The Shouts of Children 53 



as I was hurrying through the car shed of 

 the Pennsylvania Railroad to catch the train 

 for my home. 



A philanthropist had given a mission 

 society the money to send these five hun- 

 dred poor children, who never saw a green 

 field or sat beside beautiful waters, out into 

 the country for two weeks. Poor little old 

 wizen-faced men and women, they didn't 

 know how to laugh or play! If they had 

 been going to a funeral, they could not have 

 been more serious. The word country had 

 no meaning for them. 



Who can measure the tragedy of these 

 millions of tramping child feet crowding one 

 another into the grave without one glimpse 

 of this wonderful world through which they 

 have passed? 



I do not know of a single man of any force 

 in modern civilization whose character was 

 developed in a great city. President Roose- 

 velt is the only man I can recall of any 



