Wallace S.
Sheepscott Bridge, Maine.
I am eleven years old. My father tells me lots of stories about Indians, and shows me the places where some poor people were killed by them. Our field takes in a part of Garrison Hill, where people used to come into the fort when the Indians came. My father says Sheepscott is a very old place, and the Pilgrims came here for corn. Close by our field is an old barn where the Indians came when some men were threshing, and fired on them, and killed two and took their scalps off, and one man hit back at them with his flail, and broke an Indian's arm, and they carried him prisoner to Canada. It says so on his old grave-stone, and I have seen it. My grandfather shot bears, but there are none here now. The people here build little houses on the ice, and catch lots of smelts through a hole in the ice. Sometimes there are as many as a hundred houses. The smelts are sent to New York. I like Young People, and hope I shall always get it.
Clarence E. C.
Warren, Ohio.
I want to tell you about my dogs. I have two coach-dogs; Spot and Sport are their names. I used to drive them in a sleigh, and they would draw me all about the town. I trained them all myself. Sport was just like some horses; he would back and kick and chew his harness. One day he chewed it all to pieces. Spot was good all the time. I am older now, and drive ponies. I drove the dogs when I was five years old.
Alaska P.