VI 



UNCLE SAM 



Uncle Sam stood at the threshold of his home, with 

 an air of dignity. There was enough to fill his breast 

 with honest pride. His home had been a famous land- 

 mark for generations before he himself had fallen heir 

 to it. It was the oldest one in the neighborhood. It had 

 stood there seventy-five years before, when a white 

 man had built a cabin within sight of it, for company. 

 That cabin had been neglected and had fallen to bits 

 years ago; but Uncle Sam's ancestors had taken care of 

 their place, and had mended the weak spots each season, 

 and had kept it in such repair that it was still as good as 

 ever. It would last, indeed, with such treatment, as long 

 as the post and the beams that supported it held. The 

 post was the trunk of a tall old tree, and the beams were 

 the branches, so near the top that it would be a very 

 brave or a very foolish man who would try to climb so 

 far; for there were no stairs. 



No stairs, and such a distance up! But Uncle Sam 

 could find the path that led to it; for was he not a lord 

 of the air, and could he not sail the roughest wind with 

 those strong wings of his? 



Perhaps it was the sure strength of his wings that gave 



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