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


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THE BROWNIES' BOOK
March, 1921
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THE BROWNIES' BOOK

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. 2. No.3. March,1921 WHOLE No. 15

CONTENTS

PAGE
COVER DRAWING. "In Spite of Wind and Weather." Drawing by Marcellus Hawkins.
FRONTSPIECE—Seven Prize Winners 66
THE GYPSY'S FINGER-RING. A Play. Willie Richardson.Illustrated by Hilda Rue Wilkinson 67
ABOUT A CAT. A Story. Annette Christine BrowneIllustrated by Laura Wheeler 71
SPRING STYLES. A Poem. Annette Christine Brown 74
ST. PATRICKS DAY. "R". Decoration byClara Hicks 75
PLAYTIME. Five Games. Arranged by Pupils of Paul and Quinn College 77
AS THE CROW FLIES 82
THE STORY OF HARRIET TUBMAN. A True Story. Augusta E. Bird Illustrated 84
OUR LITTLE FRIENDS. Four Pictures. 87
MPHONTHOLO NE SHULO. An African StoryC. Kamba Simango. Illustrated by Hilda Rue Wilkinson 91
SPRING MELODIES. A Poem. Eulalie Spence. 91
THE JUDGE 92
"THAT'S MR. LINCOLN, SONNY." A Picture. 93
THE GIRL RESERVES OLIVE C. JONES. 94
SIGNS OF SPRING. A Poem. LANGSTON HUGHES 94
TWO HEALTHY CHILDREN OF WASHINGTON D.C. A Picture. 95
THE JURY. 96

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[illustration - Seven Prize Winners of New York City —Underwood & Underwood ]

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The Brownies' Book

Vol.2—No.3 March, 1921 WHOLE No. 15

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The Gypsy's Finger-Ring

A T the left we see a clump of trees, at the rear a green field where violets and buttercups are growing, and at the right a porch where the mother and her son, Leon, are sitting. Leon, a boy of ten, is sitting on a low stool at his mother's feet reading a child's story book. His mother, who is sitting in the chair behind him, is leaning forward reading over his shoulder from the same book. After they have sat in this position for a few moments the silence is broken by the sound of girls' voices in the house. They are happy, laughing voices, and presently the owners of them appear in the doorway. They are Rose and Eleanor, girls of eleven and twelve. They stop chattering and look at their mother and brother intently for a few moments before Rose speaks.

ROSE—

Mother, can we go out to gather violets?

THE MOTHER—

(Looking up)May we-

ROSE—

May we go out to gather violets?

THE MOTHER—

You and Eleanor?

ELEANOR—

And Leon.

LEON

(Looking up from his book)—I don't want to gather violets. That's girl's business.

(Rose and Eleanor each go over and take Leon by a hand.)
ROSE—

Come, Leon, put that old story book down.

ELEANOR—

You wouldn't read your grammar half so much.

LEON

(Looking up at his mother appealingly)—Mother—

(But the mother is amused by the scene and decides not to interfere.)
ROSE

(Pulling him up)—Come on, it's Spring! We've been, cramped in the house all winter.

ELEANOR—

Stop frowning, Leon, smile! Look at the sky and sun, how bright they are. Look at the trees and the fields.

ROSE—

Everything is happy and bright;come on, Leon.


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(He reluctantly allows himself to be led from the porch.)

THE MOTHER

(Picking up Leon's book)— How far are you going, children?

ROSE

(Pointing towards the field)—Just across the field to gather violets and buttercups and whatever else we find.

THE MOTHER—

Don't get your dresses dirty ; Leon, don't walk in wet places or crawl upon your knees.

ELEANOR—

We won't let him, Mother.

THE MOTHER—

And don't stay away too long.

ROSE—

We'll be back in half an hour.

(They begin to gather flowers a few yards away and move farther and farther away as they gather them. And now we must follow them across the field as we follow the characters of a photo-play. Leon has begun to take interest in the expedition.)

ROSE—

Leon, don't you feel better in the open fields than you did sitting cramped up on that old porch?

LEON—

Yes, I like it now. The air is so fine I feel like running and jumping.

ROSE—

Don't run and jump, we haven't time for that, and besides you'll mash the flowers.

ELEANOR

(Busily adding to her store)— Do fairies drink the dew from the buttercups?

ROSE—

I've heard they do.

LEON

(Pointing across the field)—Who is that?

ELEANOR—

Where?

LEON—

See, there among the trees, the woman in the dress of many colors.

ROSE—

Oh, a gypsy, a fortune teller, I suppose.

ELEANOR—

A fortune teller?

ROSE—

Yes,a woman who tells fortunes and reads minds.

LEON—

(Doubtfully)—Reads minds how?

ROSE—

She can look in your hand and tell what's in your heart.

LEON—

She cannot look in my hand and tell what's in my heart.

ROSE—

Some say she can.

ELEANOR—

Let's go and speak to her.

ROSE—

Yes, and let her read our hands.

LEON—

She shall not read my hand.

ELEANOR—

Let's speak to her anyway.

(They move forward and we see at last where they are going. In a clear space among the trees sits a gypsy knitting a shawl. She is sitting on a camp stool in front of the van and around on the grass several fine rugs are lying. The children move to the edge of the space and stop.)

THE GYPSY

(Looking up from her work)— Good morning, little people.

THE CHILDREN

(Together)—Good morning.

THE GYPSY—

Do you want anything?

LEON—

Rose says you can tell fortunes and read minds.

THE GYPSY—

I can.

ELEANOR—

And look in one's hand and tell what's in one's heart?

THE GYPSY—

Yes, come, let me read your hands.

LEON

(Closing his hand and putting it behind him)—You cannot read my hand.

THE GYPSY—

Come over anyway and talk with me.

(The three go over to her.)
THE GYPSY—

Three little colored children. I love children.

ROSE

(Noticing her dark complexion)— Aren't you colored, too?

THE GYPSY—

I am in a way but not the same as you. I was born in Africa, but I'm not a Negro. I was born in Egypt.

ELEANOR

(Looking at her ring)—Oh, what a pretty finger-ring.

THE GYPSY—

Do you like it?

ROSE—

It's beautiful!

LEON—

Where did you buy so strange a ring?

THE GYPSY—

I did not buy it.

LEON—

You found it, then?

THE GYPSY—

When I was a little girl like your sisters here I found a piece of pearl on the banks of the Nile in Egypt, and my father, a magician, carved this ring and shaped it to my finger. It has a wonderful power.

LEON—

What kind of power?

THE GYPSY—

Whoever goes to sleep wearing this ring may dream. or see whatever he wishes of the past or present.

LEON—

I'd love to see the future.

THE GYPSY—

I'll read your hand and tell the future to you.

LEON—

You shall not read my hand, I want to dream of the future by the ring.

ELEANOR—

What can I see of the past?

THE GYPSY—

Whatever you wish to see. Put on the ring and sleep but a few moments and you can see as many years of the past as you wish to see.

ROSE—

See a year pass in a moment?

THE GYPSY—

Yes, dreams are strange
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[illustration - What a Pretty Finger-ring!]
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things; one can dream of the passing by of many years in a moment's time.

ELEANOR—

I want to see the slave days before the war, how the slaves lived and how they toiled and suffered.

THE GYPSY—

Why choose such a dreary time, such a cruel place?

ELEANOR—

A look back now and then to where we came from will urge us on.

THE GYPSY

(Taking off the ring)—Hold out your finger till I put it on.(Eleanor holds out her finger and the ring is put on.) Now lie upon the grass and dream for a moment.(She lies upon the grass and sleeps while the gypsy and the other children watch her. Presently she awakes weeping and Rose goes to her.)

ROSE

(Putting her arm around Eleanor)— What's the matter, Eleanor?

ELEANOR

(Wiping away her tears and handing the Gypsy the ring)—I saw such awful things.

LEON—

What did you see?

ELEANOR—

I saw women and children beaten and driven about ; I saw half-naked children walking barefoot on the cold, hard ground, carrying burdens heavy enough for men: I saw wives sold from their husbands and mothers sold from their children, men beaten upon their backs with knotted whips—things far too cruel to tell.

ROSE—

(Stopping her)—Don't tell them then. You'll frighten me and I will not want to dream.

THE GYPSY

(To Eleanor)—Why did you want to see such cruel things?

ELEANOR—

I wanted to see how much we had attained. I want to know how much more it will take of time and strife and pain to make us great.

THE GYPSY—

You want to be great?

ELEANOR—

To be great as a people, so that the people of a thousand years from now will read their histories and know that we were as great as other people.

THE GYPSY

(To Rose)—What do you wish to dream of?

ROSE—

I want to dream of the Jews and their sufferings now.

THE GYPSY—

Of the Jews in Russia?

ROSE—

The Jews do not suffer in Russia any more, the Czar has gone.

THE GYPSY—

Of the Jews in Germany?

LEON—

The Kaiser has gone and all the Germans are freer now.

ROSE—

I want to see the Jews in the east of London, to see how they live.

THE GYPSY—

What do you know of the Jews in the east of London?

ROSE—

They suffer, too. We heard our mother and father talking of them.

THE GYPSY—

But England is a prosperous country, no one suffers there.

ELEANOR—

So is America a prosperous country, but we Negroes suffer here.

LEON—

All toiling people suffer in all countries.

THE GYPSY—

You are wise children. You have heard and remembered much.(To Rose.) Put on the ring and dream.

(She slips the ring on Rose's finger and Rose lies on the grass and sleeps. They watch her silently until she wakes.)

THE GYPSY

(As Rose wakes up)—What did you see?

ROSE—

I saw things nearly as bad as Eleanor saw. The Jews are not bought and sold, they are not beaten, nor are they forced to bear too heavy loads. The thrifty Jews, the buyers and sellers of things, the makers of money, live harsh and bitter lives. They live on crusts in dark, cold, filthy places and only get a pittance for their toil. The rest, the people of power, steal from them. I saw a dozen people sleeping in one room, I saw mothers, fathers and children working side by side through long dull hours.

LEON

(To the Gypsy)—Let me wear your ring and dream a dream.

THE GYPSY—

You cannot dream of the future by this ring.

LEON—

Have any tried and failed?

THE GYPSY—

No, none have tried. Let me read your hand and I will tell you the future.

LEON—

I do not want my hand read.

THE GYPSY—

Then you cannot know the future.

LEON—

Let me try, and if I fail to see the future by the ring, I'll let you read my hand.

THE GYPSY

(Handing him the ring)—I know you'll fail, but put it on your finger, you may try.

(Leon puts the ring on his finger and lies down and sleeps. The others watch him until he wakes. He wakes smiling.)

ROSE—

Did you see anything of the future?

LEON—

Yes.


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THE GYPSY

(Surprised)—You saw the future when you slept there?

LEON—

Yes.I saw wonderful things.

THE GYPSY—

Give me back the ring.

LEON

(Giving her the ring)—You said I could not see the future by the ring.

THE GYPSY—

It's strange, it's more than I can understand.

ELEANOR—

What did you see, Leon?

LEON—

I saw men and women and children happy at last. None of them were so poor that they were suffering, none were so rich that they were overbearing. The whole five races were in harmony, all working side by side for the good of all. (He gives the Gypsy his flowers.) You may have my flowers for letting me wear your ring. I must run and tell my mother what I saw.(He goes.)

THE GYPSY

(To the girls)—Your brother there is bold and resolute; he should make a good strong man.

ROSE—

We hope he will.

ELEANOR—

We shall be proud of him.

ROSE—

You may have my flowers for letting me wear your ring.

ELEANOR—

And mine too.

(Both give their flowers to the Gypsy.)

ROSE—

Now we must catch Leon ; good-bye.

THE GYPSY—

Good-bye.

(They run and catch Leon and we follow them again across the field until they come to the porch where their mother is sitting as they left her, reading the book which Leon dropped.)

THE THREE—

Oh, mother, we saw wonderful, strange things!

THE MOTHER—

Where are the flowers?

ROSE—

We gave them to a Gypsy for letting us wear her ring.

THE MOTHER—

What did you see?

ELEANOR—

I saw the past; the cruelty and hardships that were heaped upon the slaves.

ROSE—

I saw how the Jews of East London live in the present.

LEON—

I saw the future full of happiness and hope.

THE MOTHER—

How did you see these things?

ROSE—

A Gypsy let us wear her ring and dream them.

THE MOTHER—

You saw the condition of men divided into three periods,—chattel slavery, wage slavery and freedom.

LEON—

I hope we'll live to see what I have seen.

THE MOTHER—

You are all young and you may live to see it. The future is your great promise, your great hope, it's all you have to live for. Work to make it happy, wait for it, and be patient while you wait.

THE END.


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ABOUT A CAT

OlD EB sat before the fire with head to one side, eyes half closed and an expression on his face which might have been characterized as contented, reminiscent, or just plain cat-like.

"Isn't he the laziest looking cat!" said Hattie. "Just sits and nods and blinks."

"I don't believe he sleeps so much," said Tony. "I believe he's thinking when you see him, sitting there like that."

"What do you suppose he'd be thinking about?"

"Oh, I don't know ; but I bet if he could talk he'd surprise us with a lot of things he knew."

Tony was right about it. Old Eb was thinking. He thought more than anybody would have given him credit for. Just now he was thinking over the struggles of his kittenhood days before he had fallen heir to the comfortable home which he now enjoyed and whose other occupants he regarded with such cool indifference.

In those days often the possibilities of a breakfast depended on his deftness in getting in and out of a garbage can before the back door opened. The joy of taking a peaceful nap, stretched out at full length in the sun, was something not to be considered. When there was a chance for
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a day nap, it would be taken with one eye open, on guard, and the body in position for a quick get-away in case of approaching danger.

He noticed that all hobo cats were not treated with indignities as was himself. Some were given fairly decent back door receptions and some, he remembered, the cooks and housewives had tried to coax into remaining. But at sight of him there was sure to come the cry, "An old black cat!" followed by a broom or some convenient article which he learned to dodge. If they just said "cat" he might stop to consider a parley but if they threw in that vehement "black" he knew it was time for him to make tracks.

Why they were so down on his color he couldn't tell. Even when he was too tired to wash and comb himself (and a hobo cat is often neglectful of his toilet), his fur was slicker and glossier than that of the yellow and white cats of the alley.

One day when he was sitting on the sidewalk thinking over these things he heard a voice say, "Oh, look, Tony ! What a nice, sleek cat! Isn't he beautiful and black!"

Looking up he saw a small boy and girl approaching him kindly. For the first time since he could remember, it seemed that somebody wanted him.

"Let's try to make him follow us home." They began to coax him and Eb, who had a reputation among the cats for being willing to try anything once, followed. Thus he gave up hoboism and became a family cat. No longer was his color a reproach to him, for Hattie and Tony knew that a black cat could be just as nice and as nice looking as any other cat. They themselves were the nicest little brown boy and girl one could wish to see. But we musn't get off on the subject of Hattie and Tony or the story will be about them instead of Eb.

It was then that he was given the name of Eb, or rather Ebony. He would probably have preferred being named Ebenezer, he thought so highly of himself. But they named him Ebony and called him Eb for short.

His hobo experiences had given him a great deal of self-reliance and independence. He was none of the mew-mew, pet kitty, sort of a cat. He was extremely dignified and thoughtful and took to his new surroundings as naturally as if he had been born in them.

However, there was one fear that he could not easily overcome. Whenever Hattie's and Tony's tidy mother came into the kitchen with a broom in her hand he would jump up and start for the door. It was instinctive in him to jump at sight of a broom. He hadn't been "lammed" with them time after time for nothing. It was some time before he could be made to realize that a broom had a use other than to be flung at a cat.

As time went on he continued to grow more dignified and thoughtful. He would sit blinking while listening to the children's chatter, afterwards thinking over what they said. The more he listened to their talk the more impressed he became with himself. He noticed that they were always saying, "I wonder this" and "Do you reckon so and so?" "Silly things," he thought to himself, "if they'd talk less and think more, as I do, they would know more."

He sniffed disdainfully when he heard Hattie say one day, "I wonder what makes his whiskers stand out so straight and stiff. I believe he'd look better if they were shorter."

"Oh, no," said Tony. "They're his feelers. They're just as long as his body is wide and when he wants to get through an opening he sees first if his whiskers will go through, 'cause he knows if they will, then the opening is big enough for his body."

Coming in from school one day they both cried, "Oh, it's going to be cold ! The cat's sitting with his back to the fire."

"Well, how simple!" thought Ebony. "Can't they feel the weather changing as well as I? I wonder how they found out about the weather before I stayed here."

One day he heard Hattie say, "Do you reckon it's true that a cat has nine lives, Tony?"

"Yes, I guess so," said Tony. "Joe Barker says it's true. Says they drowned an old cat of theirs and in a short time she was walking back to the house as though nothing had happened."

"That sure is funny, having nine times to die," laughed Hattie.

Ebony lent all ears to this conversation and gave considerable thought to it afterwards. He'd never been in the habit of giving much credit to the children's talk, but if this was true about a cat having nine lives it was something to think about. In thinking over the lives of different cats he had known, he recalled several who after every indication of having met with certain death would suddenly reappear as natural as ever in their familiar haunts.

He remembered seeing yellow Tom, who was a bold chicken thief, fall off a back fence into the alley at the bang of a rifle from a backyard.
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[illustration - "silly things" he thought to himself.] He himself had been too frightened to remain in the neighborhood of the tragedy and had fled to another alley. Passing by the same place a month later what should he see but yellow Tom calmly eating a chicken?

And, then, thinking over his own life, there certainly were times when he had been knocked out for dead or scratched to death. Yet he always came back again. There was the night when he and a gray cat were on the Smith's fence arguing as to which one had the better right to hunt mice in the Smith garage when out of the window came a solid leather boot which struck him with full force. He never could remember the period immediately following that. He only remembered that the next day found him going on all fours again.

He could remember incidents in which he had met death in various other ways. After summing it up he figured that he must have three or four lives left. Why stay on and live them out in this quiet place? thought he. He had thought and learned so much, why not go abroad and give the world the benefit of his learning, returning in time to live out his last life here with these simple children? You see, the hobo streak was still there.

A day later Hattie and Tony were in distress over the disappearance of Ebony.

"What do you suppose could have happened to him?" asked Hattie. "He seemed too contented to run away. Do you reckon something killed him?"

"Oh, I don't know," answered Tony. "You can't tell about cats. They're funny creatures. Maybe he just wanted to rove a while. He might come back."

Ebony was indeed roving and so far had not succeeded in finding any creature with which he might share his store of knowledge. He had
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gone quite a distance without coming across a single cat. Chancing to cross a street he saw a dog curled up beside the road apparently asleep. Didn't he know better than to lie there to sleep? thought Ebony. He must step up and admonish him.

Now dogs are the natural enemies of cats, as Ebony had long ago learned, but he felt that his wisdom and dignity would now command even canine respect. But it proved that the dog cared nothing whatever for the physiognomy of a learned cat, for at sight of Ebony he rushed at him and Eb, forgetting his wisdom and dignity, ran as fast as his venerable legs would carry him and skidded up the nearest telephone post just in time. He was so nearly overcome with fright that he could barely hold his position. Having lived a quiet life so long, he was unprepared for this.

Ebony did not venture down again until nightfall. He made his way to a stable where he expected to find board and lodging for the night. He walked around for a while, sniffing in the corners, never noticing that twice his tail flapped the legs of one of the occupants. The long-eared beast of burden looked around to see who the intruder might be, and having seen, he maliciously decided to oust him. The next time the wise cat came near the mule's heels he was given a kick that sent him out the stable door, where he spent the night.

The next morning found old Eb a very stiff, sore and unhappy cat. He wondered if he could find a morsel on the ground for breakfast. He was so hungry that he decided to take the risk of going up to the house, something he hadn't done since his hobo days ; but maybe the mistress would take pity on his condition and throw him a bite.

Walking across the yard, he began to notice that some small chickens were showing alarm at his approach. He couldn't see why they wanted to act so crazy. He wasn't going to bother them. But they flew to their mother, giving the distress sign and she, a big hen of the game variety, flew upon poor Eb who was not expecting a fight and, considering his helplessness, the odds were considerably with Biddy.

Emerging from the attack more dead than alive he made a straight line for the home which he had been so willing to leave. Oh, for that warm hearth-stone which now seemed so far away! He would never leave it again and if the rest of the world wanted the benefit of his learning, it would have to come to him. He figured that he had about one or two lives left and he intended to live them out in the comfort of the home he was returning to.

That evening Hattie and Tony were overjoyed by the sudden appearance of Ebony.

"He looks so tired and worn out, I wonder where he has been," said Hattie.

"I haven't any idea but from the way he came and dropped down on that hearth, I believe he's glad to get back," replied Tony.


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Spring Styles

THERE'S a Spring opening going on near me,
With something new showing every day ;
Such a riot of color and beauty arrayed,
Quite up to the minute, they say.
My neighbors are wearing Spring garments,
As lovely as ever were seen;
Some of velvety pink, dainty purples and blues,
And everywhere charming bright green.
I am filled with delight at their beauty,
From the moment I see them appear.
That seems very odd for the styles never change ;
They look just the same every year.
Where is this Spring opening you ask me!
Just look all around you and see
Opening apple-buds, lilies, shy violets, And new leaves decking out everytree.

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ST. PATRICK'S DAY

MOST of us know that the 17th of March is connected with St. Patrick and the shamrock, but how or why it is not so easy to tell.

St. Patrick was born many, many years ago, probably in 372. If the date of his birth is uncertain the place of it is still more so, for he has been variously claimed by Scotland, England, France and Wales. Of late he has been assigned to Scotland and people who have made a study of the few facts relating to his life say that he was born in Scotland at Kilpatrick, between Dumbarton and Glasgow.

Of course he was not a celebrity when he was born nor even when a boy. On the contrary, he was carried off into slavery by robbers or pirates when only sixteen and sold as a swineherd in the mountains of Ireland. Fortunately he was rescued by some kindly sailors who bore him off in their ship on the first of those long journeys of which he seems to have taken so many.

He was evidently a great traveller and it is commonly believed that the course of his wanderings may easily be determined since he invariably left behind him some spot or building which bears his name. Thus his own birthplace, Kilpatrick (the cell of Patrick) is supposed to have been named for him. Then he lived for a time in Dalpatrick (the district of Patrick) and later visited Crag-phadrig (the rock of Patrick) near Inverness. He founded two churches, Kirkpatrick (the church of Patrick) in Kircudbright and Dumfries. All this was in Scotland. In England he preached in Patterdale (Patrick's dale) and in Wales he founded Llan-badrig (the church of Patrick). Last of all, when he came to Ireland he landed at Innis-patrick which means Patrick's island.

In the course of his wanderings he came to Italy where he was appointed by Pope Celestine to convert the Irish to Christianity. And this marks the beginning of Patrick's career as the patron saint of Ireland.

All sorts of legends have sprung up about the saint and his wonderful powers. Of course we know that practically none of these stories can be true and that what really happened was that Patrick, evidently being a man of strong will and determination, refused to let anything daunt him and so overcame obstacles which seemed insuperable. In this way the legends, which even attribute to him the power of magic, have come into being.

No matter what their origin the stories are interesting and often amusing. Patrick seems to have possessed these strange powers even as a little child. For "they say" that once as a youngster he brought home some snow and ice and his nurse told him that he would have done much better to bring some wood for a fire. Whereupon the little boy heaped the ice and snow together, blew on them and there was a bonfire! His nurse's husband died and she was stricken with grief. So Patrick prayed over the dead man, signed him with the cross and restored him to life. It was a good thing for the nurse that she had such a charge as Patrick, for she seems to have had an unusual run of bad luck. One of her cows was possessed of an evil spirit which also had wounded five other cows.
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Patrick healed the cattle and drove out the evil spirit.

At another time the nurse fell ill and greatly desired some honey. As there was none handy, Patrick simply took some water and changed it into honey. There were some filthy stables to be cleaned out and, of course, nobody wanted to do it. So Patrick got on his knees and prayed, and the stables were cleaned without hands.

During the brief time he was enslaved, he was sold by one master to another for a kettle. But the man who received the kettle certainly got the worst of that bargain, for no matter how hot the fire, nothing placed in that kettle would ever become warm. Indeed the hotter the blaze the colder became the kettle. So the seller returned the kettle and took Patrick back. Thereupon the kettle behaved as all kettles should.

Patrick's strange powers stood him in good stead when he undertook to convert the Irish to Christianity. The former priests of Ireland had been the Druids and naturally enough they were greatly opposed to the introduction of a new religion which would take away their power. They were great magicians, too, but you may be sure they were no match for Patrick. He tried at first to persuade them to his way of thinking, but when he found this would not work he was obliged to resort to his magic. He cursed their fertile flelds and they became dreary bogs; he cursed their rivers and there were no more fish ; he cursed their kettles and they would no longer boil. Finally—a most unchristian thing to do —he cursed the Druids themselves and the earth opened and swallowed them up!

Once on a trip to Britain he spied a leper whom the sailors would not carry in their ship. Touched by the poor creature's distress, Patrick said he, too, should go on the journey if that was his desire. So the saint took a stone altar which had been consecrated by the pope, threw it into the sea and bade the leper sit on it. When the ship set sail, the stone did too. Moreover it kept company with the ship all the voyage and got into port with her at the same time. Of course, this was very wonderful of Patrick, but I think that that was a brave leper. At another time a thief stole a goat from Patrick and killed and ate it. The saint accused the thief who stoutly denied knowing anything about the missing animal. Imagine his consternation then when the goat bleated from his stomach. To punish him, all his descendants were there after marked with the beard of a goat.

No doubt St. Patrick was a great and good man. Certainly people thought so, for after he died at a ripe old age on March 17 the anniversary of his death became a high festival the Catholic church. In Ireland the flags fly on the steeples, bells peal until midnight, the rich bestow gifts on the poor and the poor bless the rich, each other and St. Patrick. Boys take part in wrestling games, lads and lassies dance, while women tuck their babies in the hoods of their coats and run about to each other's house to drink a glass of poteen.

And everybody wears the shamrock. The story goes that when St. Patrick landed in Ireland in 433 on his first attempt to convert the Irish, the people tried to stone him. He begged to be heard and tried to explain to them about the Trinity of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost. But the people could not understand how this could be. St. Patrick looked about him and picked a shamrock. "See," he cried, "is it not as possible for Father, Son and Holy Ghost to be one as for these leaves to grow upon a single stalk?"

This convinced the Irish. The shamrock had long since been used by the Druids to heal diseases, now here it was introducing a new and beneficent cause. Small wonder then that they adopted it for their national emblem. Nowadays if you should walk through an Irish village on the 17th of March you would find people wearing the little green trefoil and standing in groups singing:

Saint Patrick's the holy and tutelar man,
His beard down his bosom like Aaron's ran :
Some from Scotland, from Wales, will declare that he came,
But I care not from whence now he's risen to fame:—
The pride of the world and his enemies scorning,
I will drink to St. Patrick, today in the morning!
He's a desperate, big, little Erin go bragh;
He will pardon our follies and promise us joy,
By the mass, by the Pope, by St. Patrick, so long
As I live, I will give him a beautiful song!
No saint is so good, Ireland's country adorning;
Then hail to St. Patrick, today in the morning!
"R."

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PLAYTIME

FIVE GAMES

ALLIGATOR

I SHALL say first that the games we play most are played on the ground in the open, but this game I am going to tell you about is played in the water.

The first step in playing alligator is, select someone who is a good swimmer. We shall have ten or more sitting on the bank waiting for the alligator (or leader) to get ready. The alligator will start counting one, two, three, and so on to ten. When he gets to ten, all on the bank will jump into the pool or river and the alligator will go behind them. The first boy or swimmer who is caught is the next alligator. To make him "it" the alligator has to pat him on the head three times, above or under water.

TRADE GAME

A FEW players step aside and decide on some trade to be represented. They advance to the others saying, "Here we come!" The others respond, "Where from?" They reply, "New York." "What's your trade?" is the next question. The few show in pantomime some trade, all taking either the same action, or various actions used in the occupation chosen. The first one to guess the trade chases the player, trying to tag those desired for the next trade game. These and the guesser start the game again.

FROG IN THE MIDDLE

ANY number may play this. One player is chosen for frog and sits in the center with his feet crossed. The other players stand in a circle around the frog repeating, "Frog in the middle, can't catch me!" They dance forward toward the frog and back, taking risks in going close. The frog must keep his position while trying to tag his tantalizer. The one tagged is the next frog.

MAN IN THE MOON

THIS game can be played with as many children as desired. First the children join hands and form a large ring. Two sit in the center of the ring—one a girl, the other a boy. The children close their eyes and sing:

"Man in the moon,
With his fairy queen ;
Oh! he is as happy
As can be!"

While singing this song the King pulls the Queen's ears. The Queen then runs away. On opening their eyes the children discover the Queen has gone. Then they all begin to weep and cry, "O! hoo! Our Queen, our Queen! Some one has stolen her away!" Then the King says, "I must choose among you fair maids one to be my Queen." The maids reply, "Not I, not I." All of a sudden they hear their Queen crying, "I'm not your Queen." The children run and greet her saying, "Welcome, Queen, welcome!" Then the Queen says a second time, "I'm not your Queen." The King points at the Queen and says, "If you are not Queen, I'm not King, so let us choose today." Then the King turns around and lo! the children have run away and hidden. The Queen and King must look for them. The first boy caught is next King and the first girl caught is next Queen, and the game is played as at first.

THE WILD ANIMAL GAME

THE first thing to do is to send all the children out of the room. Then place a mirror in a chair and cover it over with a cloth, and
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name a number of animals over to each child and ask him which one he would like to see. He names one; then go and get the mirror and tell him to look in the mirror and he will see the animal asked for. Of course, he sees himself. This is a great success with small children.


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Little People of the Month

THERE are many young pianists among us—of course — but Louise Ruth Morgan has carried on her studies until now she is a student at the New England Conservatory of Music in Boston, Mass. Ruth formerly lived in New York City, where she was graduated from P. S. 68.

She says : "At present I am in an intermediate grade. Formerly, I was a student of the colored Martin-Smith Music School. My subjects this session are pianoforte, harmony and solfeggio, which is singing and ear training combined. I give lessons on the pianoforte when I am in the city during the months of July and August."

I think we'll all agree that Ruth is a very ambitious girl—and worthy of much success!

John Lucas is also a pianist—"the child prodigy" is his title. He lives in Pittsburgh, Pa. During February and March he will appear in six recitals in Pittsburgh, Ohio and Michigan.

His manager, Gertrude M. Belt, writes: "The little fellow has never had a single lesson and knows not one note from another. His great feature test of this fact, is that he will play blindfolded before an audience. He can play any selection after once hearing it. He has been playing since three years of age. He is now six. His selections include southern melodies; popular music, and hymns (in variations). I am enclosing a program from his recent recital. The audience numbered 800. John is but three feet in height—a real boy, mischievous and full of fun. He delights in his work, and has that unconscious air which only a child can possess. He is not precocious ; and his talent seems to be a gift. Tracing back, I find that none of his ancestors possessed any ability for music."

Soon, however, John will enter school and study music ; then he'll make us lazy folks feel so ashamed.

Virginia Smith, of Richmond, Ind., is thirteen years old and an 8A pupil of Garfield School—but furthermore she is the winner of two prizes in the Earlham Essay Contest, and there were 246 essays submitted. The subject was: "Why I am for Earlham." Virginia won the first prize, given to the grade schools of Richmond, and the second county prize.

In his letter to her, Mr. Edwards, President of Earlham, said, "I should like to encourage you to push on in your school work, having a high degree of excellence as your standard. You may, not always win a material prize, but you can always do your best ; and he who does his best wins a prize more valuable than money."

Virginia expects to enter High School in September. Her special study is French, in which she has made an enviable record. She is also a talented musician. Her favorite game is basketball. Virginia is an orphan ; she lives with her aunt, Miss Anna Brown.

When a little girl, Gwendolyn Herbert went to Atlantic City to live. She studied at the public school. Illness in her family, however, and the death finally of her mother, played an adverse part for Gwendolyn ; yet when she reached the eighth grade, she was recognized as a superior student. She was graduated from the New Jersey Avenue School at the head of her class and won the gold medal offered by the Negro Alumni Associates of the Atlantic City High School for superiority in English—with no subject lower than 75 per cent.

Gwendolyn is now a High School student, and recently she was asked to accept membership in the T. N. T., a science club. Membership in this organization depends upon a high standard of efficiency in the Science Department.

She is shown wearing the Negro Alumni Associates' medal.


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[illustration - Louise Ruth Morgan
Gwendolyn Herbert
]
[illustration - John Lucas
Virginia Smith
]