Stork Legends

1895

In an old collection of matronly stories entitled "The Gospel of the Distaff," printed at Bruges in 1475, I find this passage: "When a stork builds her nest over a chimney, it is a sign that the proprietor shall have wealth and long life." Ancient beliefs admitted that the stork protected buildings against lightning. It is a holy bird, and in certain German towns the arrival of the storks, heralds of spring, was announced with joyous blasts by the watchman on the tower.

What is certain is that which Michelet says of the swallow may be applied to the stork, "He has taken not only our house, but also our hearts."

Legends go still further. They consider storks as the incarnation of departed souls.

In that metamorphosed capacity they have for mission to search the bottom of wells for the souls of newborn infants. In the whole of northern and central Germany they have their baby wells. Hamburg, too, had her "kindelbrunnen." This naive faith has its origin in ancient mythology, which represents the stork, jointly with the peacock, as the favorite bird of Juno, goddess of maternity. — French of Maurice Engelhart.

Why Roy Was Chosen

1916

By E. L. Andrews.

"I'm going to hire an office boy," said Mr. Russell to his wife, as they sat at the supper table.

"How would one of the Wade boys do?" suggested Mrs. Russell. "They are such manly, businesslike boys."

"I was considering them," replied Mr. Russell. "I think I shall hire one of them, but I don't know which to choose. I want a boy who will stick to a task until it is finished. I pay my boys well, and I expect their best." As he spoke Mr. Russell arose from his chair. "I think I'll go over and talk to the Wade boys," he said. "Perhaps I can decide then which one of them to hire."

A few moments later, Mr. Russell opened the front gate of the Wade home. The two boys, Jim and Roy, sat on the lawn with the hammer, nails and boxes before them.

"Hello," called Mr. Russell, "what are you making?"

"Hello," answered both the boys, and then Jim, who was a year older than Roy, added, "We are building a tool box to put in the barn."

"And I have pounded my thumb three times," volunteered Roy, holding up that bruised member.

"You'd better tie it up," counseled Mr. Russell, examining the thumb.

"Oh, it will soon be all right," returned Roy, with a shake of the head; "it doesn't hurt a bit."

While Roy spoke, Jim was quietly gathering boards and nails into the box. "Let's quit for tonight, Roy," he said in a whining tone. "We can finish this tomorrow."

But Roy continued to pound nails. "I'm going to finish this tool box tonight," he said quietly.

As Jim disappeared around the corner of the house, Mr. Russell's face glowed with excitement. "Roy," he said, "I'd like you to be my office boy this summer. Would you like the work?"

"Like it!" echoed Roy. "Oh, Mr. Russell, I'd be so glad to have the job!"

So the bargain was sealed. As Mr. Russell walked home through the dusk, he said to himself, "I've found the very boy I'm looking for." And Roy, finishing the tool box on the lawn, paused in his work thoughtfully, "I wonder how he came to choose me, when Jim could have done his work just as well as I can do it." — King's Treasuries.

Note: That's a nasty story, as there's no reason why it'd be wrong to finish the project tomorrow. But it obviously hinges on Jim's "whining tone," and Roy's diligent persistence as to why Mr. Russell chooses Roy.

The Hidden Thimble

1916

Eleanor Fairfield Canfield.

There were seven little girls at Irma's party and they were having a glorious time. It was a farewell party for Mildred Smith, who was going away the next day to live in another city, and none of these little girls knew when they would ever see her again.


They had just decided to play "Hide the thimble;" so Irma went to find a thimble. She looked in her mother's work-basket. The only thimble there was her mother's pretty silver one.

"Mother's busy," thought Irma, "and I don't think she would care if I took this."

They had hidden and found it several times. At last it was Mildred Smith's turn to hide it. They all went out of the parlor.

"Ready," called Mildred, and they started back to look for the thimble, when suddenly, Clang! Clang! rang from the street.

All the little girls ran to the window. The fire-engines were rushing past, the great hoofs of the horses pounding the pavement. It was wonderful to see them.

"When you are through watching the engines, you can come in the dining room, girlies," cried Irma's mother. Soon they were all seated around the table, eating ice cream and cake and chattering happily.

As the little guests were leaving, Mildred promised them all, and the little hostess, too, that she would surely write to them. "I will write you and send you my address," she said, "because I don't know just what it is going to be now."

The next evening Irma's mother picked up the sewing.

"I don't know where my thimble can be," she said, "I can't find it anywhere."

"O mamma," said Irma, and then she stopped short. Where was the thimble? The last thing she remembered about it was that Mildred had hidden it. She told her mother about it, and then she started to look for the thimble.

By the clock, on the mantel, in corners, all around the piano, Irma searched, but no little silver thimble did she find. Her mother looked sober, for she had had that thimble for so long and she loved the person who had given it to her.

"Never mind, Irma, we'll surely find it. Wait until morning light and it may show up," she said. But it did not show up the next day nor the next! And the worst of it was that not a word did anybody hear from Mildred, so they could not write and ask her where she had hid it.

Irma gave it up as lost finally, and very badly she felt about it. She took the money out of the bank and with some more that her father gave her she bought another pretty silver thimble for her mother.

One afternoon in spring the sun shown in through the parlor windows. Irma hapened to look at the ferns that stood on a stand near the window. A ray of light shone straight from the largest sword-fern into her eyes.

"What is it?" she thought, and she got up and walked over to the fern. Then she gave a sharp cry.

"Mother, mother, your thimble!"

Her mother was at her side in a moment. There, resting on a fuzzy graygreen head of a tink[*] fern-leaf, was the thimble!

Mildred had hidden it well among the roots of the sword-fern, and as a tiny leaf had unfolded, it had raised the thimble with it until it just showed above the tangle roots.

"I think the little fern-leaf got tired of having us look for the thimble, and it just had to tell us where it was hidden," said Irma. And mother smiled happily. — Little Ones.

Note: [*] Maybe should be "thin fern-leaf," I don't know. It actually read "tink fer-leaf," and since errors are common in newspaper articles, there's no real reason to assume anything is correct.

Lost and Found

1916

Ralph was kicking up the dust along the road on the way home from the little corner store. Then he came upon a bundle lying in the road, where perhaps it had been dropped from a passing automobile. It was a long, knobby, interesting bundle, and he picked it up and ran the rest of the way home.

He gave mother the spool of thread, and then took the bundle out to the barn without saying anything about it. Then when he opened it he found a bow and a dozen arrows. Now for a month Ralph had been wanting a bow and arrows, and hinting to the family that they would be an acceptable gift. So far no one had taken the hint.

Yet here they were, almost as if they had dropped out of the sky. He handled them lovingly. He felt there was nothing else in the world he wanted so badly. He fitted an arrow in, and shot at the old straw hat that hung on the barn door. The arrow pierced the hat. It was a fine bow. He wanted to take it to the orchard and put up a mark to shoot at. But suppose the boy that really owned it should see him!

Then Ralph was ashamed. The bow was not his. He was hiding in the barn because he didn't dare let anybody see it. And the real owner probably was wishing for it very much. Ralph hushed that voice that said, "Finders, keepers."

"Things that you find don't belong to you unless you've tried to find the real owner and can't do it," said Ralph stoutly. And he knew that was right. He went outside. Nearly all the boys of that end of town were at the ball game over in Singer's pasture. Ralph went to one group after another. "I found a package in the road," he said. "Whoever lost it can have it if they describe it so I know it is theirs."

In the third group Jamie Rainess jumped up and ran to Ralph. "Say," he whispered, "was it a bow and arrows? I lost one today."

"Yes," said Ralph; "come over to the barn and I'll give it to you."

"That's the one," said Jamie as soon as he saw it. "My! but I felt awful to lose it. I'm glad to get it back. I just didn't know what to do about it."

But such an astonishing thing happened two days later. When Ralph came home from grandma's there was a shout of "Surprise!" and the house was full of boys and girls who had come for his birthday. And the present from Jamie was the same bow and arrows!

Just suppose Ralph hadn't given it back! — Christian Standard.

What Sukey Caught

1916

Marian Churchill Graves

Although Janet and Sukey had fished together many times and never caught a thing, they were not discouraged. Almost every Saturday they sat on the sixth step of the high back porch and fished in the rainwater barrel below.

"It's your turn now, Sukey," said Janet one day, as she pushed the branch of a tree that served for a pole into Sukey's limp hand. But Sukey, being a rag doll, did not grasp the pole as she should, and the pole — twine fish line, bent-pin hook, and all — slid off into the barrel. Besides, the sudden push upset Sukey's balance and she followed the pole into the water. Janet almost fell down the steps in her hurry to rescue her dear playmate, but the barrel was so deep that she could not reach the pole or Sukey. Billy Austin, who lived next door, came when he heard Janet's cry for help, and with his father's hoe soon pulled Sukey out.

"Oh, look, what's this funny thing?" called Janet as Billy dropped the doll on the grass. "Has Sukey caught a fish?"

"Why, it's a pollywog!" cried Billy. "Sam Martin had some around here in a pail last night and he must have put one in there. It's a little frog, you know."

Janet looked carefully at the shiny brown body on Sukey's skirt. It seemed to be all round head and long tail, with no legs. Two bright eyes near the front of the head looked almost too big for such a little pollywog.

"Oh, Billy, let's feed him and keep him here, will you?" begged Janet.

Billy put the pollywog in a glass jar full of cool water, and every day after that he and Janet added fresh water and fed the little fellow leaves and seaweed. They could see quite plainly through the glass walls, and one day they discovered that the pollywog was growing two pairs of tiny legs. Every day the legs grew larger, and soon he looked like a frog with a long tail. Then the tail grew shorter and shorter until it was almost gone.

Billy said that now they must carry the frog to a frog-pond, where he could get enough to eat. Both children would have liked to keep the little fellow, but they knew that he would be happier with his friends.

Janet and Sukey still fish in the rain-barrel, but they never caught another thing. Perhaps Sukey would rather keep dry than catch even a pollywog. — Rome, N. Y.

When Jimmy Flew

1916

Story for the Children

Jimmy was just an ordinary, wide-awake, curiosity-satisfying boy, with a very inventive mind.

In the short term of years that had elapsed since he started on the road to learning, three things that were of much interest to him had been born into the world. They were the automobile, the motor-cycle, the aeroplane. Upon wireless telegraphy he had not bestowed more than a passing thought, for, as he forcibly expressed it, "it didn't get you nowhere."

Of the first-mentioned three he desired to make for himself one of each, and in reality had made an automobile that went haltingly and uncertainly down the road for distances varying from a few feet to half a mile. Upon its completion Jimmy was the king of his gang for ten days — just ten days and no longer.

He was coasting down the long hill in front of his father's home one day when the machine became unmanageable and ran away. On the bridge it struck a cow, breaking her leg so she had to be killed for beef. The automobile, with Jimmy at the wheel, then jumped the balustrade, landing in the water upside down, and had it not been for ready assistance Jimmy would have been drowned.

Jimmy was just at that age when he was easily frightened at something of no consequence, yet would, with perfect equanimity, climb to the top of a forty-foot windmill tower while the wheel was turning in a perfect gale, and wonder why his parents became so excited and ordered him down forthwith. It took more than an automobile accident to dampen his inventive spirit, so he took up the manufacture of a motor-cycle with renewed enthusiasm. In it, however, he found more than his match and had to give up the project. His father's withdrawing all his assistance after his former accident no doubt was the controlling factor in the failure. The making of an aeroplane was never considered very seriously by Jimmy, as he had never seen one outside of books, let alone get close enough to one to see how the thing was made.

This explains why Jimmy's heart throbbed with excitement when he learned that there was to be an aeroplane flight at the forthcoming celebration, and he became more excited than ever a few days before the much-looked-for date when a force of men appeared in the field alongside his father's orchard and were soon erecting the canvas hangar that was to house the machine.

Jimmy was at the spot post-haste, and dogged the steps of the workmen from morning until night, carrying bolts, wire, or anything that their slightest wish signified they needed.

Jimmy absorbed the erection of that biplane as a sponge absorbs water.

He was a very likely boy, and the men took a great fancy to him, explaining everything in detail, and when the last nut had been tightly fastened, the last wire drawn taut until it fairly sang, the machine was pushed into the open, Jimmy placed in the seat and a picture taken of the youthful aviator.

While he sat there the young man who operated the machine showed him how the aeroplane was guide and how the various plans were manipulated.

"Say, when a fellow has to use both feet and both hands and his back, he does not have very much time for anything else, does he?" Jimmy asked, wonderingly.

"No time to look at the landscape that's sure," his instructor replied.

The aviator and his mechanicians were seated a few feet away, eating dinner; Jimmy was sitting in the machine, trying to explain to Bud Wilkins and Jerry Smith just how the thing flew, when Bud, in a spirit of fun, gave the paddles a whirl. Immediately there was a sputter that grew rapidly into a roar. Before Jimmy or the men were aware of what had happened, the machine was bounding along over the field.

The frightened boy just had one fleeting glimpse of the men as they jumped to their feet in a futile attempt to catch the machine, and then he saw the frightened face of his mother as he sped past the house. As he turned to look back he unknowingly raised the planes and barely cleared the high hedge at the end of the field.

Higher and higher he went.

The whole country seemed to be one large green carpet; golden splotches, showing where the oats had been cut, made the cornfields a greener hue by contrast, while here and there a tin roof was betrayed by flashing the rays of the sun up into his face.

By the time he had realized his position Jimmy attempted to lower his planes to keep from going any higher. He did it so suddenly that he nearly turned over. He turned half around in his seat to see how far he had gone, and the machine shot around in a sharp turn, canting at an angle that was positively dangerous.

"I'm on my way back, anyhow," he muttered between his chattering teeth. "If I ever get down all right, I'll be some big chief," he continued, not without a certain exultation, in spite of his perilous position, as he watched the country below him passing like some huge kaleidoscope.

The motor made such a roar that he could hardly think, yet he reveled in its smoothness and easy running, boy though he was.

He was almost over the town again, and as he sped by there were innumerable black specks in the open spaces and in the streets, mere cracks between the rows of buildings. He looked for his own home, but was almost past before he noticed a smoke coming from an open field and rightly guessed that they were signaling him, so he could land safely.

"Good thing," he thought. "The whole works down there look as level as a floor from up here. But how am I going to get down?" he wailed.

He would have to turn again, and as he really did not know whether he had made the turn before with his right hand or his left foot, or his left hand or his right foot, or his back, he was not a bit easy, and his altitude made him chary about experimenting. But there was one thing sure — he must turn soon, for he was approaching the Big Woods, where a safe landing would be impossible.

He racked his brain trying to remember some of the instructions the aviator had given him, but could not call many of them to mind. After several gradual dips and rises he finally was started on the return trip,

As he squared away confidence came to him, and he thought of Bud and wondered how he felt. The last glimpse Jimmy had of Bud was the latter being caught in the back of the neck by a guy wire and turned over and over like a tumbler at the circus. It would have been real funny if he had not been so scared.

Jimmy was becoming more composed with each passing minute, and when he came in sight of the field and the hangar he lowered the planes and came gradually to earth. He did not know how to shut off the power, however, and sped past the terrified men and his frenzied parents like a shot, going with all speed toward a deep ravine that lay diagonally across the field. Machine and boy went to the bottom in a crumpled heap.

When Jimmy came to consciousness some time later he was in bed in his own room, and his father was bending over him solicitously.

"Young man, this is the last time I am going to call you for breakfast. You roll out now or we'll go to the parade without you."

It was then that Jimmy flew. — Harmon R. Andrews, in The Junior Herald.

The September Issue of "The People's Home Journal"

1916

Most illuminating are the glimpses into the hearts and minds of the People's Home Journal's great family of readers. Letters by the score are received in every mail, graphic, spontaneous, a running fire of comment upon stories, pictures, the cover designs, department topics, etc., all vital and helpful to an editor who wishes to know of what his many millions of readers are thinking.

Because the Journal stories are "alive," every character in them has personality, which Journal readers are quick to discover. On the "Let's Talk It Over," page for September a recent Girl on the Cover is discussed. She is so "real" that readers have even given her a name — "Ruby," "Ariadne," and "Ruth." One enthusiast declares that "capable kindness is the keynote of her nature. The sweet solemnity of her big gray eyes prophesises that the strength and wisdom of her as well as her love, will guide the man of her choice steadily and safely through all the labyrinth of life." Quite as bewitching is the September Girl on the Cover.

The first autumn issue of the Journal concludes an absorbing serial by Agnes Louise Provost, "The Woman in the Case," and caters to the lover of mystery in a thrilling novelette, "Old Rodney's Will." Josiah Allen's Wife" in "A Fortunate Mistake" tells a rollickingly funny story about a pair of bashful sweethearts. Arthur Preston Hankins contributes a genuine small town chronicle in "The Silent Witness," the story of an absentminded doctor, the laying of a town-hall cornerstone and a mix up in town records which eventually straightens out financial tangles for a young man who wants to marry the only girl in the world. Armiger Barclay in a hold-up-story, "Into the Lion's Mouth," and Agnes Louise Pratt, in "The Extract Man," round out a well balanced ration of wholesome and appetizing fiction.

There are poems by Nancy Byrd Turner, Anna Porter Johnson and Daisy D. Stephenson, and a capital Green Meadow Story for the children by Thornton W. Burgess. The Fashions, Cookery, Interior Decoration and Care of Children departments are well edited and helpful. (Fifty cents a year.) New York.


World War I Humor

"We've learned a lot from the present war."
"Yes, indeed. Everything except what it's all about." — Detroit Free Press.

How The Bean Brothers Woke

1916

"Here are five little Bean Brothers for you," said mother one morning dropping something into Boykin's hand. "They have been in bathing all night long."

"With their clothes on too," exclaimed Boykin; "their little white coats are all wrinkled."

"You'd better put them to bed right away," suggested mother. "Here's a flower-pot on the sunny windowsill. The fresh soft earth will make a fine bed for the Bean Brothers. And if they have a good nap, who knows what will happen?"

So Boykin put them to bed in the soft, brown earth and covered them up snugly. Day after day the Bean brothers slept soundly and showed not a single sign of waking up. Then one morning Bean Brother poked up a tiny sign of slim green back, out from under the bedclothes, but his head kept safe underneath.

"Come, get up, you sleepyhead," cried Boykin, and, taking hold of Bean Brother's back, he pulled him straight out of bed.

"Oh, see," he called to mother, "Bean Brother has a leg, too, a long spindly one."

"Better put him back again, if you can, and let the others sleep a little longer. It's not time for them to be up yet," mother told him.

Next day the other Bean Brothers had poked up their little bent backs too, but Boykin only watched them and sprinkled their bed with fresh water. Day after day the Bean Brothers pushed up their backs higher.

"A funny way to get out of bed," declared Boykin; "they hump themselves up like green caterpillars."

Then one day the strongest of the Bean Brothers ventured to pull himself away from the warm bedclothes, but he could not stand up straight, and drooped his head sleepily.

"Oh, see, mother," cried Boykin, "Bean Brother has grown out of his old coat and split it in two."

True enough, what Boykin had called Bean Brother's coat before he had tucked him into bed was hanging in two pieces to his side.

Pretty soon the other Bean Brothers pulled themselves out from under the bedclothes. Then little by little they all straightened up and lifted their green plumy heads. The old coats clinging to their sides shrank and shriveled and finally dropped off altogether.

Boykin picked up two of the wrinkled bits.

"His coat is all worn out," said he.

"He won't need it again," mother explained. "But it was a good coat in its day and a wonderful one too, for it not only kept Bean Brother warm when he was a tiny baby, but it gave him food so that he could grow into this nice tall Bean plant."

"And will he always live in this [bed*]."

"No," answered mother; "when he is stronger we will take him and his four brothers out of this bed and put them in a corner of our big garden, where you can watch them." — Rebecca Deming Moore, in Mothers' Magazine.

*Note: This story was reprinted in a newspaper. And it is missing a line, leaving this paragraph hanging with "live in this".

—The Fryeburg Post, Fryeburg, Maine, Sept. 26, 1916, p. 4.

How Robin's Kite Learned to Fly

1916

For The Children

One cloudy, rainy, day, little boy Robin said: "Oh, I feel so sick because it rains. I think I want to make a kite."

Grandmother lifted her spectacles from her nose and smiled with her twinkly blue eyes.

"I know where there is a big sheet of strong wrapping paper," she said.

Grandfather laid down his book.

"I can find some splints in the wood-basket for you," he said.

So Robin brought out his own pair of shiny scissors that hung on a nail in the kitchen. He found his own little jar of paste. Then he spread out all his things on the kitchen table and went to work. Snip, snap, went the scissors. Scritch, scratch, went grandfather's jack-knife, whittling splints from the kindlings in the wood basket. Splash went the paste brush, and there was little boy Robin's kite all done, with a long newspaper tail and a long string to fly it by.

By that time the rain was all over and the sun was peeping out.

"I am going out to fly my kite," said little boy Robin.

Mother helped him put on his red cap and his red mittens. Grandfather waved his hand from the kitchen window, and little boy Robin ran up and down the garden path with his new kite. But, oh, the kite would not fly at all! It just tramped along the ground after Robin, dragging its tail in the wet grass and looking very unhappy.

"It hasn't learned how to fly yet," said little boy Robin, "and I can't show it how." Then he sat down on a stone and squeezed out two big tears.

An old gray mole came along just then and stopped in front of Robin.

"What's up, little boy," he said.

"Oh," sobbed Robin, "I have a little new kite and it doesn't know how to fly."

"If I should be out when the wind goes by,
I'll tell him. He teaches the kites to fly."
said the old gray mole. Then he hurried off to dig long tunnels under the garden beds and presently forgot all about his promise. Robin waited, but the wind did not come by.

Pretty soon along came a cheerful brown sparrow.

"What is the trouble, little boy?" chirped the sparrow.

"My kite doesn't know how to fly," said little boy Robin.

The cheerful sparrow began to hop up and down in the garden path in front of the kite. He spread his wings and flapped them, and said: —

"This way and that way, just stand up and try.
That's the way father taught me how to fly."

The kite just lay very still, and presently the cheerful sparrow flew off to gather straw and hen's feathers for a new nest.

Little boy Robin cried two more tears, until a withered last year's leaf heard him and rustled, —

"Look at the tops of the garden trees,
Something is coming — a new little breeze!"

Robin looked up very high. Surely, the tops of the trees were moving. He kept very still, for he did not wish to frighten the new little breeze. At last down came the breeze to the ground and began tugging at the kite's tail, but still the kite would not fly. Off went the breeze and came back with two other little breezes, who pushed and pulled, too; but the kite would not fly.

"I'll make that kite fly if it takes me all day.
Let's go to the woods where the west wind's at play,"
said the first little breeze.

So the three little breezes hurried off to find the old west wind, and they told him all about the kite in little boy Robin's garden that would not fly.

"Oh, ho," said the old west wind, "we'll see about that directly."

Down the road went the old west wind, with the three little breezes in front to show him the way. Over the gate he rushed and pulled off little boy Robin's red cap and tossed it into the currant bushes. Then in half a minute he made the kite stand and spread its tail, and off it flew as far as the string would let it go. Why, it even wanted to go on farther. You can't think how it tugged and tugged.

So Robin ran up and down the garden path with the kite flying high behind him. The old gray mole came out of his tunnel to see. The brown sparrow stopped with a bill full of nest stuff to watch. The withered last year's leaf followed merrily along the path. And little boy Robin waved his red mitten to grandfather in the kitchen window to tell him that the little new kite had learned how to fly. — Caroline S. Bailey, in Kindergarten Review.

Note: Carolyn Sherwin Bailey.

Seeks Action, Kills Self

1919

FREEPORT, L. I. — The desire of Stanley Simon, 19, for "more action" in a short story he was writing caused his death according to a coroner's verdict. A magazine returned a story to Simon, suggesting he get "more action" in it. Simon was experimenting with a revolver, when it exploded, killing him.

—The Saturday Blade, Chicago, Jan. 3, 1920, p. 5.

Russian Fairy Tales

1900

A book of fairy tales was the cause of the expulsion and consequent ruin of 175 persons at Poltova. A pupil at one of the state schools there was caught in the act of reading this book of fairy tales, which had been prohibited by the censor on the ground that certain of the tales might be applied to Russian conditions and Russian politics. The boy explained that the caretaker of the school buildings had lent him the book. The principal of the school reported the caretaker to the police, and on the ground of this denunciation the offender was sent to Siberia.

The officials of the institution, together with several parents of pupils, were so indignant at the conduct of the principal that they drew up a protest describing his denunciation as a mean and despicable act. The only consequence was that the officials lost their posts, and, together with the residents who had signed the protest, were expelled from the province of Poltova for three years. The order of expulsion was extended to all the relatives of the offenders, so that 175 persons were sentenced to this severe punishment on account of a book of fairy tales which in other countries is given to every child to read. — Chicago News.

An Iowa Fish Story

1900

Here is an Iowa yarn that raises the limit on fish stories:

"We wet our lines in Shell Rock river, a few miles below Cedar Falls, and caught a catfish that weighed 190 pounds. Being without fish, flesh or fowl at the camp, we put a pole through its gills and shouldered it half a mile for dinner. On opening it we found that it had swallowed a smaller cat that weighed about 15 pounds, so we said we'd eat the latter for dinner instead of the big fellow, as it was perfectly fresh. But when we opened No. 2 there was a still smaller cat in its gullet, one that weighed five pounds, and as the party consisted of only three we made a dinner on that. I have abundant witnesses."

Two Coincidence Stories

1900

Told In Good Faith In a Club Where All Romancing Is Barred

It was the secretary's turn to tell a yarn to his fellow members of the Coincidence club. The Coincidence club, by the way, has no cumbersome machines. It has members and officers, meets once a week to tell queer stories along the line suggested by its name, and everything but the strict truth is barred.

"I've got two stories, much alike, to tell. There's nothing dramatic or sensational about them. They struck me as queer, though. You know I'm a lawyer. One day a man named Dodge brought in a letter of introduction to me from a friend out west. He had a simple sort of a case, and I asked him to come back at 3 o'clock that afternoon. Then I went over to the criminal court on business that kept me till within a few minutes of 3 o'clock. As I entered my office there was a man sitting in the shadow. Without really looking at him, and with my mind full of the appointment, I said, as I went to my private office:

"How are you, Mr. Dodge. I'll see you in a minute."

"Pretty soon I rang and told the office boy to show in Mr. Dodge. The man came in, and he wasn't my Mr. Dodge at all. Imagine my surprise when he said:

"How did you know my name?"

"At the same time he handed me a letter of introduction from a friend. His name was Dodge all right, and he had a case. I gasped over the oddity of the situation, explained the coincidence to my visitor and even showed him the other letter of introduction. But the man did not believe me. He evidently thought I was a liar and left without putting his case in my hands. A few minutes later in came the first Mr. Dodge, and we had a good laugh over it.

"The other coincidence was this: I got letters from two friends, one west of Chicago and one south, asking me to collect claims against a big Chicago firm and a big insurance company with an agency in Chicago. I telephoned and made appointment with representatives of each of the concerns, one at 12 and the other at 12:30 o'clock. I went out on an errand and was delayed till 12:30 o'clock. When I came in, both men were waiting. Strange as it may seem both men were named Rose. I introduced them. One was originally from Rhode Island and the other from Connecticut As far as they could figure out they were not related. I've used false names, but otherwise the stories are strictly true and can be proved by evidence that will pass muster in a court of law." — Chicago Inter Ocean.

Atlanta Women Meet; Flash Their Pistols

1915

Summoned to Police Court, They Give Different Versions of the Exciting Occurrence

ATLANTA, Ga., Dec. 16. — Uptown Atlanta had a shock from an encounter between Mrs. W. L. Bishop, formerly of New York, and Mrs. J. Walter Ware, both prominent socially, in which a pistol played a part.

The two women met in the center of the city in the morning. Both were in their automobiles, and when they saw each other, Mrs. Ware pulled a revolver and pointed it at Mrs. Bishop.

Speaking for his wife, Mr. Ware stated later that Mrs. Bishop was unreasonably jealous of his wife, had been following her and that he had given her a pistol to defend herself. Mrs. Bishop jumped out of her automobile and approached Mrs. Ware's automobile, he said, and his wife then drew her revolver. Mrs. Bishop declined to talk of the affair.

Mrs. Ware accompanied her husband to the courthouse the next morning and swore out a peace warrant against Mrs. Bishop. She explained to court officials that Mrs. Bishop was "jealous of her without the slightest cause," and that for this reason she feared the latter might harm her.

Why She Drew the Pistol

Mrs. Ware reiterated her statement that she drew her pistol in her automobile only after Mrs. Bishop had leaped from her auto and run toward the Ware car in a threatening manner.

"I feared she was armed, and simply wanted to protect myself," she said. Mrs. Bishop vigorously denied the charge of the Wares that she is jealous of Mrs. Ware.

"I'm not jealous of her, either reasonably or unreasonably — that's all bosh," she asserted.

"If Mrs. Ware and her husband wish to assume that attitude in this affair, they are privileged to do so, but they certainly are wrong about it. There's no jealousy in it at all."

Mrs. Bishop's Version

Mrs. Bishop declined to divulge the cause of the trouble from her point of view.

As to the pistol incident she completely reversed Mrs. Ware's version.

"I was unarmed and had no thought of trouble," she said. "I was driving along in my car peaceably when this woman, from her auto, saw me. Before I knew what she was about, she had drawn a pistol and pointed it at me. I never left my car until she had done this. Then I did get out and go to her car and rebuke her for her conduct, telling her I was unarmed. She did not draw her pistol on me at this time, but simply cried out, 'Oh, Mrs. Bishop, can't we settle this among ourselves?' I replied to her that I was going to have her arrested."

The Queen of Romance

1904

An English lady tells a story of Queen Victoria which she believes has not before appeared in print, and which she knows is true. Three children were walking along the road between Windsor and Stoke Poges. They heard the sound of carriage wheels. It was the queen's carriage, and she was in it.

The oldest child, a little boy, had been reading Oriental stories and fairy lore. He knew what was due to a queen, and cried to the others: "Get down flat in the dust before the carriage, and we'll all call out at once, 'O queen, live forever!'"

Down went the three little bodies flat in the dust, much to the mystification of the coachman, who reined up sharply.

The queen leaned forward and asked, "What in the world is the matter, children? Are you frightened?"

Three voices came out of the dust in a smothered treble: "Yes; O queen!"

Then there was a pause, and one reproachful voice said, "There, we forgot the 'live forever' part!"

The queen grasped the situation and laughed aloud, as her coachman afterward said, "more heartily than she had laughed for years."

A Leaky Reservoir — What NOT To Do When Fishing

1900

How the Heart of the Disciple of Izaak Walton Was Saddened

"These gloomy days," said an old citizen, "recall a gloomy day when I was a boy and went fishing in a famous creek not far from my home. It was a well stocked creek. There were bass in it and shiners as big as a man's hand, and quite a lot of whitefish that would run a pound or a pound and a half, perhaps.

"I got out my tackle on this particular gloomy day and went down to the creek. It was a muggy day and a warm rain fell from time to time in light showers. I found my favorite pool and set to work. By George! I never had such luck! It seemed as if those fish were waiting in shoals to seize my hook. I yanked them up as fast as I could bait my hook and throw in, and they came out so fast that I couldn't spare the time to string them.

"I looked around. Some eight or ten feet from the stream was quite a good-sized round hole full of water. A heavy rain the night before had filled it up and it must have contained a couple of pails. A happy thought prompted me to toss my captured fish into this receptacle. I fished and fished until I was actually tired of the sport, and then as it came on to rain harder I thought I would quit and tote home the biggest catch of the season.

"I rolled up the line on the pole and drew from my pocket the stringing string. Then I went to my little pool of captives and, by George! there wasn't a fish in it! No, sir; not one! You see, it was a muskrat's hole and there was a tunnel reaching from it to the creek, and every fish I caught had wriggled through this opening back to his native lair. There was no help for it. I stared at the hole and I started back at the creek and then as the rain began to come down harder, I reluctantly turned away and trudged home a wiser, though a sadder boy." — Cleveland Plain Dealer.

Woman Sees Ghostly Visitor Shoot Himself

1908

Spirit Tragedy Enacted In India Occurred As She'd Witnessed It

This is the tale of a ghost who shot himself. The woman who relates it had accompanied her husband to Tirzapur, India, says the Kansas City Star. He had been sent there to undertake the duties of an agent who had gone home on sick leave. The only accommodation they could find when they arrived was an inspection bungalow.

They retired about ten o'clock, but Mrs. S. remained awake for some time reading a novel by the light of a lamp. She was just thinking of turning it out when suddenly a man holding a revolver appeared in the room, she says:

"Before I could move or speak he said: 'Don't stop me; I am going to shoot myself.' As he put the revolver to his head I shut my eyes and was nearly deafened by the report that followed. My husband jumped up, wide awake at once, with a cry of 'Who fired?' and I opened my eyes expecting to see a ghastly heap on the floor.

"To my amazement the room was empty and there was no sign of the tragedy that had just taken place in front of me. My husband said he had been awakened out of a sound sleep by the noise of the shot and when I told him what I had seen we searched the house together. Neither the punkah coolie, who was sleeping in the veranda, nor the servants, whose houses were close by in the compound, had heard anything. Even the dogs chained in the veranda had not been disturbed. It all happened so suddenly that I had no feeling of fright or terror. The man seemed to come from the direction of my husband's office, where there was a door connecting with the bedroom, in front of which we had placed a heavy wardrobe. He was a shortish, unpleasant-looking man and he held the revolver in his left hand. Neither my husband nor I were at all nervous people and when we could find nothing to explain what had occurred we decided that it must have been imagination and that our being in strong sympathy with each other had caused us to share the same hallucination."

Now for the sequel. Shortly afterward Mrs. S. accompanied her husband on a tour of the district. Among the bills they met a Mme. de Bevery, who had been a widow for several years. In the course of a conversation with her Mrs. S. discovered that at one time she had lived in the bungalow at Tirzapur where the spectral suicide had manifested itself.

"On hearing that she knew our bungalow and had actually lived in it," Mrs. S. adds, "I was impelled to relate our strange experience there, which hitherto my husband and I had kept to ourselves. She listened without comment, but when I ended my narrative by saying that we had come to the conclusion it must have been either indigestion or imagination she turned very pale and said, 'You have related something that really happened; my husband shot himself there before my eyes exactly as you have described.'

"I was terribly distressed at having, all unwittingly, reminded her of such a painful episode, but she reassured me by saying: 'It is many years ago and I can talk about it now, though I was ill for months afterward from the shock.'

"She then told me that her husband had gone into the bedroom through the door which we kept closed and had used the very words I quoted and the whole affair coincided exactly with what I had seen, down to the smallest detail. Mme. de Bevery spoke very calmly about her husband and said that he had been ill and mentally unsound for some time. I heard long afterward that he was a confirmed drunkard and had ill-treated her in every way."

Daddy's Bedtime Story — "Where the Bad Boy Found His Manners"

1911

The Bad Boy in the Ditch

"He was really a naughty, ill mannered boy," began daddy. "His parents were wealthy, and they left him to the care of servants, who did not know how to make a good boy of him. The result was that he was impudent to the servants and cruel to dogs and cats and insisted on having his own way always. I shall tell you how he learned a good lesson.

"It happened in the summer time. One day this naughty boy, whose name was Dick, was standing at the gate of his father's house when another boy came there. He was a poor boy — you could tell that by his old clothing — but his shirt waist and his knickerbockers were clean and neat, and his face shone with good nature as well as soap and water. You could tell by looking at him that he was a jolly fellow. He carried in his hand a tin can full of ripe, juicy blackberries, and he asked Dick to buy them.

" 'Go away from here,' said Dick, with a frown, 'or I shall set the dog on you. We don't need your berries. We have everything we want!'

" 'If you have, please give me a drink of water,' said the poor boy. But Dick threatened again to set the dog on him, so he went away whistling.

"Then Dick said to himself: 'Those blackberries looked good. I think I will go and get some for myself.' He went out of the gate and down the road to a place where he knew the blackberries grew. The bushes were on the far side of a wide ditch, which was filled with mud. Dick was too lazy to find a good place to cross, so he tried to jump the ditch.

"He landed right in the middle in mud up to his waist When he tried to get out he found that he was stuck fast and could not free himself. Then he called for help. But it was a lonely spot, and for a long time he heard no answer. Then he heard a voice saying, 'Who's there?'

"Then Dick called again as loudly as he could, and soon he saw at the side of the ditch the poor boy whom he had treated so rudely. 'Hello!' said the boy. 'How did you get in there?'

" 'I fell in,' said Dick. 'Please help me out?'

" 'All right,' said the other boy. And he lay down at the side of the ditch, not minding the mud on his clothing, and reached out his hand to Dick. He was a strong boy, so he soon was able to get Dick out. Dick thanked him and went home to be cleaned off.

"The next day when the poor boy came around again to try to sell his berries Dick was very nice to him. 'Where did you find your manners?' asked the boy. 'In the ditch,' said Dick."

Stevenson as Natural Vagabond Dug Power from Life

1919

Robert Louis Stevenson called himself an idler. He was a natural vagabond who loved to go in old clothes upon his own way through the strange city haunts of the disinherited or out upon the open road. He despised smug society, but talked eagerly with all sorts of men and women. Yet even as a boy he always carried a notebook and a pencil and constantly put into words what he saw and thought and felt. He wrote until his health gave way, again and again, and then he wrote of that.

Between 1873 and 1879 he produced many of the most inspiring essays of the "Virginibus Puerisque" series. The magazines published "A Lodging for the Night," "Will o' the Mill," the fantastic "New Arabian Nights," and other stories.

In 1879 he made the journey to California in steerage and emigrant-train, determined to "learn for himself the pinch of life as it is felt by the unprivileged and poor." The hardships injured his health, but did not deter him from making the first draft of "The Amateur Emigrant." He recuperated on a goat ranch near Monterey and managed to touch some neglected children. In Monterey afterward he planned his romantic comedy, "Prince Otto."

He completed the breakdown of his health by living on starvation rations in a workman's lodging in San Francisco and working feverishly. After a dangerous illness, he married and lived in the mining camp of "The Silverado Squatters."

Thus did Stevenson the idler dig his material and his power out of life itself.

A Japanese Rip Van Winkle Story

1878

The Japanese have the story of Rip Van Winkle in another form.

A young man, fishing in his boat, on the ocean, was invited by the goddess of the sea to her home beneath the waves. After three days he desired to go and see his old father and mother. On parting she gave him a golden casket and a key, but begged him never to open it.

At the village where he lived all was changed, and he could get no trace of his parents until an aged woman recollected having heard of their names. He found their graves a hundred years old. Thinking that three days could not have made such a change, and that he was under a spell, he opened the casket. A white vapor arose, and under its influence the young man fell to the ground. His hair turned gray, and his form lost its youth, and in a few moments more he died of old age.