TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE

BY ANNE MARIE HOMER (AGE 13)
(Silver Badge)

IT was Christmas eve, and we were all sitting around the fire begging Daddy for a story. At last he consented. This is what he told us:

"When I was a boy, my father gave me for Christmas a wonderful pair of skis. Of course, I was delighted with them and was just putting them on when a man dashed into the house where Father and I were alone together.

"A fire started on the hillside!' he cried wildly. 'Get the lumbermen, or we are lost!'

"Then all of a sudden I remembered that our man and horse were in town; and yet somehow we must get word to the lumber-yard, which was five miles away. I looked at my bright new skis; then I turned to my father:

"I'll go, Daddy!' I cried. 'I can go faster on these!'

"Yes, Son,' he answered, 'You go; and don't stop till you get there.'

"In a second I had fastened on my skis and started down the mountain-side. I had skied all my life, but never before or since have I gone as fast as I did then. Down the mountain I flew, jumping fences and brooks and every other obstacle in my way. Once I almost plunged headlong into a tree; many times I just saved myself from falling as I went rushing down the steep incline. But I reached the lumber-yard at last, and in time to warn the men so that they could put out the fire. I truly think that that day was the most memorable Christmas I have ever experienced."

The fields are white 'neath skies of blue,
With snowflakes now where flowers grew,
With snow stars pale, where daisies bright
In springtime turned the fields to white.
But children 'neath this colder sky
Have joys no summer can supply.

No crowns of blossoms can they make,
But there is ice upon the lake;
They may not stray by summer rills,
But there is snow upon the hills,
And all the air is clear and bright

When winter reigns and fields are white.

TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE
(A True Story)

BY BETTY FRY (AGE 14)
(Silver Badge)

THIS is a story that my aunt told me one evening by the fireside.

When my great-grandmother was a young girl she and her mother and sister lived on the edge of a common in an English village. It was in the days of highway robbers, and the common was so thick with them that there was a watchman who took parties of people across.

One night great-great-grandmother was ill, and the nearest doctor lived across the common. My great-great-aunt went for the doctor with the watchman. The doctor said that he would come as soon as possible, and so she started back; but when she got to the watchman's house he had just started on his last trip for the night. My great-great-aunt had to get back that night, as her mother was ill and would be much worried if she did not come. Finally, she got the watchman's wife to give her an old cloak, with a large hood, and a basket of clothes, and she started out.

She had gone only a little way when a man stepped out and asked her where she was going. Dropping her "h's" she said she was a poor old woman who had promised to bring the clothes that night. The man said he would see her safely across and he walked along with her, talking all the time. Every now and then she heard rustlings in the bushes, upon which the man would give a low whistle.

When they finally reached the house my greataunt thanked him and went up and knocked, while the man watched her.

When her sister opened the door she whispered, "Let me in and say nothing." When she got in she took off the cloak and told her sister what had happened.

BY LALIA B. SIMISON, AGE 12 (SILVER BADGE)

BY DORIS

E. MILLER, AGE 15. (GOLD BADGE. SILVER
BADGE WON MARCH, 1921)

TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE-IN 1850

BY ANNE HOLLISTER FISH (AGE 13)
(Silver Badge)

THE children sat before the crackling fire with Grandma in the center of the group. The room was very still, for her sweet voice was telling of the time when she was a girl, visiting George and Martha Washington at Mt. Vernon.

"And, children, I had a dear little room overlooking the Potomac," she was saying. "I came on a Saturday, bringing my small hair trunk. It was about an hour before supper when I arrived. When I had made myself tidy I went down the broad stairs and was greeted warmly by Mrs. Washington. After supper, we sat on the wide veranda and watched the lights on the Potomac. Now and then we would see the dark form of a deer looming up in the deer-park below the house. Then I went to bed, carrying my candle to my room. I slept very well in that large four-poster. Sunday morning I went with the General and his wife to Christ Church in Alexandria. went in the handsome coach and I enjoyed many thrills before arriving. How well I remember walking proudly down the aisle to the square pew with red cushions. After church, we got into the coach to ride home."

At this point mother came in.

We

"Bedtime, children!" she called, and after many reluctant good-nights, they went, leaving Grandma to rock before the fire and think of that long-ago time which seemed to her only yesterday. The fire crackled on as though keeping time to her thoughts.

WHEN FIELDS ARE WHITE
BY TILLIE WEINSTEIN (AGE 14)
(Silver Badge)

THE sunset glow gleamed o'er the snow
And filled the air with soft, bright rays.
The air was cold, the sky was gold,

And short and clear and sharp the days.
For sunset fills the air with light,
In winter when the fields are white.

The moon then rose above the snows,
The night was black, and gold it shone.
Not e'en one star glowed from afar;

Queen of the night, she ruled alone.
For calm and silent is the night

In winter when the fields are white.
O'er snows so white, there gleamed a light,
Set there to welcome those who roam.
Good cheer it shed, and comforted-

The pleasant light of "Home, Sweet Home."
For cozy is the fire at night,

In winter when the fields are white.

TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE BY JOSEPHINE RANKIN (AGE 13) (Gold Badge. Silver Badge won February, 1920) "IT was in January," began Uncle Bob, "and we were living in a pioneer log cabin in a Western State.

"There were many Indians around the region in those days, and they were not at all friendly toward the white people; which caused Mother some anxiety for our safety, because we were more than two miles away from a settlement.

"We were gathered around the table, that evening, we boys reading and Mother knitting. Suddenly, we heard a faint knock at the door. We listened, and it was repeated. Father finally opened it, and an Indian lad of about fourteen years of age stumbled weakly in and collapsed on the floor.

"He soon recovered, owing to Mother's expert care and hot coffee, and managed to tell us in broken English that his chief needed my father's medical attention; and he implored him to start out at once. Father consented, and a few minutes later they started out into the storm.

"We passed a night of anxious waiting in the cabin, and at daybreak Father returned, laden with gifts; and although very tired, he told us that the chief had broken his leg, and that he had set it. The tribe was very grateful for the service, and promised to leave us unmolested forever, as far as they were concerned.

"And that ends the tale of how your grandfather won the good will of the Indians through a kind act."

The wind howled outside, and we drew closer to the embers, and our thoughts wandered back to the night in the little cabin so long ago.

WHEN FIELDS ARE WHITE
(A Rondeau)

BY ELIZABETH W. KINGSBURY (AGE 13)
WHEN fields are white with drifted snow,
Tinged rosy by the sunset's glow,

The wood-mice in old bird's nests, all
Well domed and patched and lined last fall,
Sleep, safe from any hungry foe.

Old Winter calls to us to go
Where we may his great secrets know,
And walk in his bright, ice-bound hall,
When fields are white.

The spruces standing row on row
Wave snow-clad branches to and fro;
Although so stately and so tall,
Protectors of the birdies small

Who greet the eve with twitterings low,
When fields are white.

BY JANET ROSENWALD, AGE 13

TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE
BY ELEANOR C. JOHNSON (AGE 13)
(Silver Badge)

IT was Christmas eve. The twilight of the short winter's day deepened into night. The black, zigzag lines of rail fences blurred and faded into oblivion, and the dazzling glory of snow-drifted fields gave way to a soft grayness. There was no moon, but the stars pricked through the dark arch of sky like millions of shining jewels.

Within the old rambling farm-house, all was warm and cozy. In the huge fireplace crackled a roaring fire, before which sat a man, well past middle age and a little boy of six or seven winters.

The man had the eyes of a dreamer, the brow of a student. Steel-gray hair waved back from his smooth white forehead.

The little boy had curly brown hair and big, earnest eyes, and just now he leaned eagerly against the man's knees.

"A story," he pleaded, "a Christmas story." So the man drew the boy closer to him and repeated that old, old story which is forever new.

The child looked into the heart of the fire, but he saw, instead, that dark, still night on the Judean hills, the simple, eager shepherds who left their sheep to go in search of the new-born King, the camels in their gorgeous trappings, jogging over the desert toward Bethlehem, and the three wise men, bowing humbly before the babe and the sweet-faced young mother, and offering their gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. He heard the crackle of the flames and the chill wind rattling the shutters, but to his ears they were, instead, the song of the angels.

When the story was finished, they stepped to an east window. The little boy scratched off the frost pictures and peered into the night. "I see the King's Highway," he half-chanted, pointing to the Milky Way.

"And the Star in the East," softly echoed the man. They lighted a bayberry candle, tall, slender, and green, and then together they went back to the fire. Only a big golden star hung near the eastern horizon and the flickering flame of a candle shone out over the snow.

"A FAVORITE SPOT." BY MARY ELIZABETH PEARSALL, AGE 13 TOLD BY THE FIRESIDE BY ALICE H. FRANK (AGE 16) (Silver Badge)

MANY years ago, in the wilds of Canada, an Indian chief and his son wearily paddled across a lake to a great rock, about sixty feet long, which formed its main island. Only on top a scant vegetation grew. The moon was rising as the canoe touched nature's great gray monolith. Soon a fire flickered and warmed the tired hunters. As the minutes passed, the fire became a mere glow and the men impassively smoked their pipes.

"O my son," the deep voice of the chief began, "hear how the Great Manitou made this lake!"

"Many, many moons ago, this land was a great plain. And the Manitou sent from the land of the cold winds a great white creature. At times it moved at a snail's pace, and other times it was swifter than the doe. It dug great basins in the earth and built high mountains. One day it started homeward with a slow, but steady, course. Much water dropped in the basins, and the hills became green. This is one of the lakes of the blessed Manitou."

While the old man was speaking, the great northern lights began to flash across the sky. As the voice of the chief ceased, with one accord both Indians rose and, turning to the north, raised their arms and voices in a chant of praise. The rosy rays mixed with the green, gold, and lavender ones making a fitting setting for the old chief's story. Suddenly the lights formed a great starry mass in the zenith.

Out of the silence came the voice of the chief: "O my son, our praise has been heard!"

The last light of the fire died away, and only the ripple of the waters broke the stillness.

A FAVORITE SPOT." BY MARY BEESON, AGE 13. (SILVER BADGE)

WHEN FIELDS ARE WHITE

BY NANCY PARKER (AGE 12)

OH, now 's the time when fields are white,
And silent lie in the faint starlight,
The spicy balsams, rising high,
Looming black against the sky.

Oh, now 's the time when tramping 's fun,
Into the woods with a wood-loving chum.
The startled fawn stands poised to fly.

The snowy owl hoots from the sky.
Oh, the silver crescent shines on the snow,
On the fir, while a timber-wolf howls below.
Down in the valley we hear his cry,
Faint, but distinct, so weird and high.
Oh, now 's the time when the paths are white
That are trod by the giant moose at night,
His antlered head lifted against the moon,
While the dark fir-trees softly croon.

He sends his challenge, for others to take, Resounding back o'er the moonlit lake! EDITORIAL NOTE: Once in a long while we are sorrowfully compelled to record that a story or a drawing printed with honor in the LEAGUE pages is not original, but a copy of another already published elsewhere; and promptly upon the issue of our October number, several LEAGUE members, or their parents, sent word that the drawing on page 1144, by Helen Johnston, and awarded a silver badge, was an exact duplicate of an illustration by H. W. McVickar for "Mr. Bonaparte of Corsica," by John Kendrick Bangs. Upon inquiry this fact was established, and the silver badge has been withheld.

Our first thought whenever an incident of this sort does occur is always, "The pity of it!" And LEAGUE members, like ourselves, would have no desire to be unduly harsh or resentful, preferring rather to remember that youth is proverbially thoughtless and to believe that in every such case the fault is due to thoughtlessness rather than to any deeper cause. But, in justice to all the other members of the LEAGUE, we are in duty bound to call attention to it, both in order that all our earnest workers may be assured that an unfair contestant has no standing and can have no real success in the LEAGUE competitions, and as a further assurance that every attempt at imposition or borrowing is certain to be discovered. It is, of course, possible to deceive the editor, for no individual can be familiar with or recall more than a small portion of the mass of anecdotes and pictures published in books or periodicals; but it is not possible to deceive all of the hundred thousand individuals, old and young, who scan the LEAGUE pages closely every month. Any copying, therefore, is sure to be brought to light.