer together than common; had on a light colour'd Bear-skin. Coat, plain brown Fustain Jacket, or brown all-Wool one, new Buck-skin Breeches, blue Yarn Stockings, and a checked woolen Shirt.

"Whoever shall take up said Run-away, and convey him to his above-said Master, shall have ten Pounds, old Tenor Reward, and all necessary Charges paid. And all Masters of Vessel and others, are hereby cautioned against concealing or carrying off said Servant on penalty of the Law. Boston, October 2, 1750."

What had Attucks done in those twenty long years? Certainly whatever else his interests he must have spent some time dwelling on the relationship existing between England and the American colonies. Perhaps he was imaginative enough to feel that if England were so despotic in her treatment now of her colonies, she would be a worse task-mistress than ever as the years rolled by and her authority became more secure. If he had spent his time near Boston, which seems likely, he may have heard the eloquent and fearless assertions of James Otis on the rights of the colonists.

That he was deeply interested in political affairs is shown by this letter which he wrote long before the date of the Boston Massacre to Thomas Hutchinson, Governor of the Province:

You will hear from us with astonishment. You ought to hear from us with horror. You are chargeable before God and man, with our blood. The soldiers were but passive instruments, mere machines; neither moral nor voluntary agents in our destruction, more than the leaden pellets with which we were wounded. You were a free agent. You acted, coolly, deliberately, with all that premeditated malice, not against us in particular, but against the people in general, which, in the sight of the law, is an ingredient in the composition of murder. You will hear further from us hereafter.

Whatever his preparation he was ready on that fateful fifth of March to offer himself up to the holy cause of liberty. At the head of his little host he flung himself on the soldiers of the oppressors shouting: "The way to get rid of these soldiers is to attack the main-guard; strike at the root; this is the nest!"

We are used to terrible descriptions of warfare on a huge plane in these days, but the scene that followed in that quiet street still brings a thrill of horror. For the enraged British soldiers answered the blows and missiles of the American patriots with a deadly shower of bullets. Down fell Crispus Attucks mortally wounded, the first American to die for his Fatherland. And with him fell Samuel Gray and Jonas Caldwell. Afterwards Patrick Carr
brownies.192007.027.jpg [illustration - The Crispus Attucks Monument, Boston, Massachusetts] and Samuel Maverick died also as a result of their wounds received in the fray.

The cost of patriotism had come high.

All down the street, doors and windows flew open. The alarm bells rang and people rushed to the scene from all directions. The bodies of Attucks and Caldwell were carried to Faneuil Hall and laid in state. The other dead and dying were carried to their homes and buried thence. But Attucks and Caldwell, being strangers in the city, were buried from the hall where they had lain. A long procession attended them as a token of respect and appreciation. These two and Gray and Maverick were buried in the same grave and over them was reared a stone on which the inscription read:

"Long as in Freedom's cause the wise contend, Dear to your country shall your fame extend ; While to the world the lettered stone shall tell Where Caldwell, Attucks, Gray and Maverick fell."

Many years later Boston showed afresh her appreciation of Attucks in the shape of a new monument which she raised to his memory on Boston Common.

What patriot of any time has done a nobler deed than that of Attucks? Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori, says the Roman proverb. "It is a sweet and fitting thing to die for one's country." That is true and many have done
brownies.192007.028.jpg it. But to die as Attucks did for a country which while seeking its own freedom, yet denied his—such an act calls for the highest type of patriotism. I like to think that as his courage was high, so was his faith so abounding that he needs must have believed that America one day would come to realize and put into practice what one of her great statesmen said one famous fourth of July:

"All men are born free and equal."

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WHY BENNIE WAS FIRED

BENNIE PARKER was a little colored girl eleven years old but small for her age. Perhaps my little readers will smile to hear of a girl's being named Bennie but many little girls in the South have boys' names. Bennie was the oldest of four children and besides her father was dead. She was quite an attractive child and much petted at school because of her precociousness and industrial activities but at home she was the little mother of the family.

Bennie did chores every day for Mrs. Blair, a white lady who lived on Vine Street about three blocks from where Bennie lived. She helped with the meals, washed the dishes, and swept the porches and walks every morning before school. Bennie was proud of her job for she got three dollars and a half a week. Every morning she rose at 5:30 o'clock and was at her work by 6:00. She had finished her breakfast dishes, sweeping and dusting by 7:45 and was off to school on time. She always had her lessons and seemed no less happy than her more fortunate playmates at school.

Bennie's one great pride was her small bank into which she put one-half of her weekly earnings; the other half she cheerfully gave to her widowed mother towards the general upkeep of her smaller brothers and sisters. A broad smile always revealed two pearly white rows of teeth and lit up the little brown face when Bennie thought of the fat roll of twenty-five dollars tucked away in her little iron bank. This she had saved from her weekly earnings and also she had placed in her bank the extra nickels she made by going to the store for lunch for some of the teachers. Then too Miss Howard, her teacher, often gave her extra nickels for candy, but Bennie kept them tightly tied up in her handkerchief until she got home and then she would carefully deposit the shining coins among her other precious hoard. As soon as she had saved up thirty dollars she planned to put it in the big bank downtown where it would draw interest.

It was near time for school to close and Bennie had almost thirty-five dollars now. She always finished her work earlier on Saturdays. One bright sunshiny Saturday in May she carried her sum of $35.50 to the National Bank in town and as she received a bank book with her name plainly written across the top and the amount stamped to her credit she was very happy. Several people smiled at the independent carriage of that little smiling colored girl as she left the bank.

School would close on the twenty-sixth of May and Bennie would finish from the Eighth Grade and she was the youngest in her class! The school board had offered three prizes for the winners in an oratorical contest for the colored pupils in all the grade schools of the city and there were three. The first prize was twenty-five dollars; the second, ten dollars; and the third, five dollars. Bennie wanted to try for one of the prizes and how she wished she could win the first! Then she would have almost one hundred dollars saved. Oh! if she could only win!

Bennie had never written anything herself— the speaking part wasn't so bad for she had often recited, but to write an essay seemed doubtful. Then, too, there was Evelyn Hill who could write much better than she and Helen Jones who spoke so well, too. She decided that she would not try but that night she dreamed that she won in the contest. Bennie didn't believe in dreams because none of hers ever came true but somehow the next morning on her way to work she resolved to try. The next morning she gave her name to her teacher as one of the contestants.

"I am glad you are going to try, Bennie," pleasantly remarked Miss Howard after hastily writing her name.

Bennie gave as her reply her broad, cheerful smile. She hurried to finish her work that evening and when Mrs. Blair came into the kitchen to tell Bennie she could take home the cake which was left from luncheon she found the work done and Bennie gone.

The thought foremost in her mind was the preparation of her essay. She had now only three weeks to write and memorize it. She could hardly see how she could do it but she must. She made visits to the library during her recess hours and found some material which helped her in writing the composition. Then for over a week she practiced memorizing it.

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She rose earlier than the rest of the family and would go over the essay aloud in the kitchen or the woodshed. Bennie found herself running breathlessly in order to get to work on time every morning. She had practiced in the woodshed every morning now because she was afraid her loud talking in the kitchen would cause some member of the house[illustration - "She had practiced in the woodshed every morning" Hilda Rue Wilkinson ] hold to investigate and no one must find it out.

Friday morning Bennie stayed over fifteen minutes of her time and by the time she ran up the street to the big stone steps of the brick house it was six-thirty. She had been late nearly every day of the week. 'What would Mrs. Blair say? Bennie wondered if she had yet come into the kitchen as she ran up on the porch. She caught sight of Mrs. Blair's tall but stout form through the glass of the kitchen door.

Bennie quietly walked in with her usual "Good morning, Mrs. Blair." Mrs. Blair was irritated this morning because she had planned to accompany her husband in the car to town that morning and here Bennie had spoiled her arrangement by being late again.

"Bennie you are late again. You needn't come back tomorrow, you are fired!" was Mrs. Blair's stern verdict. Her piercing blue eyes looked straight into Bennie's wide open deep brown ones. She hastily left the kitchen and the rest of the work for Bennie.

The blow to Bennie was a crushing one. She was almost late for school that morning and she felt that everybody knew she was "fired". She never had been before and she couldn't feel just right again unless she had "a job". What would her mother say? She couldn't tell why she was late. That would give her secret away. After school she slowly turned her steps homeward to tell her mother she was "fired."

"Mother, I got fired this morning," said Bennie slowly, expecting a sound scolding as she placed her school books under the table.

"'Fired'! and all on account of that little unruly
brownies.192007.034.jpg tongue of yours I suspect," said her mother. "Well school is out next week and I guess another job will turn up soon," she consolingly concluded.

Bennie dared not to attempt an explanation for she was glad to escape. She was thankful for the extra days she had to put in practice and made several extra trips to the woodshed that week for wood.

Commencement quickly arrived and the contest was to be in the city auditorium at eight o'clock Wednesday night. Bennie looked very nice in her white dress, white shoes and stockings which she had earned herself. Six contestants were seated on the platform including one boy, Herbert Brown. The speakers were not to talk over fifteen minutes. Herbert brought forth storms of applause from the interested audience. Bennie was the next and last speaker and her little heart beat double quick time when the master of ceremonies called her name.

Instantly upon rising she gained poise and self control. She delivered her oration with ease, conviction and fluency. When she sat down her ears were tingling with applause, and other demonstrations of her victory were given by various animated ones in the audience. In less than twenty minutes the judges returned and announced the winner. Bennie had won the twenty-five dollars in gold!

Bennie could hardly close her eyes that night for she was so happy. She didn't mind being fired at all now because she had earned as much in one night as she would have earned in one month by being hired out.

She arose early the next morning and ran all the way to Mrs. Blair's, holding tightly to the gold coin in her little brown hand. Mrs. Blair not being able to find any domestic help had resorted to washing her breakfast dishes every morning.

"Good morning, Mrs. Blair," said Bennie in her usual cheerful way as she walked into the open kitchen door.

"Why—er—good morning," stammered Mrs. Blair, as her eyes turned upon the round dimpled brown face just full of smiles. "Did you come back to work?"

"No ma'am, I only came to show you what I got for being fired," and she held out the precious gold coin in her hand. Mrs. Blair's eyes grew larger with surprise and admiration as Bennie proudly related the incidents which led to her victory.

"Why didn't you tell me before, Bennie, that you were in a contest and needed time to practice? You may come back to work if you wish," she replied sympathetically.

"I can't come back now any way, for Miss Howard, my teacher, has promised me a delightful vacation for winning the first prize. You know I've never had a vacation and I am so anxious to find out how one feels," replied Bennie seriously yet with delightful humor.

Mrs. Blair could not but help rejoice with Bennie as she almost danced out of the kitchen door and happily hummed one of her school songs all the way home.