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

November, 1921
Price is 15 cts.



of The Brownies' Book, published monthly at New York. N. Y., for October I. 1021.

State of New York
County of New York

Before a notary in and for the State and county aforesaid, personally appeared Augustus Granville Dill, who, having been duly sworn according to law, deposes and says that he is the Business Manager of THE BROWNIES' BOOK and that the following is, to the best of his knowledge and belief, a true statement of the ownership, management (and if a daily paper, the circulation), etc., of the aforesaid publication for the date shown in the above caption, required by the Act of Congress of August 24, 1912, embodied in section 455, Penal Laws and Regulations, printed on the reverse of this form, to wit:

  • 1. That the names and addresses of the publisher, editor, managing editor, and business manager are:
  • Publisher—DuBois and Dill, Publishers, 2 West 13th st., New York, N. Y.
  • Editor—W. E. Burghardt DuBois, 2 West 13th st., New York, N. Y.
  • Managing Editor—Jessie Redmon Fauset, 2 West 13th st., New York, N. Y.
  • Business Manager—Augustus Granville Dill, 2 West 13th st., New York, N. Y.
  • 2. That the owners are:
  • DuBois and Dill, Publishers, 2 West 13th st., New York, N. Y.
  • W. E. Bughardt DuBois, 2 West 13th st., New York, N. Y.
  • Augustus Granville Dill, 2 West 13th st., New York, N. Y.
  • 3. That the known bondholders, mortgagees and other security holders holding or owning 1 per cent or more of total amount of bonds, mortgages, or other securities are: NONE.


Sworn to and subscribed before me this 1st day of October, 1921.


Notary Public Queens Co., No. 754.

Certificate filed in New York County No. 164, New York Reg. No. 2122. Term expires Mar, 30, 1922.



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.11 NOVEMBER, 1921 WHOLE No 23


COVER. Drawing. "THE MAIDEN OF ALGIERS." Drawing by Hilda Rue Wilkinson.
THE STORY TELLING CONTEST. A Story. Julian Elihu Bagley. Illustrated by Laura Wheeler 303
AUTUMN THOUGHT. A Poem. Langston Hughes 307
POLLY SITS TIGHT. A Story. Ethel M. Caution 308
PLAYTIME. Three Games. Arranged by Portia M. Wiley 310
SLUMBER SONG. A Poem. Alpha Angela Bratton 315
OUR LITTLE FRIENDS. Four Pictures 317
BRAVE BROWN JOE AND GOOD WHITE MEN. A Story. Lillie Buffum Chace Wyman. 318
THOSE WHO HAVE NO TURKEY. A Story. Langston Hughes. Illustrated by Carlton Thorpe 324
SHIVERS—THE HAILSTONE ELF. A Story. Maud Wilcox Niedermeyer 327
THANKSGIVING TIME. A Poem. Langston Hughes 328


  • RENEWALS: The date of expiration of each subscription is printed on the wrapper. When the subscription is due, a yellow renewal blank is enclosed.
  • CHANGE OF ADDRESS: The address of subscriber can be changed as often as desired. In ordering a change of address, both the old and the new address must be given. Two weeks' notice in required.
  • MANUSCRIPTS and drawing relating to colored children are desired. They must be accompanied by return postage. If found unavailable they will be returned.
  • Entered as second class matter January 20, 1920, at the Post Office at New York, N.Y., under the Act of March 3, 1879.

[illustration - Dramatic Club of Phyllis Wheatley Y. W. C. A., Washington, D. C.]


The Brownies' Book

Vol 2—No. 11 NOVEMBER, 1921 Whole No.23



LITTLE CLESS' teacher just loved her pupils and she was always doing something to make them happy. "Now of course, children," she explained that Tuesday morning, "you know Thursday is Thanksgiving Day, the time when every one should give thanks to the Creator for the blessings of the year. All of you are going to give thanks, aren't you? I thought so," she said smilingly, after the whole class shouted 'yes'm' in one big chorus. "Of course there will be no school Thursday," she continued, "and we shall not have an opportunity to meet together that day, but I've planned a little party—a sort of Thanksgiving dinner for us here tomorrow. We are going to have all the turkey we want. In fact, we are going to have almost a whole turkey. Only one drumstick will be cut from him before he is brought before you, and that drumstick is going to be cut off for a reason. This is the reason. We are going to have a story-telling contest tomorrow, and the little boy or girl who tells the best story will be given a nice, big, brown turkey drumstick. Of course, as I said in the beginning, there will be turkey enough for everybody, but the one who wins the drumstick will have the highest honor


of the day. Now who is going to win the drumstick?"

There was no response to the question, but a twinkle of delight and determination in the eyes of every little boy and girl indicated that there would be many story-tellers in the contest the next day. Of course little Cless was going to try, for Granny had told him many tales, and he was sure he could give the class a new one, whether it was a good one or not. He could hardly wait for his teacher to dismiss him that afternoon, he was so anxious to get home and tell Granny about the story-telling contest.

"Granny," he explained when he reached home that afternoon, "we're going to have a story-telling contest tomorrow at school, and the one who tells the best story, teacher says he'll get a nice, big, brown turkey drumstick. Which is the best one of the stories you've told me, Granny?"

"The best one for Thanksgiving Day, you mean, don't you, honey?"

"No'm ; just the best one," answered Cless, "the best for any day."

"But any day in this case," argued Granny, "is Thanksgiving Day, and none of the stories I've told you will do for Thanksgiving."

Cless frowned desperately.

"Now don't pucker up your face like that, little lamb," begged Granny, "for I think I know a story that will just fit in for the contest." The usual flush of delight danced over the little boy's face. And that same night Granny told him a story which she declared was just the story for Thanksgiving. Little Cless could hardly sleep after he heard it. At regular intervals during the night Granny heard him roll over and over in his bed and sigh wearily : "My goodness! I wish morning would hurry up and come on."

Morning came. The little brown boy sprang from the bed and dressed himself for school. And while Granny prepared the breakfast he followed her around foot by foot, rehearsing the little story which he was going to tell in the story-telling contest. Came the time to go to school. Granny gave him her blessing and he started out. That morning when Cless reached school his room was literally buzzing with delight. The teacher had come early and so had the pupils. There were three grown-ups in the room—total strangers—whom the children had already guessed to be the judges for the con test. But most interesting of all was the platform where the teacher usually sat. On it stood a large table covered with a spotlessly clean tablecloth which was elevated at various heights, according to what it concealed. Of course everybody knew that the really high place in the center was Mister Turkey.

The program began. "My Country, 'Tis of Thee," "Come, Ye Thankful People. Come," and a short prayer by the teacher ended the devotionals. Now the tablecloth was rolled back and the children saw a delicious brown turkey with only one drumstick. And every little eye, and every little heart, and every little mind, was riveted on that one turkey drumstick. The story-telling contest began. Tommy McLaughlin started off with "The Three Bears," but as soon as he announced his title there were a dozen sighs and not a few groans of "Oh pshaw! I've heard that thing a thousand times." Tommy finished. Next a shy little girl got up without giving her title and pitched into "Little Red Riding Hood."

"Ump!" grunted a rude boy, "that thing's old as the hills."

The shy little girl heard this grumble and she lost her courage, never to find it again during the course of her story. Well, the contest went on this way for half an hour or more, but the interest was beginning to lag, for the children had already realized that unless someone told a really new story, nobody would get the turkey drumstick. The teacher knew this, too. So she asked : "Is there anyone here who has a really new story?"

A little brown boy away in the back of the room held up his hand and began popping his fingers to attract the attention of the teacher. This was Cless. "All right, Cless, come to the front and tell us your story."

The little boy sprang to his feet, marched to the front and jumped into his story without saying a word about the title. But the first one or two lines indicated that it was something entirely new. He began :

"Once a long, long time ago, the day before Thanksgiving, Br'er Bear, Br'er Fox, Br'er Rabbit and Br'er Wolf met together to lay plans for their Thanksgiving dinner. Now every one of these creatures wanted some fresh meat for his dinner but nobody wanted to run the risk of catching it.

"'What we going to have?' asked Br'er Wolf.
"'Why, I suggest that you go out and fetch in a young lamb,' said Br'er Bear.

"'All right,' said Br'er Wolf, 'now what are you going to bring, Br'er Bear?'

"'Why, I'll just go out and bring in a whole heap o' corn, and we'll have some roasting ears. They're always good for Thanksgiving Day, aren't they?'

"'Oh, yes indeed,' said Br'er Wolf. 'I just
[illustration - He Sliced Off a Piece of Meat from the T urkey's Breast and Gave it to Br'er Rabbit.] love roasting ears, and especially with young lamb. Now what are you going to bring, Br'er Fox?'

"'Oh, I'll just get a nice big fat turkey,' said Br'er Fox, 'because Thanksgiving is never complete without a turkey. And besides, you know the old saying that the one who gets the right drumstick of a turkey on Thanksgiving Day will have good luck all the year and can call the figures at the Corn Dance, Thanksgiving night. Now one of us is bound to get the right drumstick.'

"Old Br'er Rabbit kept perfectly quiet until Br'er Fox spoke : 'Look here, Br'er Rabbit, what you going to catch?'

"Br'er Rabbit commenced to blink his eyes and work his ears. And by and by he said : 'Well, now, somebody's got to cook this stuff. Who'll cook if I go out hunting?'

"'By the way, we never thought of that,' said Br'er Fox. 'Well, me and Br'er Wolf and Br'er Bear will just go out and fetch in the
turkey and the lamb and the corn, and you'll stay home and cook.

"Of course Br'er Rabbit agreed. And that same morning Br'er Fox and Br'er Wolf and Br'er Bear went out hunting. All came back before sunset. Br'er Fox had his turkey, Br'er Wolf had his lamb, and Br'er Bear had his arms full of corn. Old Br'er Rabbit was so very happy that Br'er Bear and Br'er Fox had to hold him to keep him from dancing himself tired. Everything was ready for the dinner now and Br'er Rabbit knew exactly how to handle it.


"'Br'er Fox,' said he, 'I think you and Br'er Bear and Br'er Wolf better go off and rest yourselves until morning. I'll have everything ready in time for dinner tomorrow.'

"Well, Br'er Fox and Br'er Wolf and Br'er Bear took Br'er Rabbit's advice and went to bed and slept the next morning until the sun was 'way up in the sky. When they got up they found the dinner all prepared. Noon came. Br'er Rabbit set the table and called the other three animals in. 'Now,' said he, 'I'll ask Br'er Wolf to carve the meat and help the plates.' This just suited Br'er Wolf. He was sure he was going to get that right turkey drumstick, 'cause it was on the under side and he meant to carve off meat for everybody before himself. Then he would give Br'er Fox the left drumstick and save the right one for himself.

"When Br'er Wolf had helped everybody to lamb and corn he asked: 'What part of the turkey do you like, Br'er Rabbit?'

"'Any' part 'cept the drumstick,' said Br'er Rabbit. Br'er Wolf didn't say anything, but he sliced off a piece of meat from the turkey's breast and gave it to Br'er Rabbit.

"'And what part will you have, Br'er Fox?'

"'I'll take drumstick—but the right one, please.'

"'Oh, it doesn't make any difference 'bout the right drumstick,' said Br'er Wolf, 'one's just as good as the other.'

"'Why, of course,' said Br'er Rabbit. And so Br'er Wolf carved off the left drumstick and shoved it on Br'er Fox's plate.

"'Now, Br'er Bear,' said Br'er Wolf, 'I 'spose you're just like Br'er Rabbit—any part'll do you, so I'm slicing off a nice piece of this white meat for you, too.' Br'er Bear didn't say anything and Br'er Wolf carved off a big piece of white meat and put it on his plate. 'Now old Mister Turkey's getting sort o' slim,' said he, 'reckon I'd better turn him over.' He turned him over. There was no turkey drumstick on the right side. Br'er Wolf was disgusted.

"'Br'er Rabbit! Where's that right drumstick?'

"'I don't know,' said.Br'er Rabbit. 'I declare I don't.'

"Everybody was looking at Br'er Rabbit. By and by Br'er Wolf began to slice off some white meat for himself. 'All right, let's go on with the dinner,' said he, 'I'll find out who has that right drumstick yet.'

"Well, they finished their dinner and that same night they went to the dance. Br'er Fox took his left drumstick along, but Br'er Rabbit took along a drumstick, too—and it was the right one. The dance began. Old Br'er Bear was manager.

"'If any of you've had turkey today for your dinner,' said he, 'and got the right drumstick with you, you're entitled to call the figures for the dance tonight.'

"'I've got a drumstick,' hollered Br'er Fox.

"'But I've got the right one,' said Br'er Rabbit. And sure enough he pushed his hand under his coat and pulled out a big turkey drumstick.

"'Well—well—well!' they all said. 'Br'er Rabbit's got the right drumstick, so he'll call the figures for the dance.' Now old Br'er Fox had to take a back seat. Br'er Rabbit strutted out in the middle of the floor and commenced to call the figures. And he sure did have a good time. Every now and then he'd call out figures that made old Br'er Fox change to some girl he didn't like. And then just for fun, Br'er Rabbit would holler right out to Br'er Fox's best girl: 'Now come stand by the caller! Now put your arms around him.' Of course all this made Br'er Fox very angry, so when the dance was over he said: 'Br'er Rabbit, you've got to prove it to me that a turkey ain't got but one drumstick. Come on, I'm going to take you to the place where I got that turkey today.' Old Br'er Rabbit tried to make a good excuse, but Br'er Fox pulled him along.

"Well, they started out and walked and walked until they came to the place where Br'er Fox had got his turkey. All the turkeys had gone to roost. Sure enough, everyone had the right drumstick tucked up out of sight. 'Ha! Ha! Ha!' laughed Br'er Rabbit, 'didn't I tell you Mister Turkey ain't had a right drumstick? Told you so, Br'er Fox ; told you so.'

"'Wait a minute,' said Br'er Fox. 'Shoo! Shoo! Shoo!' Every turkey woke up and put down his right drumstick.

"'Now! What you got to say?' asked Br'er Fox.

"'Oh, pshaw, you can't fool me that way,' said Br'er Rabbit. 'You didn't say shoo to the one on the table today, 'cause if you had, he would have put down a right drumstick, too.'

"Now Br'er Fox just tucked in his tail and
[illustration - "You Didn't Say Shoo to the One on the Table Today."] hung his head and went on home. And Br'er Rabbit hopped off just a-laffin' and a-yellin': 'Oh, pshaw, you can't fool old Br'er Rabbit like that. You didn't say shoo to the one on the table today.' "

This was the end of little Cless' story. He had told it just exactly as Granny had told it to him. The room was literally roaring with applause. The little brown boy took his seat. Not another child ventured to the platform. The story-telling contest was ended. Of course little Cless got the drumstick, but he didn't eat it at the school party. He wrapped it in a paper napkin and took it home to Granny. And Granny just hugged him and kissed him and cried: "Oh, Granny's little lamb, Granny's little man!—I just knew you were going to win that drumstick. And you brought it home to me, did you ?—Bless your little heart!"


Autumn Thought

FLOWERS are happy in summer ;
In autumn they die and are blown away.
Dry and withered,
Their petals dance on the wind,
Like little brown butterflies.



POLLY held her breath and sat rigid. For the third time the teacher had asked the question and the last time he had looked directly at her. She knew the answer too! It was an undisputed fact in Room 11, that anytime there came a question no one else could answer, a little black girl with stubborn hair and a voice like a lilting melody would be sure to know. Polly was the star scholar in the class and although she seemed unconscious of her brilliancy, her teacher and her classmates were not.

So now that the question had been asked for the third time and Polly's hand had not been raised, all the boys and girls turned to look at her in genuine surprise.

And Polly's heart was beating a rapid tatoo within her because she did know the answer. She had worked until late and had gone to bed determined to rise early in the morning and tackle the problem again. But about two o'clock she found herself sitting bolt upright in bed saying to the darkness, Of course that is the way it goes," and she lay back into untroubled sleep.

Now it happened that Polly's mother was painfully poor and also that shoes had an annoying habit of wearing out beyond repair. Today Polly had worn her mother's shoes and would probably have to wear them several days, perhaps weeks, until someone gave her a pair or until she could save up enough to buy her own. The latter way meant a long wait for there was food, rent, fuel, and insurance, and her mother's health was breaking so that Polly herself worked afternoons to help out.

Polly thought of her card and the row of l's; not that she had been a grind to make it so, but she had come to be proud of her record and of the pride her class had in her. She knew the solution but it meant going to the board to demonstrate. That would expose her shoes.

The teacher was still looking at her expectantly. She dropped her eyes to her desk and her glance fell on her paper covered books much marked after the manner of school girls and boys. These words met her gaze : "Sit tight, little girl, sit tight." That was her motto. Her dad had given it to her unconsciously and it had always come to her rescue.

When she was a very little girl, she had been playing with some children in the barn. Tiring of the usual games, one boy had suggested riding horseback. As fate would have it the most restive horse appealed to them and Polly was victim. From frequent pulling against his strap it had weakened, and, frightened by the children boosting Polly to his back, the horse gave two or three vicious tugs and the strap broke.

Before anyone realized what was happening he backed out of the stall and out of the barn and started away on a brisk gallop. Polly's father was working in a field near by and sensing what had happened, cupped his hands and called through them :

"Sit tight, little girl, sit tight!"

And Polly sat tight until her father on a swift horse overtook her and brought her back to safety. Polly remembered little else of her father. He died soon after. But that command hurled at her in time of danger had always stayed with her. It didn't take the tiniest fraction of a second for all these things to flash through her mind. False pride was galloping away with her. What was a pair of over-large shoes against the faith the twenty odd persons in that room had in her? And what of her mother's faith in her and her own? Would they laugh at her feet? Then let them! Like an electric flash her hand went up. The tension in the room was broken.

"All right, Polly. I knew you could. Come to the board, please."

And not one person saw her shoes! They just saw a black girl with beaming face, mouth tightly shut, head held high, go to the board and quietly, but quickly and thoroughly demonstrate the solution of the problem that had baffled them all.

But Polly saw her father trumpeting through his hands:

"Sit tight, little girl, sit tight."



WRITES the Judge:

"I am flying. I am sitting above the world and the roar of engines is pulsing over trees and grass and cities—above France and under heaven with a purple band of horizon. There is fear in my heart. Fear at the daring of it all. We are alone—one passenger, two bundles, a bag, and behind me a super-man. I am flying to London above the world. We are alone in the world—there are no others. Rivers creep, black rivers, and white roads—fields flushed in yellow and green and buff, homes, trees, but no men—the world is dead of men.

"The earth is a cup of empurpled edges; always we are the center—the edge is dark, misty. I am afraid—frankly afraid. It is a thing of terror, of daring beyond dreams. Always that purple mystery in the midst of which we stand and fly. Below is a land combed and smoothed and cut and dyed and made beautiful for God's eyes with green plasters of forests and buff glooms, with red toy homes for the children of the world. We pass a great city sprawling above its tall grey cathedral, with tentacles speeding away, away. Here a railroad lifts its iron clothes and walks on brick feet across a meadow ; there another black river curls motionless seaward and suddenly straightens to a canal. Another grey city is poured helter-skelter on the earth. The sun is higher and the rim of the world is bluer.

"The sea! the land fades into it. It does not divide itself—it becomes the sea : a blue haze of slaty waters licking into the land and the land with a slight broidery of golden sands—a bridal munificence. Beyond are the shining cliffs of England, below are black burnt fields. The sea, the empty sea with cities crouching in the sand, a river slips from the sea into the land and curves quickly away east. A pale flicker of sails like dots. A river and a city and the ocean and boats afloat and curving railways and the gray, blue green of sky and waters and the cliffs of England over Calais and above the waters. I feel safer now, for the sea is kind. There lies a map in blue and gold beneath, a real map. After all a little water like the channel water is a vast and mighty thing.

"Yonder lie banked clouds low in the horizon —white, boiling, mystic and wonderful. We are above the clouds—on top of the world. It was not the cliffs of England, it was the clouds I saw. The clouds that rise above the cliffs in sunlit glory. Clouds crouch above the land like great slashes of white foam hiding England, save where a buff tongue licks into the sea ;— they are like the piled snows on the high Alps, like the suds of huge wash-tubs. Over Dover and over the huge down coverlet and now above the brown sere and crooked fields of England. I am looking at the insides—the bowels of the clouds. Cold and canny cloud-capped England. The blackness that clouds turn to earthward is not real—the silver marvel of their upturned faces is reality. The clouds are moving in ranks slowly to seaward, billowing in masses. threads and veils, smoking and marching. Faint seas of mist lie with white cloud islands.

"We are dropping to earth out of cloud and sky and golden sunshine. There is a black cloud ahead which is London, we swoop down toward it in great heart-sinking circles like a vast bird."

Wilhelmina reads the letter.

"Gee!" says William.

"Gee!" says Billie

"Gee!" lisps Billikins.

"I do not think," says Miss Wilhelmina thoughtfully, "that 'Gee' is a proper English term."

"Well what can you say?" asks Billie.

"You might remark," answers Wilhelmina, grimly, "that in modern days traveling by aeroplane is quite the fad and is both swift, clean and cheap."

"That's exactly what I was saying." adds William.

"Me too!" says Billie.





KING WILLIAM was King James son,
And all the royal race he won;
Upon his breast he wore a star,
And that was called the star of war.
Go choose the East, go choose the West,
Go choose the one that you love best;
If she's not here to take her part,
Go choose the next with all your heart.
Upon this carpet you must kneel,
As sure as grass grows in the field,
Salute your bride and kiss her sweet,
Then rise again upon your feet.


The group form a ring, joining hands and moving around in a circle singing the first verse. Someone is chosen for the center of the ring. During the singing of the second stanza, the one chosen moves from right to left, looking over the group to see which one will be chosen as her partner. During the singing of the last line of the second stanza, the one chosen is brought into the center of the ring with the leader. During the singing of the third stanza, the leader kneels at the feet of the one chosen.

During the singing of the third line of the third stanza, the leader salutes her partner and kisses her. During the singing of the last line of the third stanza, the leader takes a position with the group, and the one chosen then becomes the leader.



Poor Pompey is dead and laid in his grave,
Laid in his grave, laid in his grave;
Poor Pompey is dead and laid in his grave,
Oh, oh, oh.


There grows an old apple-tree over his head,
Over his head, over his head;
There grows an old apple-tree over his head,
Oh, oh, oh.


The apples are ripe and ready to fall,
Ready to fall, ready to fall;
The apples are ripe and ready to fall,
Oh, oh, oh.


There goes an old woman to gather them up,
Gather them up, gather them up ;
There goes an old woman to gather them up,
Oh, oh, oh.


Poor Pompey rises up and gives her a kick,
Gives her a kick, gives her a kick;
Poor Pompey rises up and gives her a kick,
Oh, oh, oh.



That makes the old woman go hippidy-hop,
Hippidy-hop, hippidy-hop;
That makes the old woman go hippidy-hop,
Oh, oh, oh.


The group form a ring, joining hands. Three girls are named for the following parts—Pompey, the Apple-Tree, and the Old Woman. Pompey kneels in the center of the ring while the group moves around him singing the first stanza. The one named for the Apple-Tree stands beside Pompey during the singing of the second stanza. The Apple-Tree drops pebbles or pieces of paper on the ground during the singing of the third stanza. The one named for the Old Woman moves around in the center of the ring during the singing of the fourth stanza and picks up the apples. Pompey rises up during the singing of the fifth stanza and follows the Old Woman about. Every time the word "kick" is sung by the group, Pompey raises his knee as if he were going to kick the Old Woman. During the singing of the sixth stanza, the Old Woman walks around the center of the ring as though very feeble and lame.

The game continues from the beginning, three others of the group being named for Pompey, the Apple-Tree and the Old Woman.


Itiskit, Itaskit,
A green and yellow basket,
I wrote a letter to my love,
And on the way I dropped it,
Dropped it, dropped it;
A little boy picked it up,
And put it in his pocket,
Pocket, pocket.

Spoken: I'll not give it to you, nor you, nor you, but you.


The group stand in a ring, joining hands. A leader is chosen who moves around the outside of the ring during the singing of the verse, which the group sing. The leader has a handkerchief or piece of paper in her hand. When the group finishes the singing of the verse, the leader recites the spoken words, "I'll not give it to you," etc., and finally drops the "note" at someone's feet. The one at whose feet the note is dropped picks it up and chases the leader. If the leader succeeds in running around the ring and taking the place of the one chasing her, then the girl who picked up the note is on the outside of the ring, and the game continues from the beginning. If the leader is caught, she again becomes the leader.



OH! dear!" said Mother Nature one very busy day, "I do believe I have made a mistake in fixing this girl. I have dipped into the brown sugar instead of the white. And—Oh! where are my wits? I have put in two spoonfuls of ginger in place of one. Well! Well! That is what one gets for gossiping when one works, but I just had to ask Mother South—Wind what kind of flowers she was going to put on her new bonnet when she went up North. Oh! well, I'll call this girl Ginger-Snap. I know it will be all right, every one likes ginger-snaps, and she is made out of sugar and spice and all the things nice, even if it is brown sugar."

So right then and there she gave that brown girl to Mammy Cleo, away down South in Alabama.

Now you see that Little Miss Ginger-Snap had a twinkle. Every one cannot have a twinkle. Anyone can have a smile, because you put that on and take it off like you do your hat, but a twinkle is a kind of jolly smile that grows fast and makes you look like you were related to a sun-beam. Now every one liked Ginger-Snap. because she was always dividing up her twinkle with folks, and if folks were very careful not to stir up her extra spoonful of ginger, she was sure to make them very happy. Mammy Cleo said that never were there ten such helpful fingers as Ginger-Snap had. Now when Ginger-Snap was as high as the bow on her Mammy's checkered apron (the one with the patched hole in the corner of it) she became a very busy girl. She had five pigtails of hair, one right on top, to tie her sunbonnet to; and one in front, to look out and keep her from stubbing her toes. One little pigtail hung right down her back to mind that the buttons on her apron stayed buttoned. One little pigtail, next to the black cat, was to listen to Old Man Temptation, and not mind him; and the one next to the bread can, was to listen for her Mammy to call her for dinner. And those five little pigtails of hair kept Ginger-Snap mighty busy and mighty comfortable most of the time.

"What's the matter with you, Mister Mocking-Bird, sitting humped up there on that peach limb, like you ain't got a friend on earth, and looking like you don't care to make any friends either?" Little brown Ginger-Snap twinkled her twinkly smile over her fat little face and laughed at Mister Mocking-Bird.

"Matter enough, Honey—" Ginger-Snap looked around, and there was Mother South Wind all dressed up with her white starchy apron on, and a new bonnet all trimmed with flowers. Under her arm she carried a satchel. "Oh Mother South Wind, are you going away?"

"Yes Child, I am going on a visit, down to the sea-shore to take the baths that all the ladies take to keep them young. That's just what ails Mister Mocker, he wants me to stay right here. I do believe I have the most ungrateful children. Seems like they think I don't 'dast' leave this State of Alabama a minute. I can just work myself sick and my fingers clear to the bone, yet these children of mine ain't wanting me to go nowheres. You know yourself, Honey, I raised the finest garden this year ever heard about. Yet when I want to take a little rest and spruce up a little, they all whine and fuss like they got a right; but I am going anyway, for a day or two. Goodbye, Mister Mocking-Bird. Goodbye, Ginger-Snap."

Mother South Wind went right down the Big Road, humming a tune like she was mighty glad to go visiting.

"Well, Mister Mocking-Bird, stir yourself about. See the nice company you have calling on you. Blue-Bird, Red-Bird, Finch, more than I could name all day, done come down to visit you from their home up North. I saw them yesterday. That ain't no way to treat company, to sit yourself humped up on a limb. I am going in and put my red flannel petticoat on. I always do, when Mother South Wind goes a-visiting."

But Mister Mocking-Bird was that unsociable, he flew away to the top of the pine snag.

As soon as Ginger-Snap had put her red flannel petticoat on, she came back out of doors again. It seemed as if that little girl couldn't
stay in the house a minute that day. She wanted to play among the out-door things.

Out in the garden her Daddy was picking the pumpkins and putting them in the shed.

"What for, Daddy, are you pulling all the yellow pumpkins and putting them in the shed?"

"Because, Child, Old Mister North Wind is coming on a visit tonight to Alabama, and when he comes, he is clean starved for 'greens' and fresh victuals. He won't leave so much as a little leaf that he don't taste," said Daddy, pulling pumpkins ever so fast.

"But, maybe he won't come. How do you know he is coming?" asked the little girl, wrapping her red petticoat about her.

"Didn't Mother South Wind go visiting this morning?"

"Yes, but she has a right to go visiting once in a while."

"Sure! to be sure! but that old North Wind, he has been waiting and watching for her to leave so he 'dast' come and eat up her garden." "Maybe you are mistaken, Daddy." Ginger-Snap looked at the pretty pumpkin flowers and the tiny baby pumpkins that Old Mister North Wind would be sure to eat.

"There isn't any mistake, Honey. You see all the birds that have come visiting us folks down here in Alabama? Well everyone of them brings a letter that says : 'Mister North Wind has his mind made up to visit us folks and, while he knows he ain't welcome, he ain't caring 'bout that. He is caring more about his dinner and that's what he is after.' So, Honey, you had better help your Daddy pick these pumpkins and put them in the shed if you want any pumpkin pie this winter."

Ginger-Snap helped gather pumpkins all that day. She gathered lots of the baby pumpkins and hid them under the grass so the cruel white teeth of the North Wind couldn't find them to bite. But after a while all the work was finished. Then Ginger-Snap went out to tell the flowers goodbye, because she knew that the North Wind is mighty fond of flowers for his dessert. She kissed the roses and patted the hollyhocks. Then she remembered about the pretty patch of violets down by the cane mill. They were mighty brave flowers because they were blooming when most of the other violet patches were resting their lazy selves.

When Ginger-Snap came to the mill, it seemed that that violet patch hadn't missed Mother South Wind one bit, but they were doing their best to make that little piece of earth purple with flowers. One little yellow butterfly hadn't heard about the North Wind coming, and it was playing in the bed. Ginger-Snap was going to tell the violets that she had come to tell them goodbye because Old Mister North Wind was coming that night, but it seemed to that little girl that she never could stand for that old cruel Wind to have those pretty flowers and that yellow butterfly.

"I'll just go and meet him and tell him he cannot have them. This isn't his home no how."

Ginger-Snap ran up the Big Road toward the North Wind as fast as she could go. To make matters worse, Mister Sun didn't feel very well that day and he went to bed early. He always does when he is ailing. There was no one to help her, but Ginger-Snap went on, all of her extra ginger and spice stirred up. It wasn't very long until she heard a "roaring." The pine trees were sighing and the little birds were chirping and shivering and, before Ginger-Snap knew it, she ran right smack into the North Wind. Ginger-Snap and the old Wind were both surprised. They both stopped. Ginger-Snap made a little bow. Mister North Wind nibbled a dandelion plant. Oh! his teeth were so long and so white that the little girl shivered. If it had not been for her pretty patch of violets she would have run back home again.

"Howdy, Mister North Wind."

"Howdy, Little Brown Girl. What do you want?"

"I want you to go back home, where you belong."

"You better go back home and crawl into your warm feather bed where you belong. I don't like to have children interrupting my dinner."

"Please, Mister North Wind, go back. Let the little flowers bloom a little longer. Mother South Wind has gone away and left her garden."

"Yes I know that, I know that, and that's
why I came down here to get me a mess of fresh victuals." With that the Wind snapped at a morning-glory vine and took it all at one bite.

"But, Mister North Wind, you won't come and see us in the summer when you are welcome. Lawsy Sir, we would make you powerful welcome if you would come, say next August. We would have a fish-fry for you."

"That's my nap time, Child. Now run home. I am going to eat my dinner because, if I don't hurry, that old lady South Wind is liable to come back and chase me home. She is that powerful fussy."

"Well I know one patch of violets you cannot have. I'll cover them up."

"Violets are the finest dessert in the world, where are they?"

Ginger-Snap ran back down the road as fast as she could, with the North Wind at her heels. When she came to the violet patch, she took off her apron and spread it over the little patch. That made the Wind mad ; he screamed and tore at that apron, but Ginger-Snap held it down with her feet and hands. Miss Moon came along and watched. She felt sorry for Ginger-Snap. She gave her whitest light so that Ginger-Snap could see what she was doing. Folks said that they had never seen the moonlight so white in Alabama as on that night.

Ever so often the old North Wind would run away and get him a few bites out of someone's garden, then back he would come after those violets.

"See here, Mister North Wind, you cannot have my violets. Go on with your meddling. I mean what I say. Go on! I told you if you would come next summer, you could have a party. You could have watermelon."

"I want violets," the Wind would hiss, and snap at the little girl's bare arms and legs. Once he bit her on her toe so hard that Ginger-Snap gave a terrible yell. That pleased Mister Wind. He snapped at her heel and Ginger-Snap didn't yell that time, she kicked Mister North Wind right in the middle part of his fat vest. Then it was that old man's time to howl. He did it too and ran away and ate up half of Colonel Bigbee's garden, but that didn't satisfy him. Fe was mad. Back he came and tore at the apron over the violets.

Ginger-Snap flattened herself over that apron and whispered: "Lay low; Little Yellow Butterfly, so I won't squash you. This old Mister North Wind's powerful set on eating this violet patch and a butterfly too."

When the old Wind saw how heavy and fat Ginger-Snap was on that apron, he went away and hid, but she wasn't fooled any. Pretty soon Old Mister Mocking-Bird, he sees what is going on and he went and got all of his kin folks. They sat up in a gum tree close by and sang songs for Ginger-Snap so she wouldn't get lonesome or afraid. The folks up at the Big House heard them singing and said, "Wonder what makes the mocking-birds sing so tonight?"

After a while Ginger-Snap's Mammy and Daddy went out to hunt her. When they could not find her, they got the folks up at the Big House to help. Pretty soon lanterns began to twinkle all about the plantation. Next the big bell began to ring. The folks called and called Ginger-Snap. They shivered in their coats and shawls and hunted for her. Ginger-Snap heard them, but she would not answer because she knew they would take her away from her violet patch.

But after while, when folks had gone back to bed, Ginger-Snap began to shiver. Old Mister North Wind had nipped her so much, he tore at her bare arms so often with his cold fingers, she began to freeze. Now the mockingbirds got scared. They got too scared to sing. Oh! what would they do? They all began jabbering at once. If only Mother South Wind would come back!

"I'll go after her. I'll go after her at once," said Mrs. Crow from her rest on the top of the cane mill.

Now there ain't no telling how fast Mrs. Crow can go when she wants to and she certainly wanted to this time, because she was afraid that the North Wind was going to make a meal of Ginger-Snap. She didn't have a hard time finding Mother South Wind, who was at a garden party where there were a lot of fine ladies in a rose garden. Mrs. Crow told Mother South Wind how Mister North Wind was trying to eat Little Miss Ginger-Snap. Lawsy. that made that old lady mad! She grabbed up her satchel and started off.

"That's just like that greedy old man. Done eat up all the North; now he comes messing up my garden, the minute I turn my back, and
that poor little girl trying to save a patch of flowers for me. I bet I'll fix him. I'll nap every one of his old frost hairs out of his head." Mother South Wind went so fast that Mrs. Crow couldn't anywhere near keep in sight.

Long before she got there, Old Mister North Wind heard her coming and turned his toes toward home. He didn't waste no time getting out of Alabama either.

Mother South Wind got to the cane mill just as Mister Sun was getting up. There she found Little Ginger-Snap fast asleep, still holding down her apron over her violets. Her legs and hands were stiff and cold, but it didn't take Mother South Wind long to blow on them and rub them real brisk. Then Mister Sun sent a few real warm sunbeams down to help her. It wasn't any time until that little girl sat up, rubbed her eyes and wiggled her twinkle that had gotten kind of stiff, being out in the night air. Then she saw Mother South Wind.

"Goodness sakes, where is the old North Wind?"

"Reckon he ain't within calling distance," said the old lady.

"But I thought you had gone visiting."

"Guess I got enough of those stylish folks in a mighty short time and came back to watch that old greedy North Wind out of my garden."

Ginger-Snap got up and shook her apron. The violets were safe and so was the yellow butterfly. It fluttered on the back of a sunbeam and danced. Ginger-Snap took her apron and put it on.

"Well if you are going to take care of things, suppose I can go home and get breakfast."

When she got to the cabin her folks ran to meet her.

"Where have you been, Ginger-Snap, all this long night?"

"I have been down by the cane mill 'sassing' that Old Mister North Wind."

While Ginger-Snap was spreading butter on her hot waffles, she heard folks say:

"Funny thing happened last night. Mister North Wind came down and stayed all night, but somehow that old cruel creature never did but little hurt; just here and there he took a bite out of things. He never went any place but right about this one plantation, and then he packed up and went back up North this morning before anyone saw him, like he was in a mighty hurry."

Ginger-Snap wagged her give little pigtails of hair and said to herself:

"Reckon if I hadn't been arguing with that old man all night, he would have eaten up all the pretty green things in Alabama."


Slumber Song

CLOSE those eyes where points of light
Shine like stars through the velvet night,
Brownie Boy.
Lightly float in a dimpled smile
Out on the sea of "Dream-a-while",
With gold nets, dream-fish to beguile,
Brownie Boy.
See how the big moon dips and swings,
Shaking the stars from its silver wings,
Brownie Boy
Come, let us follow, you and I,
Follow its flight across the sky,
Into the land of "Bye-and-Bye",
Brownie Boy.
The changing years will come and go,—
Summer's rise and winter's snow,—
Brownie Boy.
Stealing my brown boy from my breast;
Bringing him manhood's eager quest,
And splendid strength for every test,
Brownie Boy.
Teaching you, too, from History's page,
The joy of your noble heritage,
Brownie Boy.
Ah! You must needs be doubly true,
Doubly strong in the task you do,
Nor fail the Race that speaks in you,
Brownie Boy.



ONE day before school closed our teacher told us all to write a letter to THE BROWNIES' BOOK, and she would send the three best ones. She said mine was the second best, so here it is.

Dear Brownies:

I am a little boy, and I'm nine years old and in the fourth grade. I get THE BROWNIES' BOOK every month and my Papa gets THE CRISIS. Last summer I used to sell THE CRISIS. I have a bicycle and I carry them in a little basket in the front. I put the money I made in the bank. I think I shall do it again. It is a good way to make money and I have a bank book. My Papa says that if I save all my money, I'll have enough to go to college when I'm old enough.

My Papa is a doctor and I'm going to be one too. Well I must close now and go over to the Y.M.C.A. Every afternoon the Boy Scouts have a swimming class over there. It's great fun. I can swim in the deep now and I'm learning to dive.

JAMES L. WARREN, South Carolina.

WE have been taking THE BROWNIES' BOOK for two years and I like it very much.

The plays in it have been very interesting. The Children's Missionary Society of our church reproduced the one called "The Children's Treasure," published in the June issue of THE BROWNIES' BOOK. Everyone thought it quite a success.

We enjoy the pictures of the little children very much.

I have two brothers and one sister and we all look eagerly forward for the coming of THE BROWNIES' BOOK.


I LIKE THE BROWNIES BOOK very much. I will be ten years old the 17th of September. THE BROWNIES' BOOK is making me happy every day. I enjoy the old ones just as good as I do the new ones. I am in the fourth grade. I have been trying to write a story for THE BROWNIES' BOOK for a long time. I have been trying to get up subscriptions too. I have a hog and she has some pigs.

JOHN A. ROBINSON, Edwardsville, Virginia.

FOR some time I have been intending to write to THE BROWNIES' BOOK. I am eleven years old and in the fifth grade. My favorite study is French and when I get big, my father says he will take me to France if I learn my French lessons real well. Last year was the first year we had a modern language in the grammar school department. We had Latin before but I don't like that much.

Our teacher is a real French woman. She comes from Alsace and she told us that she was so glad that Alsace was French again. She said that Alsatians hate the Germans. Sometimes she shows us pictures of Alsace and when I go there I am going to look for those places.


I AM older than most of the readers of THE BROWNIES' BOOK, but I think that I enjoy it as much as your more youthful subscribers. I am sixteen years old and have just finished my third year in high school. I hope to graduate next June. I have not quite decided whether I am going to normal school or to college. I rather think it will be the latter as I wish to pursue, as far as possible, my studies in English.

I think that the main reason I am interested in THE BROWNIES' BOOK is because I like to write. I am always interested in the type of story or articles you use. I have had one or two articles in the school magazine, in fact I am the assistant editor and it certainly is interesting work.

Some day perhaps I shall venture to send you some of my work for your opinion and advice.



Our Little Friends



THE brig, Ottoman, sailed from New Orleans for Boston in the summer of 1846. She was the property of a Massachusetts firm, John H. Pearson and Company. Mr. Pearson is credited, in most of the records, which I have seen, with taking the aggressive and responsible position in certain affairs, which have given the ships and the company a shameful place in history.

When the Ottoman had been away from port a week, and is supposed to have been outside of the territorial waters of the United States, a fugitive slave, a mulatto lad, named Joe, was found secreted on board. The sailors and the captain all knew him, and had liked him very much. He had been often sent by his master, in New Orleans, on errands to the brig.

He begged these men, who knew him, to do —what? Just nothing at all, but to sail on to Boston whither they were bound. He had heard of Boston, and, once were he there, if only they again would do nothing, he was sure that he could slip away and become free, and nobody need ever know that he had been found at sea on John H. Pearson's boat. It was a fair legal question, whether, at that moment, out there on the ocean, and not having been helped to get there by anyone, Joe was not actually a free man by both human and divine law.

Captain Hannon, of the brig, watched for a vessel which would be on her way back to New Orleans. He intended, if one were encountered, to pass Joe, like a bale of goods, over to her to be returned to New Orleans. No such vessel was met, however, and the Ottoman sailed on its course and reached Boston in due time.

Captain Hannon did not let Joe land. He communicated with John H. Pearson and Company who decided that Joe must be sent back


to Louisiana on the Niagara, another vessel which they owned. They had no legal right to detain him, to put him on another boat, or to send him anywhere. They managed to get him onto a small island in the harbor, intending him to stay there until the Niagara was ready to sail.

He was a brave and resourceful fellow, and he escaped from the island and made his way into the city. No warrant had been issued for his arrest. He had committed no crime against the laws of Massachusetts. No claim had been made upon the authorities for his detention, even as a suspected fugitive from "service" or "labor." He stood on the Boston pavements an absolutely free man in the eyes of the law.

Men were set on Joe's track, either by Captain Hannon or the shipowners,—probably because of instructions from the shipowners to the captain. They found Joe in one of the city streets and there they literally grabbed him.

A few puzzled bystanders saw that something peculiar was going on, and they asked what the fuss was all about. They were told that Joe was a thief, and being so assured, it was likely that they took it for granted that he was being taken legally, and certainly righteously into custody.

Joe was put on the Niagara and taken back to slavery.

But what had been done in Boston was clearly an act of kidnapping, and that was a crime against the law of the State. Still, I do not know that anybody was arrested for having committed that crime. Perhaps the actual kidnappers were unknown persons, or were men who had already sailed away from the city, and the connection of John H. Pearson with their deed might have been difficult, if not impossible, to establish in a court room. Joe, poor fellow, was beyond the reach of either justice or sympathy. Nothing could be done for him personally. But the story became known in Boston, and public indignation rose up like a giant in wrath. Then good white men showed themselves on the moral scene of action.

Dr. Samuel G. Howe, the famous teacher of the blind, called a meeting in the Faneuil Hall to protest against the outrage, the injury to Joe and the defiance of the law in the Commonwealth. It was the custom for Boston people to meet in the old Faneuil Hall to express approval or disapproval of great public events.

John Quincy Adams was asked to preside at the meeting. He was then nearly eighty years old, and indeed he died not very long afterwards. He had been President of the United States, and later during many successive years, a member of Congress. It was he who, in a time of unsettled law and custom, had secured for all Americans, white or black, bond or free, the right to send petitions to Congress. It was he, also, who had announced the famous legal opinion, that, should a war occur, the President of the United States or any Commanding General in the field might abolish slavery, in any part of the country under his immediate control.

When the audience assembled in Faneuil Hall, to protest against the kidnapping of Joe, a tremendous sensation went through it, as old John Quincy Adams was seen walking up to his appointed place on the platform.

He told the crowd that, once Elbridge Gerry, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, had been asked to attend a meeting, which had been called to protest because British sailors had forcibly taken a seaman from an American frigate. Gerry had said then, that if he had only one more day to live on earth, he would use it to go to that meeting; and, after repeating what the signer had said of himself, Adams added, "On that same principle I now appear before you."

Charles Sumner, who was to be the greatest and most persistent advocate of Negro rights, in the United States Senate, made a speech, and said of Joe, "That poor unfortunate, . . . . when he touched the soil of Massachusetts, was as much entitled to the protection of its laws," (turning towards Adams), "as much as you, Mr. President, covered with honors as you are.

Wendell Phillips declared that the social and religious institutions of the country were morally feeble. Had they, he said, been strong, such a thing as the kidnapping of a defenceless man could never have occurred.

Dr. Howe told Joe's story in detail, while the audience shouted and groaned in sympathetic response. He described, imaginatively, how the young fugitive must have felt, how he had hoped and had believed that in Massachusetts he would be safe,—he would be free,— if he could only get there. And the fear, .. . the horror, . . . the desperate effort . . . and he got to Boston! . . . And then,—the capture, the agony, and the utter loss of every earthly hope!

Of the owners of the Ottoman, Dr. Howe said, "I would rather be in the place of the victim, than in theirs; aye! through the rest of my life, I would rather be a driven slave on a Louisiana plantation than roll in their wealth, and bear the burden of their guilt."

Dr. Howe had, before this day, served in Greece on behalf of her freedom. He had been in a European prison, because he was known to be in favor of liberty. And, in Paris, he had once become a volunteer guard to Lafayette, when the life of that hero of two continents was in peril.

Every man who spoke at this meeting in Faneuil Hall either had already done or was yet to do signal work for American Negroes. All of them were in deadly earnest.

They could not rescue poor Joe from the awful doom to which he had been consigned. But, to quote from Frank B. Sanborn's account: "The upshot of the meeting was the appointment of a Vigilance Committee of forty members, of which Dr. Howe was chairman. This Vigilance Committee looked after the welfare of fugitive slaves and "in various forms continued to exist" and to work in Massachusetts, until its watchful service was no longer needed, because slavery had been abolished. For several years it kept a yacht in Boston Harbor, ready to sail at a moment's notice, and in some way or other rescue and save from return to the South any other stowaway fugitive who got as far towards freedom as into the harbor.


Little People of the Month

JOHNETTA EVELYN CRAWFORD is a little girl of New Orleans, La. She's only six years old, but when it comes to selling tickets, Johnetta ranks with the grown-ups. For the closing exercises of Miss Alice Duvall's School, Johnetta sold 381 tickets and won the first prize. Last December, Johnetta entered school. She is now in the first grade.

A brownie of Norfolk, Va., was a prize winner in the contest conducted by the Berry & Ross Manufacturing Company of New York City. The subject was, "Why Should a Colored Child Play with a White Doll?" And here we see little Catherine Bynum with her prize, a sleeping, brown-skinned doll. Catherine is eight years old and attends the John C. Price Public School. She is in the third grade.

The three kiddies were prize winners in the colored division of the "Better Babies" contest at the Ashland Place Y. W. C. A., Brooklyn, N.Y. They are, left to right, Allen Brown, Leah Malone and Edgerton Dunn.

At Belchertown, Mass., there is a boy who has walked ten miles to and from school each day for four years, with the exception of seven weeks when the town provided transportation for him. His home is in the West End district. and often the roads are in such condition that walking is difficult. However, Orin LeRoy Bracey was graduated in June from the Belcher- town High School as valedictorian of his class. He is fifteen and one-half years old and the first colored boy to receive a diploma from the school.

Miss Frazine Mae Lacey was born in Glen Cove, Long Island. She was graduated in June of this year from the Lynn, Mass., English High School, where she was the only colored member of a class of 217. Miss Lacey took the Commercial Course and she plans to pursue secretarial work. She plays the piano and the violin, recites, and is an impersonator. In all her endeavors she is quite thorough.

[illustration - Johnetta Evelyn Crawford] [illustration - Catherine Bynum] [illustration - Allen Brown, Leah Malone, Edgerton Dunn] [illustration - Orin LeRoy Bracey] [illustration - Frazine Mae Lacey]



I SAW a curious sight yesterday in London and Brussels and Paris; hundreds of folk, black like me, were sitting together and talking earnestly. Finally, in Paris, they placed a wreath on a grave and on the ribbons of the wreath was written, "Pan- Africa to the Unknown Soldier." I wonder what it all meant.

The second meeting of the Assembly of the League of Nations has taken place in Geneva. Nearly every civilized country in the world, except the United States, was represented.

The rebellion in India against English rule is still going on.

The Congressional Medal of Honor has been bestowed by general Pershing upon France's unknown poilu, buried beneath the Arc de Triomphe.

A note has been sent by the Chinese Government to American and Japanese Legations at Pekin. The note declares that agreements between the United States and Japan regarding the future status of the Island of Yap constitute a violation of China's sovereignty and the principal of national equality.

Former King William II of Wurtemburg is dead at the age of 74. He abdicated in November 1918.

Hungary has withdrawn from Burgenland, or West Hungary, and the territory has been formally taken over by Austria.

New members of the Assembly of the League of Nation s are Latvia, Esthonia and Lithuania.

According to the Reparations Commission, the value of ships surrendered by Germany is 745,000,000 gold marks.

Up to the end of March 1921, the cost of maintaining Allied troops on the Rhine was more than one hundred billion paper marks. The whole expense, according to the Treaty 101 Versailles, must be borne by Germany.

The town of Oppau, on the Rhine, has been wrecked by an explosion in a chemical plant. Over 1,000 people were killed and 4,000 were injured.

Russia, although not invited, has appointed a mission to attend the Washington Disarmament Conference. The mission represents nearly all the anti-Bolshevik groups.

The province of Anhwei, China, has been flooded with the loss of thousands of lives. The property damage is reported as $80,000,000.

Pekin Union Medical College has been dedicated. It was erected by the China Medical Board of the Rockefeller Foundation, at a cost of $8,000,000.

The 100th anniversary of the establishment of Mexican independence has been celebrated in Mexico.

Sir Ernest Shackleton, of Great Britain, has started on an exploration into the unchartered regions of the Antarctic, South Atlantic and Pacific Oceans.

The estates of Archduke Frederick and his son, Archduke Albrecht, in Paris, have been taken over by an American syndicate. The estates are estimated to be worth more than $400,000,000.

Many people have been killed and injured in battles between policemen and unemployed people in London.

The Polish Cabinet, under Vincent Witos, has resigned. Premier Ponikowski says that the Polish Government will make every effort to follow a policy of peace and economic rehabilitation.

Spanish forces are fighting Moorish tribesmen in the Melilla zone in Morocco.

Conflicts continue between Fascisti and Socialists in Italy. A general strike has beep declared in southern Italy.

In charging the German Nationalist Party with fomenting a conspiracy to overthrow the German Republic, Chancellor Wirth warns that the Government is thoroughly prepared to crush such a movement.


The English and the Irish have finally come together in conference to consider the future political status of Ireland. It looks as though the conference will be successful.

The Prince of Wales, heir to the throne of England, has started on a journey to India. The English are afraid that the Indians who are demanding independence will not be particularly glad to see the Prince.

A treaty is about to be signed by which a larger degree of independence will be given to the Egyptian Government.

Charles, former Emperor of Austria, flew to Hungary in an airplane and tried to seize his throne. He was defeated and he and his wife captured. They will undoubtedly be made to live in some place far enough off so that they will not disturb Hungary again.

In southwestern Germany there is a region called Silesia which is very rich in coal and iron. The Treaty of Versailles ordered Silesia to be divided between Germany and Poland. Recently this division has been made by the Council of the League of Nations. Germany thinks that Poland got the richer part of Silesia and for this reason her ministry has resigned.

THE frost—the beautiful white frost, is creeping southward. It is glistening in Labrador, and shining of nights in Canada, and breathing lightly on New York. It is painting the forests all of the beautifullest colors. I love the frost.

Lieutenant John A. MacReady, of the United States Air Service, has established a new world record for altitude. He climbed 40,800 feet above sea level at Dayton, Ohio.

Ex-president Taft has taken the oath of office as Chief Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States.

Savings of small investors in the United States total $27,000,000,000, of which $21,000000,000 is invested in Government securities ; the remainder is represented by the deposits of 30,000 savings banks. The savings average $250 to every man, woman and child in the United States.

Colonel Mason M. Patrick has been nominated as Director of Army Air Service.

The United States Shipping Board has selected Harry Kimball, of New York City, as financial vice-president. His salary is $30,000 a year.

One of eleven Judges of the League of Nations' International Court of Justice is John Bassett Moore. Mr. Moore is an authority on international law and was formerly a member of the Permanent Court of Arbitration at the Hague.

President Harding has issued a proclamation asking American people to honor their war dead on Armistice Day, November 11, by offering a two minute silent prayer at noon. At this time the body of an unknown soldier, killed in action, will be buried in Arlington National Cemetery.

The United Mine Workers of America have voted disapproval of salary increases for 60% of the union's officers.

According to figures obtained in Washington there are 6,000,000 men in the active armies of the fourteen most important nations.

Secretary of the Treasury Mellon, in following his program for handling the short-dated debt, announces a combined offering of $600,000,000 in new notes. This is the largest offering since the Liberty Loan. More than $1,150,000,000 of principal and interest in Treasury certificates and other obligations fell due before October 15.

Dr. Livingston Farrand was formally inaugurated President of Cornell University, October 20. Dr. Farrand has had wide experience as a scholar, an educator and an administrator.

There's threat of a great strike of railway employees. When the wages of the laborers were increased during the war, the railway engineers, firemen, conductors and laborers received no increase and were prevented from striking by an appeal from the President who promised relief. Last year tardy relief was given and wage increases were made. This year the increases given have been reduced 12% and the railroads are asking for another 10% reduction. Against these reductions, the railroad employees threatened a great strike, but they have been persuaded to postpone it.

A great meeting of the leading nations of the world to discuss methods of reducing armies and navies will be held this month in Washington. This assembly is the most important that the world has seen since the Peace Treaty. It is feared that little will be accomplished, but with the Prime Ministers of England and France and distinguished statesmen from Italy, Japan and China meeting with the officials of the American Government, we can be hopeful.



A STRETCH of farm land gray in the dawning, a flash of blue water, then long lines of freight cars, the sound of many whistles and the shrill shriek of the brakes, while the sleepy voice of the porter called the station, told the girl that she had arrived at the end of he journey. One big pull, a final jolt and the long train came to a stop. Clasping her old traveling bag in one hand, a bundle under her arm and a shawl over her shoulders, fourteen-year-old Diane Jordan stepped to the platform, for the first time in her life in a large city.

It was on Thanksgiving morning, sometimes called the Day of Big Dinners, that Diane got her first view of the metropolis. Of course, her two cousins with Aunt Ruth were at the station to meet her. After many kisses and exclamations of welcome they guided the rather dazed little country girl to their big car and whirled away uptown. Diane looked out of the automobile and enjoyed the ride, while Aunt Ruth asked about her only sister, Diane's mother and her activities in the country, for Mrs. Wilson had not been to visit her relative for some years.

The Jordan family and the Wilson family, it must be explained, were in no wise alike. The two sisters had married into vastly different positions in life. One went with her husband to a farm down in the southern part of the State, where they tilled the soil for a living. Their crops were usually good and they did well, but their customs remained those of simple, generous-hearted country folk. The other girl married Lawrence Wilson, who became one of the wealthy and well known colored doctors in his city. His wife gained an enviable social position, lived in a beautiful house on a shady street and sent her daughters to a private school. Mrs. Wilson, busy with her social duties, seldom saw her country sister, but since her two children had spent a summer on the farm she had always intended to have her niece, Diane, visit in the city, so this accounts for the presence of this countrified, tomboyish little girl seated in an expensive car between the stylishly clad daughters of Mrs. Lawrence Wilson. But Diane liked the ride and admired her aunt's skill in driving.

"Father's been called out of town," her cousins explained, "and mother always runs the car when he's away."

Soon the big automobile rolled up a cement drive and stopped under the porte-cochere of the largest house Diane had ever visited. She marvelled at its size, but the inside was still more wonderful. It is useless to attempt to describe her feelings upon entering this home so different from her rural one, as only a Dickens could do it.

However, after an hour or so of this indoor splendor and her doll-like cousins, Diane, a hardy child of the out-of-doors, grew a bit tired and decided to inspect the yard, since Aunt Ruth would not let her help get dinner. Once in a while the scent of turkey floated in from the kitchen. In the country she always helped her mother cook, but here they seemed to hire folks to do the work. Well, city people were queer. Even their yards were not the same. Why, in the country one had a whole farm to play in, but here the houses took up all the room; so, finding the space between the wall and the fence too small, Diane's adventurous feet led her to examine the neighborhood.

She had walked a block or two, stopping now and then to stare at some strange new object, when she reached a corner where two car lines crossed and many automobiles were passing in all directions. The scene was interesting, so she leaned against a lamp post and watched the city folk go by until her attention was attracted to a small, dark brown boy, yelling at the top of his voice, "Papers! Extra papers, just out!" He reminded Diane of little brother at home. Her gaze must have attracted his attention, too, for he demanded. "Paper, lady?" Perhaps he called her lady because her dresses were unusually long for a girl of fourteen, but on the farm, clothes are not of the latest fashion.

"What kind o' paper you got?" asked the girl.

"Post or Herald," replied the little urchin.

[illustration - "Well What in the World Have You Got?"]

Diane pondered. "Well, give me the best one," she said, " 'cause Pa told me to bring him a city daily."

"I've only got two left and if you take 'em both you'll be sure and get the best," urged the little newsie, anxious to sell out.

"All right, I'll take them," she agreed. "You're in a hurry to get home and eat some turkey, aren't you?"

"Turkey! What do you mean?" asked the boy to whom the word was but a name. "We ain't got no turkey."

This answer was surprising to Diane. The girl could not imagine any one not having turkey for Thanksgiving. All the people in the country had one. Truly, city ways were strange! Why, she had never known anybody to be without a turkey on Thanksgiving day, except once when her uncle George said that he was "just darned tired of having what other folks have," so his wife cooked two ducks and a chicken instead. Perhaps this boy's mother intended to have duck.

"Well, you're going to have ducks for dinner, then?" Diane asked.

"Naw, we ain't got no duck," he replied.

"Poor little boy," she thought. "Why then it must be chicken, isn't it?" she suggested.

"Naw, we ain't got no chicken, either."

"Well, what in the world have you got?" she demanded of this peculiar boy who had neither
turkey, duck, nor chicken for dinner on Thanksgiving.

"We ain't got nothin' yet," he said, and looking up into Diane's sympathetic face he added, "and we won't have much if dere's not enough pennies in my pocket to get somethin.' My mother's been sick."

"O-o-o," said Diane, looking down at the ragged little fellow. It took her a long time to comprehend. She had never heard of anybody having nothing for dinner except the poor war- stricken Europeans, and that was because the armies had eaten everything up. "Oh," she repeated. "Are you going to buy something?" "Sure I am," he replied proudly. "Want to help me count my change?"

He had a dollar and fifty-four cents.

"Gee, I can get a dandy dinner with this," he said. "Ma's able to cook now."

However, Diane was not very sure about how much a dollar and fifty-four cents would buy, especially for a Thanksgiving meal. Suddenly a big thought came to her. She would ask the little boy and his mother to her Aunt's house for dinner. Surely Aunt Ruth would not mind. In the country they always had lots of extra company at the Thanksgiving table.

The little brown newsie was rather puzzled at this strange girl's generosity. Nothing like it had ever happened to him before, and he had sold papers in the streets since the age of five. Finally Diane forced him to accept her invitation, the lure of unknown turkey being too much for the little fellow. He promised to come at three.

"Where do you live?" he asked skeptically.

"Down there." Diane pointed to the large house not far away. "I mean I don't live there but I'm staying there now, and you and your mother can come down today for dinner."

"But I got two sisters," said the boy.

"Oh, bring them along." What were two sisters added to a dinner party? Why, her mother's table at home could feed twenty at once, if necessary.

"And I got a little brother, too," he continued.

"Well," hesitated Diane, "bring him with you. I like babies." However, she hoped that he had no more relatives. "Now tell me your name," she demanded, "so I can tell Aunt Ruth who's coming."

"Lester Lincoln Jones," he replied, "and we'll sure be there. S' long." Off he ran down the street to deliver the invitation.

Diane went back to the great house without a doubt in the world but that her aunt would be "tickled to death" to have extra company for dinner. Mrs. Wilson had been worried about her niece for the last twenty minutes and when she learned of the invitation, that august lady was too shocked for words. At first she hotly refused to admit the coming guests to her home. However, after many hugs and kisses and tearful entreaties from her two daughters, who thought it would be great fun to have such unusual company, and from Diane who declared she would not eat unless the newsboy and his family could eat, too, the elderly lady finally consented.

About three o'clock the family came. They were from the South and the weak little mother explained in her rather broken language that she didn't understand the invitation at all, but came only because her son insisted. The small twin sisters had washed their faces until they shone, and the cute, but none too fat baby, had big black eyes and tiny, mischievous hands that kept Mrs. Wilson's nerves on edge. "Such hands," she said, "always wanted to touch something, and babies quite often break things."

During the dinner the dark faced little mother did not talk much, but the young Joneses,— they ate and jabbered to their hearts' content. They expressed a marvelous joy and delight over the turkey, as they had never even tasted that fowl before. And as for the plum pudding and large round pies, no words in the world could give vent to their feelings. But when they had finished, their stomachs were as tight as kettle drums from very fullness, and the baby resembled a pert little cherub like those that might be painted around a Negro Madonna's pictures.

After the ice cream had been eaten and each one of the children had a handful of nuts, the mother said that they must go, and not to Mrs. Wilson's sorrow. The woman thanked them very sincerely for the grand dinner and Mrs. Wilson promised to help her find work.

After the door had closed upon the departing Jones party, Mrs. Wilson declared, "Those people were the strangest dinner guests I ever entertained."

And when Diane got back to the farm, she told her mother all about it and ended her story with, "Well, Ma, I never knew before that there are people in the world who have no turkey on Thanksgiving."



JERRY stood at the window and flattened his nose against the pane of glass in order to get a nearer view of the sky.

"I wish we would have a great big storm," he said to a little brown sparrow that perched on the sill for a second. "And I wish that little sister wasn't sick and could watch it with me."

The wind swept in chilly blasts about the deserted garden and howled dismally through the naked trees. It rattled the blinds on the house and whistled in through cracks, making the little sick girl cuddle down under the covers.

Jerry tip-toed over to his mother. "Isn't it time that the Frost King came?" he whispered.

Mother smiled and drew the little fellow to her side. "The Frost King is way up back of the clouds, dearie," she said. "It is hardly cold enough to snow, but maybe he will send some of the storm fairies and elves to us today."

"Oh, goody! I wish he would send them down in a beautiful hail storm."

"Suppose I tell you a story about Shivers, a Hailstone Elf, while little sister is sleeping," said mother, drawing her chair nearer to the window.

Jerry seated himself on a stool at her feet, greatly excited. "Oh, do tell me about Shivers!"

"Once upon a time, Shivers was part of a fleecy, fluffy, feathery cloud. He was warm and comfy but not very happy because he couldn't do anything but sail around in the sky all day.

"'I want to work and help in the world,' he cried to the great Mother Cloud in whose arms he nestled.

"Now the Frost King heard him, and he needed just such a staunch little soldier in his Hailstone Army. So he sent a cool, cool wind to blow over the fleecy, fluffy, feathery cloud. And the cool, cool wind blew Shivers right up into the Frost King's palace.

"It was a wonderful, glistening palace with icicle halls that were covered with snowy carpets. The windows were of sleet, festooned with snowdrifts. They looked like beautiful patterns of lace.

"Shivers whirled about full of joy, until he fell out of Mother Cloud's arms. For a moment he was frightened. But a host of Fairy Snow Drops came fluttering out of the palace. They gathered about him, laughing and chattering merrily, in snow drop fashion.

"'What is your dearest wish?' asked a saucy little Snow Flake, bowing before him.

"Now Shivers wasn't a part of the fleecy, fluffy, feathery cloud any more, but he was a tiny Rain Drop! He was feeling rather heavy hearted and when Snow Flake asked him for his dearest wish, his eyes grew tearful as he said:

"'I fear it is an impossible one. A little boy way down on earth is calling me to come and play with him. His little sister is sick and she is calling me to help her get well. I would love to cheer them both.'

"The Snow Drops were just as happy as they could be. 'Hurrah, hurrah!' they cried. 'That is a beautiful wish. You shall join the Frost King's Army and you shall be a mighty Hailstone Elf. Come, sisters, let us prepare the little Rain Drop for battle.'

"'A battle!' cried Shivers.

"'Yes indeed. When the Frost King visits the earth it is always a battle between the clouds and the sun. But you have such a noble purpose, that I am sure we shall win.'

"So they brought a blanket of snow and rolled the Rain Drop in it. Then they gathered sleet from the palace windows, and draped it about him. What a funny little fellow he was now! Mother Cloud would never have known him. He gurgled with delight when they placed a snow cap on his head and handed him a frosted sword.

"'Away, away to the Frost King!' they shouted.

"He had grown so heavy that they had to roll him up the icy steps and down the hall of snow. At the far end sat the Frost King on his throne, a huge snow drift. He was covered with sleet from head to foot and as the sun broke through the palace windows, he sparkled like millions of diamonds. Shivers was so impressed that he nearly fainted.

"'Ho, ho, North Wind, refresh him!' commanded the Frost King.

And the North Wind blew such a mighty blast that the palace fairly trembled. Shivers
fell on his knees before the throne.

"Frost King stroked his icicle beard and rolled his glittering eyes over Shivers.

"'Arise, Knight of the Hailstone Army!' he commanded.

"Shivers staggered to his feet. He wasn't part of the fleecy, fluffy, feathery cloud any more; he wasn't a Rain Drop; he wasn't a Snow Flake. He was a great, big Hailstone! How mighty and fine he felt! The Frost King was speaking.

"'You are ordered to go with the Army to earth and to give peace and joy wherever it is needed.'

"'But how are we to get there?' asked Shivers.

"The Frost King looked puzzled for a moment. 'It is still too warm down on earth for a snow storm,' he muttered. 'Ah, I have it! I shall interview the King of Thunder. Away to the border of Cloudland and await me there!'

"So the mighty Army set forth, holding their icicle spears over their shoulders. A little later, in Cloudland, they met the King of Thunder.

"'Ah, my fine soldiers,' he cried. 'You are just in time.' And he threw them a flash of electricity.

"'Good!' exclaimed Shivers. 'We shall ride to earth on a shaft of lightning.'

"With a shout, the Hailstones mounted the shaft, and—"

"Oh, mother, look!" cried Jerry, excitedly. "We're going to have a thunder storm, and I do believe it's a hail storm, too. Oh, goody, goody!"

The storm clouds, which had been gathering for some time, burst ; and a shower of hailstones tumbled down, some of them bounding on the window sill.

"We must not open this window, dear," said mother. "But suppose you run to the front. door."

Away sped the little fellow. He tugged at the big door until it yielded. There lay the biggest hailstone Jerry had ever seen!

"I do believe it is Shivers!" he cried, picking it up. He ran back to the sick room. "Mother, here's Shivers." He held the hailstone gingerly in his hand.

"So it is," said mother. "And it is so warm and comfy here that it must make Shivers remember nestling in the arms of the fleecy, fluffy, feathery cloud. Look, Jerry, I believe he is a bit homesick, for he is beginning to weep. Maybe he is longing for Mother Cloud. Or perhaps he wants to help little sister."

And mother placed the great Hailstone on the little girl's forehead. Then she went on softly with her story.

"He has forgotten all about the Frost King and the Hailstone Army. He is just so happy that he wants to weep, for he is helping to cool sister's head. And little sister is helping him to get back to Cloudland. His heart is as light as a feather. It is lighter than a feather, for he is rising up, up in a mist. And as he goes up in this mist, he is joined by hosts of his. brothers and sisters. The warm rays of the sun are drawing them all closer together."

Jerry drew a long breath. "That was a lovely story, mother," he said. "And I'm so glad that the little Hailstone got back to his mother. Will sister be well now?"

"Pretty soon, dear. Look, she is better and is smiling at us!"


Thanksgiving Time

WHEN the night winds whistle through the trees and blow the crisp brown leaves a-crackling down,
When the autumn moon is big and yellow-orange and round,
When old Jack Frost is sparkling on the ground,
It's Thanksgiving time!

When the pantry jars are full of mince-meat and the shelves are laden with sweet-spices for a cake,
When the butcher man sends up a turkey nice and fat to bake,
When the stores are crammed with everything ingenious cooks can make,
It's Thanksgiving time!

When the gales of coming winter outside your window howl,
When the air is sharp and cheery so it drives away your scowl,
When one's appetite craves turkkey and will have no other fowl,
It's Thanksgiving time!



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