Now many of these people's clothes had burned with their houses. The many children who had gone to bed before the fire began had nothing to wear except their nightclothes. The mother went to the store. That too was burned! But she found the storekeeper and said:—"Storekeeper, sell me some dresses for my children for their dresses have been burned and they have nothing to wear."



"But, mother of the many children," the storekeeper replied, "first I must get me the dresses. For that I must send to the many-fingered factory in the middle of the city."

So he sent to the many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city and he said:—"Clothier, send me some dresses that I may sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing to wear."

But the clothier in the many-fingered factory replied:—"First I must get me the cloth. For that I must send to the weaving mill. The weaving mill is in the hills where there is water to turn its wheels."

So the clothier sent to the weaving mill in the hills where there is water to turn its wheels and said:—"Weaver, send me the cloth that the many fingers at the factory may make dresses to send to the storekeeper in the small town to sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing to wear."

But the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills sent back word:—"First I must get me the cotton. For that I must send to the cotton fields. The cotton fields are in the south where the land is hot and low."

So the weaver in the weaving mill in the hills sent to the cotton plantation, and he said:—"Planter, send me the cotton from the hot low lands that I may make cloth in the mill in the hills to send to the clothier in the many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city to be made into dresses to send to the storekeeper in the small town to sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing to wear."

But the planter sent back word:—"First I must get the negroes to pick the cotton. For cotton must be picked in the hot sun and negroes are the only ones who can stand the sun."



So the planter went to the negroes and he said:—"Pick me the cotton from the hot low lands that I may send it to the weaver in his mill in the hills that he may weave the cloth to send to the clothier in the many-fingered factory in the middle of the great city to make dresses to send to the storekeeper in the small town to sell to the mother; for her children's dresses have burned up and they have nothing to wear."

But the negroes answered:—"First de sun, he hab got to shine and shine and shine! 'Cause de sun, he am de only one dat can make dem little seed bolls bust wide open!"

So the negroes sang to the sun:—"Big sun, so shiny hot! Is you gwine to shine on dem cotton bolls so we can pick de cotton for de massah so he can send it to de weaver in de weaving mills in de hills to weave into cloth so he can send it to de clothier in de many-fingered factory in de middle of de big city to make dresses to send to de storekeeper in de small town so he can sell it to de mammy; for de chillun's dresses hab gone and burned up and dey ain't got nothin' to wear!"

Now the sun heard the song of the negroes of the south. And he began to shine. And he kept on shining on the hot low lands. And when the cotton bolls on the hot low lands felt the sun shine and shine and shine, they burst wide open. Then the negroes picked the cotton, the planter shipped it, the weaver wove it, the clothier made it into dresses, and the storekeeper sold them to the mother.

So at last the many children took off their nightclothes and put on their new dresses. And so they were all happy again!



OLD DAN GETS THE COAL

The occupations of the city horse are always absorbing to the school children. They have many tales about various "Old Dans" and their various trades. The docks are familiar to almost all the children,—even to the four-year-olds. This verse is meant to be read fast or slow according to whether or no the wagon is empty.



OLD DAN GETS THE COAL

Old Dan, he lives in a stable, he does, He sleeps in a stable stall. Old Dan, he eats in the stable, he does, He eats the hay from the manger, he does, He pulls the hay And he chews the hay When he eats in his stable stall.

Old Dan, he leaves the stable, he does, He pulls the wagon behind. Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does, He trots with the wagon all empty, he does; The wagon, it clatters, The mud, it all spatters Old Dan with the wagon behind.

Old Dan, he trots to the dock, he does, He trots to the coal barge dock. Old Dan, he stands by the barge, he does, He stands and the big crane creaks, it does. Up! into the chute, Bang! out of the chute Comes the coal at the coal barge dock!

Old Dan, he pulls the load, he does, He pulls the heavy load. Old Dan he pulls the coal, he does, He slowly pulls the heavy coal. The wagon thumps, It bumps, it clumps When old Dan pulls the load.

Old Dan, he stands by the house, he does, And the coal rattles out behind. Old Dan stands still by the house, he does, He stands and the slippery coal, so it does Goes rattlety klang! Zippy kabang! As it slides from the wagon behind!

Old Dan, he then leaves the house, so he does, A-pulling the wagon behind. Old Dan he goes trotting along, so he does, He trots with the wagon all empty, he does. The wagon it clatters, The mud it all spatters Old Dan with the wagon behind.

Old Dan, comes home to his stable, he does, Home to his stable stall. He finds the hay in the stable, he does, He eats the hay from the manger, he does, He pulls the hay, He chews the hay, Then he sleeps in his stable stall.



THE SUBWAY CAR

The relationship which this story aims to clarify is the social significance of the subway car—its construction and the need it answers to. Children have enjoyed the verse better, I think, than any other in the book.



THE SUBWAY CAR

The surface car is a poky car, It stops 'most every minute. At every corner someone gets out And someone else gets in it. It stops for a lady, an auto, a hoss, For any old thing that wants to cross, This poky old, stupid old, silly old, timid old, lumbering surface car.



Up on high against the sky The elevated train goes by. Above it soars, above it roars On level with the second floors Of dirty houses, dirty stores Who have to see, who have to hear This noisy ugly monster near. And as it passes hear it yell, "I'm the deafening, deadening, thunderous, hideous, competent, elegant el."

Under the ground like a mole in a hole, I tear through the white tiled tunnel, With my wire brush on the rail I rush From station to lighted station. Levers pull, the doors fly ope', People press against the rope. And some are stout and some are thin And some get out and some get in. Again I go. Beginning slow I race, I chase at a terrible pace, I flash and I dash with never a crash, I hurry, I scurry with never a flurry. I tear along, flare along, singing my lightning song, "I'm the rushing, speeding, racing, fleeting, rapid subway car."



THE SUBWAY CAR

Whew-ee-ee-ee-ew-ew went the siren whistle. And all the men and all the women hurried toward the factory. For that meant it was time to begin work. Each man and each woman went to his particular machine. The steam was up; the belts were moving; the wheels were whirring; the piston rods were shooting back and forth. And one man made a piece of wheel, and one man made a part of a brake, and one man made a belt, and one man made a leather strap, and one man made a door, and one man made some straw-covered seats, and one man made a window-frame, and one man made a little wire brush. And then some other men took all these things and began putting them together. And when the car was finished some other men came and painted it, and on the side they painted the number 793.

The car stood on the siding wondering what he was for and what he was to do. Suddenly he heard another car come bumping and screeching down the track. Before the new car could think what was happening,—bang!—the battered old car went smash into him. This seemed to be just what the man standing along side expected. For the car felt him swing on to the steps, and shout "Go ahead." At the same minute the car felt a piece of iron slip from his own rear and hook into the front of the other car.

And "go ahead" he did, though No. 793 thought he would be wrenched to pieces.

"Whatever is happening to me?" he nervously asked the car that was pushing him. "I feel my wheels going round and round underneath me and I can't stop them. Can't you just hear me creak? I'm afraid I will split in two."

The dilapidated old thing behind simply screamed with delight as he jounced over a switch.

"See here, now," he said in a rasping voice, "what do you think wheels are for anyway if they are not to go round? And if you can't hang together in a quiet little jaunt like this, you had better turn into a baby carriage and be done with it. Say, what do you think you were made for anyway, Freshie?"

With this he gave a vicious pull. Freshie thought it would probably loosen every carefully fastened bolt in his whole structure.

"And what's more," continued the amused and irritated old car, "if you think all you've got to do is to be pulled around like a fine lady in a limousine, you are pretty well fooled. Wait till you feel the juice go through you—just wait—that's all I say."

"What is juice?" groaned No. 793.

But he could get no answer except "Just wait, you will find out soon enough."

In another minute he had found out. He felt his door pulled open and a heavy tread come clump, clump, clump down the whole length of him to the little closet room at the end. There he felt levers pulled and switches turned. Suddenly the little wire brush underneath him dropped until it touched the third rail. Z-z-zr-zr-zr-zz-zz—What in the name of all blazes was happening to him? He tingled in every bolt. He quivered with fear. "This must be the juice!" Another lever was turned. He leaped forward on the track, jerking and thumping and creaking.

Then he settled down and it wasn't so bad. The first scare was over. He did not go to pieces. On the contrary he felt so excited and strong that he almost told the old thing behind him to take off his brush and let himself be pulled. But he was afraid of the cross old car. So he ventured timidly: "Isn't this great? I should like to go flying along in the sun like this all day."

"In the sun?" snarled his old companion. "Come now, Freshie, can't you catch on to what you are? You just look your fill at the old sun now for you won't see him again for some time."

"Why not?" whimpered No. 793.

But he needed no answer. Ahead of him he could see the track sliding down into a deep hole. The earth closed over him in a queer rounded arch, all lined with shiny white tiles. At the same moment the lights all up and down his own ceiling flashed on. He noticed then that he had a red lantern on his front. He could tell it by the red, glinting reflections it threw on the tiles as he tore along. Ahead he could see a great cluster of lights which seemed to be rushing towards him. Of course he was really rushing towards them, but he was so excited he got all mixed in his ideas.

"Where are we? And what on earth is that rushing towards us? And why do we come down here under the ground?" he screamed to the old car behind.

"There's no room for us on top," jerked the old car. "There are a heap of people in this old city of New York, Freshie, and you will find 'em on the surface or scooting in the elevated and here jogging along underneath the earth."

"People!" screamed No. 793, "I don't see any. What do we do with them in this hole anyway?"

Even as he spoke he felt the man in the little closet room in his front turn something. His wire brush lifted and all his strength seemed to ooze away. Then something clutched his wheels. He screeched,—yes, he really screeched, and then he stood still, close to the station platform. The station looked big to No. 793 and very brilliantly lighted. It was jammed with people who stood pressed against ropes in long rows.

A man on his own platform pulled down a handle and then another. He felt his end doors and then his center doors fly open. Then tramp, tramp, tramp, tramp—a hundred feet came pounding on his floor. He could feel them and somehow he liked the feel. He could even feel two small feet that walked much faster than the others, and in another moment he felt two little knees on one of his straw-covered seats. Then the handles were pulled again. His doors banged closed; z-zr-zr-rr—the brush underneath touched the rail and the electricity shot through him. He felt a hundred feet shift quickly and heavily. He felt his leather straps clutched by a hundred hands. And amid the noise he heard a little voice say, "Father, isn't this a brand new subway car?" And then he knew what he was!



BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS

This first story is an attempt to let a child discover the significance of his everyday environment,—of subways and elevated railways. Here there is no content new to the city child. But the relationship to congestion he has not always seen for himself. In the second story the lay-out of New York on a crowded island is discovered. Again the content is old but its significance may be new. Both these stories verge on the informational.



BORIS TAKES A WALK AND FINDS MANY DIFFERENT KINDS OF TRAINS

Many little boys and girls With fathers and with mothers, Many little boys and girls With sisters and with brothers, Many little boys and girls They come from far away. They sail and sail to big New York, And there they land and stay! And you would never, never guess When they grow big and tall, That they had come from far away When they were wee and small!

One of the little boys who sailed and sailed until he came to big New York was named Boris. He came as the others did, with his father and his mother and his sisters and his brothers. He came from a wide green country called Russia. In that country he had never seen a city, never seen wharves with ocean steamers and ferry boats and tug boats and barges,—never seen a street so crowded you could hardly get through, had never seen great high buildings reaching up, up, up to the clouds, he thought. And he had never heard a city, never heard the noise of elevated trains and surface cars and automobiles and the many, many hurrying feet. He often thought of the wide green country he had left behind, and he used to talk about it to his mother in a funny language you wouldn't understand. For Boris and his family still spoke Russian. But Boris was nine years old and he loved new things as well as old. So he grew to love this crowded noisy new home of his as well as the still wide country he had left.



Now Boris had been in New York quite a while. But he hadn't been out on the streets much. One day he said to his mother in the funny language, "I think I'll take a walk!"

"All right," she answered, "be careful you don't get run over by one of those queer wagons that run without horses!"

"Yes I will," laughed Boris for he was a careful and a smart little boy and knew well how to take care of himself for all he was so little.

So Boris went out on the street. He walked to the corner and waited to go across.

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto; Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.

He waited another minute.

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto; Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.

He stood there a long while watching this stream of autos and horses and trucks go by and he thought:

"Dear me! dear me! What shall I do? The're so many things, I'll never get through!"

Just then all the autos and the horses and the trucks stopped. They stood still right in front of him. And Boris saw that the big man standing in the middle of the street had put up his hand to stop them. So he scampered across. Boris didn't know that the big man was the traffic policeman!



Now Boris scampered down the block to the next street. There he waited to go across.

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto; Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.

He stood there a long time watching the autos and horses and trucks go by. And he thought:

"Dear me! dear me! What shall I do? The're so many things, I'll never get through!"

Boris looked at the big policeman who stood in the middle of this street. After a while the big policeman raised his hand and all the autos and horses and trucks stopped and Boris scampered across and ran down the block to the next street crossing. And there the same thing happened again.

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto; Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.

"I'll not get much of a walk this way," he thought. "I have to wait and wait at each corner. And the're so many things I'll never get through." Just then he saw a street car. "I might take a car," he thought. But then he saw on the street a long line of cars waiting, waiting to get through. "It wouldn't do much good," he thought. "They're just like me."

"Dear me! dear me! What can they do? The're so many things, They'll never get through!"

Then he noticed a big hole in the sidewalk. Down the hole went some steps and down the steps hurried lots and lots of people. "I wonder what this is?" thought Boris and down the steps he ran.



At the bottom of the steps there was a big room all lined with white tile and all lighted with electric lights. On the side was the funniest little house with a little window in it and a man looking through the window. Boris watched carefully for he didn't understand. Everyone went up to the window and gave the man 5 cents and the man handed out a little piece of blue paper.

"That's a ticket," thought Boris, for he was a very smart little boy. "These people must be going somewhere." So he reached down in his pocket and pulled out a nickel. For all he was so little, and so new to New York, he knew what a 5 cent piece was quite well. He had to stand on tiptoe to hand the man his nickel and to reach his little blue ticket. Then he watched again. Everyone dropped this ticket in a funny little box by a funny little gate and another man moved a handle up and down. So Boris did just the same. He stood on tiptoe and dropped his ticket in the box and walked through the little gate to a big platform. And what do you think he saw there? A great long tunnel stretching off in both directions,—a long tunnel all lined with white tiles! And on the bottom were rails! "I wonder what runs on that track?" thought Boris.

Just then he heard a most terrible noise:

Rackety, clackety, klang, klong! Rackety, clackety, klang, klong!

and down the tunnel came a train of cars. "Yi-i-i-i—sh-sh-sh-sh!" screamed the cars and stopped right in front of Boris. And then what do you suppose happened? The doors in the car right in front of him flew open. Everyone stepped in. So did Boris.

It was the front car. He walked to the front and sat down where he could look out on the tracks. He could also look into the funny little box room and see the man who pulled the levers and made the car go and stop. In a moment they started:

Rackety, clackety, klang, klong! How fast! How fast!

Then "Yi-i-i-i—sh-sh-sh-sh!" The man put on the brakes and they stopped at another station. In another moment they started again. Rackety, clackety, klang, klong! Then "Yi-i-i-i—sh-sh-sh-sh" another station! And so they went flying from lighted station to lighted station through the white-tiled tunnel.

Boris was very happy. He sat quite still watching out of the window and saying with the car; rackety, clackety, klang, klong; rackety, clackety, klang, klong! "This is the way to go if you're in a hurry," he thought. He looked up and smiled to think of all the autos and horses and trucks above going oh! so slowly down the street!

At last he thought he would get out. So the next time the man put the brakes on and the train yelled "Yi-i-i-i—sh-sh-sh-sh!" Boris walked through the open doors on to the platform, then through the little gate, up some long steps and found himself on the street again. But right near him what do you think he saw? A park all full of trees and grass! This made Boris happy for he hadn't seen so many trees and so much grass since he had left the wide country in his old home in Russia. A little breeze was blowing too! He clapped his hands and ran around and laughed and laughed and laughed and sang:

"I like the grass, I like the trees, I like the sky, I like the breeze! I touch the grass, I touch the trees, Let me play in the Park, Oh, please! oh, please!"

So he ran all round and played in the Park.

Suddenly he thought it was time to go home. He looked for the hole in the sidewalk but he couldn't find it. And he didn't know how to ask for the subway for he didn't know its name and he couldn't talk English. "I'll have to walk!" he thought. He knew he must walk south for he had noticed which way the sun was when he went into the hole in the sidewalk. And now he noticed again where it was and so he could tell which way was south.

So Boris went out on the street. He walked to the corner and waited to go across.

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto; Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse, Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.

He waited another minute.

Kachunk, kachunk, kachunk went by an auto; Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty went by a horse; Thunk-a-ta, thunk-a-ta, bang, bang went by a truck.

He stood there a long time watching the stream of autos and horses and trucks go by. And he thought; "I'll never get home if I have to go as slowly as this.

"Dear me! dear me! What shall I do? The're so many things I'll never get through!"

And for all he was so smart he was a very little boy and he began to cry for his legs were tired and he was a little frightened, too.

Just then what do you suppose he saw? Down the street way up in the air on a kind of trestle, he saw a train of cars tearing by. "That's just what I want! That train doesn't have to stop for autos and horses and things!" thought Boris and he ran down the street. When he got to the high trestle, there was a long flight of stairs. Up the steps went Boris. At the top he found another funny little room with a window in it and a man looking out. This time he knew just what to do. He stood on tiptoe and gave the man 5 cents and the man handed him a little red piece of paper. Boris took it, walked through a little gate, stood on tiptoe and dropped the ticket into another funny little box and another man moved the handle up and down and his ticket dropped down. And what do you suppose he saw from the platform? Tracks again! Tracks stretching out in both directions. He didn't have to wait on the platform long before he heard the train coming. It seemed to say:

"I'm the elevated train, I'm the elevated train, I'm the elevated, elevated, elevated train!" It stopped right in front of Boris and Boris got into the front car again. Here was another man in another little box room moving more levers and making this train stop and go. And Boris could look right out in front and see the stations before he reached them. He could see bridges before they tore under them; he could look down and see the horses and the autos and the trucks. He smiled as he saw how slowly they had to go while he was racing along above them.

So Boris was quite happy and sat very still and watched out of the window. Suddenly he heard the conductor call "Fourteenth Street!" Now that was one of the few English words that Boris knew for he lived on 14th Street. Now he was pleased for he knew he was near home. So he got off the car, ran down the long, long steps and found himself on the street. Down 14th Street he ran until he came to his house.

"Well," called his mother. "You've been gone a long time! What did you see on the streets?"

Boris smiled. "I haven't been on the streets much mother."

His mother was surprised. "Where have you been if you haven't been on the streets?" she asked.

Boris laughed and laughed. "There were so many things on the streets, so many autos and horses and trucks," he said, "that I couldn't go fast. So I found a wonderful train under the streets and I went out on that. And I found a wonderful train over the streets and I came home on that!"

"Well, well," said his mother. "Trains under and trains over! Think of that!" And Boris did think of them much. And when he was in bed that night, he seemed to hear this little song about them:

"Now out on the streets There everything meets And they're all in a hurry to go. But what can they do For they can't get through And all are so terribly slow?

"But under the street Where nothing can meet The subway goes rackety, klack! It can dash and can race, It can flash and can chase, For there's nothing ahead on the track.

"And over the street Where nothing can meet Is a wonderful train indeed! High up the stair Way up in the air It goes at remarkable speed."



BORIS WALKS EVERY WAY IN NEW YORK

PART 1

One morning when Boris was eating his breakfast, he suddenly thought of the wide green country around his old home in Russia. I don't know what made him think of it. He just did! "Mother," he said, "I want to see some grass."

His mother smiled. "Want to go to the Park, Boris?" she asked.

"No, more grass than that even. I want to see it everywhere," and Boris waved his arms around. "I think I'll go and find lots and lots of it!"

"I'd like to see lots and lots of grass too, Boris," smiled his mother. But her eyes were full of tears too! "But I don't know where you can go in New York and see grass everywhere!"

"Then I'll go out of New York!" cried Boris. "If I walk far enough I'll surely find grass, won't I?"

"You can try," answered his mother. Boris was now much bigger than when he came to New York and could talk quite a little English too. So his mother let him walk over the city alone. Boris clapped his hands! For though he was much bigger, he was still a little boy, you know!

"Which way had I better go?" thought Boris when he was out on the street. "I think I'll go west first." So he walked west. Though the streets were crowded he had learned to go faster than when he took his first walk and discovered the subway and elevated. West, west, west he went. Street after street,—houses set close together all the way. Then at last he saw something that made him run. The city came to an end! And there was a big river, oh! such an enormous river! The edge of the river was all docks,—docks as far as he could look. Across on the other side he could see another city with big chimneys and lots and lots of smoke. There were lots of boats in the river too. "Some day I'll come and watch them," thought Boris excitedly, "but now I want to find my grass." So he turned around. "I'll have to go east, I guess," he thought.

So east he went. East he went until he came to his house. But he did not stop. He went right by it. "How many houses there are" he thought. "How many people there must be!" And still he walked east. And still the houses were set close together street after street. After a while he saw something that made him run again. The city came to an end! And there was another big river! This edge too was all docks,—docks as far as he could look. Across on the other side he could see another city with big chimneys and lots of smoke. "Well," thought Boris, "isn't it the funniest thing that when I walk west I come to a river and when I walk east I come to a river too!"

Now this puzzled him so that he thought he must ask somebody about it. Close to him was a big dock and at the dock was a flat barge. A lot of men were unloading coal from her. He walked up to one. "Please," he said, "what river is this?"

The man stopped his work for a minute. "It's the East River of course. Where do you come from, boy?"

"From Russia," said Boris, "so you see I didn't know. And please, is the other river the West River then?"

"What other river, boy? What are you talking about?"

This made Boris feel very uncomfortable, but he knew there was another river in the west for hadn't he just walked there? So he said bravely, "If you keep walking west you do come to another river. I know you do! For I've done it. And it's a bigger river than this, too!"

The man laughed out loud. "Right you are, boy!" he said. "You're a great walker, you are. Did you walk all the way from Russia?" Now Boris thought the man couldn't know very much to ask him such a question. But, then, he didn't know much either. He was asking questions too! So he answered, "Oh! no! I came on an enormous boat. But please you haven't told me the name of the other river?"

The man laughed louder than ever. "It's a funny thing, boy, that we call it the North River. But you are right: it is west! It's really the Hudson River, boy, that's what it is. And a mighty big river it is too. Want to know anything more?" And the man turned back to his work.

"Well," thought Boris. "I can't get to my grass today if I strike rivers everywhere I go." And he turned and walked home slowly, because he was sorry. And he was very, very tired too. For you see he had walked all the way across the city twice and that is a pretty long walk even for a boy the size of Boris.

Boris, he went out to walk To find the country wide. And he walked west and west he walked But found the Hudson wide! And so he turned himself about And walked the other way And he walked east and east he walked And there East River lay!

PART 2

The next morning at breakfast, Boris suddenly thought again of the wide green country around his old home in Russia. I don't know why he thought of it again. He just did! And then he thought of the Hudson River he had found by walking west and of the East River he had found by walking east. "I might try walking north this time," he thought. And so he said to his mother, "I think I'll go on another hunt for grass,—grass that's everywhere!" and again he waved his arms.

"All right," answered his mother. "But I'm afraid you'll have to walk a long way to find grass everywhere!"

Out on the street he began to walk north. Then he remembered what a long long ride north in the subway he had had the other day. "I'd better take something if I want to get to the country wide," he thought.

So Boris went down to the subway and took the train. He rode for ever and ever so long. He kept wondering if there were still houses above him or if it was all grass,—lots and lots of grass. "I guess I'll go up and see," he thought. So up he went at the next station. But there were still houses everywhere. They weren't so high nor quite so close together; but still there was no grass. So he kept on walking north. Then he saw something that made him run. He could hardly believe his eyes. There was another river! "Oh! dear! oh! dear!" thought Boris. "I'll never in the world find the country wide if I strike a river whatever way I go. I think I'll take the subway and go way, way south. Surely I can get through that way. West a river, east a river, north a river. Yes, I'll go south!"

So again Boris went down to the subway and took a train going south. He stayed on it so long that he thought he must surely be way out in the country wide under grass, grass, everywhere. "I guess I'll go up and see," he thought.

So up he went at the next station. But when he came up he found himself on a street. There were high buildings all around him. He began to walk south. The farther he walked, the higher the buildings he found. At last he came to a place where the buildings reached up, up, up,—up to the clouds, he thought. He threw back his head to look at them,—so high above him that it made him almost dizzy to look at their tops. He wasn't sure they weren't going to fall either! Then he looked down again. And what did he see at the end of the street? Trees, yes, green trees! "Perhaps I am coming to the wide green country," he thought. And he hurried on.



But when he got to the trees he saw that the city came to an end again. And what a wonderful end it was too! All around him was water,—water so full of boats that it made Boris gasp. When he looked to the west he could see a great river with another city on the other side. "That's the Hudson," thought Boris for he remembered what the coal man had told him. When he looked to the east he could see another great river. "That's the East River," he thought for he remembered that name too.

But what river was that out in front of him? Then suddenly Boris remembered. That was New York Harbor! This was where he had landed when he had come in the giant steamer from Russia! Out there was Ellis Island where he had stayed with his father and his mother and his sisters and his brothers until they had been looked at! He thought he could see Ellis Island from where he stood. But there were so many islands he couldn't be sure. But he could see the Statue of Liberty, that enormous woman holding a torch in her hand. He was sure of that. And he could see the boats everywhere all over the harbor. Boris stood there some time just staring and listening and staring.

When Boris he went out again To find the country wide And he went north and north he went To Harlem River's side.

Again he turned himself about And went the other way And he went south and south he went And there the harbor lay!

PART 3

Suddenly Boris remembered what he had come for. He was looking for the wide green country, for a place where grass grew everywhere. "This is the funniest thing in the world," he thought scratching his head. "Wherever I walk in New York I come to water. So many people and water on every side of them! How do they ever get out?" As soon as he thought of this, he began to look around. Across the East River he could see a giant bridge leaping from New York over to another city and on the bridge were trains and cars shooting back and forth and autos and horses and people. "So that is the way they get out!" he thought.

Then he looked to the west, to the Hudson River. "No bridges there!" he said. "It's too wide." Then he suddenly remembered the ferry boat that had brought him from Ellis Island. "Ferry boats, of course," he thought. And sure enough there were ferry boats and ferry boats going back and forth from New York to the other side and to the little islands out in the harbor too!

Now Boris walked along thinking hard about all this water all around New York. Just then he noticed a lot of people coming up out of a hole in the sidewalk. "The Subway," he thought, for you remember he had been on the subway. But the name over the steps didn't spell "subway." He looked at it for a long time. At last he could read it. "Hudson Tubes" it said. Hudson Tubes? What could that mean? Boris wanted to know. So he walked right up to a woman coming out of the hole.

"What are the Hudson Tubes and where do they take you?" he asked.

The woman laughed. "They take you to New Jersey, of course," she said.

"Is that over there?" Boris asked, pointing across the Hudson. "And do they really go under the Hudson River?"

"Yes, to be sure they do. Where do you want to go?" she answered and then Boris remembered what he had been hunting for. "I want to go to a wide green country where there is grass everywhere. But every way I walk in New York I come to water. I know because I've walked east and I've walked west and I've walked north and I've walked south," he said, feeling a little like crying for he was very tired and he was only a little boy too. The woman smiled and she looked nice when she smiled. "You see, boy," she said, "New York is an island, so of course, you come to water every way you walk. And it's so full of people that there isn't any wide green country left,—except the Parks of course."

"Yes, I know the Parks," said Boris, "but that isn't quite what I mean!"

The woman smiled again. "There is a wide green country when you get out of the island," she said. "You'll find it some day I'm sure," and then the woman hurried away. Boris was very, very tired. So he took the subway home. When he came in his mother called out, "Did you find the wide green country, Boris?"

"No," said Boris, "I couldn't, you see. Because what do you think New York is?"

"What do I think New York is, Boris? Why, it's the biggest city in the world!"

"That's not what I mean. What do you think it is? What is it built on I mean?"

"What is it built on? On good sound rock I suppose!"

Boris laughed and laughed. "No, no," he said. "I mean it's an island. Every way you walk, if you walk long enough, you come to water. Now isn't that the funniest thing?" And Boris's mother thought it was funny too.

"So many people and all to live on an island!" she kept saying to herself. "I should think it would make them a lot of work!"

And Boris who remembered the bridges and the ferry boats and the "tubes" thought so too!

Boris, he went out to walk To find the country wide And he walked west and west he walked But he found the Hudson wide! And so he turned himself about And walked the other way And he walked east and east he walked And there East River lay!

But Boris he went out again To find the country wide And he went north and north he went To Harlem River's side. Again he turned himself about And went the other way And he went south and south he went And there the harbor lay!

Then Boris scratched his head and thought: "Whatever way I go There's always water at the end Whatever way I go! New York must be an island An island it must be So many people all shut in By rivers and by sea!

They've bridges and they've ferry boats Across the top to go; They've subways and they've Hudson tubes To burrow down below To get things in, to get things out How busy they must be! In that enormous big New York On rivers and on sea!"



SPEED

This story is a definite attempt to make the child aware of a new relationship in his familiar environment.

The verse is for the older children. The story has lent itself well to dramatization.



SPEED

Once there was a big beautiful white ox. His back was broad, his horns were long and his eyes were large and gentle. He went slowly sauntering down the road one sunshiny summer day. As he walked along he swung from side to side carefully putting down his small feet. And this is what he thought:

"I am pleased with myself—so large, so broad, so strong am I. Is there anyone else who can pull so heavy a load? Is there anyone else who can plow so straight a furrow? What would the world do without me?"

Just then he heard something tearing along the road behind him. "Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clopperty." In a moment up dashed a big, black horse.

"Greetings," lowed the ox, slowly turning his large gentle eyes on the excited horse. "Why such haste, my brother?" The horse tossed his mane. "I'm in a hurry," he snorted, "because I'm made to go fast. Why, I can go ten miles while you crawl one! The world has no more use for a great white snail like you. But if you want speed, I'm just what you need. Watch how fast I go!" and clopperty, clopperty he was off down the road. As the ox watched the horse disappear he thought of what he had heard.

"He called me a great white snail! He said he could go ten miles while I crawled one! Surely this swift horse is more wonderful than I!"

Now as the horse went frisking along this is what he thought. "I am pleased with myself. I am sleek, I am swift—swifter than the ox. What would the world do without me?"

Just then he heard a strange humming overhead. He glanced up. The sound came from a wire taut and vibrating. Then he heard fast turning wheels coming "Kathump, kathump." And what do you think that poor frightened horse saw coming along the road? A self-moving car with a trolley overhead touching the singing wire! His eyes stuck out of his head and his mane stood on end he was so scared. What made it go, he wondered.

"Hello, clodhopper," shrieked the electric car. "I didn't know there were any of you four-footed curiosities left. Surely the world has no more use for you. Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one man, I carry ten. If you want speed I'm just what you need. Just watch me!" He was gone leaving only the humming wire overhead. The poor horse thought of what he had heard.

"He called me a clodhopper! He said he could go in an hour where I take half a day! Surely this swift car is more wonderful than I!"

Now the trolley went swinging on his way thinking, "I am pleased with myself. My power is the same as the lightning that rips the sky. I am swift,—swifter than the ox—swifter than the horse. What would the world do without me?"

Just then he heard a terrifying noise. It sounded like a mightly monster coughing his life away. "Chug, a chug a chug a chug, chug." Then to his horror he saw coming across the green field a gigantic iron creature with black smoke and fiery sparks streaming from a nose on top of his head.

"Well, slowpoke," screamed the engine as he came near the car. "Out o' breath? No wonder. You're not made to go fast like me, for I move by the great power of steam. Look at my monstrous boilers; see my hot fire. Where you go in half a day, I go in an hour; where you carry one man I carry twenty. If you want speed I'm just what you need! Goodbye. Take your time, slow coach." And chug, chug, he was off leaving only a trail of dirty smoke behind him. The poor trolley car thought of what he had heard.

"He called me a slowpoke! He said he could go in an hour where I take a half day! Surely this ugly engine is greater than I!"



Now the engine raced down to the freight depot which was near the great shipping docks. As he waited to be loaded he thought:

"I am pleased with myself. I am swift—swifter than the ox, swifter than the horse, swifter than the electric car. What would the world do without me? I serve everyone, I go everywhere——"

Just here he was interrupted by the deep booming voice of a freight steamer lying alongside the wharf. "Tooooot" is what the voice said, "you ridiculous landlubber! You go everywhere? What about the water? Can you go to France and back again? It's only I who can haul the world's goods across the ocean! And even where you can go, you never get trusted if they can possibly trust me, now do you? Did you ever think why men use river steamers instead of you? Did you ever think why men cut the great Panama Canal so that sea could flow into sea? Well, it's simply because they're smart and prefer me to you when they can get me. You eat too much coal with your speed,—that's what the trouble is with you—you ridiculous landlubber!"

This long speech made the old steamer quite hoarse so he cleared his throat with a long "Toooot" and sank into silence.

"Of course, what he says is true," thought the engine. "At the same time it is equally true that on land I do serve everyone, I go everywhere——"

Just here he was interrupted again by a most unexpected noise. It sounded half like a steel giggle, half like a brass hiccough. It made the engine uneasy. He was sure someone was laughing at him. Majestically he turned his headlight till it lighted up a funny little automobile who was laughing and laughing and shaking frantically like this and going "zzzzz."

"You silly little road beetle," shouted the great engine, "what on earth's the matter with you?"

The automobile gave one violent shake, turned off his spark and said in an orderly voice, "It struck my funny bone to hear you say you went everywhere on land, that's all. Don't you realize you're an old fuss budget with your steam and your boiler and your fire and what not? You're tied to your rails and if everything about your old tracks isn't kept just so you tumble over into a ditch or do some fool thing. Now I'm the one that can endure real hardships. Sparks and gasoline! you just sit right there, you baby, you railclinger, and watch me take that hill! Honk, honk!" And he was off up the hill.

The engine slowly turned back his headlight till the light shone full on his shiny rails. He thought of what he had heard. "He called me a railclinger—yes, that I am. How can that preposterous little beetle run without tracks? I'm afraid he's more wonderful than I."

Now the automobile went jouncing and bouncing up the rough road puffing merrily and thinking, "I'm mightily pleased with myself. Look at the way I climb this hill. There's nothing really so wonderful as I——"

Just then he heard a sound that made his engine boil with fright. Dzdzdzdzdzr—it seemed to come right out of the sky. He got all his courage together and turned his searchlights up. The sight instantly killed his engine. Above him soared a giant aeroplane. It floated, it wheeled, it rose, it dropped. It looked serene, strong and swift. Down, down came the great thing. Through the terrific droning the automobile could just make out these words:

"Dzdzdzdz. You think you're wonderful, you poor little creeping worm tied to the earth! I pity all you slow, slow things that I look down on as I fly through the sky. Ox made way for horse, horse made way for engine, car and auto but all,—all make way for me. For if you want speed, I'm just what you need. Dzdzdzdzdz."

And the great aeroplane wheeled and rose like a giant bird. The automobile watched him, too humbled to speak. Up, up, up, went the aeroplane—up, up, up 'til it was out of sight.



SPEED

The hounds they speed with hanging tongues; The deer they speed with bursting lungs; Foxes hurry, Field mice scurry. Eagles fly Swift, through the sky, And man, his face all wrinkled with worry, Goes speeding by tho' he couldn't tell why! But a little wild hare He pauses to stare At the daisies and baby and me Just sitting,—not trying to go anywhere, Just sitting and playing with never a care In the shade of a great elm tree. And the daisies they laugh As they hear the world pass, What is speed to the growing flowers? And my baby laughs As he sits in the grass, We all laugh through the sunshiny hours,— Through the long, dear sunshiny hours! For flowers and babies And I still know 'Tis fun to be happy, 'Tis fun to go slow, 'Tis fun to take time to live and to grow.



FIVE LITTLE BABIES

This story was originally written because the children thought a negro was dirty. The songs are authentic. They have been enjoyed by children as young as four years old.



FIVE LITTLE BABIES

This is going to be a story about some little babies,—five different little babies who were born in five different parts of this big round world and didn't look alike or think alike at all.

One little baby was all yellow. He just came that way. His eyes were black and slanted up in his little face. His hair was black and straight. He wore gay little silk coats and gay little silk trousers with flowers and figures sewed all over them. When he looked up he saw his father's face was yellow and so was his mother's. And his father's hair was black and so was his mother's. And when he was a little older he saw they both wore gay silk coats and gay silk trousers with flowers and figures sewed all over them. But the baby didn't think any of this was queer,—not even when he grew up. For every one he knew had yellow skin and wore silk coats and trousers. So of course he thought all the world was that way.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew his mother loved her little yellow baby with slanting black eyes. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:

"Chu Sir Tsun Ching Min. Tsoun Sun Gi Gi. Koo Yin Fee Min Kwei Hua Shiang Lee Pan Run Yin. Fon Chin Yoa Sir. Loo Yi To Choa Yeo Liang Sung. Tsun Tze Doo Soo Soo Wei Gun. Tsin Tsin."

For all this happened in China and he was a little Chinese Baby.

* * *

Another little baby was all brown. He just came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was black. He wore pretty colored silk shawls and little silk dresses. And when he looked up he saw his father's face was brown and that he wore a big turban on his head. And he saw that around his mother's brown face was long soft hair. He saw that she wore pretty colored silk shawls and long silk trousers and bare feet. But the baby didn't think any of this was queer,—even when he grew up. He thought every one had brown skin and that everybody dressed like himself and his father and his mother.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew his mother loved her little brown baby with black eyes. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying:

"Arecoco Jarecoco, Jungle parkie bare, Marabata cunecomunga dumrecarto sare, Hillee milee puneah jara de naddeah, Arecoco Jarecoco Jungle parkie bare."

For all this happened in India and he was a little Indian baby.

* * *

Now another little baby was all black. He just came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was black and curled in tight kinky curls all over his little head. And this little baby didn't wear anything at all except a loin cloth. When he looked up he saw the black faces and kinky black hair of his father and his mother. And when he was a little older he saw that they didn't wear any clothes either except a loin cloth and a feather skirt and some shells. Neither did this baby think any of this was queer,—not even when he grew older. He thought all the world looked and dressed like that.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things, he knew his mother loved her little black baby with kinky black hair. And he loved to have her take him in her arms and sing to him, saying,

"O tula, mntwana, O tula, Unyoko akamuko, Usele ezintabeni, Uhlu shwa izigwegwe, Iwa.

O tula, mntwana, O tula, Unyoko w-zezobuya, Akupatele into enhle, Iwa."

For all this happened in Africa and he was a little negro baby.

* * *

Still another little baby,—he was the fourth,—was all red. He just came that way. His eyes were black and his hair was straight and black. He was bound up tight and slipped into a basket and carried around on his mother's back. He didn't think this was queer, even when he grew up. He thought all little babies were carried that way. And he thought all fathers and mothers had red skin and black hair and wore leather coats and trousers trimmed with feathers. For his did.

But long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew his mother loved her little red baby that she carried on her back, and he loved to have her take him out of his basket bed and rock him in her arms and sing to him, saying:

"Cheda-e Nakahu-kalu Be-be! Nakahu-kalu Be-be! E-Be-be!"

For all this happened in America long, long ago, and he was a little Indian baby.

* * *

The last little baby, and he makes five, was all white. He just came so too. His eyes were blue and his hair was gold and he looked like a little baby you know. And he wore dear little white dresses and little knitted shoes. When he looked up he saw his father's white skin and his mother's blue eyes. When the baby was big enough he saw what kind of clothes his father and his mother wore,—but the story doesn't tell what they were like. And when the baby was big enough he saw they all lived in a big dirty noisy city, but the story doesn't tell what kind of a house they lived in. And the story doesn't tell whether he thought any of these things queer when he was little or when he grew up; probably because you know all these things yourselves. But the story does tell that long before he was old enough to notice any of these things he knew his mother loved her little white baby with blue eyes and golden hair. And it tells that he loved to have her rock him in her arms and sing to him this song:

"Listen, wee baby, I'd sing you a song; The arms of the mothers Are tender and strong, The arms of the mothers Where babies belong! Brown mothers and yellow And black and red too, They love their babies As I, dear, love you,— My little white blossom With wide eyes of blue! And your wee golden head, I do love it, I do! And your feet and your hands I love you there too! And my love makes me sing to you Sing to you songs, Lying hushed in my arms Where a baby belongs!"

For all this is happening in your own country every day and he is a little American baby. Perhaps you know his father,—perhaps you know the baby,—perhaps, oh, perhaps, you have heard his mother sing!



ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY

This story made a special appeal to the school children because the school building was originally a stable in MacDougal Alley. They had even witnessed this evolution from stable to garage. The children have seemed to enjoy the rhythmic language without any sense of strangeness.



ONCE THE BARN WAS FULL OF HAY

Once the barn was full of hay, Now 'tis there no more. I wonder why the hay has left the barn?

The old horse stood in the stall all day. He wanted to be on the streets. He was strong, was this old horse. He was wise, was this old horse. And he was brave as well. And he was proud, oh, very proud to be strong and wise and brave! He wanted to be on the streets, And he wondered what was wrong That now for ten long days No one had to come harness him up. Old Tom, the aged driver, seemed to have gone away, And only the stable boy had given him water and oats, And poked him hay from the loft above. And as the old horse thought of this He reached up high with his quivering nose, And pushing his lips far back on his teeth, Pulled down a mouthful of hay. But as he stood chewing the hay Again he wondered and wondered again Why nobody needed him, Why nobody wished to drive.

For almost every day Old Tom would harness him up To a dear little, neat little, sweet little carriage And down the alley they'd go and around to the front of the house. And there he'd stand and wait, this dear, this steady old horse, Flicking the flies with his tail, Till the door of the house would open wide And out would come his mistress dear with the baby in her arms, And running along beside Would come her little boy, the little boy he loved so well, Who gave him sugar from his hand and patted his nose and neck. And into the carriage they all would get, His mistress and baby and little boy. And Tom would tighten the reins a bit And off down the street they'd go, Clopperty, clopperty, clopperty, clop. When he was out on the streets,— This dear old, steady old horse,— He knew just what to do, when to go and when to stand still. And when with clang! clang! clang! Fire engines shrieked down the street He'd stand as still as a rock So his mistress and her baby were never frightened a bit! And the little boy laughed and watched and laughed! And when the great policeman, so big in the middle of the street, Held up his hand, The old horse stopped But watched him close For the first wave of the hand that would tell him to go ahead. Always the first to stop, Always the first to go, The old horse loved the streets.

Now he wanted the streets. And while he stood and chewed his hay and wondered what was wrong, Suddenly there came a rumble Of noises all a-jumble, A quaking and a shaking A terrifying tremble Making the old horse quiver and stand still! It came from the alley, His own peaceful alley Where he knew every horse, every coach, every wagon! Bump, thump, like a lump of lead jolting, Bang, whang, like a steam engine bolting, Down it came crashing Down it came smashing, Till it stopped with a snort at his own stable door! The old horse pulled at his halter And strained to look round at the door. Out of the tail of his eye he could see The doors, the doors to his very own barn, Swing wide under the crane where they hoisted the hay. And there in the alley, oh what did he see This old horse with his terrified eye? A monster all shiny and black With great headlights stuck way out in front, With brass things that grated and groaned As the driver pulled this thing and that. And there on the back of this monster Sat old Tom Who had driven him now for fifteen long years. And out of the mouth of the monster, as there opened a neat little door, Stepped his mistress dear With her eager little boy and the baby in her arms. And the poor horse trembled to see those that he loved so well So near this terrible monster. "'Twill eat them all!" he thought. And for the first time in all his brave and prudent life The old horse was frightened. He raised his head, He spread his nostrils, He neighed with all his strength. His mistress dear Would surely hear, Would hear and understand! He wanted to save her, save the boy and save the little baby From this terrible ugly beast Snorting there so near! And his mistress dear, she heard. But did she understand? She came and laid her hand upon his quivering side. "Poor dear old horse," she said, "Your day is gone and you must go!" What could she mean? What could she mean? What could she mean? "You have been strong; but not so strong as is our new machine! You have been brave; but see this thing, this thing can know no fear! You have been wise; but this machine is like a part of Tom. He pulls a lever, turns a wheel and this machine obeys! Poor dear old horse Your day is gone And now you too must go!" So that was what she meant! So that was what she meant! So that was what she meant!

* * *

The old horse heard but how could he understand? How could he know that she had said They wanted him no longer? How could he know that this big monster, this new automobile Was going to do his work for them And do it better than he! He knew that something was wrong. He was puzzled and sad and frightened. With head drooped low and feet that dragged He let old Tom untie his rope And lead him from the stall. For one short moment as he passed the shiny automobile He straightened his head and widened his nostrils And snorted and snorted again. But there within the monster, lying safe upon a seat, He saw the little baby Laughing and all alone. And the old horse was puzzled, was puzzled and frightened too. Then old Tom pulled him gently through the wide swinging doors And led him down the alley. Past the stables with other horses, Past the grooms and stable boys, Down the alley he knew so well Went the old horse for the last time. For he never came back again. They had no need of him; they liked their auto better! Down the alley he slowly went And as he turned into the street below One last long look he gave to the stable at the end, One last long look at his mistress dear with the baby in her arms, One last long look at the little boy waving and calling: "Goodbye, goodbye". One last long look, and then he was gone!

Once the barn was full of hay: Now 'tis there no more. I wonder why the hay has left the barn?



THE WIND

This story is composed entirely of observations on the wind dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class. Every phrase (except the one word "toss") is theirs. The ordering only is mine.



THE WIND

In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing, But in a winter storm it growls and roars.



Sometimes the wind goes oo-oo-oo-oo-oo! It sounds like water running. It makes a singing sound. It blows through the grass. It blows against the tree and the tree bows over and bends way down. It whistles in the leaves and makes a rustling sound. The tree shakes, the branches and leaves all rustle. The wind knocks the leaves off the trees and tosses them up in the air. Then it blows them straight in to the window and drags them around on the floor. It makes the leaves whirl and twirl.

And sometimes the wind is frisky. It whisks around the corners. It comes blowing down the street. It blows the papers round and round on the ground. It tears them and rares them, then up, it takes them sailing. It sweeps around the house, blowing and puffing. It blows the wash up. It blows the chickens off the trees. It makes the nuts come rattling down. It turns the windmill and makes the fire burn. It blows out the matches, it blows out the candles, it blows out the gas lights. It hits the people on the street. Some it keeps back from walking and some it pushes forward. It unbuttons the coat of a little girl, it unbuttons her leggings too and the little girl feels all chilly in the frisky wind. It blows up her skirt. It pulls off her hat and blows through her hair till she feels all chilly on her head too. Puff! it goes, puff! puff! Then off go other hats spinning down the street. It gets under umbrellas and turns them inside out. The frisky wind blows harder and harder. The houses shake. The windows rattle. And the people on the street are whirling and twirling like the leaves.

Sometimes there is a storm. The wind roars over the ocean and makes the waves bigger than the ships. The waves go up and down, and up and down, and the ship goes rocking and rocking, this way and that way, this way and that way, to the right, to the left, to the right, to the left, back and forth and back and forth. A boat gets tossed on the sea. The sails are all torn to pieces by the storm. The masts get broken off and fall down on the ship. The ship just rocks and rocks. Then pretty soon it bumps into a rock and is wrecked and sinks. And all the men get drowned.

The wind growls and roars over the mountain. There is thunder and lightning. The thunder says, "Boompety, boom, boom, boom!" The lightning is all shiny. The rain comes pouring down. The wind whistles in the trees. It blows a tree over. It crashes down. The lightning goes crack! and splits the tree in two. And then the tree catches on fire and the leaves burn like paper.

In the summer-time the wind goes like breathing, But in a winter storm it growls and roars.



THE LEAF STORY

All the content and many of the expressions were taken from stories on dried leaves dictated by a six-year-old and a seven-year-old class.



THE LEAF STORY



I want to fly up in the air! If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet And the wind blows Perhaps I'll fly up in the air! Listen! Something stirs in the dried leaves, The tree bends, the tree bows, The wind sweeps through the brown leaves. The brown leaves crackle and rattle and dance, They rustle and murmur and pull at the bough, They shiver, they quiver till they pull themselves loose And are free. Up, up they fly! Little brown specks in the sky. They twist and they spin, They whirl and they twirl, They teeter, they turn somersaults in the air. Then for a moment the wind holds its breath. Down, down, down float the leaves, Still turning and twisting, Still twirling and whirling, The brown leaves float to the earth. Puff! goes the wind, Up they fly again With a little soft rustling laugh. Then down they float. Down, down, down. On the ground the leaves go as if walking or running. They go and then they stop. They scurry along, Still twisting and turning, Still twirling and whirling, They hurry along, With a soft little rustle They tumble, they roll and they roll.

I want to fly up in the air! If I take two leaves in my hands and put two leaves on my feet And the wind blows, Perhaps I'll fly up in the air.



A LOCOMOTIVE

In the daytime, what am I? In the hubbub, what am I? A mass of iron and of steel, Of boiler, piston, throttle, wheel, A monster smoking up the sky, A locomotive! That am I!

In the darkness, what am I? In the stillness, what am I? Streak of light across the sky, A clanging bell, a shriek, a cry, A fiery demon rushing by, A locomotive That am I!





MOON MOON

(To the tune of "Du, du, liegst mir im herzen.")

Moon, moon, Shiny and silver, Moon, moon, Silver and white; Moon, moon, Whisper to children "Sleep through the silvery night." There, there, there, there, Sleep through the silvery night.

Sun, sun, Shiny and golden, Sun, sun, Golden and gay; Sun, sun, Shout to the children "Wake to the sunshiny day!" There, there, there, there, Wake to the sunshiny day.



AUTOMOBILE SONG

A-rolling, bowling, fast or slow, A-racing, chasing, off we go. The jolly automobile Whizzes along with flying wheel. We go chug, chug-chug, chug-up! Then we go s-l-i-d-i-n-g down. We go scooting over the hills, We go tooting back to town.



SILLY WILL

In this story I have used a device to tie together many isolated familiar facts. I have never found that six-year-old children did not readily discriminate the actual from the imaginary.



SILLY WILL

PART 1

Once there was a little boy. Now he was a very silly little boy, so silly that he was called Silly Will. He had an idea that he was tremendously smart and that he could quite well get along by himself in this world. This foolish idea made him do and say all sorts of silly things which led to all sorts of terrible happenings as this story will show.

One day he went out walking. He walked down the road until he met a little girl. The little girl was crying.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.

"Oh!" sobbed the little girl, "our cow has died and I don't know what we shall do. I don't know how we can get along without her milk and everything. We depended on her so!"

"Depended on a cow!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing! I've often seen that stupid old cow of yours. Clumsy, lumbering thing! Cows are no good! I wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me if all the cows in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted off down the road.

The little girl looked after him with astonishment. "I just wish no cow would ever give that silly boy anything!" she thought.

Before long he met an old woman. The old woman was crying too.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.

"Oh!" cried the old woman wringing her hands. "Our sheep has fallen over a cliff and broken its legs and it's going to die. I don't know how we shall get along without her wool for spinning. We depended so much on her!"

"Depended on a sheep!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing! I've often heard your stupid old sheep bleating. Sheep are no good. I wouldn't depend on any animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me if all the sheep in the world died!" And Silly Will strutted off down the road feeling very smart.

The old woman looked after him greatly surprised. "Silly little boy!" she thought. "He little knows! I just wish no sheep would give him anything!"

Then before long Silly Will met a man. The man was sitting beside the road with his face in his hands.

"What's the matter with you?" asked Silly Will.

The man looked up. "Oh, our horse has died!" he sighed dolefully, "and I don't know how we can get along without him to plow for us now that it's seeding time. And there's not much use getting in the seeds anyway without a horse to carry the grain to market when it's ripe. We depended so on our horse!"

"Depended on a horse!" cried Silly Will. "Whoever heard of such a thing! First I meet a little girl who says she depended on a cow for food: then I meet an old woman who says she depended on a sheep for clothes. And here is a man who says he depends on a horse to work and to carry for him! As for me, I depend on no animal, not I! It wouldn't matter to me if there were no animals in the world. They needn't give me anything! I wish they wouldn't!"

The man looked at him greatly amazed. "Silly little boy!" he said. "I hope your silly wish will come true. How little you understand! I just wish tonight all the animal kingdom would leave you and then perhaps you would understand a little!" But Silly Will walked home feeling very smart, for he didn't understand. Silly people never do understand!

Now that night a strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night, all the animals did leave Silly Will. Not only the cow and the sheep and the horse but all the animal kingdom! He was sound asleep in his flannel nightgown snuggled under warm wool blankets. Suddenly he felt a jerk. What was happening? He sat up in bed just in time to see his blankets whisk off him and disappear. He looked down. His night shirt was gone! He heard a faint sound almost like the bleating of the old woman's sheep. "Ba-ba-a-a I take back my wool!"

Then he was aware that something queer had happened to his mattress. It was just an empty bag of ticking. He heard a faint sound almost like the neighing of the man's horse who had died. "Whey-ey-ey, I take back my hair!"

He reached for his pillow. It too was an empty sack.

"Hh-ss-s-hh" hissed a faint sound almost like a goose. "I take back my feathers!"

"Whatever is happening?" screamed Silly Will. "Let me get a light." He found a match and struck it, but his candlestick was empty. "Ba-a-moo-oo" said some faint voices. "I take back my fat!"

By this time Silly Will was thoroughly frightened and shivering with cold besides.

"I'd better get dressed," he thought, and groped his way to the chair where he had left his clothes. He could find only his cotton underwaist and his cotton shirt. His wool undershirt and drawers, his trousers and stockings, and his silk necktie were gone. And so were his leather shoes. Just the lacings lay on the floor. "Mooooo" he seemed to hear a faint sound almost like the little girl's cow he had made fun of in the afternoon. "I take back my hide."

He put on the few cotton clothes that were left, but there were no buttons to hold them together. "Moooooo," he heard a faint voice say. "I take back my bones."

Terrified he ran to the closet to see what more he could find. "I'll surely freeze," he thought as he lighted another match. "I'll slip on my coat and get into bed." But his warm coat with the fur collar was gone, too. "Chee, chee, chee," he seemed to hear a faint sound almost like the squirrel he was fond of frightening. "I take back my skin!"

But he did find some cotton stockings and some old overalls. These he put on relieved to find they had metal buttons. Then poor Silly Will crawled back to bed wearing his cotton clothes and waited for morning to come. He didn't sleep much for the wire spring cut into him. He was cold, too.

As soon as it was light he hunted around for more clothes. He found some straw bed-room slippers. His rubbers too were there and he put them on over his slippers. Then he ran downstairs to get something to eat.

"Anyway," he thought, "those old animals can't get me when it comes to eating. I never did care much about meat."

The pantry door squeaked as he opened it. It sounded for all the world like a far away barnyard—hens, cows, and pigs. He looked around. No milk, no eggs, no bacon! "Bread and butter will do me," he thought.

But the butter had gone too! He opened the bread box. The bread was still there! He almost wept from relief. By hunting around he found a good deal to eat. Cocoa made with water instead of milk was pretty good. Then there were crackers and apples. His oatmeal wasn't very good without milk or butter. But he ate it. He knew he would have plenty of vegetables and fruits and cereals.

And the day was warm enough so that he didn't mind his cotton clothes. But his feet did hurt him. He wondered about wooden shoes and thought he would try to make some.

He was a little worried too about his bed. He hunted around in the house until he found two cotton comforters. One he put under his sheet in place of his mattress and one on top in place of his blankets. So, on the whole, he thought, he could manage to get along.

Poor little Silly Will! He had never before thought how much the animals did for him. Once in a while he would think of the little girl and the old woman and the man he had met that afternoon. But not for long. And he never remembered that some time winter would come. But long before that time came, Silly Will had got himself into still more trouble. For even now he didn't understand!

PART 2

From this time on nothing went well with Silly Will. When he had eaten the vegetables he had in the house he walked over to a gardener who lived nearby. He wanted to get potatoes and other supplies for the winter. To his horror he found everything drooping and wilted and withered. "What's the matter with the vegetables, gardener?" asked Silly Will.

"A frost," sighed the gardener. "It's killed all the potatoes. I hope you weren't depending on them?"

"Oh, of course not," said Silly Will, gulping hard. "I certainly wouldn't depend on a vegetable. That would be too ridiculous. If the frost should kill all the vegetables, it would make no difference to me!" Nevertheless in his heart he felt unhappy and a little frightened at the thought of the coming winter. But still he didn't understand. Silly people never do understand.

He walked on down the road saying to himself, "I'll go order my winter wood anyway. I'm almost out of it at home." Just then he looked up. He expected to see the green forest stretching up the hillside. He stared. The hillside was black smoking stumps, fallen blackened trees, white ashes! Beside the dead trees stood the old forester wringing his hands. Silly Will didn't even speak to him. He could see what had happened without asking. He turned around. Slowly he walked home. He went right to bed. He still pretended that he wasn't unhappy or frightened. He kept saying to himself, "I don't really depend on the wood at all. Of course that would be silly! I've got coal. It wouldn't matter to me if all the plants left me." And with that thought he fell asleep. You see even now he didn't understand. Silly people never do understand.

Now that night another strange thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain how or why it happened. But in the middle of the night all the plants did leave Silly Will,—not only the potatoes and the trees but the whole vegetable kingdom.

He was asleep all curled up to keep warm in his cotton clothes. Suddenly he felt the comforter and sheet under him jerk away and he was left lying on the wire spring. At the same time the comforter and sheet over him disappeared. So did his nightshirt. Then bang! His wooden bed was gone. The house began to creak and rock. He jumped up and tore down stairs. He just got outside the front door when the whole house collapsed.

The moon was shining. Silly Will could see quite plainly. There stood the brick chimneys rising out of a pile of plaster dumped on top of the concrete foundations. There was the slate roof and the broken window of glass. The air was full of a sound like the violent trembling of many leaves. It sounded for all the world as if it said, "I take back my wood!"

"Whatever will I do?" groaned Silly Will as he shivered all naked in the moonlight. Then his eye lighted on the kitchen stove. There it stood with the stove pipe all safely connected with the chimney.

"I'll build a coal fire," he thought. There stood the iron coal scuttle. But alas! It was empty! He heard a far-away murmur like a faint wind stirring in giant ferns. And they said, "I take back my buried leaves!"

By this time Silly Will was shaking with cold. "I've heard that newspapers are warm," he thought. But the pile behind the stove was gone. Again came the murmur of trees—"I take back my pulp," and a queer soft sound which he couldn't quite make out. Was it "I take back my cotton?"

Silly Will was thoroughly terrified now.

"I'll go somewhere to think," he said to himself. So he crept down the cement steps to the cellar and crawled into a sheltered corner. But he couldn't think of anything pleasant. He could hear a confused noise all around him. Sometimes it sounded like growls, like animal cries, like animal calls. "The animal kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.

Again it sounded like the wind rustling a thousand leaves. "The vegetable kingdom has left him," it seemed to say.

"I've nothing to wear," sobbed Silly Will. "And I'm afraid I've nothing to eat." At the thought of food he jumped up and ran over to the cellar pantry. He found just three things. They did not make a tempting meal! They were a crock of salt, a tin of soda and a porcelain pitcher of water.

"What shall I ever do? How shall I live? I'll never have another glass of milk or cup of cocoa. I'll never have anything to wear. I'll freeze and I'll starve. I might just as well die now!" And poor little Silly Will broke down and cried and cried and cried.

"I can't live without other living things," he sobbed. "I can't eat only minerals and I can't keep warm in minerals. Everybody has to depend on animals and vegetables. And after all I'm only a little boy! I've got to have living things to keep alive myself!"

Then a wonderful thing happened to Silly Will. I can't explain how or why it happened. Suddenly he felt all warm and comfortable. "Perhaps I'm freezing," he thought. "I've heard that people feel warm when they are almost frozen to death."

Slowly he put out his hand. Surely that was a linen sheet! Surely that was a woolen blanket. Surely he had on his flannel nightgown. He sat straight up. Surely this was his own bed: this was his own room: this was his own house. He could scarcely believe his eyes. He gave a great shout.

"Moo-oo-oo," answered a cow under a tree outside his window. And the leaves of the tree rustled at him too.

"Hello, old cow! Hello, old tree!" cried Silly Will running to the window. "Isn't it good we're all alive?" And when you think of it that wasn't a silly remark at all!

"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the old cow. "Swish-sh-sh-sh," rustled the tree. And suddenly Silly Will thought he understood! I wonder if he did!



EBEN'S COWS

This story attempts to make an industrial process a background for real adventure.



EBEN'S COWS

PART 1

Eben was looking at the cows. And the cows were looking at Eben. What Eben saw was twenty-six pairs of large gentle eyes, twenty-six mouths chewing with a queer sidewise motion, twenty-six fine fat cattle, some red, some white, some black, some red and white, and some black and white, all in a bright green meadow. What the cows saw, held by his mother on the rail fence, was a fat baby with a shining face and waving arms. What Eben heard was the heavy squashy footsteps of the slow-moving cows as they lumbered toward the little figure on the fence. What the cows heard was a high, excited little voice saying a real word for the first time in its life, "Cow! cow! oh, cow! oh, cow!" And so with his first word began Eben's life-long friendship with the cows.

Eben Brewster lived in a little white farm-house with green blinds. The cows lived in a great long red barn, which was connected with the little white farm-house by a wagon-shed and tool-house. High up on the great red barn was printed GREEN MOUNTAIN FARM. Long before Eben knew how to read he knew what those big letters said, and he knew that the lovely rolling hills that ringed the farm around, were called the Green Mountains. In front of both house and barn stretched the bright green meadows where day after day fed the twenty-six cows. In a neighboring meadow played the long-legged calves. For at Green Mountain Farm there were always many calves. In the summer they usually had fifteen or twenty calves a few months old. For every cow of course had her baby once a year. The little bull calves they sold; but the little cow calves they raised.



When Eben was three years old he made friends with the calves his own way. He wiggled through the bars of the gate into their pasture. The calves stared at him; they sniffed at him. Then they came a little closer. They stared at him again. They sniffed at him again. Then they came closer still. Then one little black and white thing came right up to him and licked his face and hands. And three-year-old Eben liked the feel of the soft nose and the rough tongue and he liked the sweet cow smell.

So it came about that Eben played regularly with the calves. It always amused his father Andrew to watch them together. "I never saw a child so crazy about cows!" he used to say. One day he put a pretty little new calf,—white with red spots,—into the pasture. Eben ran to the calf at once. "What shall we call the calf, Eben?" asked his father. "Think of some nice name for her." Eben put his arms around the calf's neck and smiled. "I call him 'ittle Sister," he said. For little baby sister was the only thing three-year-old Eben loved better than a calf. And the name stuck to the calves of Green Mountain Farm. From that time on they were always called Little Sisters!

Real little sister or Nancy, as she was called, grew apace. To her Eben was always wonderful. At six years he seemed equal to about anything. It did not surprise her at all one day to hear her father say, "Eben, you get the cows tonight." But it did surprise Eben. He had helped his father drive them home for years. And now he was to do it alone! Down the dusty road he went, switch in hand, taking such big important strides that the footprints of his little bare feet were almost as far apart as a man's. The cows stood facing the bars. He took down the bars. The cows filed through one by one. Nancy and her father, waiting to help him turn the cows in at the barn, knew he was coming. They could see the cloud of dust and hear the many shuffling feet and the shrill boy's voice calling: "Hi, Spotty, don't you stop to eat! Go 'long there, Crumplehorn, don't you know the way home yet! Hurry up, Redface. Can't you keep in the road?" Eben felt older from that day.

From the day he began driving home the cows alone Eben took a real share in the work at the farm. He put the cows' heads into the stanchions when each one lumbered into her stall. He fed them hay and ensilage through the long winter months when the meadows were white with snow. He put the cans to catch the cream and the skimmed milk when his father turned the separator. He took the separator apart and carried it up to his mother to be washed. Nancy helped and talked. Only she really talked more than she helped!

Eben's talk ran much on cows. His poor mother read all she could in the encyclopedia, but even then she couldn't answer all his questions. Why does a cow have four stomachs? Why does her food come back to be chewed? Why does she chew sideways? Why does she have to be milked twice a day? Why doesn't she get out of the way when an auto comes down the road? When Eben asked his father these things the farmer would shake his head and answer, "I guess it's just because she's a cow."

There came a very exciting day at Green Mountain Farm. For twenty years Andrew Brewster and his men had milked his cows morning and evening. His hands were hard from the practice. The children loved to watch him milk. With every pull of his strong hands he made a fine white stream of milk shoot into the pail, squirt, squirt, squirt. Eben had often tried, but pull as he would, he could only get out a few drops. And even as Andrew Brewster had milked his cows morning and evening until his hands were horny, so had his father done before him. Yes, and his father's father, too. For three generations of Brewsters had hardened their hands milking cows on Green Mountain Farm. Then there came this exciting day, and a new way of milking began at the big red barn.

A milking machine was put in. It ran by a wonderful little puffing gasolene engine. It milked two cows at once. And it milked all twenty-six of them in twenty minutes. Andrew Brewster could manage the whole herd alone with what help Eben could give him. It was a great day for him. It was a great day for Eben and Nancy too.

PART 2

There came another day which was even more exciting for the two children than when the milking machine was put into the big red barn. This story is really about that day. Eben was then ten years old and Nancy seven. Their father and mother had gone for the day to a county fair. The two children were to be alone all day, which made up for not going to the fair. The children had long since eaten the cold dinner their mother had left for them. They had done all their chores too. Nancy had gathered the eggs and Eben had chopped the kindling and brought in the wood. They had fed the baby chickens and given them water. Then they had gone to the woods for an afternoon climb over the big rocks and a wade in the brook. Now they were waiting for their father and mother to come back. They had been waiting for a long time, for it was seven o'clock. The last thing their mother had called out as she drove off behind the two old farm horses was, "We'll be back by five o'clock, children."

What could have happened? "Eben," said Nancy, "we'd better eat our own supper and get something ready for Father and Mother. I guess I'll try to scramble some eggs."

"Go ahead," answered Eben. "But we're not the ones I'm worrying about—nor Father and Mother either. It's those poor cows."

"Oh! the cows!" cried Nancy. "And the poor Little Sisters! They'll be so hungry." Both children ran to the door. "Just listen to them," said Eben. "They've been waiting in the barn for over an hour now. I certainly wish Father would come." From the big red barn came the lowing of the restless cattle. "I'm going to have another look at them," said Eben. "Come along, Nancy."

The two children peered into the big dark barn. The unmistakable cow smell came to them strong in the dark. Stretching down the whole length was stall after stall, each holding an impatient cow. The children could see the restless hind feet moving and stamping; they could see the flicking of many tails; they could feel the cows pulling at the stanchions. On the other side were the stalls of the Little Sisters. They too were moving about wildly. Over above it all rose the deafening sound of the plaintive lowings. By the door stood the gasolene engine. It was attached to a pipe which ran the whole length of the great barn above the cows' stalls. Eben's eyes followed this pipe until it was lost in the dark.

"Moo-oo-oo," lowed the cow nearest at hand, so loud that both children jumped. "Poor old Redface," said Nancy. "I wish we could help you." "We're going to," said Eben in an excited voice, "See here, Nancy. We're going to milk these cows!" "Why, Eben Brewster, we could never do it alone!" Nancy's eyes went to the gasolene engine as she spoke. "We've got to," said Eben. "That's all there is about it."

So the children began with trembling hands. They lighted two lanterns. "I wish the cows would stop a minute," said Nancy. "I can't seem to think with such a racket going on." Eben turned on the spark of the engine. He had done it before, but it seemed different to do it when his father wasn't standing near. Then he took the crank. "I hope she doesn't kick tonight," he wished fervently. He planted his feet firmly and grasped the handle! Round he swung it, around and around. Only the bellowing of the cows answered. He began again. Round he swung the handle; around and around. "Chug, chug-a-chug, chug, chug, chug-a-chug, chug," answered the engine. Nancy jumped with delight. "You're as good as a man, Eben," she cried.

"Come now, bring the lantern," commanded Eben. Nancy carried the lantern and Eben a rubber tube. This tube Eben fastened on to the first faucet on the long pipe between the first two cows. This rubber tube branched into two and at the end of each were four hollow rubber fingers. Eben stuck his fingers down one. He could feel the air pull, pull, pull. "She's working all right, Nancy," he whispered in a shaking voice. "Put the pail here." Nancy obeyed. Eben took one bunch of four hollow rubber fingers and slipped one finger up each udder of one cow. Then he took the other bunch and slipped one finger up each udder of the second cow. The cows, feeling relief was near, quieted at once. "I can see the milk," screamed Nancy, watching a tiny glass window in the rubber tube. And sure enough, through the tube and out into the pail came a pulsing stream of milk. Squirt, squirt, squirt, squirt. In a few minutes the two cows were milked and the children moved on to the next pair. Nancy carried the pail and Eben the rubber tube which he fastened on to the next faucet. And in another few minutes two more cows were milked. So the children went the length of the great red barn, and gradually the restless lowings quieted as pail after pail was filled with warm white milk.

"I wouldn't try the separator if it weren't for the poor Little Sisters," said Eben anxiously as they reached the end of the barn. "They've got to be fed," said Nancy. "But I can't lift those pails." Slowly Eben carried them one by one with many rests back to the separator by the gasoline engine. He took the strap off one wheel and put it around the wheel of the separator. "I can't lift a whole pail," sighed Eben. Taking a little at a time he poured the milk into the tray at the top of the separator. In a few minutes the yellow cream came pouring out of one spout and the blue skimmed milk out of another. In another few minutes the calves were drinking the warm skimmed milk. "There, Little Sisters, poor, hungry Little Sisters," said Nancy, as she watched their eager pink tongues.

Eben turned off the engine. "I'm sorry I couldn't do the final hand milking," he said. "I wonder if we'd better turn the cows out?" Before Nancy could answer both children heard a sound. They held their breath. Surely those were horses' feet! Cloppety clop clop clop cloppety clop clop clop. Up to the barn door dashed the old farm horses. From the dark outside the children heard their mother's voice, "Children, children, are you there? The harness broke and I thought we'd never get home." Carrying a lantern apiece the children rushed out and into her arms. "Here, Eben," called his father. "You take the horses quick. I must get started milking right away. Those poor cows!" The children were too excited to talk plainly. They both jabbered at once. Then each took a hand of their father and led him into the great red barn. There by the light of the lanterns Andrew Brewster could see the pails of warm white milk and yellow cream. He stared at the quiet cows and at the Little Sisters. Then he stared at Eben and Nancy. "Yes," cried both children together. "We did it. We did it ourselves!"



THE SKY SCRAPER

The story tries to assemble into a related form many facts well-known to seven-year-olds and to present the whole as a modern industrial process.





THE SKY SCRAPER

Once in an enormous city, men built an enormous building. Deep they built it, deep into the ground; high they built it, high into the air. Now that it is finished the men who walk about its feet forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see to the top. For, of all the buildings in the world, this sky scraper is the highest.

The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. From its top one can see the city, one can hear the city, one can smell the city—the city where men live and work. One can see the crowded streets full of tiny men and tiny automobiles, the riverside with its baby warehouses and its baby docks, the river with its toy bridges and toy giant steamers and tug boats and barges and ferries. The city noise,—the distant, rumbling, grumbling noise,—sounds like the purring of a far-away giant beast. And over it all lies the smell of gas and smoke.

The sky scraper stands in the heart of the great city. But from its top in the blue, blue sky one can see all over the land. Landward the fields spread out like a map till they are lost in the mist and smoke. Seaward lies the vast, the tremendous stretch of the sea, the wrinkled, the crinkled, the far-away sea that stretches to touch the sky.

Now this soaring sky scraper is the work of men—of many, many men. Its lofty lacy tower was first thought of by the architect. With closed eyes he saw it, and with his well-trained fingers quickly he drew its outline. Then at his office many men with T squares and with compasses, sitting at high long tables, with green-shaded lamps, worked far into the nights till all the plans were ready.

Then the sky scraper began to grow. The first men brought mighty steam shovels. One hundred feet into the earth they burrowed. The gigantic mouths of the steam shovels gnawed at the rock and the clay. Huge hulks they clutched from this underworld, heaved up with enormous derricks and crashed out on the upper land. Deep they dug, deep into the ground till they found the firm bed-rock. With a network of steel they filled this terrific hole. Into the rasping, revolving mixers they poured tons of sand and cement and gravel which steadily flowed in a sluggish stream to strengthen the steel supports.

At last,—and that was an exciting day,—the great beams began to rise. Again the derricks ground, as slowly, steadily, accurately, they swung each beam to its place. A thousand men swarmed over the steel bones, some throwing red-hot rivets, others catching them in pails, all to the song of the rivet driver.



The riveter screamed and shrieked and shrilled. It pierced the air of the narrow streets. On the nearby buildings it vibrated, echoed. The sky scraper seemed alive and thrilled by the quivering, throbbing, shrieking shrill,—by the song of the riveter. Story by story the sky scraper grew, a monstrous outline against the sky. And ever and ever as it grew, hissed the rivet and screamed the drill.

At length the sky scraper soared sixty dizzy stories high. Then swiftly came the stone masons and encased the giant steel frame. Swiftly in its center, men reared the plunging elevators. Swiftly worked the electrician, the plumber, the carpenter. All workmen were called and all workmen came. The world listened to the call of this sky scraper standing in the heart of the great city. From the mines of Minnesota to the swamps of Louisiana came goods to serve its need. Long, long ago, in olden days, the churches grew slowly bit by bit, as one man carved a door post here and another fitted a window there, each planning his own part. Not so with the sky scraper. It grew in haste. Its parts were made in factories scattered the country over. Each factory was ready with a part, and the railroad was ready swift to bring them to its feet. The sky scraper grew in haste. For it the many worked as one.

Planned by those who command and reared by those who obey, in an enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they built it, deep into the ground; high they built it, high into the air. And now they use this building built by them. The sky scraper houses an army of ten thousand men. All day they clamber up and down its core like insects in a giant tree. They buzz and buzz, and then go home.



But there with the shadowy silent streets at its feet stands the lofty sky scraper. On its head there glows a monstrous light. The rays pierce through the fogs. And when the storm is screaming wild, the light struggles through to the frightened boats tossing on the mountain waves. The storm howls and beats on the sides of the lofty lacy tower with the shining light on top. The storms beat on its side, the tower leans in the wind, the tower of steel and of stone leans and leans a full two feet. Then when the blast is past, this tower of steel and of stone swings back to straightness again.

And so in the enormous city men built this enormous building. Deep they built it, deep into the ground; high, they built it, high into the air. Now that it is finished, the men who walk about its feet forget how deep into the ground it reaches. But they can never forget how high into the blue it soars. Their necks ache when they throw back their heads to see to the top. For of all the buildings in the world this sky scraper is the highest.

END