upon the floor, saying no one should drink from the glass that he had drunk from.
But the pieces were gathered and mended after he was gone, and are now shown as an interesting relic of his visit to Germany.
“Home again.” by Philip S. Ordway, age 17.
THE MAN WITH NO REWARD.
By Harold R. Norris (page 11).
So patient all the day,
Oh, what reward does he receive,
Along his weary way?
Who never works at all;
But yet he worketh just as hard
As the lord up at the hall.
THE STORY OF OLEG’S DEATH.
By Ward S. Greene (age 11).
Oleg was ruler of Russia, For a long time he had asked his wizards and magicians, “By whom is it fated that I shall die?”
And one of his magicians said that his horse would be the cause of his death.
So he ordered them to take care of the horse, but never to bring it to him again. So many years passed, and be did not ride his horse, bot went among the Greeks.
Then he returned and stayed at Kief for four years, and in the fifth year he called his oldest groom and asked him where his horse was. And the groom said that it was dead.
Then Oleg laughed and said, “The wizard spoke falsely; the horse is dead, and I am alive.”
And he went to the place where the skull and bones of the horse lay unburied.
And he said, “How can a skull he the cause of my death?”
So he planted his foot on the skull, and out darted a snake and bit him, so that he fell sick and died. They buried him on the mountain called Stchekovitsa, and his grave is there to this day.
THE STORY OF CHRISTMAS.
By Dorothy Stott (age 11).
“My playmate.” by Phyllis McVickar, age 11.
Watching their flocks of sheep,
Had grown very, very weary,
And closed their eyes in sleep,
Of many angels’ voices:
“Peace on earth, good will to men!
Oh, all the world rejoices!”
The shepherds looked bemazed;
They hardly could believe ’t was true,
That sight on which they gazed.
“Our Saviour-King is here;
Oh, go, ye shepherds, to the place
Where the star shines bright and clear”
In a manger, lying there,
Sleeping sweetly and peacefully
’Neath his watchful mother's care.
And we children love to hear
The story of the Christ-child
Which has grown to us so dear.
A RUSSIAN EPISODE.
By Faith Goss (age 10).
Some years ago my great-aunt Elizabeth, who lives in Russia, wrote to us and said in one of the prisons some state prisoners were kept.
On the Fourth of July the people saw floating on the breeze red, white, and blue rags in the prison windows. The tags had been torn from their clothing.
The officials were very much surprised to see the rags.
The prisoners wished to show the Russians that they loved a country of liberty.
The prisoners communicated together by tapping on the water-pipes.
