704 
Ibe RURAL NEW-YORKER 
April 26, 1924 
Boys and Gir 
By Edward M. Tuttl 
s 
e 
Make this the best 
So old and young 
page in the book 
will take a look. 
A»,XKt 
Drawn by Miriam Rachel, Pennsylvania 
Memory Verse 
APRIL 
All the fields are fair and green. 
All the woods and meadows; 
Clouds are fleecy, and the wind 
Races with the shadows. 
Little showers come stepping down 
From the happy hills; 
Violets are everywhere, 
So are daffodils. 
April. April, April, 
We love you more and more! 
Every single year you seem 
Sweeter than before. 
NANCY BYRD TURNER. 
Sent by Elizabeth France 
New York. (14 years). 
As I write again to my boys and girls 
it is only a few days since Nature sent 
us her “April Fool thunder-snowstorm.” 
Many of you commented on it in your let¬ 
ters. No doubt you made the most of 
one last playtime in the snow which went 
away as rapidly as it came. You will 
read this page near the end of the 
month, and Spring signs will then be 
seen on every hand—grass will be green, 
trees will be bursting into leaf and blos¬ 
som, birds will be building their nests, 
much plowing will be finished and in 
progress, and some seeds will already 
have been sown in field and garden. It is 
a glad and joyous time of year, when we 
seem to feel ourselves growing along with 
the plants and animals. Many beautiful 
poems have been written about April and 
Springtime, and our readers sent in such 
a fine collection that I thought you would 
enjoy having several of them on Our Page 
this time. Some you will want to learn 
by heart; all you will wish to copy into 
vour notebooks. 
April 
Ah, welcome, sweet April, whose feet on 
the hills 
Have walked down the valleys and 
crossed o’er the rills ; 
The pearls that you bring us are dews 
and warm showers. 
And the hem of your garment is broidered 
with flowers. 
—‘Selected. 
Sent by Samuel Gadd. Massachusetts, 
and Dorothy Frylink, New Jersey. 
W'ith wings. Bats destroy insects and 
should not be killed. 
blanche vodvarka (13 years). 
New York. 
When the mother bat leaves her shelter 
her young either cling to her neck and are 
taken along, or she leaves them on a tree 
hanging safely hidden. We should not 
fear the bat, but rather look on it as a 
helpful worker in the night, for the food 
it eats—the night insects—are enemies 
of gardens and orchards. As Winter ap¬ 
proaches in cold climates bats seek shel¬ 
ter in deserted buildings and similar re¬ 
treats, where they cling together in large 
clusters, hanging head downward, and 
sleep until the returning Spring recalls 
them to life. leah defayette 
New York. (13 years). 
didn’t find any. Finally I looked behind 
a door on the barn that had been open a 
long time, and there were three bats 
hanging to the boards. I touched one 
and it flew to the ground and kept open¬ 
ing its mouth. I knew it didn’t like to 
be bothered, so I took hold of its w T ings 
and put it back on the side of the barn. I 
looked again a couple of days later and 
they were not there. hazel duntz. 
New York. 
That will in June-time throw 
A waving shadow on the lawn below; 
’Tis April, and a thousand ice-freed rills 
Fu rrow a thousand hills; 
The wheat has pierced the loam, 
As I am a 67-year-old boy I am hardly 
eligible to a place in your contests, yet I 
have a story to tell which may be of in¬ 
terest. More than 30 years ago I owned 
a Morgan horse, Nigger, and one morning 
in June the hired man harnessed him, 
hitched him to a light sled and brought 
him to the back part of the farm to haul 
tobacco plants to the field for setting. 
The horse was tossing his head, his mane 
was all tangled, and he was evidently 
badly excited about something, but we 
hauled the plants to the field and I took 
the horse to his stable. His excitement 
s_~med to increase as soon as he was in 
his box stall, and as I stood at his side 
and tried to get the tangles out of his 
mine, down dropped a squeaking little 
bat. 
About seven years afterward this horse 
was in a team, plowing, and the children, 
playing along the edge of a thicket, had 
found something hanging in a wild goose¬ 
berry bush at the end of the land. I 
caught the “something.” which proved to 
be a large red bat, which at once began to 
squeal, and it took all the strength and 
skill I had to keep Nigger from running 
Drawn by Charlotte Booth (15 years ) 
New York 
And where the orchards soon the pinky 
foam 
Of blossom-seas wall toss, 
The spider fling their filmy webs across. 
•—CLINTON 8C0LLARD 
Sent by Anna (12) and Charles (8) 
Warner, Pennsylvania. 
We own two houses, and in the upper 
story of the one we do not live in I did 
have a playhouse. My girl friend and I 
w^ere playing there for the first time since 
the Winter (when it had been shut up). 
We were about to open the blinds on the 
west side when she spied what she sup¬ 
posed to be a mouse, evidently squeezed 
in between the blind and the window, 
dead. We proceeded to open the shutter, 
supposing that the “poor thing” would 
drop to the ground, but the bat woke up 
and darted into the room. We rushed 
outside (as girls might), leaving the win¬ 
dow open. Presently we saw the bat 
come out of the window. It dodged 
around the house a couple of time. Think¬ 
ing ourselves safe we returned to our 
playhouse. A few days later we saw 
what we supposed to be the same bat be¬ 
tween the blind and window in the first 
story of the same house. 
MARGARET KIMBERLY (13 years). 
Connecticut. 
Drawn by Charles Traver, New York 
off, although he was one of the gentlest 
horses I ever saw. He had not forgotten 
his fright some years before. 
Ohio. c. D. LYON. 
People are afraid to have bats come in 
their houses because they say that a bat 
carries bedbugs, which is not so. (Editor’s 
Note: Bats often do have bedbugs on 
them, but not the kind of bedbugs that at¬ 
tack human beings.) They get into the 
houses at night when windows are open. 
One night a bat got into our house 
through an open window. We were up 
looking for it. At last we caught it and 
let it out of the window again. 
vesta Walters (12 years). 
New Jersey. 
A New Nature Puzzle 
I am a bird, smaller than a robin. The 
color of my back is dark gray. I have 
light underparts and a white band on the 
end of my tail. When full grown I have 
a concealed orange crown. My bill is 
long and strong. I live mostly on insects. 
I catch them while flying. I nest on a 
horizontal branch of an apple or similar 
tree. My nest is rather bulky, of woven 
grass, fibers and down. My eggs are from 
three to five. They are a creamy white 
and splashed with brown. My use to 
man is to destroy insects, but occasional¬ 
ly I take honey bees. What is my name? 
MARION GLAESEL (12 years). 
New York. 
Marion Wehust (10 years). New York, 
also sent a good description of this same 
bird. In answering tell any experience 
you have had with it. 
One day while I was in the barn I saw 
a bat fly out, and wondered why it did. 
because they can’t see in the daytime. I 
thought there might be more around, so 
I looked in the cracks and corners, but 
April Promise 
’Tis April, and the willow leans to look 
And see within the brook 
Its fair, new garniture of palest green; 
'Tis April, and the maple buds are red, 
While in the elms o’erhead 
The leaf-elves have begun to weave a 
screen 
All About Bats 
More answers came in on last month’s 
Nature Puzzle than on any we have ever 
published, and many readers told per¬ 
sonal experiences with these interesting 
little creatures. Some of the best letters 
you will find below, including one from a 
gentleman who calls himself “a 67-year- 
old boy.” He hoped his story would be 
enjoyed, and having enjoyed it myself I 
am passing it on to you. 
One noon last Summer when I came in 
for dinner I spied something between a 
brown and a tan color hanging in our 
back porch. After I examined it very 
closely I concluded it was a bat. It was 
hanging by its feet, which are under 
its wings. Its head was pointing towards 
the floor. Its wings were folded up. 
They were made up like the structure of 
a leaf, with ribs or veins to give them 
stiffness. Toward evening it flew away. 
I found it a very interesting animal. 
alice phair (16 years). 
New York. 
In our sclioolhouse in the attic are some 
bats. Some of the boys climbed up and 
killed one and brought it down for us to 
look at. It looked about like a mouse 
An Active Game 
It is coming fine weather to be out of 
doors, and at your school you will enjoy 
the game described below by one of our 
readers. I would like to have more de¬ 
scriptions of games for outdoor playing; 
also some games or amusements that boys 
and girls can carry on alone or by twos 
and threes in the Summer vacation, when 
large groups do not often get together. 
These would be especially good to print 
during the next few months. Then in 
the Fall we will have some more active 
group games, and as Winter comes on 
some indoor games. Does this plan please 
you? Here is the new game: 
A game we play at school is called 
“Poison.” A pole is set up (not se¬ 
curely) in the ground. The players take 
hands and run in a circle around the 
pole. Each player tries to make the next 
one to him knock down the pole. When 
this happens they all scatter and run, 
while the one who struck the pole picks 
up a soft ball that is by the pole and 
tries to hit someone with it. If he suc¬ 
ceeds, the one w'ho is hit is out; if he 
does not succeed then he is out. The 
game may continue until only one player 
is left, or it may be started again at any 
time with the full circle. This game is 
very nice, and in cool weather is just the 
thing to get you warm. 
Esther corcoran (10 years). 
New York. 
The air is soft and balmy. 
The grass is growing green. 
The maple buds are swelling 
Till their slender threads are seen. 
The brown brook chatters gayly 
Its rippling course along, 
And hark ! from a distant treetop 
I hear the bluebird’s song. 
-From “In April,” by Emily Gail 
Arnold. Sent by Mabel Rohrer (15 
years). Pennsylvania. 
Evangeline and the Acadians Are Batiished—Drawn by Charlotte Baker, New York 
Evangeline 
BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 
Many, indeed, were the letters that 
came answering last month’s poem puz¬ 
zle. I am glad that such a large number 
have read the beautiful poem of “Evan¬ 
geline,” and hope that no boy or girl will 
ever grow up without reading it. In some 
States it is studied in the schools and in 
this way all come to know the poem. 
Nothing I could urge you to do would 
mean more to you now and every year to 
come as you grow older than to read 
much that was written by Henry W. 
Longfellow, who was called “The Chil¬ 
dren’s Poet.” Not only are his poems full 
'■I > i \ ! 
