940 
Iht RURAL NEW-YORKER 
Boys and Girls 
By Edward M. Tuttle 
Try and make Our Page still better 
With your picture, poem or letter. 
Drawn by Frederick Ahern (17 years), 
New York 
Memory Verse 
I knew that you were coming, June, I 
knew that you were coming! 
Among the alders by the stream I heard 
a partridge drumming; 
I heard a partridge drumming, June, a 
welcome with his wings, 
And felt a softness in the air, half Sum¬ 
mer’s and half Spring’s. 
I knew that you were nearing, June, I 
knew that you were nearing! 
I saw it in the bursting buds of roses in 
the clearing; 
The roses in the clearing, June, were 
blushing pink and red, 
For they had heard upon the hills the 
echo of your tread! 
I knew that you were coming. June, I 
knew that you were coming! 
For ev’ry warbler in the wood a song of 
joy was humming; 
I know that you are here, June, I know 
that you are here— 
The fairy month, the merry month, the 
laughter of the year ! 
—Douglas Mallocb. 
Sent by Everett Allender 
West Virginia. (12 years). 
A Bunch of Letters 
Interesting letters from our readers on 
all kinds of things are constantly reach¬ 
ing your editor, but it is not often that 
there is apace to print many of them. I 
know that you will enjoy those that fol¬ 
low : 
A BUSY FARM GIRL 
I have been reading the boys’ and girls’ 
letters in The R. N.-Y., and decided 
that I would like to send one. I am a 
busy girl. I am 13 years old. My father 
raises plums and has a young apple or¬ 
chard started. I like to help gather the 
plums. One year I picked up all the 
dropped ones and sold them at 50 cents a 
basket. I am raising a patch of melons 
on shares. I raised some chickens, and 
whitewashed all the fence. I help to do 
the canning and preserving. I help 
mother with a lot of things. I help to 
plant and hoe in the truck patch. I have 
to help pick strawberries, raspberries and 
blackberries. I like to work. 
We have one horse; his name is Billy. 
I have some pet chickens and a pet cat. 
Ohio. Esther Bowman. 
Esther is a busy girl, indeed, but she is 
learning a great many things that she 
will be glad to know later—things that 
some girls grow into womanhood without 
knowing, and then feel lost and helpless. 
I am sure, however, that Esther’s days 
are not all work, for that would not be 
any better than all play. 
SEEN THROUGH A BARN WINDOW 
As I was hiking down a lonely road 
with a crowd of children of my size, we 
came to an old dilapidated barn. Some¬ 
one'suggested to look in and perhaps we 
might see something of interest. There 
was a small window on the left side of 
the barn, and we all ventured near it. 
We rolled a large stone over to it, and 
each standing on the stone took our turn 
at the window to look in. When it was 
my turn I saw that the barn was chiefly 
used as a hay barn. It had large rafters 
across the top. On each side there was 
a large haymow. The floor was made of 
once good wood, but now badly worn and 
with a few holes in it. Between the 
mows there was a space large enough for 
a team. Hay was scattered about it. In 
the left hand corner of the barn there was 
a horse’s manger, and in the right hand 
corner a cow’s stall which was occupied. 
It looked as though the barn was being 
used by a farmer who lived two miles 
away. Upon the very tip-top of the raft¬ 
ers perched about a dozen pigeons, and on 
the right of these were nests. The barn 
had a small door in the back which had 
very rusty hinges. The old barn, on the 
whole, was a very interesting place. 
Grace King (13 years). 
Rhode Island. 
This little “adventure” of Grace’s hap¬ 
pens to hundreds of us without our think¬ 
ing to write about it, but how interesting 
i f all becomes when a clear word picture 
is given us! It is fine practice to sit 
down quite often and try to put into 
simple, interesting language some scene 
or happening of the day just past. In 
this way we grow in power to write well, 
which is always worth while. When you 
have a real person like your editor to 
send your writings to, that makes it all 
tho easier to do them. Let’s have more 
like this. 
MY LOST DUCK 
I had three ducks for pets. One day I 
missed one of my ducks. Where could it 
be? No one knew. We looked in the 
fields and in the yard. We could not find 
the duck. On the third day my father 
went into the milk-house. He was fixing 
the planks over the well, as they were 
loose. He was afraid something might 
fall into the well. He heard a quack, 
quack. Looking down the well, papa savv 
my duck swimming in the water at the 
bottoih of the well. Papa called mother, 
and with a pail they got my duck up on 
land again. Ducky had had nothing to 
eat for three whole days, and she was 
still as well as could be. This is a true 
story. Esther Corcoran 
New York. (7 years). 
Even our youngest readers can write 
interesting letters. We can all see from 
Esther’s story just what happened to her 
little duck. Here is a case of “ducky in 
the well” instead of “pussy in the well.” 
Evidently no one but herself “put her 
in,” though it took several persons to 
“pull her out.” 
A POEM AND A SUGGESTION 
Here is a poem that I like very well, 
although I do not know the author : 
JUNE 
From each rose and fern and daisy, 
From each dewdrop sparkling clear, 
Comes a voice this Summer morning, 
Bringing music to my ear. 
“Come,” it says, “the Winter’s over, 
And the Summer’s come at last; 
Oh. be merry in the sunshine, 
Happy June will soon be past.” 
Green the grass on ev’ry hillside, 
Brooks are laughing, skies are blue, 
Children, come, when birds are singing, 
Mother Nature calls for you. 
Draion in pencil by Catherine Flynn (12 
■years), Pennsylvania , 
When I receive our June Page I will 
have a whole year’s collection of Our 
Page. I certainly am glad that I have 
saved them. I wonder if other readers 
have followed this suggestion. 
I am to graduate from grammar school 
this June. I like school and I intend to 
go to college after I finish high school. 
I may be keeping you from reading an¬ 
other letter so I will close. Your sincere 
friend, Olive Riker. 
New Y'ork. 
Perhaps some other reader will know 
the author of the pretty little verses 
Olive has sent. As to keeping the copies 
of Our Page as they come out month by 
month, I hope that all of you are doing 
it. We have no way of reprinting these 
things, and if you lose or destroy your 
copies, they are gone. There is much on 
Our Page that you will enjoy going back 
to again and again. Olive has just one 
year—12 numbers. But some may have 
more than 50 numbers—think of that ! 
To be exact, this i« the fifty-seventh issue 
of Our Page since we began back in the 
Fall of 1910. What a wonderful picture 
and story-book they make! And then 
we have all those ahead to look forward 
to if every reader will do his and her 
share. 
I must not pass on without expressing 
the hope that Olive will be able to carry 
out her plan of completing high school 
and going to college. At least keep on 
with your schooling as long as you can. 
Olive (and all of you boys and girls), 
you will never cease to be glad of it when 
you grow up. 
FROM A GIRL WHO WORKS 
Just a few lines, as I haven’t written 
you yet this year. But I don’t find very 
much time as I work, even if I do live in 
the country. We really haven’t any farm, 
but we live a mile from the trolley ear, 
’way off in the woods. Yea, I like the 
farm first-rate, and wish I could spend 
all my time there. There are five chil¬ 
dren of us; that is, I have two brothers 
and two sisters. One of my sisters is 
older than I; the other is only a baby. 
Every day is about the same to me. I 
rise between five and half-past. I leave 
the ’ ouse at twenty after six and walk 
a mile and meet my girl friend. Then we 
meet a man who takes us to work, which 
is about six or seven miles.' We start 
working at seven. I work from seven to 
twelve, and from one to five. Then we 
get the car in front of the shop. We 
don’t come home by auto. We get a 
transfer and then we ride eight miles on 
June 28, 1924 
that ahe can care for nights and morn¬ 
ings, or any of the many interesting 
things that are to be found in this won¬ 
derful world of men and nature by all 
who eagerly seek for them. So life will 
seem more worth living with every year 
that passes. 
June 
Wrap me up in sunshine, 
Bed me down in clover, 
Tell Chewink 
And Bobolink 
To sing a gladder tune. 
Hide the hedge in roses 
Heaped and spilling over, 
Thrill with mirth 
The heart of earth 
That I may know ’tis June! 
—Arthur Guiterman. 
Sent by Gladys Feldberg 
New Y'ork. (13 years). 
The Common House Mosquito 
(an essay) 
The adult female lays eggs in small 
black masses of from 50 to 400 in each 
mass. These masses float on the water 
like little rafts. In hot weather it takes 
them about 36 hours to hatch. In cold 
weather it takes them about three times 
as long. 
From the egg comes the larva which 
most of us call the “wriggler,” familiar 
to everyone who knows where mosquitoes 
breed. The larva feeds on organic matter 
in the water. It gets 'its supply of air 
by sticking its long tail-like siphon above 
the surface of the water. When the mos¬ 
quito is in the larva stage it is easy to 
kill it on account of the fact that it can¬ 
not stick its tail-like siphon through a 
film of kerosene or oil on the water. 
yklyL cftwe THE-1 DovE,WH tcM Vx-^As TUcT RuE. 0LUL8 IR » 
An illustration for the Book Puzzle—Drawn in pencil by Mildred Kinser, Neic York 
the second car. We get to our road at 
quarter to six and then walk a mile to 
get home about quarter after six. I have 
been working a year now. I began right 
after I was 15. I graduated from eighth 
grade at 14. I hope I’ll be out of the 
shop in a few years, but I don’t know 
what to do for a living, as I support my¬ 
self. Do you think chickens are good for 
business? 
Well, I’m sorry I couldn’t draw this 
time, but I’ll see what I can do next time. 
I hope you put in some good things to 
draw next month. Your friend and read¬ 
er, Ruth Dudley. 
Connecticut. 
Here is another side to the story, a 
case where a girl has had to go to work 
at 15 with only a grade school education. 
There are many such. No one would say 
that Ruth has an easy life, and yet she is 
cheerful about it, as it is right she 
should be. She does not tell what kind 
of a shop she works in. but that makes 
little difference. Day after day, Winter 
and Summer, year in, year out, the task 
is probably the same for nine hours a 
day. She is at it now, as I write this; 
she will be at it when you read Our Page, 
unless you do so in the evening. Thou¬ 
sands, millions, of persons in the world 
work like this, and it is work that needs 
to be done, and that someone must do. 
For the worker’s own sake all honest 
work is worth doing well. But no girl or 
boy should be eager to sacrifice schooling 
and start at steady work unless it is ab¬ 
solutely necessary. Ruth is looking 
ahead, naturally. Yet as long as she has 
a job and a regular income it would be 
risky to change without being very sure 
that a new work would succeed better. 
Rather it would be wiser to seek to im¬ 
prove herself in the work she is doing, 
so that if opportunity for advancement 
comes she will be ready, and also to en¬ 
rich her life by good reading, wholesome 
amusement, some plants or a few hens 
In six days to three weeks the larva 
becomes a pupa, a decidedly changed 
form, with curled tail and enlarged head 
having two little horns through which it 
breathes. It atays in the pupa form from 
one to three days, according to the tem¬ 
perature. 
After 24 to 72 hours the skin of the 
pupa bursts and the adult mosquito 
emerges in the form by which we all 
know it. It stops only to let its wings 
dry, then flies away, another mosquito 
to carry on its annoying work. 
Richard Kelley (14 years). 
New Hampshire. 
Richard’s interesting little essay js 
very appropriate for this season. On the 
margin of his letter he made little 
sketches of the egg raft, larva, pupa and 
adult mosquito, which added greatly to 
the completeness of his work, but it was 
not possible to print these, too. Such 
contributions as this add to the variety 
and usefulness of Our Page and are very 
welcome. 
The Flower and the Worm 
There was a little flower so gay, 
'Twas blooming in the month of June, 
The rain had been falling for a while, 
But stopped, and the sun shone bright 
at noon. 
A very big worm came, that day, 
And ate the leaves all off so clean; 
This made the flower very sad, 
To see that it was now eo lean. 
Then the sun. so nice and warm, 
Shone on the worm with its bright ray. 
This made the worm uncomfortable; 
It fell to the ground and crawled away. 
—Elizabeth Wagner 
Michigan. (12 years). 
Games 
A number of readers were interested 
in the geography game that Helen Lyke 
described last month, and sent answers 
to her eight questions.' No one had all 
eight just as Helen herself selected them, 
