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

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The Brownies' Book
October, 1920
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The Brownies' Book

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. OCTOBER, 1920 No. 10


CHRONICLES OF BR'ER RABBIT. Three Stories. Julia Price Burrell . Illustrated by Laura Wheeler 291
THE PINE TREE FOLK. A Biography of Nature. Roy U. Plummer . 293
THE WONDERFUL PIPE. A Story. Anna Asberry Spence . Illustrated by Marcellus Hawkins . 294
PLAYTIME. Three Grames. Arranged by Annette Christine Browne . 296
IMPOSSIBLE KATHLEEN. A Story. Augusta E. Bird . Illustrated by Marcellus Hawkins . 297
HALLOWEEN. A Poem. Annette Christine Browne . Illustrated by Laura Wheeler . 304
A FEW PUMPKINS FOR HALLOWE'EN. A Rhymed Story. Yetta Kay Stoddard . 309
THE ELUSIVE IDEA. A Story. James Alpheus Butler, Jr . Illustrated by Marcellus Hawkins . 310
OUR LITTLE FRIENDS. Five Pictures. 317


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  • Entered as second class matter January 20, 1920, at the Post Office at New York, N.Y., under under the Act of March 3, 1879.

[illustration - October Days]


The Brownies' Book

Vol. 1 OCTOBER, 1920 No. 10



He held the box to his ear

BRER RABBIT and Br'er Pa'tridge went hunting. They brought in a fine little sheep.

"Now," said Br'er Rabbit, "who will go get some fire to cook our meat?"

"You shall go, for you are larger than I, and you can carry more," declared the little Patridge.

Said Br'er Rabbit, "you shall go, Br'er Pa'tridge, for you can fly more swiftly than I can run, and we will not wait so long for our feast."

Br'er Pa'tridge set off; soon as he was out of sight, Br'er Rabbit fell to work tearing the flesh into pieces convenient for him to carry off—and when Br'er Pa'tridge returned with the fire he found only a few scraggly pieces left. He fairly gasped: "Well! WHERE is our meat, Br'er Rabbit?"

Br'er Rabbit scratched his chin with his right forepaw—he stared hard at the spot where the meat had been—then with a sudden upward jerk of his naughty head he said:

"Why, Br'er Pa'tridge, I just turned my eyes towards a queer sound I heard in yonder brush


and 'fore I turned me round again that meat been gone! Oh, what shall we do, Br'er Pa'tridge?"

But without seeming to notice the greedy Rabbit, Br'er Pa'tridge lifted his head and in answer to his call, "Bob-White!" a score hungry partridges flew to him and they all ate the miserable fragments which Br'er Rabbit had not been able to steal away. As they all flopped over onto the ground, Br'er Pa'tridge cried, "O, Br'er Rabbit, that meat was surely poison. See, all my brothers dying!"

[illustration -

"See all my brothers dying!"


"Poison meat won't do for me!" thought Br'er Rabbit. "Let me go fetch that meat I hid away!" and he bounded over the ground, returning with the tender meat which he had meant to eat alone. When he had brought it all, Br'er Pa'tridge said quietly, "Now, Br'er Rabbit, let's divide equally!"

And they did.


BR'ER RABBIT, Br'er Fox and Br'er Wolf were hired by the King to work in a certain field. Now because the mosquitoes were so many and stung so hard in this hay field the King had had great difficulty in securing workers, so as a spur to the laborers he promised to him who should work longest without heeding the mosquitoes a special reward.

All three, Br'er Rabbit, Br'er Fox, Br'er Wolf, set to work, each determined to win the reward. How those mosquitoes did bite! Every half minute Br'er Wolf stopped to slap one! Every five minutes Br'er Fox stopped to swat at the troublesome pests!

What of Br'er Rabbit? Oh, they were not sparing him either, but that little animal is a "schemy" creature! He worked away, and as he worked he talked. Said he, "My old Dad, he haves a plough horse; he black here and here," and as he said "here" each time he slapped his stinging legs where the mosquitoes were biting—"and," he went on, "he white all here,"—slapping again at the enemy!

So he continued talking and slapping and working. It never occurred to the King that Br'er Rabbit was killing mosquitoes. It appeared to those who looked that Br'er Rabbit was not bothered.

He won the reward.


BR'ER RABBIT approached the King. "O, King," he began, "teach me what is trouble. I hear the people talk of trouble, but I have never seen it."

Then the King said thoughtfully, "Br'er Rabbit, if you would always be happy, give up this desire of yours to know trouble—for it brings tears and much weeping. Return to the brier patch and be a good rabbit child."

But Br'er Rabbit was not so to be put off—and seeing that he was determined, the King slowly brought forth a small tightly covered box.

"Do not open it until you have almost reached the further end of the open field near the brier patch. There is trouble in this box," cautioned the King slowly brought forth a small tightly covered box.

"As Br'er Rabbit ran down the path he thought of his box—he ran faster; as his pace increase, so did his curiosity. He paused a second and held the box to his ear—what was it he heard? he thought. It must be a baby crying. "Hush, baby!" he said, but as the racket continued he thought he would take just the merest peep inside. He turned just to see if
anyone were watching. The King was following him.

"Don't you open that box, Br'er Rabbit!" he cried.

"Oh, no! no! no!" Br'er Rabbit prevaricated. "I just only looked to see how close behind me you were!"

Br'er Rabbit ran on—again he paused to listen—and to peep—again the King shouted and Br'er Rabbit refrained. He had run now as long as he could— his curiosity burned him past endurance. He would raise the top and peep inside so quickly that even the King, as he followed, should not notice. His little paw scarcely moved the cover. Oh, wow! if you will excuse me for saying so. "Br-r-r! Bow-wow-wow-wow!!" and "B-r-r-r!" Two hungry hounds burst out and upon poor little Br'er Rabbit, giving him a pretty chase over the fields until he finally reached the welcome brier-patch worn and breathless. The dogs did not catch Br'er Rabbit—but to this day just the sight of a dog means trouble to Br'er Rabbit.




Have you ever heard people remark of a child, "Have looks just like his father" or "She looks just like her mother?" You certainly must have heard such expressions. But out-of-door folk never say that of the Pine tree folk because a little Pine tree always resembles its grandparents and never its parents. This a strange and interesting thing and I hope that you will learn even more about it later than I tell you here and now.

Every live, red-blooded American boy knows the Pine tree by its needles, which are, in fact, its leaves. A mark of distinction on which he even more depends is the cones. However, I fear Pine tree cones have been just Pine tree cones to him, and nothing more. He probably has not seen or learned all he might about these magic little things. And, by the way, education in any form often cures a person of that sad misfortune of having "eyes that see not."

If we liked, we could call the Pine tree cones the nurseries of the Pine tree folk. It is in these that they rear their children,—yes children!—not boys girls like you and your friends, of course. Nevertheless, they are the Pine tree's children and she is as proud of them as your mother is of you. She protects and feeds them and they grow to manhood and womanhood right in these cones.

Persons who depend all their lives upon others never amount to a great deal, while on the other hand, those who are ambitious and learn early in life to depend upon themselves, usually make their mark in the world. Of this latter class Abraham Lincoln was an example, and our own Frederick Douglass an even more notable example. What in this respect is true of persons seems to be true also of plants. The children of the Pine tree are so very small, even when fully grown, that we can hardly see them with the naked eye, and all—I believe—because they depend all their lives upon their mother, who is too indulgent with them. They truly may be called the pigmies of the Forest Folk.

But when these pigmies—Mr. and Mrs. Gametophyte, if you must know their names—attain even that little bit of manhood and womanhood permitted to them, they look at their kinsmen and neighbors, then at themselves, and finally make the wise determination that all wise parents make: that their children shall be directed to a better and broader life. These pigmies determine that their children shall be somebody; that they shall rise in the world; and that instead of being little dependent plants, they shall be large, tall, straight, handsome, independent trees, to which boys will later come to carve their names. And their fond hopes are realized, for their little children—the Pine seeds—at the proper time are carried by the wind out into the world, where, if you do not cut them down at Christmas-time, you will find them growing into tall, beautiful Pine trees—the pride of the forest. You thus see that they are unlike their parents, the pigmies, while they resemble their grandparents, the tall Pine trees that you have so often seen in your strolls in the country.



IN a far-away time there once lived a man name Alfredine, who was very good, and very much loved by all who knew him. He lived with his beautiful wife and little girl in an old castle near a large forest.

Alfredine had a pipe on which he used to play sweet music, while he wished good wishes for all around him. This pipe was exactly like the one on which the Pied Piper played when he led the rats and children away from Hamelin; and it was just wonderful because Alfredine's wishes always came true.

It happened that war broke out, and he went to lead men to fight for their country, leaving his pipe at home. Soon after he had gone a giant, who was also a wizard, came to the castle and tried to buy the pipe, but the wife refused to sell it. The giant well knew that if he should steal the pipe, it would lose its wonderful power and become as other pipes. He offered large sums of gold and precious stones; still the woman refused to sell.

At last the giant became angry and said strange words and made signs, touching the woman's arm and the child's head. Very soon the woman felt weak, while her daughter seemed to be growing. When the giant saw this he went away.

The next day when they awoke, the servants had all disappeared, and the castle was changed to a hut with only one room. The woman grew weaker and weaker each day. In a week she could not leave her bed. In a week, too, the child had grown as tall as her mother, and oh, so very ugly! She played on the pipe constantly; but as she wished that the giant might be killed, her other wishes did not come true. The spell could be broken only when a stranger who had done no wrong should play a little tune of eight notes upon the pipe.

Just at the time a party of wounded soldiers were crossing the country on their way home, and with them was a little boy, a war-orphan, whose name was Orso. One day, while camping near a large forest, Orso, who loved birds and animals, saw a white rabbit in the path. He ran after it, but did not catch it, and when he tried to retrace his steps, found himself lost. The soldiers searched for several hours, but, as they had to reach camp soon, marched on without him. Orso kept walking straight on, calling loudly all the time. He ate berries growing in the forest. On and on he went for several miles until he became so weary he had to sit down. He was getting sleepy and beginning to nod when in the distance he thought he heard low moans as if someone was suffering. He started at once in the direction of the sounds. He walked a long, long way; then the music changed until Orso could make out a little tune, but very sad. On and on he went. More and more the music changed until the boy was keeping step, and marching as proudly and well as the soldiers who were on their way home, from fighting in Egypt. Then, all at once, in an open space between the trees he saw a tiny hut, made of mud and covered with grass.

Just outside the door, seated on the ground, was an ugly old woman playing a long, smooth, cane pipe.

It seemed to Orso as if the pipe was asking him to take it, but he was afraid as the woman's wicked-looking eyes were staring straight into his. The music drew him; he took one step, then rushed forward, snatched the pipe away and put it to his lips. Do, re, mi, fa, sol, la piped Orso. Then do, re, mi, fa, sol, la—he piped again. How strange! He could not finish a scale. Once more he tried; do, re, mi, fa, sol la ti,do—smoothly ran the scale. At that very moment a soft mist began to rise, covering the old woman and the hut completely.

When it had cleared away, as it very soon did, there stood a gray stone castle with many towers and ivy growing over the walls; while standing just outside the door was a girl as lovely as any princess you ever heard of.

A beautiful lady looked out of the second story window and called, "Come to mother, Velrosa." The little girl, for that was her name, took the boy in and led him to her mother. The woman called a servant who brought food for the boy. After Orso had eaten, the servant took him into another room and helped him dress in a fine suit of clothes.

[illustration - An ugly old woman playing a long, smooth, can pipe]

The children became friends at once and studied and played together. Orso soon learned to play the most beautiful music.

The next year the war ended and Alfredine returned home.

When Velrosa was eighteen she and Orso was married. They often traveled around the world visiting strange lands and seeing many wonderful things, but were never so happy as when they were at home in their own castle near the large forest.





THE players stand in a circle. One child who is "it" runs around the circle and hits another child who immediately starts running in the opposite direction around the circle. When they meet on the other side they stop, shake hands, and say, "Good morning, Si," three times, then continue running in opposite directions toward the place where the child stood who was tagged. The one reaching the place first, remains there and the other runs around the circle and tags some one else for "Si."


THE players are seated in a circle. The leader gives each one the name of some kitchen utensil. Then he begins telling a "Kitchen" story, using the names of kitchen utensils, and every time he calls the name of an article, the child bearing that name gets up from his chair, turns around once and then sits down again. Whenever the leader in his story uses the word "kitchen" all the players get up, turn around, then sit again. The story must always develop a situation that causes the kitchen to upset and at the last words "The Kitchen Upset" all the players jump us leaving their seats. In the scramble the leader finds himself a seat and the one without a seat when the kitchen becomes settled again is the new leader.


IN this game the players get in pairs and sit in a circle, each keeping their chairs close together. Each pair chooses the name of some animal. The two leaders find out the names of each pair and then walk around calling out the animals thus: "The monkeys are walking!" and the pair by that name get up and march behind the leaders. The leaders call out several more animals in the same way and then say, "The cage is open!" whereupon all pairs leave their seats march in line behind the leaders. Then the leaders say, "The cage is closed!" and all scramble for their seats. Here the leaders aim to get seats and the pair failing to get a seat are the new leaders. (All pairs must get a seat together.)



MRS . MERLIN carefully folded the letter which she had finished reading, and frowning in deep concentration, slowly slid it into the pocket of her stiffly starched white apron.

"Just received another letter from Anne," she said presently.

"Yes...did she have anything new to say about me this time," remarked Kathleen, slightly elevating her eyebrows but not lifting her eyes from the leaflet she held in her lap. "I'm just as impossible as ever I suppose." She turned the leaf with a jerk to emphasize her words: "Aunt Anne is such an old fogy, she is!...Oh, Grandma, this is the kind of sweater I want you to send me for the Thanksgiving game." Kathleen handed the pamphlet across without moving out of her position; then drawing her heels up so that they rested on the edge of the big morris chair she embraced her morning white skirt just below her knees and continued, "Isn't that collar just gorgeous? You know A. U. plays on our campus this year and we are sure to have a most wonderful time."

"Kathleen," began Mrs. Merlin; after gazing into the grate in front of her for a full moment she continued, "I'm afraid you are going to be terribly disappointed when I tell you that it's not all probable that you will return to Fisk next term."

Kathleen's big brown eyes quickly filled with tears and for a moment she lost all power of speech.

"I realized quite some time ago that I couldn't do it alone again this year so—"

"Oh, Grandma, you can't mean it! You can' can't! It'll break my heart, it will" interrupted Kathleen shaking her head hysterically; tears were streaming down her cheeks now.

"I knew it wouldn't be easy to tell you and I told Anne so," continued Mrs. Merlin, speaking more to herself than to Kathleen. "She has never felt that I've been exactly fair to your father... but, that's past history; now we both think it would be a splendid thing for you to go out there this summer and see if you can't help him out of his—his deplorable situation... you're a big girl now," she ended lamely.

With her lips parted in that unmistakable expression of utter amazement, Kathleen stared.

"I know it seems strange to you to hear me talking this way, as your father and I have always lived out lives apart," hastily went on Mrs. Merlin, "but Anne says—"

Kathleen interrupted again. "Don't tell me what Aunt Anne says...I hate her, I do!" she screamed, placing her hands over her ears. "We needn't pretend to like each other any longer, it's—it's a farce. She—she insulted my friends and me every time I went out to see her...I never wrote you about it last year because—because I knew how you'd feel. Now! she has persuaded you to send me out there to that—that old country." Her tone was full of resentment. "I never thought she could influence you to ever turn against me...I never dream-med—" Kathleen, unable to finish her sentence, buried her head in her arm and sobbed violently.

"You don't mean the things you're saying...If you could only understand," Mrs. Merlin sighed helplessly, rising and starting toward the door. She turned and stretched out her hand as if to stroke the tumbled black head shaking with convulsing sobs. Changing her mind, her wrinkled face twitching painfully, she tip-toed quietly out of the room.

Finally Kathleen ceased crying, sat up, and found that she was alone. A thought flashed through her mind: How shocked Crystal would be when she told her. As she flew across the room to the telephone her aching heart was soothed somewhat at the thought of her chum's words of consolation which she knew would come across the wire.

"1922 Main," she repeated the number to the operator. During the brief seconds of waiting the various schemes and plots they had planned, worked and carried out the summer after graduating from Crystal's father's high school, in order to go away to the same boarding school, danced mockingly before her eyes. The two girls had never ceased to congratulate themselves upon this clever piece of work; for
it had been no easy task to get Mrs. Carter to change her mind after she had made all plans for Crystal to go to Talladega. Bang! up went the receiver; the operator said that no one answered. Oh, cruel fate just was against her in her hour of need! She did so want to talk to Crystal!

As Kathleen sat there on the telephone stoolchair a thousand thoughts rushed through her brain. She thought of the time her grandmother first related the story of her mother's runaway marriage, which had occurred just at the closing term of her sophomore year. Kathleen was so tiny when she had died that she could not remember a single thing about her. A tender feeling of sympathy crept into her heart now, as she thought of her girl-mother who had had to die so young.

"It must be awful to have to die when you are just beginning to enjoy the big thrills of life," she thought.

Her father had left the city shortly after he mother's death, leaving her to be cared for by her grandmother. He did not return until Kathleen was a girl of seven. She recalled the day she saw her father for the first time to know him. Bringing with him a little brown Hawaiian type of girl, whom he had just married out on the Coast, he came upon her and her grandmother suddenly. However she had remained on with her grandmother, and now...could they really mean to take her out of school when she was only half through college...they, who were forever and eternally preaching efficiency to her? Why of course they didn't! Wasn't she stupid not to have thought of this before...her grandmother had said that she couldn't do it alone this year,—well, wasn't there her old crabbed aunt, who had plenty of money? Didn't they think she was dense though, to believe they would go to the trouble to send her this far and then take her out! It was all as clear as daylight to her now; it was just this meddlesome old aunt wanting to stir up trouble and strife for her as usual. Hadn't she and her grandmother always got along too well to suit her?

"I'd like to know why she got Grandma to tell me I wasn't going back.... If I asked Grandma she wouldn't tell me though," Kathleen soliloquized. "I can read Grandma like a book but Aunt Anne is so clever...I know what I'll do,—that's just what I'll do. I'll get Crystal to find out for me. But I won't go a step anywhere," she drew herself up stiffly. "I wouldn't go to the country to please—"

Just then her ear caught a strain of music that was coming from the house in the next yard; it was Professor Calhoun at his morning practicing. "Oh, would she ever be able to play like that!" she thought to herself, as she closed her eyes to listen. Suddenly the stirring strains seemed transformed into a living force that lifted her right out of herself into a strange world,—a world of ambitious longings. She was seized with a burning desire to do something great, something that would not only make her race, but all races, proud of her. She saw herself as plain as anything, dressed in a most wonderful gown, and bowing calm and composed before a large audience. She could easily tell by their distinguished dress that they were not ordinary people. As she received a deafening outburst of applause she watched her grandmother sharing her success, her whole aged body trembling with uncontrollable joy.

The music slowly died away and Kathleen opened her eyes, startled. She was so overcome and dazed by this fleeting vision, she clutched at her heart tightly to make sure it was still beating. It was easy for her to understand how girls who had hoped and planned for some great career might have such moments as these, but she knew she did not belong to such a class. She had never in her whole life longed or wished for any of these things. Kathleen could not recall a time when she was dissatisfied with her pleasant, even flowing current of life,—save when it pleased her aunt to enter upon the scene and upset it. With closed eyes she reviewed the picture that was visualized for her, step by step. A feeling of aw came over her,—she began to understand that it was no mistake, some great destiny did await her. With remorse in her heart for her words of a few moments ago to her old grandmother she faced her present situation again. There was a sort of reverent feeling in her heart now as she decided that she would go to the country. It was as if she was obeying some call, she could not tell what, that she made this decision. Why, it didn't make any difference if she were sent to Jerusalem; she knew inwardly that she, Kathleen Pagne, was consecrated to fulfill some wonderful achievement somewhere on this earth.

If this singularly strange feeling could have
remained with her it would have been all right, but it didn't. So it was in silence and reflection that Kathleen sat the following afternoon in one of carriages of Mr. Thompson, the undertaker, a friend and neighbor of Mrs. Merlin, who at her request readily agreed that one of her men who was not in use could take Kathleen to her father's house "easy enough".

That she was not going to return to school next term no longer worried her; it was the long, lonesome, uneventful days ahead of her that caused the heavy sinking feeling in her heart. She began to accuse herself and call herself a fool for allowing herself to be bamboozled into changing her mind by a silly old idiotic hallucination. So positive was she now that her nature, which had never craved anything like a great achievement, could not fulfill what the vision called for that she firmly decided to shut out all thoughts of it from her mind, and never allow herself to think of it again.

"I've no one to blame but myself...thirteen long weeks, but I won't back out now. I guess I'll manage to live through them somehow," sighed Kathleen wearily.

The carriage wound its way up the hill to the small farm house where three very shabby, dirty children sat on the front steps. These were her half-sisters and half-brother. The thought of her girl friends seeing this deplorable picture with her sent the hot blood rushing to her cheeks. The largest of the group, her brother, recognized her and flew to the gate, opening it to let the carriage drive into the yard.

"Dad tole us this mornin' yo' was comin' and we been lookin' for yo' all day. We tho't yo' was never comin'," he said, grinning bashfully.

"How are you, Henry....My, how you've grown," she managed to smile weakly, wondering where she had seen a dirtier or a more untidy boy. It was true his mother had been dead nearly a year now but there was the old woman who had always lived with them, and who was keeping house for her father, and who was supposed to be looking after the children, but she failed to see any evidence of the latter in Henry.

"Where's Papa?" Kathleen asked.

"In the house gettin' supper," answered Henry

"Wait a minute, my father will want to say a word to you, and thank you for bringing me out," she said to Mr. Long, the driver, as she jumped to the ground.

"Sure, I'll wait to say a word to Pagne," drawled Mr. Long in his usual dry tone.

"Sadie and Gracie are on the front steps,—go kiss 'em," ordered the disappointed boy stoutly, whose face had beamed a few minutes ago at the thought of his sister kissing him.

But Kathleen had reached the house by this time and was entering the kitchen by the side "Here I am at last," she said with an attempt at gaiety, and kissed her father complacently on the cheek.

"I was quite surprised when I received the word from your grandmother this morning," remarked her father quietly, "but I'm sorry to have to welcome you home to this," he added apologetically, noticing the roaming of Kathleen's eyes. "You'll hardly find things in apple-pie see, there has been no one to help me since Leethy took sick."

"Ooh...I didn't know that, how long has she been ill?" asked Kathleen surprised.

"Nearly two months now...but she'll be all right in a few days," he added brightly. "I was by her daughter's house this morning. Girl, you don't know how good that woman has been to my little children. Lord! she's really a jewel set in platinum, I'll tell you...I can't tell you what I would have done without her."

"I've asked Dad over and over, since I saw yo' the last time at Moma's funeral why yo' didn't come home and live with us and take care of Sis and Gracie," volunteered Henry from the doorway... what's the good of havin' a big girl, I says to him."

These words caused Kathleen to wince inwardly. "I couldn't come, I was in school," she retorted hotly.

"I was in fourth reader when Moma died....Pshaw, when I get as big as yo' I'll be a long time through school and me and Dad'll have a great big farm, ten times as big as this, won't we, Dad?" asked the eleven-year-old boy, his black eyes flashing.

"It's been a pretty hard job being a farmer, housekeeper, cook, laundress and school teacher, too,—I don't see how Maggie ever managed."

"You've done fine...really you have," declared Kathleen. Oh, Mr. Long brought me out and is waiting before going back to say a word to you." She watched the stalwart figure of her father as he crossed the yard in long,
even strides, his last words ringing in her ears. She turned to Henry:

"Do you mean to say there is no school near enough for you to go to?"

"No-o-o, not now," answered the boy slowly; "I used to go down on the pike, but since old man Crawford died about two years ago there's been nobody to teach it."

"Did her father really intend to bring his children up in this horrible place," she wondered to herself.

"Come on and I'll show yo' the room Sadie and me fixed for you," and Henry led the way to the room across the hall. Sadie and Gracie is to sleep right next to yo'. Gracie picked up all of them violets herself an' me and Sadie picked the other flowers."

Kathleen smiled an appreciative smile as she noticed the crude arrangement of bouquets around the room and said:

"Bless your little hearts...go tell Sadie and Gracie to come in and see their big sister. Never mind...I'll see them after awhile," she changed, throwing herself across the bed. "I'm very tired."

How long Kathleen slept she did not know. When she awoke her head ached terribly and the clear June moonlight was flooding her room. After undressing she walked slowly across the room to seat herself on the low window sill and try to think out the miserable days that were ahead of her. But instead, as she peered out on the moonlit yard the long shadows of the tall poplars took her back to the times she and Crystal stood by their window after "light out bell" exchanging confidences. They were just such nights as this.

"Oh such a night of June
With that beautiful soft half-moon
And all these innocent blisses!
Oh such a night as this is!"

Were the words she had heard Crystal repeat so often. She recalled an "innocent bliss" which Crystal would not have missed for the world. And that was patiently waiting by the window to catch a last glimpse of Jimmy Tarver, who had to cross their campus on certain nights when he remained very late at the gym. Kathleen had never seen Jimmy Tarver in her life that she didn't think of a weather-beaten caterpillar. She was very much surprised when she found out that her pretty, vivacious chum held such a deep and sincere admiration for this homely, quiet, inoffensive fellow. But after a moment's consideration of Crystal's greatest passion she realized she needn't be surprised to hear of Crystal finding some intrinsic quality to admire in an actual ordinary crawling worm.

Crystal was much the prettier of the two girls. She was just about two shades lighter than Kathleen and nearly two inches shorter. Her little black bead-like eyes fairly danced all the time she talked, and I don't think anyone ever remembered Crystal when she wasn't talking. But when she wasn't talking she was smiling and dimpling and then her eyes danced more mischievously than ever. Then Kathleen's pleasant reminiscences were interrupted by the opening of her door. She saw by the moonlight coming toward her, hand in hand, two little white clad figures whose exceedingly big eyes were opened very wide.

"That old screech owl outside our window woke Gracie up and scared her," said Sadie, "and I brought her in here 'cause Daddy is so hard to wake up...listen, don't you hear it?"

Kathleen did hear the faint cry of that detestable bird and a chill ran through her. She did not blame the baby for being frightened. "Come closer, Sadie...I didn't get to see you; I lay down and went sound to sleep." Picking the baby up she began tucking her in bed, saying protectingly:

"There, Gracie, don't be frightened any more, you can sleep with big sister for the rest of the night."

"We came in and saw you waz 'sleep and Daddy tole us not to wake you...he felt kinda bad 'cause you missed your supper," Sadie told her.

"Come, Sadie, there's room enough for all three of us," said Kathleen.

"I ain't scared of screech owls, anymore," remarked Sadie, as she cuddled close to Kathleen. "Not since 'A'nt Leethy' tole us they waz little bad girls who died and God punished 'em by sending 'em back down on earth as old screech owls. I thought Gracie wazn't scared anymore either, 'cause we said we waz goin' to be good little girls and come back little white doves....'A'nt Leethy' say so."

"Don't wanna die," spoke Gracie for the first time. "Don't wanna be no white dove."

"Oh, Gracie, you tole me jus' the other day you wanted to be a dove," Sadie corrected.
"Don't you remember...we waz comin' from the barn."

"Don't wanna die...don't wanna be no dove," repeated the baby emphatically. "I wanna stay deth wat I ith."

Kathleen laughed heartily at this argument. "I think we all want to go to sleep right now. I haven't the least idea what time it is...there's no clock in this room, but I suppose it's pretty late." With a chubby fist folded in each hand Kathleen forgot everything for the moment, and fell off to sleep enjoying immensely the sensation her new role as "protector" was causing her.

Eleven weeks later Kathleen sat on the little bench under the lattice of wild ramblers waiting for "Uncle Peter" to come to take her to the Lowes' house. The Lowes had just bought a piano and she had promised to play for them this evening. In this small community among the colored people it was mostly "uncle" or "aunt" somebody. If not that it was brother or deacon, much to Kathleen's dislike. But rather than be considered odd and for the purpose of making people understand of whom you were speaking she had had to fall into this custom. She sat there waiting, deeply absorbed in her thoughts that persisted in going around and around in the same circle. Why was it so hard for her to decide...hadn't her grandmother done everything for her all her life? Why should she hesitate one moment before obeying her? What were these people to her anyway whom she had only known a few weeks? This is a sample of the debate which had gone on daily in Kathleen's mind since she received her grandmother's letter requesting her return [illustration - "I wanna stay deth wat I ith"] to the city at once. Why hadn't her grandmother told her father in the beginning that she was just out there for the summer and saved her all this trouble?

I suppose I should have told you before now that Kathleen was not by nature a "pink and white" girl. She could do anything she wished to do when the "spirit moved her". But the real trouble was, the spirit did not move often. For a day and a half, after her arrival at her father's house, she had walked around like a visitor curling her lips disdainfully, not trying to conceal the fact that she was utterly disgusted with her whole surroundings. And then the "spirit moved", in other words her higher nature asserted itself and she plunged forth, and such a scrubbing and cleaning, eliminating and rearranging of things you never saw. After she had done this she found that she was much happier, as it seemed to draw her father closer to her. It was not long after this that "A'nt Leethy" took her old place back in the household and then Kathleen spent much time out-doors, as she found it very hard to take orders from this peculiar old woman. Wandering and prowling about the community she found very alluring. She had been inspired by Henry's garden,— Henry always counted his long rows of growing sprouts in dimes and nickels, which, he made known, would add to his father's farm the coveted acres of land adjoining, that his feverish ambitious nature craved,—to spade a plot of unbroken sod all herself and plant it.

In her long walks and heated arguments with her father she had stubbornly insisted, and then persistently urged upon him to move to a place
where the children could go to school. Then had come his suggestion that they visit the country trustees of Board of Education and see about opening the school on the pike, which had been closed on account of no teacher, throwing 44 little colored children, by actual count, out of school. Oh, she would never forget how hard it was to control her mirth when she met the three county trustees,—all three were baldheaded!—and looked exactly like the pictures of the little mountain men who came out to play tenpins with Rip Van Winkle. She thought of how she and Crystal would giggle when they got together and she described that morning visit to her. But the result of this visit (which she decided was some place to go) was, she took the examination and now had in her possession a license to teach.

"Here I was just grieving my heart out because I had to come to this place and now I can't decide to leave," started her thoughts all over again. "What in name of common sense is the matter with me?...these people are nothing in this wide world to me. Am I getting ready to die, and how become conscience-stricken all of a sudden?" she asked herself. She wished something would fall on her head and cause her to decide something, or paralyze her brain and stop her from thinking! What would they have done is she hadn't come?...if these people didn't bother enough to make the Board of Education get a teacher for their children why should she worry her brain about them. At this moment a cry from Sadie startled her from her thoughts.

"Yon comes the mail man." (A mail man in such communities is a very important personage.)

"What have I told you about yelling like that," commented Kathleen sharply.

The old gray-headed gentleman seated in the passing buggy smiled at the children and called a usual "good evening" to Kathleen.

Returning the greeting with only a friendly nod Kathleen tried to continue her thoughts.

Gracie turned from the fence where she had been peering through the railings and so did not see her sister's nod.

"Big Tither (sister) like Br'er Rabbit,—she lay low and say nuffin," she said, her whole form convulsed with baby laughter.

Kathleen could not keep from laughing at such an odd comparison with Uncle Remus' character. She called the baby to her.

"Yo' got a letter this morning when yo' was away," informed Sadie, running to bring it from the house.

"I do hope it's from Crystal...But I bet it's another letter from Grandma, and I'm no nearer my decision," sighed Kathleen.

Kathleen spoke quite often of Crystal and Baby Gracie had tried but never figured out just what relation Crystal was to Kathleen. So she decided to settle this question that was disturbing her peace of mind.

"Bit Tither, is Cryth-tal to yo' your husband?" she asked.

Kathleen was immensely amused. "No, Crystal is not my husband...she would have to be a man to be that," she explained, running her fingers tenderly through the thick cluster of curls that crowded the little forehead.

"Ooh, who is she, I want to know."

"She's a girl just like I chum, and the sweetest, prettiest, friendliest, and jolliest girl in the whole wide world." She felt a homesick pang as she said these words.

"Gracie, do you want me to go back to the city and leave you?" she asked suddenly.

The baby looked at her for a moment and then gave an unconsciously coquettish shrug of one shoulder.

"If yo' do I'll cry...I'll deth scre-aa-mm!"

"Why Gracie!" exclaimed Kathleen in astonishment.

"I—I will," asserted the baby, solemnly. "That's the only way I know how to make yo' stay."

Thinking of the times she had got what she wanted by this same method, Kathleen could not find it in her heart to reprimand the baby further.

If she didn't go back, she wondered if Dot and Ruth and Lill would miss her,—she hardly thought so. The name "Faithful Five" had never meant much to any them anyway. It was only a nice sounding title which the number of their exclusive clique, after Dorothy Bradford arrived, had suggested. Even when a small girl Kathleen had realized that very few people loved her. She laughed many times to herself over this fact, because she couldn't ever find any reason why they should. She had always been conscious of the fact that she played far better than any of the girls in her
set, and she knew her company was always an enjoyable addition to any occasion. This was enough to satisfy her nature. Kathleen also knew she was of a darker hue than any of the girls in her clique, but she knew she was slenderly built, looked well in all her clothes, and her grandmother dressed her as well, if not better than most of the girls, which had caused no little amount of envy on the part of some. But the peculiar thrill that one experiences when one knows that one is envied had not been wholly unpleasant to Kathleen. Of course it really didn't matter whether any of the others besides Crystal missed her...but, the tiny wistful feeling that crept into her heart now was nothing more than a hope that she would be missed a little perhaps, by them all.

Sadie returned and handed her the letter, which proved to be the long looked for one from Crystal. Kathleen devoured the contents eagerly, puzzled and happy expressions coming and going in her face as she read.

"Oh, there's 'Uncle Peter'," cried Kathleen gayly, rising to go out to the rickety, two-seated surrey, which had just driven up to the gate. "I guess you will be in bed asleep when I get back," she called a minute later to the little girls, waving a goodbye.

"Now I won't have to accept Aunt Anne's offer," thought Kathleen, opening and re-reading a part of Crystal's letter.

—"and I knew both of us would like this better than your staying with your aunt and being a day student. Papa didn't want to see us separated either and he did the writing, so all arrangements are made for us to work half and pay half. Oh Ka, it's going to be such fun working! I've missed you dreadfully this summer and I'm just dying to get home and tell you all about my trip. Boston is just wonderful. We leave for home today and as soon as I get there I'm coming out and spend a week, and I'll tell you all you wished to know, but I won't tell you all you wished to know, but I won't tell you how I found it out, ha,ha. Then we can come back together. Oh, I have just loads and loads to—"

"Dear adorable Crystal," breathed Kathleen happily to herself, "how wholly unselfish she is." Crystal's offer, her visit and the thought of hearing of her wonderful trip took full possession of Kathleen's mind until she reached the little three-room house of the Lowes. Then she began to wonder how so many people could gather into such a small room, as she entered their front room. Knowing that most of these people had never heard any real music before seemed to cause Kathleen to throw her whole soul into her playing tonight as she had never played before. As her last selection died away she turned and bowed to her audience. And the outburst of applause that followed caused every fibre of her body to tingle with a sensation she had never experienced before in her whole life. Her vision flashed before her and instantly her face grew radiant. There could be no mistake,—here she was, calm and composed, her audience, the thrill and everything just exactly as it had been visualized for her. She gave a low musical laugh. "But I would hardly call my audience distinguished." she thought. "Maybe they are like me, gorgeously dressed on the inside where no one can see it," she added.

After "Uncle Peter" put her down in front of her house, about half an hour later, and bade her good night, Kathleen stood for a moment leaning on the gate. The wonderful glow was still in her face as she gazed up at the stars.

"Dear little angel mother dwelling up there in the clouds, you too gave it all up at the end of your sophomore year, didn't you," she whispered softly, "when you felt the thrill of love and answered that call. My nature, just like yours, thrives on thrills, and I really believe I would die if I didn't get them. Now I know Aunt Anne will never understand and I know she is going to term me as impossible as she has always, and perhaps think I was too proud to accept her offer to go back to school, but it doesn't matter as long as someone understands, and you understand and know, little immortal mother, don't you, it is because I want to keep on being thrilled day after day that I am going to stay here,—and incidentally I am going to re-open the doors of education for these little 44 unfortunate children."

The next day Mrs. Merlin folded the letter which she had just received from Kathleen. Rocking to and fro she slowly slipped it into the pocket of her fresh white apron, while the tears rolled unrestrained down her cheeks and her whole body trembled with joy. She realized her grand-daughter's life was really cut out to be a mission instead of the grand career which she and her sister had planned for her.



They say that witches ride tonight,
And goblins leave their hiding places,
And black cats prowl the fences round
With awful noise and frightful faces.
They tell me that in some dark nooks
Will frightful looking ghosts be seen;
That sway and beckon as you pass.
'Tis ever so, on Halloween.
But, scary as these tales may sound
They don't the least bit, frighten me.
I'll not remain at home tonight;
I've heard them all before, you see.

A Jack-o-lantern fine I've made,
He'll sit tonight upon our gate
Inside of him are candles four
That I shall light when it is late.
Then out I'll go to join my chums
We'll sally forth with heart undaunted
No ghost or witch shall frighten us,
We'll seek the very places haunted
We'll have on masks, of course, and wear
The ugliest faces ever seen,
And here and there and everywhere
We'll spread the fun, of Hallowe'en.



"I'VE bot a pencil," chants Billikins, "and a writing pad, and a new suit, and a new hat, and I'm going, going, going to school Monday. And I'm going to learn about everything in the world—"

"Listen to that child! Wouldn't you think," asks Wihelmina disdainfully, "that he was going to heaven?"

"Or that he had some brains?" chimes in Billie.

"Let him wait," says William darkly, "let him wait until he's been in school as long as I have. "

Wilhelmina cannot resist this opportunity. "Well he'd need to be pitied if he has as much trouble with his studies as you."

A dark flush mantles William's face at this, for he is notoriously slow at his books.

"Evidently," the Judge intervenes, looking over the top of his newspaper, "you think that education consists in getting high marks in French and Physical Geography."

"Well, it stands to reason," says Wilhelmina patting her ear-bobs, "that I get 95 in a French exam. I must know more French than William, who just makes a mere passing mark."

"And yet," Billie observes thoughtfully, "when father brought that Haitian home to dinner, William understood him better than you did."

"Oh, well!" says Wilhelmina now as red as William, "that's different; but I can conjugate and very, while he—" she ends with a scornfully pointing finger.

"Ah, but that is the main thing!" says the Judge sagely. "It's a great deal more important to be able to speak and understand French than it is to read it or to be able to give the principal parts of every verb in the language. Now William has to spend so much time getting acquainted with the sound and meaning of each French word that he recognizes it as soon as he hears it. While you, my dear girl it's easy come, easy go. I wonder how much French you'll know when you've been out of school a few years."

"Stupid business this going to school any way," yawns Wilhelmina, avoiding the issue. "They're always changing. Here they call the capital of Russia, Petrograd, and when I first went to school they called it St. Petersburg—"

"You really are old if you can remember that far back," murmurs William neatly, and feels much better for it.

But neither of these can turn aside the Judge. "You know," he continues meditatively, stroking his wig, "the value of education consists not in what you take in but in what it brings out of you. If a person has to study hard to get his lessons and does it, he develops will power, concentration and determination, and these are the qualities which he carries out into life with him. That's what education is going to do for you, isn't it, Billikins?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," say that youngster, "but I'm going to school Monday, and I'm glad of it."

"Why?" asks Wilhelmina curiously.

"Because I'll begin to know some of the things you big folks know."

"Billikins is right," comments the Judge seriously. "That is another of the big reasons why we elders want you to go to school—so that you can reap in the benefit of all the wisdom that has gone before. You know, vast knowledge and the ability to use it hardly ever come together."

"I saw an old French saying once in a book of proverbs," says William. "I think it means: If youth but knew; if old age only could!"

"That's it. If youth only had the wisdom of old age, or if old age only had the strength of youth! There'd be no more suffering—"

"Or war!" chimes in Billie.

"Or want, or sorrow, or anything. It really makes one want to learn, doesn't it?" asks Wilhelmina in surprise.

"There is something in going to school," says William. "It's a scheme to get ahead of time!"


Little People of the Month

Gwendolen and Hiawatha Colerige-Taylor

WE are delighted to present to you this month, Brownies, Gwendolen and Hiawatha Coleridge-Taylor of London, England. Their father, Samuel Coleridge-Taylor is dead; before he died, at the age of 37, through his music he had given to the world "a heritage of an undying beauty". Daniel Hughes Taylor, their grandfather, was a West African Negro who became a noted surgeon and secretly married Alice Hare, an English-woman; Gwendolen and Hiawatha's mother also is an Englishwoman whose name was Jessie S. Fleetwood Walmisley.

Hiawatha recently made his debut at Queen's Hall London, when Mr. David J. Thomas, conductor of the Central London and Orchestral Society, turned over his baton to him to conduct his father's compositions; Gwendolen recited some of her father's works.

How happy these Brownies must be at the carrying on the work of their father,—and what a blessing such folks are in a world like ours, where some people try so hard to believe that brown folks are not so important as white; that each little Brownie has not a right to life and happiness! But as time goes on there comes Gwendolens and Hiawathas with gifts of hope for each one of us.



I HAVE just recently become a reader of THE BROWNIES' BOOK and, to say the least, I am much pleased with the publication. It fills for me a long felt need. I am always writing some articles and it is my intention to send some contribution to THE BROWNIES' BOOK that will miss the waste basket.

I finished High School last term and am planning to enter college at the approaching term. After a strong college course, if nothing prevents I shall study medicine and surgery. I am going to study medicine not so much for the sake of just making a living out of it, but it is my earnest desire to make some lasting contribution to medical science.

THOMAS R. REID, JR, Key West, Fla.

I AM writing to you, not because what I have to say is so important but because I see the other children's letters in THE BROWNIES' BOOK and I should like to have one there too. I am eleven years old and of course I go to school; I have to. But what I like most to do, is to take care of dumb animals; I am sorry for them. Doesn't something inside just pain when you see a poor sick cat or dog? Last winter I took care of a sick puppy and a sick kitten. The kitten was very badly off,—a dog had bitten it. It got all right too and so did the dog. If I had lots of money I'd build a home for stray animals.

IDA LOCKPPORT, Allegheny, Pa.

I AM six years old and can write a letter and I know Songs of Seven. A lady named Jean Ingelow wrote them. My mother told me how to spell this letter.

MAY ANDERSON, Syracuse, N.Y.

MY mother likes me to sit and tell her stories while she sews. I used to tell her all the fairy tales I ever read. But now I tell her the stories out of THE BROWNIES' BOOK. She is so busy, she never gets a chance to look at it. I am trying very hard to write a story nice enough for you to accept, dear Mr. Editor. I work very slowly, but some day I'll have it finished and will send it you. If you would just print it! I'd take the book to my mother and say "See what I did!" I know she'd look at it then.

HATTIE PORTER, San Francisco, Cal.

I FOUND "Darkwater" in the library the other day and read a lot of it. I did not understand it all, but I had not trouble with the part where you tell about your life when a boy. I should like to do some of the things you have done, go to Europe and travel, only I want to go to Asia and Africa too. I think colored people are the most wonderful people in the world and when I'm a man, I'm going to write about them too, so that all people will know the terrible struggles we've had. I don't pay any attention any more to the discouraging things I see in the newspapers. Something just tells me that we are no worse than anybody else. My father says no race is perfect.

I'd like to have a newspaper some day, a daily one—and then "I'd tell the world."


MOST children are sorry when school opens. But I'm not; I'm glad. Of course I like the summer because it gives me so much spare time, but do you know how I spend it? Working, getting ready for school. Our preacher says I'm the handy man of the neighborhood. I sell papers, run errands, cut the grass and sometimes write letters. This year I made enough money to buy myself a new suit and a pair of shoes and I have $5.00 left.

I play base-ball, and hockey. When Christmas comes I sell Christmas trees and holly and wreaths. When I'm big enough I'm going to go to college. I'm sure I'll be able to pay my own way through. I think I'll be an engineer.

JOHN EASTMAN, Reading, Pa.



A Rhymed Story

WILLTON ROSS is a boy in this city who never had been on a farm—the pity! He couldn't tell barley from wheat or oats, and he knew not the manners of cows and goats.

Someone gave Willt a handful of sees, whether of flowers or grain or weeds, he didn't know and he didn't care. He planted them all in the little back square. A brown bare patch was that backyard behind the flat—the ground was hard, baked by the sun year after year, an ugly spot, but it was only here that Willt could make a garden grow. He dug up the earth with a rusty hoe; then he put in his seeds the whole mixed lot! And waited, eager to see what he'd got.

Onions came up. He knew by the smell. "Good for soup," he said. "That's very well." Then immediately he began to dig them all out and set them in beds when they'd hardly a sprout.

Some nasturtiums came up here and there; and he had to transplant them and put them where they could stand in a neat and orderly row. Over the fence they began to grow.

He had one lone cornstalk and one hill of beans. Three beets and some spinach made ready for greens.

Willt was so proud of his "garden sass" he hardly could let a fellow pass without coaxing him around to see the perfectly wonderful mystery of a potato, tomato, lettuce head, pea! The rest of us fellows couldn't help laughing at him and his garden and always were chaffing about the "really marvelous place." We almost had to laugh in his face. Every time we had a good chance we'd say, "Well, Farmer Willt how's country life today?" And he would always answer, "Just fine!"

Now Willt had a very remarkable vine. It began to grow near the one single bean, but the first thing he knew nothing else could be seen. It began to wander all over the place; it covered the flowers on the fence in three days. Willt had to keep snipping and clipping it back to prevent it from crossing the street-car track.

"What is your vine?" we asked him each day. "It's a gourd or a cantaloupe," Willt would say. "I'll know pretty soon—it's beginning to flower."

He watched over that vine, hour after hour. It wasn't a cantaloupe. It wasn't a gourd. Oh, what a roasting poor Willt endured. We teased him so much he began to grow thin; his lip would quiver when we'd begin, "How's the cantaloupe crop today? Been making gourd-dippers? How does it pay?"

School-time came and we had to let Willt and his vine alone and get right down to work for the fall exams—yet—we'd break into a laugh whenever we'd meet, to think of Willt and his bean and his beet, and the magical vine that grew and grew, whose name neither he nor the rest of us knew. Willt kept quiet—he'd learned a lot out of his ten by twelve garden plot.

It came to the night before Hallowe'en. We were planning our fun. Willt sat between Scott Murray and me. "Say," said Scott, "how much money has this crowd got? If we can scrape together fifty cents we can buy a big pumpkin at Grocer Bent's, to make a jack-lantern with. Let's get it and scare folks as they go by!"

"Sure, that'd be mighty good fun," agreed I. "But I can't spare more than a dime." "Mother will lend me another," said Bud, my brother. "But say, do you think it's right to spoil a good pumpkin just for fun for one night? A pumpkin will make a lot of good pies!" At the thought of that we bulged out our eyes.

Meanwhile Willt hadn't opened his face. But now, "I want you all to come to my place," he said, getting up, his mouth set grim. The crowd fell in and followed him. And what do you guess he had to show? Against the fence there stood in a row a dozen big pumpkins, fat and round. Yes, that was the vine that had covered the ground, climbed the fence and tried to break out and run down the street and wander about!

"You can each help yourself," said Willt, with a wave of his hand towards the gold fruit.
"But one—please save. My mother wants it." The rest he gave to us fellows, and each of us made a fine jack-o-lantern, and we had a parade, all over town Hallowe'en—more fun than ever was had since the world was begun. And when we had finished Willt, laughing, said, "Come!" And he led us again back to his home.

This time Mrs. Ross invited us in. We and our lanterns each had a grin that stretched all the way across our faces, for there on the table at each of our places was a whole great big fat pumpkin pie! Good? I should say they were! My eye!

"And now," asked Willt, as we left—in line, "What do you fellows think of mine?" With a great loud whoop we all answered, "Just fine!"



HE was a youngster of the ambitious type. His latest fad was that of writing stories. Confidently, and with an abundance of paper, pens and ink he set about the task. But soon found that ideas of writing stories would not be found for the asking. Consequently he set out to find one—and found an interesting experience awaiting him.

MARCUS CORNELIUS SMITH was sitting at an improvised desk in his room. His hair was rumpled and his forehead contracted. The end of the penstaff which he held in his hands just about chewed into shreds.

Making a rest for his chin with his two hands, and leaning on his desk, he looked into space. Then he turned his attention to the ceiling; then the floor. He changed his position by shoving both hands in his pocket, sinking way down in his seat, and staring at the one hundred sheets of blank typewriting paper before him. Then he looked absently and sullenly at the chewed pen which he had now laid down on his desk.

Finally Marcus got up from his chair and walked restlessly around his room, pausing for a moment at a window for a puff of fresh air. Perhaps that would aid him to think. The light breeze which sprung up at that moment seemed to be especially for him, but it did not bring him any nearer to his object. Desperately he sat down again.

For Marcus Cornelius Smith was trying to seek an inspiration to write. To be plain, Marcus had just that morning, after reading of the success of a great writer, taken a notion that he too would try his hand at writing and astound the civilized world. Dreams galore had come to him of how his name would be heralded from end to end of the country; how his "masterpiece" would be translated into language after language; how Marcus Cornelius Smith would become the most important person in existence!

With the thought of writing there came to Marcus Cornelius Smith the thought of paper, pens and ink. But, strange enough, no thought of his subject came into his brilliant head. However, for a youth like Marcus, that was merely a dim speck on the horizon of his venture. An idea for a story! Why, that was easy to find. Ideas were everywhere, Marcus thought. All on had to do was to buckle down to it and think hard enough. Of course an inspiration would come to him in a few seconds. In a few moments some divine spark would flash across his mind; some glorious thought would come wandering down to him from paradisiacal realms; some grand idea would come flashing down to him from the empyrean above. Marcus Cornelius Smith knew that.

Marcus was sitting near an upstairs window, and as he sat in his assumed trance waiting for the favor of the gods to be bestowed upon him, his eyes had wandered over the scene below him. There was an open lot next to his house. As it was now about the middle of the summer the field was rather beautifully covered with flowers, intermingled with grass and weeds. There were buttercups, dandelions, and black-eye-susans all mixed together in gorgeous array. Butterflies, displaying their gloriously tinted wings in the sunshine, were there in large numbers. They made an interesting and inspiring sight indeed as they fluttered from
flower to flower. Marcus saw besides these several little larks that were common near this small southern city, and also two little humming-birds. The view was beautiful from the window.

Occasionally a huckster wagon, dealing in vegetables, would pass down the street. Boys and men, sweating in the heat, and busy with their summer occupation, walked past; others rode bicycles, while others had cars. Then there were picnic parties and vacation parties continually passing up and down.

All of these things Marcus observed as he sat in his room. But none of these had brought the sought-for inspiration to him. His gaze at intervals drifted down the road as far as he could see; then over the housetops at the skyline; then into the empyrean, where the fleecy cumulus clouds gave him a vague impression of power and grandeur and rest. But strangely none of these things incited him. The few minutes he thought it would take an inspiration to come were constantly lengthening.

Then it was that Marcus went through the manœuvers which we met him doing. Now it was plain that he was becoming tired. He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. "Phew!" he muttered under his breath, but he was not thinking of the heat. He was staring at his fresh bottle of ink, his paper, and the badly chewed pen which he now held languidly between his two fingers.

At length Marcus arose. He could stand it no longer. Probably a walk would bring him an idea. He hoped it would. If it didn't, then no writing. Marcus heaved a sigh of resignation. He had done his best—but it wasn't good enough.

He went downstairs.

"Going for a walk, Mother," he said. "I've been trying to find the inspiration for that story I was telling you I was going to write this morning, but so far I haven't been very successful."

"Why, Marcus, I thought it was almost completed from the way you talked of it," said his mother in surprise.

"No'm," said Marcus sullenly. "Haven't started it yet."

Opening the collar of his shirt to keep him cool, and reaching for a battered cap from the hat rack, which he pulled well over his eyes, he set out for the woods. He did not forget to take his fishing tackle and pole along with him. In front of his house he dug up a handful of bait. Then, with the pole on his shoulder and his hands in his pockets, he set out.

By following the road on which he lived, he soon came to a by-street which crossed it. Turning to the left and walking briskly, though it was rather warm, he was soon out of the limits of the little city. About a half hour later he was following a country road that led right into the heart of the woods.

Picturesque, indeed, was the road on which Marcus walked, with its large, shady, and rather grotesquely shaped oaks on either side. Further back in the forest were innumerable pine trees, all tapped for turpentine. Innumerable shrubs and flowers, one mass of viridity and color, abundantly entangled themselves on the side of the road and near the low barbed wire fence that ran steadily along the road. Further on were graceful sycamores; at intervals magnificent spruce pines loomed up grandly; here thick foliaged persimmon trees grew in abundance; there a maple outlined its beautiful form on a background of green. Marcus was simply lost in admiration. He always was when walking along the road. He simply loved it.

He turned from the road to a well worn pathway leading into the dense growth on the side of the road. A fifteen minutes' walk brought him to a gurgling stream, bordered on all sides by tall alders and reeds. Then he walked slowly along watching for a good place from which to fish. He selected a shady spot under a tree that leaned well over the water. There the water was clear and cool. It was an ideal place for fish at this time of the day.

Marcus adjusted his bait on the hook, then cast it over. He leaned back on the tree and waited. It wasn't long before he got a bite. It was certainly apparent from the size of the fish that he really had a fine fishing place. He became interested in his fishing all of a sudden. All thought of writing was gone as he eagerly and expectantly watched the small cork float buoyantly on the water. No more was he worried about his subject; gone was the desire to stir the civilized world. An inspiration had come, but it was not the long sought for inspiration. His was the inspiration to fish....

Marcus Cornelius suddenly felt a queer feeling. He had now been fishing for one-half hour.
Just this moment he felt queer. For some unknown instinct told Marcus Cornelius that he was not the only person aspiring to land a whopper of the trouts in the stream. Marcus turned and whom should he see but a boy just about his size, ragged and barefooted, but with a broad smile on his face, shiny, white eyes, and with a long bamboo fishing pole and an old can, evidently filled with bait, in his hand, looking at him and grinning like everything. Marcus certainly was surprised.

"I'm jes' 'Lias," said the boy. "Don't be skeered."

"Jingo!" muttered Marcus, "I'm not scared, b-but you sure surprised me. How in creation did you come so silently?"

'Lias grinned again.

'Jes' happened along through them bushes," he said. "Do you mind if I fishes here wid you?"

"Why, n-no," said Marcus, haltingly.

'Lias sat down as if the whole affair were ended, and proceeded to bait his line. A few minutes elapsed in silence.

Marcus broke the silence.

"Live 'round here?" he asked.

"Yeah," answered 'Lias. "Ma and me live in a little log cabin over de woods."

Marcus was silent. Perhaps it would not be polite to ply 'Lias with more questions.

Up and down, up and down bobbed the two corks on the water. Both the boys watched interestedly. Traces of the broad smile still were on 'Lias' face. He glanced around at Marcus' catch once.

"Been here long?" he queried.

"Nope," answered Marcus

"Dat's a good catch," commented 'Lias.

"Thanks," said Marcus.

Silence again. There was no sound save the twittering of the birds in the tops of the trees; the buzzing of bees in the air; the less noisy stir of the flies around the stream; the ripple of the water as it rushed past gaily.

Suddenly the cork attached to 'Lias' line seemed to become animated. For a second it seemed to become animated. For a second it seemed to be a-tremble with life. Then it darted under the water in a flash, and in a wink 'Lias jerked. It wasn't such an easy jerk as he thought it would be though, and before he himself even realized it a two-pound trout was flopping on the bank.

"A whopper!" breathed Marcus.

"You bet," answered 'Lias, his eyes shining with excitement. "Think I'll be able to get much for 'im?" he added hopefully.

"You sure ought to be able to sell him easily," came the response.

'Lias seemed to be happy.

"Hope dat'll help Ma some," he said, a shade passing over his face.

Suddenly Marcus thought he understood.

"You and your mother have a pretty hard time with these high prices?" he ventured, half repenting after he said it. He didn't have any business prying. But he certainly was interested.

'Lias was unoffended though. Instead he seemed glad to put confidence in Marcus.

"We hab," said 'Lias. "But jes' since yesterday."

'Lias stopped, and the smile disappeared from his face. There was a different kind of light in his clear eyes now. Formerly there was a shiny light of happiness and cheer. Now there was a glint. It reminded one of the sparks of electricity thrown off by steel hammers. It was piercing and sharp. It was suggestive of anger and determination.

Marcus wondered....He thought hard....Suddenly he become sympathetic. There seemed to be something noble and enduring and optimistic and courageous in the manner of this chap. Unknowingly but surely he was being influenced by the magnetic power of a strong personality, even though it came from only a humble member of his race. Of a sudden he wanted to know all about him, wanted to know his mother, wanted to know why it was "jes' since yesterday" that they had felt a hard time. He looked at 'Lias who was looking hard at his cork, and thinking harder. Finally he spoke. He simple had to.

"'Lias," he said lowly.

'Lias did not move his eyes from the water.

In fact Marcus thought water was in them.

"I'm heah," said 'Lias.

"Mind telling me why it is 'jes' since yesterday' that you all are having a hard time?"

'Lias was silent.

"Don' mind," he said at last, "but, er—er—"

"I'm Marcus, 'Lias."

"Er, Marcus, dunno's my tale o' hard luck would be ins'tin ter you."

"You bet it will, 'Lias."

"I dunno's I ought ter tell you about it er
not, 'cause I'm sho' desperate. Afeered it might skeer you."

"I know it isn't that bad, 'Lias."

"Worse'rn you think. I knows dat."

"Well, why don't you tell me and let me be the judge of that?"

Again 'Lias was silent as he stared into the water. Finally he assented.

"It's ole man Dukes' lyin' boy Jim!" he said with conviction. "He's the whole thing. Yer see ole man Dukes he's got de mostest confidence in that boy as he kin possibly hab. An' de boy is a nat'ral bo'n thief. My pore Ma can't see so well, so ole man Dukes sends dat scallywag Jim ter collect fo' de last payment on our log cabin. Now I knows good an' well dat dat money has been paid, but Ma los' de receipt. So o' course ole man Dukes he finds dat out and decides to collect ag'in, since Pa he has done gone an' died. Jim comes fo' de money, an' since I weren't dere Ma sends him to git de money fer a long, long time. Jim he goes in dere, takes it all, gives Ma de receipt for a certain 'mount, an' when I comes home I fin' we is plumb busted. Dat made me mad and I heave 'clared ter git Jim, ef I die doin' it. He's a big bully an' coward, and I jes wants ter meet him fair an' square sometime. You jes' bet I'm goin' ter show him somethin'!" And 'Lias clinched his fists in anticipation of licking the bully.

Marcus was thoughtful. This was interesting as well as pathetic.

"Didn't you go to old man Dukes?" he asked, interested.

"Sho'," 'Lias answered, "but whut good? None! Ole scallywag! He 'clares he jes' received de 'mount on de receipt, an' o' course I can't say nothin' cause I guess he did. Jim kept de rest."

"That's really a shame," muttered Marcus.

"I hates it 'cause o' Ma," continued 'Lias. "We wuz jes' erbout fixed pretty when he comes. I shore mean ter get him. Gee! he's a scound'el. Heah I got ter go sellin' fish to git Ma's medicine bill paid."

'Lias paused a moment, then added quickly:

"It ain't that I don't want ter work sellin' fish,—it's jes' de thought of de reason why I hab ter sell it."

Marcus said he understood. He was thinking hard. Gee! he wished he could do something for 'Lias. But it was almost impossible.

'Lias spoke again.

"I shore means ter git him!" Unconsciously his grip tightened on the long bamboo within his hand.

Marcus realized that there was a whole lot in what 'Lias said. He wondered how 'Lias meant to "git" Jim Dukes.

The next half hour passed in silence between the two boys. Both seemed rapt in meditation. At length 'Lias said he had enough fish.

"Got ter go to town afore dark an' try ter sell 'em," he explained to Marcus.

And indeed, it was about time for anyone to be leaving who wished to reach the little city before nightfall. The sun, unnoticed by Marcus until now, had advanced far over towards the west, and slowly the shadows of the trees were lengthening—lengthening—lengthening—

"Guess I'll walk along with you, 'Lias," he said. "It's about time I was leaving myself. I hadn't noticed it was so late until you mentioned it just now."

The boys arose and began the walk.

"Say, 'Lias," said Marcus suddenly, "what were you doing before that boy took all your money?"

"I wuz workin' for ole man Dukes."

"Well, I do declare. What did you do, quit him?"

"Couldn't do nothin' else," 'Lias answered dolefully. "I tole Ma I shore wuz not goin' ter work for a cheater."

"Did she want you to?"

"O' course not! But she didn't know where we wuz goin' ter get de money ter live. I tole her I would take care o' her. An' 'Lias shore will!" he added with a puff of his chest.

"So you went to fishing, eh?" Marcus said absently.

"Jes' fo' today," 'Lias answered, then added: "O' course I don't mean to be jes' fishin' all de time." He glanced quickly at Marcus.

"Of course," Marcus assented. My! but this boy was keen. He could penetrate a statement and grasp a conception of its remotest meaning. Marcus looked at him and wondered.

The boys now turned off the little pathway, and soon were traversing the country road. The road looked a little different to Marcus than it did when he was coming over. In fact he was not paying much attention to it now. Nevertheless it was less brilliant than it was in the
middle of the day; the tall trees cast their long shadows straight across the road and the general impression was that of a more subtle atmosphere than that which the boy passed through in the morning. In fact his feelings seemed to be very much in accordance with his surroundings. This morning when he passed that way his spirit was bright, sunshiny, buoyant and joyous—even as the sun shone brilliantly on the leaves; the birds twittered in glee; the squirrel hastened buoyantly and hopefully along the road, right in front of his interested gaze. But since then 'Lias had come, and his spirit had been subdued, and he had become thoughtful, and silent, and the brilliancy of his mood had been replaced by a touch of subtlety and smoothness, and a desire to help—even as the restful shade along the road seemed to be accompanied by a desire to aid the worn-out traveler, so the touch of subtlety that had come over him seemed to be accompanied by a desire to help his comrade of the morning. Over head he heard the leisurely chiming of a wood thrush, after his all day song. He looked upwards and saw a mother bird winging her way homeward at the close of a hard day. From far away the bells on several cows, as they were being brought from the pasture, reached his ears in a lazy, ding-dong chant. And it was at this time, in this the most unpsychological moment possible, that he was awakened from his meditation and 'Lias grasped his arm.

For coming towards them, with a big swagger and confident gait, a haughty air and an evil eye, was none other than Jim Dukes, 'Lias' arch enemy.

'Lias stepped ahead of Marcus. When Jim approached he appeared not to see the boys and walked on with his head high in the air. In his hand was a stout stick with which he struck at the branches along the roadside.

'Lias stepped directly in front of Jim.

"Stop, Jim!" he said in a voice which heretofore Marcus had not heard him use. There was a slight tremor in it, but its full force carried an air of sternness about it.

Jim was surprised. He had always thought 'Lias was afraid of him.

"What char want, you little fool," he said angrily.

'Lias was unruffled.

"You!" he said. "Dat's who I wants. You is a thief."

"Who you calling' a thief?" Jim Dukes' dark face turned crimson. He raised the stick in his hand menacingly.

"Don't think I've skeered o' you, Jim Dukes," said 'Lias. "You ain't nothing' but a big bully an' a coward, an' a thief, an'—"

The big fellow became furious. He advanced quickly towards 'Lias who held his ground. The stick was still in his hand.

"Another worrud," he fairly shouted. "Jes' one more an I'll slam dis stick so fur in dat cranium o' yours—"

'Lias didn't give him time to finish his threat. Again the fire sparkled within him. His fighting blood was up. He dropped his fishing pole, his fish, and rolled up his sleeves. Marcus gasped at the size of his muscles and his well formed arms. 'Lias suppressed a gulp and advanced to meet Jim. He wasn't quite ready to gith yet though.

"If you ain't coward, put down de stick an' fight me!" he challenged.

For Jim that was another matter. He really was not much good as a pugilist and he knew it. His specialty was scaring the boys he came into contact with out of the wish of fighting him. He was a typical braggadocio. He stopped short in his advance towards 'Lias.

'Lias grinned.

"I dare yer!" he cried.

Jim was really angry. His face was a study in emotion—the emotions of the coward when put up against a fair and square proposition. He did not wish to met 'Lias fair-fisted, though he was much the larger of the two. The fact of the affair was that he was afraid.

Jim hesitated, then called 'Lias a volley of names in a breath. Then he reconsidered his action.

"Why you call me a thief?" he asked.

'Lias laughed under his breath. He knew he was dealing with a coward. But outwardly there was no sign of the thoughts going on within.

"You stole my pore Ma's money, an' mine too. You done went an' took 'vantage cause she was blind an' I weren't there."

"It's a lie! Didn't do nothin' like it!" Jim cried. He had thought when his father told 'Lias that he had only taken the right amount
[illustration - "Don't think I'se skeered o' you, Jim Dukes"]
'Lias had not thought any more of the affair.

"Eh? It is? I done wants ter see." And in a flash 'Lias had caught the big fellow's wrist, wrenched the stick from his hand and hurled him to the ground. He had taken advantage of the moment when Jim was off his guard and now the bully was within his power.

Marcus, who had been looking on with undisguised interest, was suddenly filled with admiration for the pluck of 'Lias.

Jim was on the ground, gulping and hollering. 'Lias had him in a most secure hold.

"Lemme up!! Lemme up! You imp—you—fool—you—you—" cried the enraged Jim.

"Tell me where my money is an' I will," said 'Lias firmly.

"I ain't got nothin' belongin' ter you or nobuddy else," gulped Jim. "Lemme up! I'll have Pa on you for this!! Lemme up—gulp—I say."

"I've got plenty o' time here, Jim, if you have an' I don't mean ter leab 'till I git my money."

"Well, I'se done said I ain't got it."

"You hab, Jim Dukes."

"I ain't—I—I—I—"

'Lias tightened his hold.

"Ouch" hollered Jim. "You'se hurtin' me. Ow—ow! I done tol' you I—gulp—ain't —got—gulp—ain't—ow!—gulp—lemme up—I—I—I—"

'Lias was grim. Again his hold tightened.

"You'se chokin' me! You'll kill me! Lemme up, 'Lias!"

"Tell me 'bout de money." Again his hold tightened.

"Ow—gulp—awright, 'Lias, I'll tell you—I'se got it—ow—you'se chokin' me—lemme up an' I'll tell you, 'Lias—ow—gurgle—it's in me pocket, 'Lias—heah take it!—oh, please leggo o' me an' lemme up!"

'Lias let up some. But he was prepared for treachery.

"Which pocket?" he queried.

"My left one....Lemme up please, 'Lias!"

'Lias fumbled around 'in Jim's pocket and withdrew they money. Then he let the panting Jim up, who immediately began to call him everything he could think. Nevertheless he did not remain in the vicinity too long. He immediately proceeded down the road, shaking his fist and muttering at 'Lias. 'Lias grinned. Then he turned to Marcus who had been silent during the whole performance. Marcus advanced towards him.

"Shake, 'Lias, old boy," he said. "You've sure got nerve and pluck and—muscle. That was really good work you did with that bully."

And once more that all embracing grin made its appearance on 'Lias face as he took up his fishing pole and the catch of the morning. Marcus was surely drawn towards him. Then the boys shook hands—shook under the arch of trees in the twilight of this summer day. Theirs was a feeling of friendship indeed as their eyes met—the eyes of the ambitious colored youngster and the plucky colored chap—and in the quickly setting gloom of eventide they felt a bond of friendship which the leisurely chiming of a wood-thrush above at the moment seemed to seal and the musically plaintive song of a retiring bush-sparrow seemed to commend.

Then the boys took up their load and proceeded towards town. Silently they walked along. Both of their thoughts were far away. 'Lias was thinking of his mother in the little log cabin waiting for him, and what joy he would bring to her with his arrival that night. Marcus was thinking over the happenings of the afternoon and—"jes 'Lias".

At last they reached the place where 'Lias had to turn off the road. Again Marcus offered his hand.

"'Lias," he said, "I hope I'll know you some more. I sure am glad I met you this afternoon. I—I—want to see your mother."

And vaguely 'Lias understood Marcus' feelings.

"I'se glad I met you, Marcus," said 'Lias, "but I'se gladder I met Jim Dukes."

And then he disappeared in the darkness.

A few weeks later Marcus Cornelius Smith had the pleasure of seeing his first piece in a local paper. It was a short story. The title of it was: "Jes' 'Lias."


Our Little Friends



IN all the World there is no mystery like Motion—the curious, unexplained Moving and Changing and Appearing and Disappearing of Things and Thoughts and Light and Darkness and Happiness and Pain. I, the Crow, move and move and move, swiftly, slowly, but always.

  • In the war between Russia and Poland the Russians advanced to within 60 miles of Warsaw. Then the Poles, aided by the French, rallied and drove the Russians across the border. They claim to have taken 80,000 prisoners and much war material. Meantime negotiations for peace are going on. But the Polish armies are trying to invade Russia while new Russian armies are being raised. At present, therefore, the prospect for peace are not good.
  • Fighting still proceeds between the revolt led by General Wrangel in south Russia and the Bolsheviki; also in Asia between the Turks and the Greeks; and in Arabia between the Arabians and the English.
  • Thousands of Russian soldiers have taken refuge in Germany.
  • Irish unrest now centers in the grave condition of Lord Mayor MacSwiney of Cork. For five weeks he has refused to take food as protest again his arrest and imprisonment by the English. Many petitions have been sent the Prime Minister for his release.
  • There has been renewed fighting between the Protestant and Catholics in Belfast and other parts of Ireland and the whole of southern Ireland is seething with crime and unrest.
  • Germany has abolished compulsory military service. She was among the first of modern states to compel every male citizen to be a soldier and on this system her great military power was built. The treaty of Versailles called for the abolition of this system.
  • The Danes, Swedes and Norwegians have been conferring concerning their attitude toward the League of Nations.
  • Much interest has been aroused in attempts to reorganize world Socialism. The "Third International" conference has met in Moscow. American Socialists have agreed to affiliate with some reservations. French Socialist are seeking alliance. Socialists are those people who believe that tools and material used in manufacture should belong to the public and not to private persons. Communists go further that this and believe that all property belongs to the state and that labor should be hired, directed and paid for by the state.
  • Gabrielle d'Annunzio, the Italian poet, has for a year held the city of Fiume. This city has a large Italian population but was the property of Austria before the war. The Allies wish to give it to the new state of the Jugo-Slavs, but d'Annunzio seized it and declared it was Italian. A long controversy, in which President Wilson took prominent part, has ensued. Finally d'Annunzio has erected the city into an independent state called the "Italian Regency of Quernaro," comprising several islands in addition to the city.
  • An international trades union congress in Holland is appealing to the workers of the world to form a union against all future wars.
  • A statue of Lafayette has been presented to France by the Catholic organization known as the Knights of Columbus.
  • It is reported that Great Britian has agreed to recognize the partial independence of Egypt. Egypt will control her foreign relations and her internal government. This is a great triumph for colored men.
  • Costa Rica is reported to have given the right of suffrage to all grown persons, including women.
  • The British Labor Party has tried to get in touch with the French so as to decide upon a united policy toward Russia. They have
    [illustration - Last Days of Summer]
    threatened a general strike if England tries actively to interfere in the Russo-Polish war.
  • Italy has no coal and has to import it from England. The price is so high that she is trying to use her volcanoes to make electricity from which heat and power can be derived. Already she is having much success. At the same time other volcanoes refusing to be harnessed to peaceful pursuits have killed several hundred people.
  • In the seventh series of Olympic games held at Antwerp, Belgium, American contestants gained the largest number of points. The best American colored athlete, Sol Butler, was unfortunately unable to take part on account of an injury. There were three colored men on the American team.
  • A strike is threatened among British miners. They ask for national ownership of mines.
  • Captain Roald Amundsen, a Norwegian, has started for the North Pole. He expects to be gone five years.
  • Central American countries are forming a Central American union. Most of the people are colored.
  • The general strike and boycott against Hungary by transport laborers has ended and communication has been resumed.
  • Turkey has signed the treaty of Versailles.
  • St. Gauden's statue of Abraham Lincoln has been unveiled in front of Westminster Abbey, London. The black bishop of Nigeria took a prominent part in the exercises.
  • Convictions in drunkenness in England and Wales have doubled in 1919 over 1918.
  • The Japanese have established provincial and village advisory councils as a beginning of self government in Korea.

THERE is no place like Home—none, none so good, none so bad: good because it belongs to Us; bad, because it is Ours to make better and this means Work and Eye-sight. I, the Crow, am Eye-sight. I am Eyes. I see!

  • The Democrats are accusing the Republicans of raising large sums of money to be used in direct and indirect bribery in order to carry the election. Meantime the Democrats are raising all they can.
  • The 19th amendment to the Constitution of the United States, giving women the right to vote, has been declared ratified by the vote of the legislature of Tennessee. This adds nine and one-half million women voters to the seventeen and one-half who already have the right to vote. The Tennessee Legislature after agreeing to the amendment tried to reverse its decision, but this action was probably illegal.
  • Since 1914 the tonnage of United States ships has increased 500 per cent. We have now 16 million tons of shipping and stand second only to Great Britain with 18 million tons.
  • Twelve thousand employees of the Brooklyn Rapid Transit Company are on strike demanding higher pay.
  • A strike was begun among the hard coal miners but has been called off in most places.
  • The National Prohibition Party has nominated A. H. Watkins as candidate for President.
  • The railroads have increased their passenger and freight rates and the express companies their express rates.
  • The Salvation Army, which is a sort of missionary church for the poor, has been reorganized in the United States with eastern, central and western headquarters. Evangeline Booth is at the head.
  • Three thousand Negroes, chiefly West Indians and lead by Marcus Garvey, have held a month's convention in New York City and made a demand for "Africa for Africans!"
  • There was a serious strike of street car men in Denver where several persons were killed.
  • Race riots between Italians and Americans have taken place in Frankfort, Illinois.
  • Eugene Debs, Socialist candidate for President who is in jail because he did not believe in the war and said so, has asked his followers that no further efforts be made for his release.
  • The American Federation of Labor has formulated a program of non-partisan political action for the 4,000,000 members of the organization.