Part 12

"Teddy," cheered the crowd, with the enthusiasm that always is stirred by true, generous manliness.

The afternoon was growing late. One group remained, with which the procession was to close. On horseback rode a tall, soldierly figure, dressed in khaki, with an officer's hat bearing royal insignia, and with his breast covered with medals. A pair of keen blue eyes smiled out of a clear-cut, earnest face. Behind him, in an automobile, rode a thin, worn old man in the scarlet robe and close scarlet cap of a cardinal.

"I need not tell you who they are," said Aunt Eleanor. "They stand to us for the little country that in 1914 saved the world by sacrificing herself. King Albert of Belgium led his own armies into battle; his queen, Elizabeth, nursed the wounded in the hospitals; and Cardinal Mercier stayed with his people to cheer and comfort them."

"I think they are the greatest heroes of all," said Betty softly.

"Any man is a hero, dear," said her aunt, "who spends his life for the help and safety of his people, not thinking what it costs himself."

--_Mabel Dodge Holmes._

QUESTIONS

1. Make a list of the heroes whom you can remember in the procession.

2. Was there any one of them whom you did not know about before?

3. Which one would you like to read more about?

4. Do you know any facts about any of these heroes that are not told in this story? If so, write a title for the story you can tell, and be ready to tell it to your classmates.

5. Do you know the name of any hero whom you would have added to those in the procession?

6. Some of the figures are not mentioned by name. Give the names of any of these you remember.

THE SKELETON IN ARMOR

In the poem that follows, the poet tells us of a strange and fearful visitor that once came to him--the spirit of some ancient viking of the Northland all dressed in armor and carrying sword and shield.

In order to understand the poem, you must remember that the vikings were bold sea-rovers and fierce warriors who set out in their long swift boats in search after plunder and adventure. Some of them are even said to have come over to America long before Columbus ever dreamed of the new world. The poem was suggested to Mr. Longfellow by the finding of a skeleton clad in broken and rusted armor and buried in the sands of the New England shore, and by a very ancient tower that must have been built on the coast by the Northmen many years before 1492. These two facts are true, but of course the story that the poet made of them is merely a good story.

The poet's strange guest is one of these sea-robbers, who tells how as a youth he had won the love of a blue-eyed princess of the far North, only to find that her father forbade their marriage. In the first stanza the poet asks a question; the rest of the poem tells what the spirit of the viking said.

But you will want to read the story as the poet has told it.

"Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! Who, with they hollow breast Still in rude armor drest, Comest to daunt me! Wrapt not in Eastern balms, But with thy fleshless palms Stretched, as if asking alms, Why dost thou haunt me?"

"Then, from those cavernous eyes Pale flashes seemed to rise, As when the Northern skies Gleam in December; And, like the water's flow Under December's snow, Came a dull voice of woe From the heart's chamber.

"I was a Viking old! My deeds, though manifold, No Skald in song has told, No Saga taught thee! Take heed, that in thy verse Thou dost the tale rehearse, Else dread a dead man's curse; For this I sought thee.

"Far in the Northern Land, By the wild Baltic's strand, I, with my childish hand, Tamed the gerfalcon; And, with my skates fast-bound, Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, That the poor whimpering hound Trembled to walk on.

"Oft to his frozen lair Tracked I the grisly bear, While from my path the hare Fled like a shadow; Oft through the forest dark Followed the were-wolf's bark, Until the soaring lark Sang from the meadow.

"But when I older grew, Joining a corsair's crew, O'er the dark sea I flew With the marauders. Wild was the life we led; Many the souls that sped, Many the hearts that bled, By our stern orders.

"Once as I told in glee Tales of the stormy sea, Soft eyes did gaze on me, Burning yet tender; And as the white stars shine On the dark Norway pine, On that dark heart of mine Fell their soft splendor.

"I wooed the blue-eyed maid, Yielding, yet half afraid, And in the forest's shade Our vows were plighted. Under its loosened vest Fluttered her little breast, Like birds within their nest By the hawk frighted.

"Bright in her father's hall Shields gleamed upon the wall, Loud sang the minstrels all, Chanting his glory; When of old Hildebrand I asked his daughter's hand, Mute did the minstrels stand To hear my story.

"While the brown ale he quaffed, Loud then the champion laughed And as the wing-gusts waft The sea-foam brightly, So the loud laugh of scorn, Out of those lips unshorn, From the deep drinking-horn Blew the foam lightly.

"She was a Prince's child, I but a Viking wild, And though she blushed and smiled, I was discarded! Should not the dove so white Follow the sea-mew's flight, Why did they leave that night Her nest unguarded?

"Scarce had I put to sea, Bearing the maid with me, Fairest of all was she Among the Norsemen! When on the white sea-strand, Waving his armed hand, Saw we old Hildebrand, With twenty horsemen.

"Then launched they to the blast, Bent like a reed each mast, Yet we were gaining fast, When the wind failed us; And with a sudden flaw Came round the gusty Skaw, So that our foe we saw Laugh as he hailed us.

"And as to catch the gale Round veered the flapping sail, Death! was the helmsman's hail, Death without quarter! Mid-ships with iron keel Struck we her ribs of steel; Down her black hulk did reel Through the black water!

"As with his wings aslant, Sails the fierce cormorant, Seeking some rocky haunt, With his prey laden, So toward the open main, Beating the sea again, Through the wild hurricane, Bore I the maiden.

"Three weeks we westward bore, And when the storm was o'er, Cloud-like we saw the shore Stretching to leeward; There for my lady's bower Built I the lofty tower, Which, to this very hour, Stands looking seaward.

"There lived we many years; Time dried the maiden's tears; She had forgot her fears, She was a mother; Death closed her mild blue eyes, Under that tower she lies; Ne'er shall the sun arise On such another!

"Still grew my bosom then, Still as a stagnant fen! Hateful to me were men, The sunlight hateful! In the vast forest here, Clad in my warlike gear, Fell I upon my spear, O, death was grateful!

"Thus, seamed with many scars, Bursting these prison bars, Up to its native stars My soul ascended! There from the flowing bowl Deep drinks the warrior's soul, Skoal! to the Northland! skoal!" Thus the tale ended.

--_Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. Courtesy of Houghton, Mifflin Company._

ACTING FOR THE MOVIES

Here is another set of "movie" scenes. If you forget how we played the first set, look on page 38 and see just what to do.

1. The blind man came slowly down the road, tapping restlessly with his stick to guide him, and stopping every now and again to listen for some fellow traveler who might lead him to the town beyond the hill.

2. When they reached the open country, Aladdin had to gather sticks and to build a great fire for the magician, his uncle.

3. Aladdin's uncle stirred the fire until it blazed brightly. Then he threw in some magical powder and as a thick cloud of smoke arose, he made mystical signs over the fire, and muttered some strange words that Aladdin could not understand.

4. The Indian squatted down with legs crossed under him and waited for the morning sun to enable him to take up the trail again. Whenever the fire died away, he arose silently and replenished the fuel, but except for these breaks, one might have thought him a beautifully carved image.

5. None of the villagers knew Rip when he came back. He was old and stiff and bent with age. He carried on his shoulder his cherished musket, now useless and covered with rust. As the people crowded round him he scanned each face in turn, hoping to recognize some former familiar acquaintance.

6. Sir Roger drew his sword, and taking advantage of a corner in the garden wall, which might make a cowardly attack in the rear impossible, he waited for the band to approach. He knew that he was caught like a fox in this narrow garden, and he looked eagerly to count how many were against him.

7. Hardly had the Sheriff ridden off with his men, before Robin Hood came down the road, still dressed in the long gown that old Mother Hobbes had given him, and walking with the help of a cane, like an old woman, bent with years.

8. The savage raised his spear, and was about to cast it, but some slight sound caused him to hesitate an instant with the long shaft balancing lightly in his grasp.

9. An aged palmer came down the road. He was evidently returning from a long pilgrimage, for his cloak was old and tattered, his shoes were dusty and patched, and every few steps he stopped to rest on his long staff.

10. The tinker, very tired from his run, sat down on a large stone by the roadside. After looking cautiously about, he took the king's letter from his pocket and read it. Then folding it carefully again, and returning it to his pocket, he rose and started down the road singing cheerily.

11. He had tramped for three hours and had not discovered a single familiar sign. There was no sign in the cloudy sky to serve him as finger post. He climbed a tall tree that seemed to promise a view of the surrounding landscape, but everything was strange. He had read somewhere that the trees are mossy and green on the north side, but when he looked, even the trees seemed to be as uncertain as he. In despair he sat down on a fallen log and waited.

12. White Eagle looked far out over the plain. Beyond the now dry river basin and the green strip of brush and scrubby trees that bordered it, he could trace the slow, crawling wagon-train trailing out and winding like a lazy serpent through the dust. When he had counted for a second time to be sure, he drew back from the edge of the bluff, built two tiny fires, and watched the thin columns of smoke as they curled straight up in the air.

THE SAFEST PLACE

Here is a story of real human interest. We are all foreigners here in America except the American Indians. The ancestors of some of us came before those of others; and it is the duty of those of us whose ancestors have been here the longest to help the strange-looking, strange-speaking people who come to us from Europe to feel at home in our country.

The government has tried hard to protect the immigrants from dishonest people who have tried to cheat them out of their earnings. One of the good things that came out of the World's War was a knowledge on the part of almost all of our people of the safe investments that the government offers in bonds and thrift stamps.

"At last the way is clear!"

Stefan spoke with much emotion as he counted the roll of notes, clean and soiled, that lay before him on the table in his little room in the over-crowded boarding house.

As he fingered the bills, he saw before him each detail of the past two years--New York harbor with Liberty flinging up her welcome torch; the thrill of arrival in the city of his dreams; the days that followed, days of discouragement, home-sickness, and poverty, among strangers speaking strange tongues, with a medley of unfamiliar manners and customs. He saw with vivid clearness the first dollar he had earned, and he forgot the slow, painful processes of saving--the self-denial and the sacrifice--in the picture of what those sacrifices were to bring.

"She will come," he murmured. "On the same boat perhaps. When she gets the ticket, she will leave that war-threatened land and she will come to me." He smiled. Then as his face suddenly clouded he started forward on the rickety chair with a violence that threatened its frailness. "If anything should happen! If I should lose the money!"

Greatly disturbed he gathered up the precious bills as though to shield them from possible loss. He rose to place them in the old hiding place in his trunk, but that no longer satisfied him. He wavered, then said:

"No, that won't do. I must see Ian about this. He knows. He is wise. I will see Ian this very minute."

Wrapping the money in a piece of old newspaper and carefully placing it in an inner pocket, he set out. He went straight to the dingy office in a side alley of the foreign section of the town, where through the dusty window could be seen the grizzled head of Ian Skeemersky, the real estate agent and private banker, whose sign, written by his own hand, hung over the entrance.

After greetings had been exchanged, he anxiously put the case before his shrewd friend, whose eyes sparkled with eagerness as he replied smoothly.

"Nothing so easy and so safe in the world, my dear fellow. Put your money in my bank. You will get good interest and can withdraw it whenever you want it."

Stefan hesitated for a second. So much was at stake! His slow mind must have time to weigh the proposal. As he noted the earnestness and assurance of Skeemersky's face, belief in this shrewd friend decided. He drew out the pack and laid it on the desk before Skeemersky, whose long fingers closed over it at once.

"You have done well, Stefan Broda, your money is as safe with me as if it was in Mt. Vavel," he declared.

Stefan felt that he had done well. The phrase "as safe as Mt. Vavel" lingered in his mind. It helped him be patient in the long weeks in the factory where he worked during the winter; it consoled him during the dull days while he waited for the open springtime when he planned to send for Agatha. When he heard of others losing their small savings in various ways he congratulated himself on the security of his own, "as safe as Vavel," he would repeat.

One sunny morning in March, just as he decided to stop on his way from work to withdraw the three hundred dollars for Agatha's expenses, there came to him a neighbor, in great excitement. Peter's face was red, his eyes startling and his voice hoarse.

"That--that robber, that scoundrel!" he stuttered. "That Skeemersky. He has gone, gone, do you hear? He has taken it all, all the money in his cursed bank."

Stefan could not believe his ears. Skeemersky gone, and the money, too! "As safe as Vavel!" he had said. He stared for a moment and then broke out, weeping for the first time since his mother's death, cursing the smooth trickster with hearty Polish curses.

"May the thunder-bolt strike him!" he cried. "I will lay hands on him. I will choke that money out of his black soul. Come, we will go!"

They rushed out, boiling with rage, only to find a crowd of other dupes before the shabby little office in the side-alley. The tightly closed door and the blank windows told the story more clearly than any words. Skeemersky had gone--the bank was no more!

Despair took strong hold of Stefan. For two days he roamed the streets, not eating nor drinking, sleepless. He saw no further, no hope--all was blackness and desolation. When he came back to the boarding house on the third day he found a letter from Agatha. He read it with tears and intolerable anguish and he passionately kissed the final sentence: "Every bit of me is yours and I shall never change." This tender faith was balm to his anguish.

He put the letter in a pocket nearest his heart, while a new look came to his tired face. Almost unconsciously he began to build a new future on the ruins of the old.

He swiftly mapped out his course. The season for farmwork was at hand. He would go back to the open skies and broad fields of God's world. He packed a few belongings in the rusty brown-paper suitcase and boarded the trolley for the long ride. He knew what he should do if he could rent a suitable piece of land.

He had spent the previous summer on a farm in the onion-growing section of the Connecticut Valley; he knew what large profits might be gotten with hard labor from a comparatively small plot of ground. He figured that three or four acres would give him the needed amount in the fall, if he had health and good weather.

He found the man whom he sought, secured the land, and went to work. All that season he slaved early and late, weeding on his knees in the damp earth the interminable rows of tiny, delicate plants where the weeds sprang like magic. He heeded neither scorching sun, nor soaking rain. He cared nothing for the monotony of the toil. Always he saw before him the steamer that should bring Agatha, from the hazards of war, to him and security.

By September he had once again the dream within his grasp. He was back in the old room in the crowded boarding house, and in his bluish tin trunk at the foot of the bed were hidden five hundred and fifteen dollars in crisp, clean notes. His earliest belief in his trunk had come back a hundredfold. He would not trust any bank, private or national, with the fruit of his heart-breaking toil. Banking systems and government investments were all beyond his grasp. Skeemersky had taught him to distrust others--the little thin trunk would not run away.

This conviction of safety obsessed him. He preached it to others, to his fellow-boarders, especially to the friendly young man in the room across the hall. "See," he would say, waving a hand toward the great untrustworthy world of finance beyond his little window. "They run away--those bankers. I have a better place."

He did not tell the friendly young man where or how much he had hidden. He merely smiled mysteriously. His faith in his trunk was absolute. Day after day, when returning from work in the factory, he took out his roll of notes and rejoiced that he had found the solution; he counted the days when he should send for his love. It was hard for him to wait for the lagging spring, but a winter journey in war-time from Russian Poland to New England was not to be thought of for his Agatha.

Blind faith often leads to the pit. Stefan, upon a night in late winter, found his theory shattered. The friendly young man had gone, and the crisp, clean notes had disappeared with him!

In this second crash of his hopes he was numbed. He neither wept nor cursed. He silently shrank into himself. He grew abstracted. He stared at the world with unseeing eyes. In the turmoil of his distracted mind there was but one growing determination not to be beaten by fate.

It was not, however, until the news of the German campaign in Warsaw, that his resolve took definite shape. Borrowing two hundred dollars, he sent the money to Agatha in Poland, and regardless of winter or war, urged her to come at once.

When, after long weeks of suspense, he stood by the gate at Ellis Island waiting for the sight of her dear, familiar face among the surging crowd of tagged and numbered immigrants beyond the iron barrier, a great wave of joyous hope flooded his heart. All his disasters were forgotten when he caught the glint of her pale hair under the embroidered kerchief. Banks and trunks went to oblivion as he took her small roughened hands in his own. Destiny had no terrors for him.

On the train he poured out his heart to her. He told her of his great efforts and his greater misfortunes. He made her see his challenge to destiny. He pictured his emotions in the last weeks. And he wound up with an eager entreaty for immediate marriage.

"Let us no longer delay," he urged. "Let us find the good priest." But Agatha was not to be hurried. Her blue eyes showed her own sorrow for the words her lips spoke. "Our love, my Stefan, will not change. But your money is gone. We cannot live without money. I shall work, and you shall work. Then we will marry."

Stefan protested vigorously, but he knew that she was right. He saw that he must yield. He proposed a compromise. "Let us work then for this spring and summer--you in the silk mill and I in my onion patch," he said, "and marry in the fall. I can wait no longer than that."

Agatha could find no fault with this. It won her approval of both heart and her reason. Slipping her hand in his, she nestled closer and they began their hopeful planning, while the train sped on, bearing them to the peaceful valley of their future labors.

All the plans--sensible and practical--they made that wonderful first day, were marvelously realized, not by mere happy chance, but through a great steadfastness of purpose and unfaltering toil. By thrift and frugality, by self-denial and sacrifice, they accomplished the miracle. And they were happy in the doing of it, because they worked together. Neither Stefan nor Agatha had ever labored so willingly. The radiance of a united future lighted the way--always just ahead they saw the hearth-fire gleaming.

The spring and summer passed swiftly. Stefan and Agatha learned of America's entry into the world war with anxious hearts. They dreaded the quenching of that hearth-fire. But their fears were groundless. Instead of depreciation and loss the war brought added prosperity. The wages in the silk mill were raised. Stefan's onion sets sold at double prices. At the end of the season they found that they had exceeded their hopes, in spite of paying off the debt and the increased cost of living.

At last, as Stefan had said, the way was clear. The crown of their hopes, the wedding day, was set and their friends invited. A stone house with a little ground had been secured. The furniture was installed. Everything was ready for the marriage feast on the next day.

As they left the cozy little house in the long shadows of the September sunset, Stefan turned at the gate to look back. His dream was realized. Destiny had not taken up his challenge so far, and he determined to make the future sure. Unconsciously his hand stole to the inner pocket where a modest roll of notes--the remains of their combined savings lay warm and safe. In all their anxious discussions, he and Agatha had not been able to find a place safe enough to satisfy their fears. Bankers and trunks had betrayed their trust. Stefan sighed. He had hoped to have this matter off his mind before the happy morrow. He wished Agatha would offer some solution and he turned to her with the old question on his lips. But he did not ask it. Another voice took up the story.

It was old Shelton, the farmer for whom Stefan had worked the first summer in the valley. His small eyes were twinkling and his long chin beard wagged importantly. "Hello, Steve, how'r ye? Settin' up in fine style, I see. Must be gittin' rich these days."