Fighting the Fire

FIREBRANDS

BY
FRANK E. MARTIN
AND
GEORGE M. DAVIS, M.D.

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS
FROM PHOTOGRAPHS

School Edition

BOSTON
LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY
1912

Copyright, 1911,
By Little, Brown, and Company.
All rights reserved
Printers
S. J. Parkhill & Co., Boston, U. S. A.

PREFACE

Every year fire destroys an enormous amount of property in the United States. Of this great loss by which our country is made just so much poorer, for property destroyed by fire is gone forever and cannot be replaced, a large proportion is due to carelessness, thoughtlessness, and ignorance. Nor is it a property loss only. Every fire endangers human life, and the number of lives lost in this way in one year is truly appalling.

It has been estimated that if all the buildings burned in one year were placed close together on both sides of a street, they would make an avenue of desolation reaching from Chicago to New York City. At each thousand feet there would be a building from which a severely injured person had been rescued, and every three-quarters of a mile would stand the blackened ruins of a house in which some one had been burned to death.

Children are allowed to burn dry leaves in the fall, and their clothing catches fire from the flames; women pour kerosene on the fire in their kitchen stoves, or cleanse clothing with gasoline near an open blaze; thoughtless men toss lighted cigars and cigarettes into a heap of rubbish, or drop them from an upper window into an awning; the head of a parlor match flies into muslin draperies; a Christmas-tree is set on fire with lighted candles, or a careless hunter starts a forest fire which burns for days and destroys valuable timber lands. There are hundreds of different ways in which fires are set. The majority of these fires, which cause great loss of life and property and untold suffering, are preventable by ordinary precaution.

This little book has been written for the special purpose of teaching children how to avoid setting a fire, how to extinguish one, or how to hold one in check until the arrival of help. Each story tells how a fire was started, how it should have been avoided, and how it was put out: Mr. Brown Rat builds his nest with matches which were left around the house; Careless Joe pours hot ashes into a wooden box; or boys light a bonfire and leave the hot embers, and then old North Wind comes along and has a bonfire himself.

At the end of each lesson there are instructions regarding the fire in question. There are also chapters on such subjects as our loss by forest fires, the work of our firemen, common safeguards against fire, how to act in case the house is on fire, and first aid to those who are injured by fire,—how to treat scalds and burns, how to revive persons who are suffocated by smoke, etc. A thoughtful reading of this book should make the present generation a more careful and less destructive people, and the entire country richer and more prosperous.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

FIREBRANDS

BROWNIE'S MISFORTUNE

Polly's cage had just been hung out on the back porch, and she was taking a sun bath. She ruffled up her feathers and spread out her wings and tail.

She knew she was pretty, and as the sun brightened her plumage, she arched her neck, and looked down at herself, saying over and over, "Pretty Polly! Polly! Pretty Polly!"

Then she threw back her head and laughed one of those jolly, contagious chuckles that made everyone laugh with her.

While she sat there, talking and laughing, a big brown rat came creeping up the steps. Polly had often seen him before, for he came to the house every day to find something to eat; and as he always stopped to have a chat, the two had become good friends.

"Good morning, Polly," said Mr. Brown Rat. "You seem very happy this morning."

"Why shouldn't I be happy?" replied Polly. "See how pretty I am. Besides, I have nothing to do all day but sit here and eat crackers and watch the people. By the way, Brownie, run into the house and get me a cracker now."

"I can't get any more crackers, Polly," replied the rat. "The last time I went to the pantry the crackers were in a stone jar that had a heavy cover."

Polly ruffled up her feathers, and spread out her wings so that they would shine in the sun.

"You are very pretty, Polly," said Mr. Brown Rat, "but you haven't such a fine long tail as I have;" and he spread it out on the piazza and twisted his head to look at it.

"Ha, ha! you wait until the cat gets hold of it and it won't be very long," replied Polly. "Why don't you shave off your whiskers, Brownie?"

"I couldn't smell any cheese if I lost my whiskers," said Brownie. "And, besides, they make me look dignified with my family.

"Polly, I am going to build a new house," he added. "I am tired of living in barns and stone walls, and I want my family together where it is warm and comfortable. Do you happen to know where I can find some matches?"

"Why, yes," replied Polly, "my master is very careless with his matches. He leaves them around loose wherever he goes. You see, he doesn't use the matches that have to be struck on a box, and every time he lights his pipe he scratches the matches on anything that is handy. They are snapping and cracking all day long. Sometimes they break off and fly away, all on fire. You can find them almost anywhere in the house. But what do you want to do with matches, Brownie?"

"Well, you see, Polly, the little sticks make a good framework for my house. The wood is good to chew and can be made soft for lining the nest; and the bits of flint in the head of the match are fine for sharpening and filing my teeth."

"You and your family won't be able to file out of the house if you light one of those matches while you are filing your teeth," said Polly, and she gave another of her famous chuckles.

"I'll look out for that," replied Mr. Brown Rat, as he scampered across the piazza.

"Don't you dare to build a nest with matches in my house," Polly screamed after him; but Brownie slipped through a hole in the clapboards under the kitchen window and didn't make any promises.

Polly didn't see her friend again for some time and she began to miss him.

One day she heard her master say, "I wonder what becomes of all my matches?" and this set her to thinking.

She sat still on her perch for a long time, scratching her head with first one foot and then another. "I believe Brownie is really building his nest in this house," she said to herself at last; "and he is using matches, too, after I told him not to."

Then she became very angry. She screamed and bit the bars of her cage with her sharp bill until the cook came out and scolded her for being so cross.

Two or three days later Polly was hanging on the back porch again, and the sun was shining on her feathers. She was spreading out her wings, and cocking her head on one side, when, all of a sudden, she saw a thin curl of blue smoke creeping out between the clapboards.

"Hello! Help! Come in!" she screamed. "Hello! Help! Fire! Fire!"

Some boys who were playing in the street came running up to the house at the cry of fire.

"Get a move on!" cried Polly, dancing about in her cage and trying her best to open the door.

"Where's the fire?" asked one of the boys.

"Get busy!" screamed Polly, as she pulled herself up to the top of the cage.

Just then a wagon came tearing down the street. "Whoa!" cried Polly, and, sure enough, the horses stopped in front of the house.

The driver saw the smoke, and he went to work in a hurry, tearing off the clapboards, and showing the boys where to pour water in between the walls, until the fire was all out.

When the man had gone away, and everything was quiet, Mr. Brown Rat came creeping out of the hole, wet and bedraggled, with his whiskers all burned off.

Polly caught sight of him in a moment. "You rascal," she screamed, "you set that fire. You ought to know better than to build a house with matches."

"I do now, and I'll never do it again, never again," replied Brownie meekly, as he went limping away.

Why did the brown rat come out on the back porch?

How did he build his nest?

Of what material was it constructed?

Why do rats like matches?

Why is it dangerous to leave matches scattered around the house?

That rats and mice are responsible for many fires is no longer doubted. The evidence has been plainly seen. Rats and matches are a dangerous combination. For this reason matches should not be scattered around the house.

In most of the European countries only safety matches can be used; this is one reason for the small number of fires in foreign lands as compared with those in the United States.

"CARELESS JOE"

"I didn't mean to lose my coat, Father. We boys were playing ball, and I threw it down on the ground and forgot all about it until I got home. Then I went back for it and it was gone. Some thief had stolen it, I suppose. I can't help it now, can I?"

"No, Joe, of course you can't," his father answered; "but you are always doing something like this, and I want you to learn to be more careful. It is just the same with your work. Half of it is forgotten, and the other half is not well done. I can't trust you to do anything. You are so forgetful and careless that even your school-mates call you 'Careless Joe.' It is no wonder that your mother and I are discouraged."

Mr. and Mrs. Patten were very fond of Joe, who was their only son, and they did everything they could for his happiness; but the boy had grown so careless and selfish that his father and mother were at their wits' end to know what to do with him.

As for Joe, he was a pleasant-faced, good-hearted, jolly boy; but his parents knew that this one bad habit of carelessness would soon spoil him if it were not corrected. They had done everything they could to help him overcome his fault, but he only seemed to grow more careless every day.

Finally Mr. Patten said to his wife, "Let's send Joe to visit Grandfather Knight. He knows how to manage boys pretty well."

Of course Joe was delighted when he heard of the plan, for who ever saw a boy who didn't like to visit his grandfather?

Mrs. Patten wrote to Grandma Knight about Joe's bad habit, which was giving them so much trouble; and the two old people talked it all over and felt sure that they would know what to do when the time came.

"I'll keep the boy so busy that he won't have any time to forget," said his grandfather. "There is always plenty of work on a farm for a good boy."

"He can help me, too," added Grandma. "I'll pay him with cookies;" and she hurried out to the kitchen to make a big jarful of the round sugar cookies that Joe liked best.

Joe was delighted with everything on the farm, and for several days he did very well.

"He isn't such a bad boy after all," Grandpa told Grandma when Joe had gone upstairs to bed one night.

But the very next morning he gave Joe a bucket of grain to feed the hens, and in the afternoon he found the bucket in the barn, still full of grain. When he spoke to Joe about it, the boy answered carelessly, "Oh, yes, I did forget it; but it won't matter much, will it? Hens can't tell the time of day."

"I suppose not," his grandfather replied; "but I don't believe they like to go hungry any better than you do."

The next night Joe went to the pasture to get the cows, and came home driving nine, when he knew very well that his grandfather had ten. He never noticed the difference until Grandpa spoke to him about it, and then he seemed to care so little that the good old man began to think Joe one of the most careless boys he ever saw.

Two or three days later Mr. Knight went to market, leaving Joe to feed the horses at noon. When he reached home at night, the horses had not been fed, and Joe said he didn't think they would mind going without one dinner.

Grandma Knight heard this remark, and she decided that it was about time for Joe to have a lesson. When the boy came in to supper, feeling very hungry after a good game of ball, there sat his grandmother knitting a stocking.

He glanced around the kitchen in surprise. "My stomach feels pretty empty," he said; "but I don't see anything to eat. Isn't it almost supper-time?"

"Yes, my boy," his grandmother answered, with a twinkle in her eye, "it is supper-time; but I thought you wouldn't mind going without one supper, so I didn't get any to-night."

Joe frowned and hung his head. He knew very well what his grandmother meant, and things went a little better for a day or two; but the boy soon fell back into his old tricks.

Every morning Joe emptied the ashes from the kitchen stove for his grandmother. Grandpa Knight had told him over and over again never to empty them until they were cool, and always to put them in an iron barrel that stood in the shed.

One morning Joe went as usual to empty the ashes, which happened to have a good many live coals in them. The iron barrel was full, but Joe was in a hurry to get away for a game of ball. He couldn't bother to empty the barrel, and he surely couldn't wait for the ashes to cool, so he tipped them into a wooden box, live coals and all, and ran off to his game.

Grandma Knight was making another big batch of cookies, and it was not long before she began to smell smoke. She looked all around the stove, but she couldn't find anything that was burning.

"It must be some paper I threw into the fire," she said to herself, and she went on with her baking.

But the smell of smoke grew stronger and stronger, and when she came out of the pantry to slip the first pan of cookies into the oven, she could see a thin blue haze in the kitchen.

"The house is on fire!" she cried, and she ran down cellar and upstairs as fast as she could go, opening all the doors and looking in all the closets to find out what was burning.

On her way through the hall she caught up a fire-extinguisher; but she couldn't find a sign of the fire anywhere. At last she ran out through the shed to call Grandpa Knight from the barn, and there was the wooden box blazing merrily, and sending little tongues of hot flame across the floor.

It took only a few minutes to put out the fire with the fire-extinguisher which she still held in her hand; but when Grandpa came into the house a few minutes later, there was Grandma Knight sitting beside the kitchen table, holding a pan of black cookies, with tears running down her wrinkled cheeks.

"I never burned a cooky before in all my life," she said, trying to smile through the tears; "but I couldn't let the house burn down!" and then, all trembling with excitement, she told about the fire in the shed, and the box of hot ashes.

When Careless Joe came home to dinner there was a pan of burned cookies beside his plate, and that afternoon he had a talk with his grandfather which he never forgot.

From that day he really did try to overcome his careless, selfish ways, and to be more thoughtful and manly. He had learned that fire is not to be trifled with, and that a boy must always have his mind on his work.

Why was this boy called "Careless Joe"?

In what way was he careless?

What lesson did his grandmother teach him?

What happened which taught him a more serious lesson?

How should ashes be cared for?

What kind of a barrel should they be kept in?

What should be done with rubbish and waste paper?

Ashes should never be kept in wooden barrels or boxes, but in iron barrels or brick bins. There should never be an ash-heap against a fence or near the side of a house. Paper and rubbish should not be mixed with ashes, but kept in a separate barrel.

Cellars and basements should be clean, orderly, and well-lighted. Rubbish is a fire-breeder, and may be the means of destroying your home.

MAY DAY

It was May Day, and all the children who went to school in the little brick schoolhouse at the foot of the hill were going "Maying."

Every sunny morning in April they had begged their teacher to go with them to the woods to gather flowers; but Miss Heath kept telling them to wait until the days were a little warmer, and the woods less damp.

"By the first of May," she said, "there will be ever so many more flowers. If May Day is bright and sunny we will have no school,—except the school of the woods, no lessons but those the birds and flowers teach us. Wear your oldest clothes, and don't forget your lunches. You will be as hungry as squirrels when you have played out of doors all the morning."

The first morning in May was warm and sunny enough to make everyone long to spend the whole day in the woods.

At half-past eight all the pupils in Miss Heath's school were at the schoolhouse door, eager for the Maying. There were only sixteen of them, and they were of all ages, from five to fourteen, for the little brick schoolhouse was in the country, far away from the graded city schools.

The mothers had not forgotten the lunches, and it was a happy band of boys and girls that set off at nine o'clock for the woods. They climbed the hill and followed a cart-path until they came to a shady hollow where a tiny brook rippled over its stony bed.

"We'll stay here for a little while and watch the birds," said Miss Heath. "Sit down under this pine tree, and keep as still as mice until you have seen five different birds."

Joe Thorpe saw the first one,—a robin that came down to the brook for a drink of water. Alice Fletcher caught sight of a black and white warbler that was hopping about in the pine tree, and Grace Atkins pointed out a woodpecker that was rapping on the trunk of an old oak.

A golden oriole flew to the top of a tall elm and called down to them, "Look, look, look! Look up here! Look up here! Look up here!" But the fifth bird was hard to find. They had almost given him up when Miss Heath held up her hand. "Listen!" she whispered, and in a moment a song sparrow that had lighted in a little bush near by sang them his sweetest song,—sang it over and over, with his head held high and his tiny throat swelling with the music.

"There are the five birds," said Miss Heath, when the song sparrow flew away; "now for our flowers!" and she jumped up and led the way across the brook and down a gentle slope toward an old pasture that was half overgrown with underbrush.

"You must notice all the different shades of green in the new leaves on the trees, with the yellows and reds on the bushes," she said, as they stood looking across the pasture. "There are almost as many colors among the trees in the spring as there are in the fall, but they are not so brilliant.

"Now, run and look for flowers," she added, when they had climbed over a stone wall and found a narrow foot-path across the pasture. "I will wait here, under this chestnut tree, and you can come back when you are ready; but if I call, you must come at once. It will be lunch-time almost before you know it."

That old pasture was a splendid place to find spring flowers, and the children scattered in all directions, by twos and threes, peeping under bushes and poking away dead leaves to hunt for sprays of arbutus, or Mayflowers as they always called them.

Grace and Alice found some beautiful clusters of the fragrant pink and white blossoms, but poor little Joe Thorpe didn't have good luck at all, so he wandered off by himself to look for hepaticas.

He found them, too, among the rocks at the farther end of the field, blue ones and white ones, and some that were pink and lavender; and when he had picked a good handful for Miss Heath, he saw some "spring beauties," white blossoms striped with pink that swayed gently on their slender stems.

Just then he heard the call to lunch, and although he hurried back to the big chestnut tree he found all the children there before him, their hands filled with flowers. There were bunches of blue violets and white violets, hepaticas and spring beauties. One girl had found yellow adder's tongues with their spotted leaves, and a boy brought a Jack-in-the-pulpit, standing up stiff and straight to preach its little sermon.

After Miss Heath had admired all the flowers, and had sent three of the boys back to the brook for water, the children opened the baskets and spread their lunch on newspaper tablecloths.

Then what a merry picnic they had! They exchanged cakes and cookies, gingerbread and doughnuts. They shared pickles and apples, and divided turnovers and saucer pies,—and they all picked out the very best of everything for Miss Heath, until she laughingly declared that she couldn't eat another single mouthful.

After lunch they told stories and played games, until, all at once, the teacher noticed that the sun had hidden his face behind a heavy cloud.

"I am afraid it is going to rain," she said; "we must hurry home."

But even before the children could gather up their baskets and flowers, the big rain-drops began to patter down on their heads.

"I don't care," said little Joe Thorpe. "It is nothing but an April shower."

"April showers bring Mayflowers!" quoted Grace and Alice, and then they held their thumbs together and wished, because they had both said just the same thing at just the same moment.

"They bring wet dresses, too," said Miss Heath, "and not one of us has an umbrella. Let's run over to that little pine grove and play the trees are umbrellas. That's what the birds do when it rains."

The children ran down the narrow path and gathered under the spreading branches of the pines, and the trees held out their arms and tried to keep them dry. But the rain-drops came down faster and faster, and it was not long before the little girls' cotton dresses were wet through.

As soon as the shower was over Miss Heath said, "Now you must run home as fast as you can, and put on dry clothing. I don't want anyone to catch cold when we have had such a happy day together."

So away the children scampered, some in one direction, some in another. At the foot of the hill Alice stopped suddenly and said to Grace, "My mother will not be at home. She was going to the village this afternoon to do some marketing."

"Come to my house," said Grace. "You can put on one of my dresses while yours is getting dry."

When they reached Grace's house her mother was not at home, either; but Grace found the key to the back door behind the window blind, and the two little girls went into the kitchen.

Then they took off their wet dresses and put on dry ones, and Grace climbed up in a chair to hang Alice's dress on the clothes-bars over the stove.

"It will not dry very fast until we open the dampers and let the fire burn up," she said; so she opened both dampers wide, and then took Alice up to the play-room to see the new doll which her aunt had sent her for a birthday gift. The doll had a whole trunkful of dresses, coats, hats, and shoes, and the two little girls had such a good time trying them on that they forgot all about the kitchen stove.

Suddenly Grace cried, "I can smell smoke, Alice. Something is burning!"

"It must be my dress," exclaimed Alice, jumping up and running down the back stairs.

She opened the kitchen door just in time to see the dress burst into flames. "Oh, what shall we do?" she cried. "My dress is on fire! Put it out! Put it out! Quick! Quick!"

"I can't!" screamed Grace. "Oh, Mother! Mother! Come home! Come home!"

Just then a man, who was driving by with a load of wood, saw the flames through the window and came running in to see what was the matter. He snatched the burning dress from the clothes-bars, threw it into the sink, and pumped water over it to put out the fire.

Then he closed the dampers in the stove, which was now red hot, and opened the windows at the top to let out the smoke; while all the time the two little girls stood in the middle of the floor, sobbing and crying.

"That was a very careless thing to do," said the man, when at last they told him how the dress happened to catch fire. "You should never hang anything over the stove. Tell your mother to take down those clothes-bars this very afternoon, and put them on the other side of the kitchen; and remember never to go out of the room again when you have started up the fire. A red-hot stove will sometimes set wood-work on fire, even if there isn't a cotton dress near by to help it along."

"I don't believe I shall forget it very soon," said Grace, as she lifted the handful of wet black rags out of the sink.

"Nor I," cried Alice. "I am glad Miss Heath told us to wear our old clothes."

"And I am glad that I came along before you set the house on fire," said the man. "Don't ever try to dry wet clothes in a hurry again."

Then he went out and climbed up on his load of wood, muttering to himself, "That's what comes of leaving children alone in the house. They are never satisfied unless they are lighting matches or starting a fire."

Why did Grace hang the dress over the stove?

How did it catch fire?

What material was the dress made of?

Would a woollen dress burn as easily?

Damp clothing, or clothes that have just been ironed, should never be hung over a hot stove, for, as the moisture dries out, the clothes quickly ignite. Clothes-bars or a clothes-line should never be hung over a stove, and a clothes-horse should not be set too near it. Many fires have resulted from an overloaded clothes-horse falling on a hot stove, especially when there was no one in the kitchen to watch it.

Children should never be permitted to open the dampers of a stove, or to have anything whatever to do with the kitchen fire. They should not set a kettle on the stove or take one off, and they should be cautioned against climbing into a chair near the stove, as they might fall and be badly burned.

CAMPING OUT

It was one of those hot drowsy days in July. School had been closed two weeks, and Dean and Gordon Rand were already wondering how they could ever spend the rest of the long vacation in their little home in the city of Boston.

To be sure there were plenty of books filled with charming stories of brooks and pine woods; but reading only made the boys wish they might go to the real country instead of sitting at home in a hot stuffy house, reading about it in a story-book.

One night the two brothers went as usual to meet their father when he came home from work. His tired face wore a happy smile, and they knew at once that something pleasant had happened.

"What is it, Father? Do tell us!" the boys cried in one voice. Their faces were so eager that it was really hard for Mr. Rand to say, "Wait, my boys, until we reach home. Then your mother can share the good news with us."

Mrs. Rand was looking out of the window as the boys danced up the front walk, each holding one of their father's hands. They pulled him along in their haste to hear the news, and she, too, guessed that something pleasant had happened.

Father said that boys couldn't half enjoy good news with dirty hands and faces, so it was not until soap and water had made them clean and shining that he took from his pocket a letter from good jolly Uncle Joe who lived among the hills of Vermont.

"Here is your news," he said. "I will read aloud the part of the letter that will interest you. Now, listen! Uncle Joe says: 'Why not let those boys of yours come up and go camping with me this summer? I am going to pitch my tent in the woods near Silver Lake, and I expect to have good fishing and hunting. Send the youngsters along as soon as they are ready. I will take care of them, and give them a rollicking good time.'"

The boys were so delighted that they could hardly wait for Mother to get their clothes ready, and for Father to write to Uncle Joe and tell him when and where to meet them.

At last the day arrived when they were to take the train for Vermont. Their trunk was carefully packed, and they were as clean and fresh as Mother's loving hands could make them.

It was a long ride, but there was so much to see every minute that the time passed quickly. At noon they opened the box of lunch Mother had put up for them. When they saw the sandwiches and the little cakes and apple turnovers, there was a lump in their throats for a few minutes.

The conductor came along just then, to tell them they were crossing the Connecticut, and in their eagerness to catch their first glimpse of the great river they forgot all about being homesick.

Uncle Joe met them at the station. He gave them each a hearty hand-shake and a big hug. Then he lifted them up on the seat of a wagon, and put their trunk in behind, with ever so many other boxes and bundles.

It was not far to the shore of the little lake. Uncle Joe soon had all the provisions stowed away in a large flat-bottomed boat, and it did not take long to row across to the tents on the opposite side.

Do you suppose a supper ever tasted better to hungry boys than that one of fried trout just caught from the lake, with bread and butter, and fresh berries and cream? Uncle Joe served them generously, too,—just as if he knew all about a boy's appetite!

After supper they were so tired with all the excitement of the day that they were content to sit quietly on the little sandy beach, watching the sunset and the changing colors in the clouds. There were lovely shadows on the purple hills, and dim reflections of the trees and sky in the smooth surface of the lake. How much better it was than all the noise and confusion of the city streets!

It was not long before the boys were sleepy, and Uncle Joe went with them to see that everything was all right in their tent. When they saw the bed they were a little uncertain as to whether they would like it. It was nothing but a great heap of fir-balsam boughs, covered over with two heavy blankets, and it didn't look very comfortable; but when they had tried it a few moments the boys pronounced it the softest, sweetest bed they ever slept in.

Morning found them rested and ready for camp life. Uncle Joe took them out fishing, and let them row the boat home. Then they put on their bathing suits and he gave them a swimming-lesson. After dinner they went for a long walk and he taught them to watch for birds and squirrels.

They had never dreamed that the woods could be half so interesting, or hold so many different things. They enjoyed every minute of the day; and the next day, and the next, it was just the same. They never had to stop and ask, "What shall we do now?" There was always something to do, even before they had time to do it.

They met several other boys, about their own age, who were living in a camp farther up the lake. These boys often joined them in their picnics and excursions, and the time was too short for all they found to do.

But they did one thing that came very near spoiling the fun of that happy vacation in the woods.

One night Uncle Joe stayed out fishing a little later than usual, leaving his nephews alone in the camp. The other boys came down to visit them, and one of them suggested that it would be great fun to build a camp-fire.

Dean, who was always a cautious lad, feared it was not just the right thing to do, without his uncle's permission; but at last he gave in to the other boys.

Broken boughs and bark were quickly piled up, a match was lighted to kindle the fire, and in a few minutes the flames were leaping over the dry wood. The boys were delighted with their bonfire, and they ran here and there among the trees collecting more fuel for the flames.

Suddenly they began to realize that the fire was spreading. It had run along through the dry grass and pine needles, and the wind was blowing it straight toward the woods, where they had had so many good times, and where their friends the birds and squirrels had their homes.

At first the boys thought they could put out the fire with pails of water; but they soon saw that it was beyond their control, and they stood still, too frightened to do anything but scream.

Their cries brought Uncle Joe, and some fishermen from the other camps, to fight the fire, and for more than an hour the men worked valiantly. They chopped off great green branches and beat out the flames, they threw on buckets of sand from the beach, they chopped down trees and made a broad path in front of the fire, and finally they dug a trench to keep it from running along the grass.

At last the fire was declared to be all out; but it was not until the men's hands were blistered, and their faces burned and blackened with the smoke. This was not the worst of it, however, for nearly an acre of valuable timber had been destroyed, and the dead trees held out their stiff leafless branches like ghosts of the beautiful pines and firs that had stood there in the sunshine that very day.

The boys went back to their camps very soberly. How their hearts ached at the mischief they had done! They could think of nothing, talk of nothing, but the fire. Dean and Gordon sobbed themselves to sleep, feeling sure that Uncle Joe would send them both home in the morning.

But the next day good, kind Uncle Joe, whom everyone loved, called the boys around him and gave them a long talk about forest fires.

He told them he hoped this experience would teach them never to build a fire anywhere unless men were near to guard it carefully, and not even then if the grass were very dry, or there was the least breath of wind to carry the flames and sparks.

He explained that thousands of dollars' worth of property might have been destroyed, and possibly lives might have been lost by their carelessness. He told them stories of the terrible forest fires that have raged for days in the timber lands of the Northwest. When at last he asked for their promises, the boys gave them readily, for they had learned how very dangerous a fire can be; and for the rest of that summer, at least, there wasn't another bonfire at Silver Lake.

Why did Dean hesitate to start a fire when his uncle was away?

If the boughs had been green or wet would they have burned as quickly?

Did you ever see a fire in the grass or woods, running along like a race-horse?

How do you think these fires are started?

Why are fires most dangerous in the summer and fall?

Forest fires are started from bonfires, by hunters, campers, fishermen, or lumbermen, or by mischievous and careless persons. Fires should never be started unless the ground is cleared around them, and at a safe distance from any building or woods. They should never be left unguarded.

Forest fires have become so serious that many states have appointed Fire Wardens, whose duty it is to patrol the forests.

Watch towers have been erected, from which observations are taken, and in case of fire, alarm is spread by means of a telephone system.

In some countries avenues, equal in width to the height of the tallest tree, are cut through the forests at intervals of half a mile.

These avenues afford a fire-barrier and standing ground for the firemen to fight the flames.

With the many acres of valuable timber destroyed by fire every year, and the indiscriminate cutting of trees by the lumbermen, our forests are fast disappearing. Children should be encouraged to observe Arbor Day, and to plant trees, so that the custom may become more general, and the forests be renewed.

THELMA'S BIRTHDAY

Thelma was a little Fourth-of-July girl,—at least that was what her father always called her, for her birthday came on the glorious Fourth, the day to which all the children in the United States look forward, just as they do to Thanksgiving and Christmas.

Thelma did not have any brothers or sisters, but she had ever so many friends and playmates; and besides, there was Rover,—the best playmate of all,—good, kind, loving Rover, who followed his little mistress like a shadow all day long.

The Fourth of July was Rover's birthday, too; but he never looked forward to it with the least bit of pleasure. When the horns were tooting, the bells were ringing, and the fire-crackers were snapping, you would always find Rover under Thelma's bed, with his head on his paws, and his eyes shut tight. I believe he would have put cotton in his ears, too, if he had only known that it would help to keep out the dreadful noise.

Of course no one had ever told Rover about the Fourth of July, and he didn't understand at all why bells were rung and cannon were fired, and why everyone was eager to celebrate the day.

But Thelma knew all about it. She was eleven years old, and she had often read the story in her reading-books at school. When her father took her on his knee, and helped her a little now and then with questions, she told just how it happened.

"You see," she said, "when the white men first came to this country they formed thirteen colonies; but they were ruled by the King of England, who often treated them unjustly.

"They bore their troubles patiently for a long time, but finally they were forced to pay such heavy taxes that they rebelled. Then they decided to break away from English rule and be free and independent states.

"Thomas Jefferson wrote a paper declaring their independence, and men from each of the thirteen colonies signed it. This paper was called the 'Declaration of Independence,' and it was read from the balcony of the State House in Philadelphia, before a great crowd of people, on July 4, 1776.

"Bells were rung to spread the good news, and ever since that time the Fourth of July has been celebrated as the birthday of the United States of America."

"And what shall we do this year to celebrate all these birthdays?" her father asked, when Thelma finished her story.

"Let's give a party," replied the little girl, and she jumped up to make out the list of friends she wished to invite.

The Flying Squadron

One morning about a week later Rover waked up very early. He slept at night in his kennel behind the barn, and he always kept one ear open so that he could hear the least little bit of noise. But it was not a little noise that waked him this time.

"Bang, bang! Crack, crack! Toot, toot! Ding, dong!" he heard from every direction.

"Oh dear!" thought Rover, "I wonder if this is the Fourth of July! It can't be a year since I heard that noise before." But he did not have to wonder long. A crowd of boys were coming down the street, blowing horns, drumming on tin pans and firing off torpedoes. They threw a fire-cracker into Rover's yard, and it exploded in front of his kennel.

"That's it," he said to himself, as the smoke drifted away in a little cloud; "it is the Fourth of July, after all."

The minute the cook opened the kitchen door he pattered up the back stairs to spend the day under Thelma's bed. His little mistress went two or three times to coax him to play with her; but he wouldn't even come out to eat his dinner, and when her friends began to arrive for the party she forgot all about him.

It was a beautiful evening, and after supper the children played games on the lawn. It seemed to them that it would never be dark enough for the fireworks.

"I wish the Fourth of July came in December," said one of the boys. "It is always dark by five o'clock when we want to go skating after school."

At last it began to grow dark, and Mr. Ward lighted the Japanese lanterns around the broad piazza, and brought out two big boxes of fireworks.

"You children may sit on the steps where you can't get into any mischief," he said. "I will set off the fireworks on the lawn, and then we will have a feast in the summer-house. I saw a man walking down that way with some ice-cream a little while ago."

But even ice-cream was not so tempting as the fireworks, and for an hour the children sat on the steps, watching the pinwheels and Roman candles and red lights that Mr. Ward set off, with two of the older boys to help him.

"O-o-o-oh!" they cried, every time a sky-rocket went whizzing up over the trees to burst into a hundred shining stars; and "A-a-a-ah!" they shouted, when tiny lights like fireflies went flitting across the lawn.

The last thing of all was a fire-balloon, and Mr. Ward called the children down to the lawn to watch it fill with hot air from the burning candle in its base.

It filled very slowly, and the children were so quiet that Rover came creeping down the stairs to see if the noise were all over for another year.

At last the balloon rose slowly above the children's heads. "There it goes!" they cried. "Watch it, now! Watch it!" and they ran along with it as it sailed across the lawn.

A puff of wind blew it lightly toward the house. Then another breeze caught it and carried it over the roof of the barn.

"Look, look!" the children shouted. "It is going higher. Now it will sail away over the trees."

But suddenly a gust of wind turned the balloon completely over. The tissue paper caught fire from the burning candle, and the blazing mass dropped down behind the barn.

"It will set fire to the summer-house!" shouted Mr. Ward.

"And melt the ice-cream," cried the children, as they followed him across the lawn.

There had been very little rain for a month, and the roof of the summer-house was so dry that it caught fire almost instantly from the blazing paper. Mr. Ward and some of the boys brought pails of water and tried to put out the flames; but the little house and Rover's kennel were burned to the ground, in spite of all their efforts.

When the fire was out and the children had gone home without their ice-cream, Mr. Ward said to his wife, "That is the very last time I shall ever send up a fire-balloon. Fireworks are dangerous enough, but a fire-balloon is worse. I believe the sale of them should be forbidden by law, if men haven't sense enough not to buy them."

But Rover, who was sleeping comfortably on the rug outside Thelma's door, cocked up his ears at the mention of fire-balloons. "They don't make any noise," he said to himself, "and I like this bed much better than the straw in my kennel."

Why do we celebrate the Fourth of July?

What was the Declaration of Independence?

Who wrote it, and who signed it?

What fireworks do you like best?

What fireworks are dangerous?

What is a fire-balloon made of?

Why is it unsafe to send up a fire-balloon?

What is the law concerning the use of fireworks in your state?

Every year the celebration of the Fourth of July costs thousands of dollars in the destruction of property by fire, to say nothing of the loss of life from the accidental or careless discharge of fireworks. One of the causes of fires on this day is the fire-balloons. They are easily swayed by currents of air, and the lighted candles set fire to the tissue paper of which the balloon is made. The blazing paper falls upon the roofs of buildings, frequently causing serious fires.

Almost all fireworks are dangerous play-things, and should be handled with great caution. In many states there are laws regulating the sale and use of fireworks, and all over the country there is now a general movement toward a saner and safer Fourth.

THE "E. V. I. S."

It was a bright, beautiful afternoon in April. The air was soft and spring-like, and the sky as blue as only April skies can be.

The grass was springing up fresh and green, and the robins and bluebirds were singing joyously.

Elmwood was a pretty little village. Its streets were long and level, and there were so many elms among the shade trees that Elmwood seemed just the right name for it.

The village school had just been dismissed, and the street was full of boys and girls who were hurrying home to their dinner; but over in one corner of the campus a group of boys were talking together earnestly.

"I say, boys, we must do it!" exclaimed the tallest in the group.

"Of course we must," echoed one of the younger boys.

"It will be great fun!" and "Won't we make things look fine!" shouted two of the others. And so they talked on, in eager boyish voices, making plans for the Village Improvement Society which they wished to form.

They had already talked the matter over with their teachers and parents, and everyone encouraged them to go ahead. "We will help and advise you all we can," they said; "and it is just the time of year when there is plenty to do about the town."

That evening the boys held a meeting to elect officers and plan their work. Mr. Ashley, the principal of the school, was invited to come, and promptly at eight o'clock the Elmwood Village Improvement Society was formed. Leon Messenger was chosen president, Archie Hazen was made secretary, and Harold Merrill treasurer.

Each and every one promised to do his part and to work with a will to improve the little village of Elmwood; and, with Mr. Ashley's advice, they planned their work for the summer.

First of all, they decided, the streets must be cleaned. That alone would require a good deal of time.

Then some one proposed raking the yards for three or four poor women. "They can't afford to hire it done. Couldn't we do it for them?" he asked.

"Good work!" responded Mr. Ashley. "Then, boys, see if you can't get permission to tear down and remove some old fences. Their owners would probably make no objection to your doing it, and it would be a great improvement to the village."

There were two triangles of land between cross streets. Here the boys planned to plant cannas and other bulbs, and to keep the grass neatly mowed around the beds.

"We might set out some vines to clamber over the telephone poles," one boy suggested.

"Some of us must go about and get the people to give money to buy waste-barrels," said Archie Hazen. "We must never allow paper, banana and orange peels, or anything of that kind on the streets."

"Better still, we must never throw them there ourselves," added Harold Merrill.

"Those of us who drive cows must look out that they do not feed beside the road," said Leon Messenger; "and we might get our fathers to trim up the trees."

"We must be sure to see some of the town officers about having no more rubbish dumped over the river-bank," said another.

"We'll have our campus look better than it ever did before," declared one of the little boys; while another added, "We'll have Elmwood the cleanest, prettiest village in all New England."

The boys not only planned,—they worked, and worked with a will. The very next day was Saturday, and every member of the new E. V. I. S. was on hand to do his best.

Never had the streets of Elmwood looked so clean as they did in one week's time. Many a poor woman's yard was carefully raked, and several old fences were removed.

Money for the waste-barrels had been given cheerfully, and all the boys were so eager to keep the streets clean that they would not have thrown a paper bag or a banana-skin in the road any more than they would have thrown it on their mother's carpet.

The raking of so many streets and yards, and the tearing down of fences, made a good deal of rubbish. The boys carted it a little way outside of the village, and left it there to dry, so that they could have a bonfire.

One warm night in May, Leon Messenger called the club together after school. "We can have our bonfire to-night," he said. "There has been no rain for a week and it ought to burn splendidly. Let's all be on hand by eight o'clock."

Shouts of "Sure!" and "Hurrah!" were the answer; and the boys were all on hand in good season that evening.

The fence rails made a fine foundation, and the boys built them up in log-cabin style. Then they threw on old boxes, barrels, and rubbish until they had an enormous pile.

"Now let's finish off with some dry fir boughs," suggested Harold. "They will send the sparks up like rockets."

When everything was ready, kerosene was poured over the brush, and a lighted match soon set the fire blazing merrily. Then how the boys did shout! They danced around the fire, whooping and singing, and pretending they were Indians having a war-dance.

When at last the fire died down, they found some long sticks and poked the embers to make the sparks fly again, and then they sat down around the glowing ashes and watched the little flames flicker out. Finally they all decided that there could be no danger in leaving their bonfire.

"Well," said Archie Hazen, "there seems to be some fun for the E. V. I. S. after all. Let's give three rousing cheers and then go home to bed."

The three cheers were given with a will. Then the boys bade each other good-night and set off for home.

When everything was quiet and the whole village was asleep, North Wind took his turn at building a fire. He puffed out his cheeks and blew on the red embers until tiny flames came darting out to lick the dry leaves.

He sent merry little breezes to toss the hot sparks into the grass, and when it blazed up, here and there, he blew with all his might and swept the fire across the field.

Just beyond the fence stood an old, tumble-down barn, and it was not long before the fire was raging and roaring its way to the very roof. The blaze lighted the sky and wakened the village folk from their sleep.

Men and boys tumbled out of bed and hurried through the streets with buckets of water. The firemen came out with their hose and ladders; but it was too late,—the old barn was gone.

Fortunately there were no other buildings near by, so little damage was done; but it taught the boys a good lesson. They had a meeting the very next morning, and agreed never to leave a fire again until the last spark was burned out, and never to build another bonfire without first raking the leaves and dry grass carefully away before lighting the fire.

"But it did improve the looks of the village to burn down that old barn," Leon told Archie, when they were walking home from school together. "We really ought to add old North Wind to our list of members of the E. V. I. S."

What was the object of this society?

What was the result of their work?

What was done with the rubbish?

How did the fire get started?

What lesson did it teach?

The burning of dry grass, leaves, and rubbish in bonfires, in the spring or fall, is a common practice. Extreme care should be used that it is done at a safe distance from buildings and woods, and it should be constantly watched, as a breeze may fan the flames and cause the spread of the fire.

FOREST FIRES

The loss by forest fires in the United States for the month of October, 1910, was about $14,600,000.

Thousands of acres of valuable timber were destroyed, leaving in the place of beautiful green forests nothing but a dreary waste of black stumps and fallen trunks.

This was an unusually heavy loss for a single month; but in the spring and fall of every year, especially in times of drought, fires sometimes rage for days through our splendid forests.

These fires are more frequent and disastrous in Minnesota, Michigan, New York, and eastern Maine; but, in 1910, twenty-eight different states suffered heavy loss among their timber lands.

The causes of these fires are chiefly sparks from engines or sawmills, campfires, burning brush, careless smokers, and lightning. More than two-thirds of the fires are due to thoughtlessness and ignorance, and could be prevented. Even in the case of a fire set by lightning, which seems purely accidental, the fire would not occur if fallen trees and dead underbrush were cleared away, for lightning never ignites green wood.

In one year there were three hundred fires among the Adirondack Mountains of New York, one hundred and twenty-one of which were due to sparks from the engines of passing trains. Eighty-eight were traced to piles of leaves left burning, twenty-nine to camp fires, and six to cigar-stubs and burning tobacco from pipes.

Every fire, when it first starts, is nothing but a little blaze which might easily be extinguished; but as it grows and spreads it quickly gets beyond control, unless there is a force of well-trained men to fight it.

There are three kinds of forest fires,—"top fires," "ground fires," and the fires which burn the whole trees and leave nothing standing but stumps and blackened trunks.

The "top fire" is a fire in the tops of the trees. It is usually caused by a spark from an engine dropping on a dry twig or cone among the upper branches. A light breeze will then blow the fire from one tree to another high up in the air, and after it has swept through the forest and killed the tops, the trees will die. This is the hardest kind of a fire to fight, as it is impossible to reach it. The only thing to do is to cut a lane in the forest too wide for the flames to leap across; but there is not always time for this, as the fire travels rapidly.

The ground fire is not so difficult to cut off, as it spreads through the moss and the decaying vegetable matter among the roots of the trees. A broad furrow of fresh earth, turned up with a plow, or dug up with a spade, will stop the progress of the fire; but this kind of fire is especially treacherous, as it will live for days, or even weeks, smouldering in a slow-burning log or in a bed of closely-packed pine needles, and then burst out with renewed vigor.

As all large fires create air currents, masses of light gas, like large bubbles or balloons, are blown about in the air, ready to burst into flame from even a tiny spark. In this way new and mysterious fires are set, often at some distance from the original fire.

An ordinary forest fire travels slowly unless it is fanned by strong winds or driven by a hurricane. It will burn up-hill much faster than it burns down-hill, as the flames, and the drafts they create, sweep upward.

The noise from one of these great fires is terrifying. The flames roar with a voice like thunder, and the fallen trees crash to the ground, bringing down other trees with them.

Birds and wild animals flee before the fire, hurrying away to a place of safety. They seem to know by instinct which way to go, and deer, bears, coyotes, mountain sheep, and mountain lions will follow along the same trail without fear of each other in their common danger.

Some of our national forests, and some of the tracts of timber land owned by big lumber companies, are guarded by forest rangers and fire patrols, and many fires are put out before they do serious damage, by the quick thought and skilled work of these men and their helpers.

It has been estimated that forest fires in the United States destroy property to the value of $50,000,000 every year. In this way the timber in the country is being rapidly exhausted; and unless something is done to put a stop to this waste and to replenish the supply by planting new forests, there will be little timber left in another fifty years.