One day, coming cut from behind the breastworks, Michiari defied the Tartars to fight. As none of them accepted his challenge, he filled two boats with his companions and started forth toward the gigantic fleet of the enemy.
The spectators on shore, who were eagerly watching each action, thought that Michiari must certainly have become insane. The Mongol leaders, seeing the two little boats coming steadily toward them, could imagine no other purpose than that of intended surrender, so they refrained from firing at the gallant little company.
When Michiari's little band had nearly reached the fleet, the men suddenly threw out ropes with grappling-irons attached, and sprang on board the Tartar junk or ship.
Instantly all was confusion, for the Mongols were not prepared for the onslaught; and had they been, their bows and spears would have been no match for the two-edged swords of the Japanese.
The native soldiers, quick in all their motions, set fire to the junk, and were off before the slow-moving Tartars could close in around them.
Many captives were taken that day, among them one of the highest officers of the Mongol army.
“My Playmate.” By Margaret Dobson, age 13. (Honor Member.)
Welcome.
By Helen W. Wyman (age 11.)
We ’re glad to see you back again,
Covering up the trees and bushes
With the snow so white and clean.
For the ponds are frozen hard;
Get your hats and coats and leggings,
Come and play out in the yard.
With your icicles and snow.
We will ne’er, oh, ne’er forget you
When the winds of summer blow.
The New Years Welcome.
By Louisa F. Spear (age 15.)
Brought darkness to a close,
When off against the cold, gray sky
A tiny speck arose.
I heard the children say:
“Here comes the little Nineteen Five,
Oh, this is New Year’s Day!”
The New Year rode in state.
Four fairies rushed to do his will:
They loved on him to wait.
’T was made of autumn leaves;
And underneath his tiny feet
Were nuts and golden sheaves.
And fruits and yellow corn;
And as I passed the little prince,
He blew his silver horn.
Bright New-Year thoughts revive,
And with clear voices send abroad
Three cheers for Nineteen Five!
The Welcome Snow.
By Mabel Fletcher (age 17.)
Out of the sky;
Children are laughing
As they float by;
Some on the tree-tops,
Some on the grass,
Some on the cheeks of
Each lad and lass.
Busily whirling,
Feathery white,
Each has its work to
Finish ere night.
Shining and round;
Stars in the heavens,
Stars on the ground;
Where the great tree-limbs
Rose by the gate,
Clothed in white samite
Shining nymphs wait.
Oh, merry springtime,
Summer or fall,
Winter with snow is
Best of you all!
Welcome to the Year.
By Marguerite Weed (age 13.)
’T is the bell’s chime, soft and low,
Ringing, in the quaint old steeple,
O’er the white and glistening snow.
And the bells grow loud and gay.
All the world seems bright and better,
On this happy New Year Day.
Ring the bells of far and near;
Let us join, with happy voices,
In their welcome of the Year.
