618 
The RURAL NEW-YORKER 
April 29, 1922 
] 
Boys and Gir 
By Edward M. Tut'J< 
s 
a 
Our Page is interesting and instructive and a 
great delight to all the boys and girls who read it 
Drawn by Donald Ro&encrantz, New Jersey. 11 Years 
I chatter. chatter as I llow 
To joint the brimming river: 
For men may come and men may go, 
Hut I go on forever. 
—From “The Brook,” by 
ALFRED TENNYSON. 
You will find Our Page wouderfully 
interesting this month. Don’t you like 
the brook picture? It is one your editor 
has had a long time 1 suppose you all 
know the whole of Tennyson’s happy lit¬ 
tle poem, one verse of which is*given. If 
you don’t, start right now to look it. up 
and learn it. 
I received a number of fine stories 
about brooks, following the suggestion 
made last month. You will find three of 
them below, and thanks are due also to 
Carrie Phillips. Now York; Warren 
Brown, Vermont, and Margaret Kimber¬ 
ly. Connecticut, for good stories there was 
no room to print. It was very hard to 
make a choice. 
THE LIFE OF A BROOK 
I am a little drop of water, I came 
into a little brook from u spring in the 
woods. I went winding around bends 
and pretty nooks with other drops of 
water. As I flowed, little minnows swam 
through the water and small snails and 
fresh-water clams lay in the bottom on 
the sand. Chickens came to drink and 
birds built their nests in trees overhang¬ 
ing the brook. In one place a phoebe 
bail: her nest under a bridge. A little 
girl played upon the hanks. She called 
the brook “Crystal River." Thus I 
flowed on until I came to Seneca Lake. 
Here 1 am very happy, while little chil¬ 
dren swim and the seagulls come so close, 
to me. DOROTHY FISHER, 
New York. (11 years). 
A TINY PROP OF WATER 
I’m a tiny drop of water in a great 
and boundless ocean. I came here long 
ago, and I’ll tell you about my journey. 
First I dropped down from a large, moth¬ 
erly cloud which floated in the great 
blue heavens. I came down, down, down, 
and lauded—splash—in a tiny brooklet. 
It was a very angry brooklet, too, be¬ 
cause it roared and rumbled and crashed 
over rocks in a very impolite manner. 
You see. it was in a hurry to get to the 
ocean. Many of my brothers and sisters 
dropped down, too, and we all went along 
together. 
Finally the tiny brooklet made a mag¬ 
nificent jump and landed us all in a very 
wide river. It moved very slowly and 
gave us a much-needed rest. We rolled 
along and took life very easy for a while. 
Then Winter came, and we froze up- 
yes, actually froze stiff. I was on the 
edge of a tiny piece of hoar frost. We 
reflected the colors of the rainbow, and, 
if conceit is pardoned, we were very beau¬ 
tiful. 
The great Fairy of Spring came at last, 
and again we rolled on and on to that 
ever-to-he-desived goal, the sea. Once we 
went pell-mell over a lpige falls, a hun¬ 
dred feet high. 1 believe. It was so un¬ 
expected that I lost my balance and flew 
right up in the air and became one of the 
particles of spray. I fell again, and wo 
continued, and soon we reached the sea. 
llow large it was! And to think I’m 
part of it. Now I rush up at the shore 
and bathe the shining sands, then fall 
back—back into the outstretched arms of 
the Sea. GERTRUDE HOLBROOK. 
New York. 
MY PROOK 
The beautiful, brown, babbling brook, 
as it murmured on its way through our 
farm, was a wonderful place to spend 
hours beside, as I often used to do. The 
brook danced over stones, as happy as the 
birds which sang beautiful songs in the 
foliage of the trees bonding over if If 
the brook had had eyes it would have 
seen, in the Springtime, budding trees, 
little flower faces peeping above the green 
of their leaves, green hills and valleys, 
birds that sang clearly and sweetly—all 
flooded in warm sunshine and fanned by 
the gentle south wind. 
In the Summer the brook flowed over 
many mossy rocks and by inossy or flow¬ 
ering banks. The birds were more quiet 
then, but manv sang and drank by the 
brook. The little fishes, trout, suufish, 
suckers, chubs, etc., were still under the 
cool roots of a tree or in some shady 
spot. 
Autumn brought many changes. The 
brook sang as merrily as before, but it 
carried many brightly colored leaves— 
golden, red, yellow and brown—with it 
on its way to the sea. As it danced like 
a merry elf over rocks and sands the sun 
could shine more fully on it through the 
fast shedding trees. Many flocks of birds 
fiassed overhead, on their way to their 
Winter home in the South. 
Now Winter came on with its snow, ice 
and wintry wind. High drifts piled on 
either bank of the brook. But the brown 
brook still babbled on as of old. Several 
times it froze over, but. down beneath the 
ice and snow it still lived. And so it 
lived the Winter through, and welcomed 
back the Spring. DOROTHY VINCENT. 
Pennsylvania. 
From a Big Boy 
I have never written before, bur will 
fry to again and send a picture next time. 
One boy who wrote said he could hear no 
school-bell, but here we can hear three 
hells. To me this means a good deal, for 
I have answered the call of two of these 
bolls for the past 12 years, but now I 
have said good-bye to school life and am 
out in life’s hard school. Now and then, 
when I go to the city on a business trip, 
1 go and watch them come out of school, 
and a great sense of loneliness comes over 
me as I realize that for four years i was 
one of that happy, care-free throng, and 
that it is now all over. 1 look with envy 
on the fellows my senior who are still in 
school. I had been planning on a course 
at the State University, but we have a 
good-sized farm, and father is not well. 
We could find no reliable man, so it was 
necessary for me to stay at home and 
keep the old farm running. 
It is mighty lonesome around this 
place, with older sister gone to college 
and younger sister in school. I am 17 
years old. but have always gone ahead 
(at the manful age of five I was driving 
my own horse to school. 2 Vj miles away), 
and now when a proposition is submitted 
to Dad he says: “Wait till I see the 
boss.” Talk about fun : I rise at 4 :30, 
and when I quit at 8:30 or 0 o’clock it’s 
time to “hit the hay.” I have worked 
hard and have not complained, even if 
conditions are not the best. The good 
times will come after all. 
Y’ours truly, 
Ohio. HENRY ZIEGLER. 
Fine spirit and good work, Henry! 
Don't worry—the college course may 
come yet. 
The Nature Puzzle 
To bo sure, it was a meadow lark, as 
many of you knew. Here are a few lines 
to learn, which you will find yourself 
saying over whenever you hear this bird: 
<>h, meadow lark! 
From dawn t«> dark 
Your carol quaint is ringing. 
And ne'er did float from thrush's throat 
Song sweeter than your simple note, 
Of sunny Summer singing. 
—SELECTED. 
Below are the names of those who sent 
right answers in time to print, and a 
couple of stories. You will also see on 
the opposite page that we have a drawing 
which adds very much to the interest. 
New York State: Alfred Sawyer, 
Charlotte Booth, Alice House. Margaret 
Concklin, Leorn Shaw. .Toy Johnson. Es¬ 
ther Corcoran, Helen Waild. Ruth Paine, 
Agnes Nielson, Emilio Skidmore. Carrie 
Phillips, Dorothy Lee. Charles Quinlan, 
Christopher Murphy, Lawrence Madison, 
llarold Inman. 
Pennsylvania : lleleu Weaver. Anna 
Voarguson, Genevieve Bolk, Vena Pa¬ 
rent i, 
Massachusetts: Mary Southwick, Flor¬ 
ence Cook, Priscilla Wood. 
Virginia: Julia Wilson, Edward Wil¬ 
son. 
Vermont: Warren Brown. 
Connecticut: Mildred Aleott. 
New Jersey : Robert Gardner. 
Michigan : Lena Smith. 
Iowa : Earle WyeofT. 
I want to answer Gwendolyn Good- 
man’s Nature Puzzle. I think from the 
description given that it is a meadow 
lark. It is a very familiar bird around 
here. When we take a walk about our 
meadows we are sure to come upon some. 
They let you come pretty close before 
they fly, and when they do fly they do it 
with a sputtering alarm note. When 
they are not disturbed they give a flute¬ 
like whistle. It sounds like gcen-tscer. 
I notice that their habits are much 
different from other birds. When they 
rest on a tree or something they gener¬ 
ally perch themselves on the very tip. I' 
have never seen them fly into the lower 
branches of a tree. venaparenti, 
Pennsylvania. (9 years). 
The bird in the Nature Puzzle is a 
meadow lark. I am very interested in 
birds, and each year keep an account: of 
all I see. The description is very clear, 
I think. 
In front of our house lies a grassy 
meadow, and each year the meadow larks 
come and nest there. They can be heard 
singing most any clear morning in May 
or June. The song is a dear, sweet 
Look Who's Here! 
Drawn by Charles Burnell. Yew York 
l 'l Years 
whistle. I have a bird book. Chapman’s 
“Bird Life.” which helps me very much 
in studying birds. This is the way he 
describes the meadow lark’s song: “The 
bird's soug is a high musical whistle, 
clear as the note of a fife, and sweet as 
the tone of a flute." That, I think, ex¬ 
presses it exactly. 
The white on their tails is especially 
conspicuous when they fly. They are 
also hard to approach, as they are very 
timid. The meadow lark kills many in¬ 
sects each year and is indispensable to 
the farmer. emilie skidmoke. 
New York. 
•Speaking of meadow larks, a friend of 
Our Page, Mr. F. T. Jcneks of Rhode 
Island, reminds us that in the western 
part of the country there is a different 
form, very similar in appearance, but 
much tamer, having a far more beautiful 
song. Probably some of our readers 
know this meadow lark and not our East¬ 
ern one. 
Now for a new 
What Is It? 
This puzzle was sent by Janet Elder, 
a New York reader. She says: 
“It is one of our first flowers to appear 
in the Spring. Its stems are thickly 
covered with fuzzy hairs; the three-lobed, 
smooth-edged leaves are rather thick aud 
coarse. They last through the Winter, 
but turn a reddish color. The new ones 
that appear in the Spring with the birds 
are light green. A single blossom ap¬ 
pears at the end of each long, fuzzy 
stem. It is vabout one inch broad, and 
has five to 10 pale purple or lilac petals. 
The petals are white, pale pink or blue. 
What is it? 
Let us see what we have on 
The Book Shelf 
First of tall, hero are four more titles 
to add to your list, which will then in¬ 
clude 16: 
"The Little Colonel,” by Annie Fellows 
Johnston. 
“The Secret Garden.” by Frances 
Hodgson Burnett. 
“Tangle wood Tales.” by Nathaniel 
Hawthorne. 
Poem, “The Sandpiper.” by Celia 
Thaxter. 
A few write-ups were received on last 
month’s books, but not as many as your 
editor could wish. I hope there will be 
more this month. Think how a few 
words about a book may interest others 
to obtain and read it. all. If you are 
familiar with any of those just men¬ 
tioned. tell about one of them as best 
you can in not more than 150 words, and 
send it. in. That will be a real help to 
Our Page. 
