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SWEET AND LOW
(Continued from First Page.)
soon fell again, and -with it my confusion grew. Here
tvas another winter, and the summer had passed without
a single melon. My anxiety mastered all other sen
sations, and I bean to confide my fears to anyone who
would listen. Several did, some more sympathetic than
others, but when I was asked whether a little girl could
eat a big melon if summer should come to order, I felt
that I was furnishing amusement for someone, and de
cided to make my inquiries more privately.
Thus I worried thru several weeks, while trees andr
grass grew green, until one day I discovered a melon in
the ice box. I shouted with delight, but remembering
my resolution, checked it and whispered to mama: "Now
it's summer, isn't it?" Alvylda DeHaven,
A Ninth Grade, 3200 Logan Ave. N.
North High School.
NO LESS THAN A SHOUT.
The garden had been arranged into beds and the
sesds bad been sowed. Springs rains had fallen and in
every bod rows of green were visible. The flowers and
vegetables were growing taller every day and the weath
er was getting warmer. One was in doubt if spring were
still with us, or if summer had begun. I was not in doubt
long, for one morning as I was examining the garden I
heard something whisper in the plainest way, "It's time
to weed the garden." I need not mistake it for Spring's
whisper, for I was well enough acquainted with garden
ing to know that when weeds were as tall as these sum
mer was here and with it weeding time. Summer whis
pered many times before I went to work. I heard many
other whispers of summer during my busy time, Buch as,
"The fish bite today," and "Picnic time is here" but
above them all sounded, "It's time to weed the gar-
den," and that I must obey. Oh, no, Summer does not
always whisper of pleasure trips and such it whispers
of other things in a most uncomfortable way.
Eighth Grade, Arthur Wester,
Garfield School. 2427 Thirteenth Ave S.
GARDEN NUMBER TWO.
I stood at the window watching the streamsgt water
In the road. It had rained steadily for three days. "My
flowers will never grow if I do not get my seeds plant-
ed," I said, turning to mother, who sat sewing. Next
morning the sun was shining and the air, which had been
cool, was warm. 'I'll plant my seeds right away," I said
exultingly. I worked all that day, which happened to be
Saturday, preparing beds, putting up strings fox vines
and planting seeds.
I was awakened next day by mother saying, "Don
ald, I think your seeds won't grow, now." I looked out
my strings had been torn down by the wind, and when I
went out I found the ground as hard as stone. I was
cold for a week before it even began to get warm, but I
let it get very hot before I planted any more seeds, be*
cause I did not want to pay for seeds and have them de
stroyed by my listening to whispers.
Seventh Grade, Donald Moorhead,
Horace Mann School. 8109 Park Ave.
HANS AND THE ELVES.
Many years ago, in the time of godfathers and god
mothers, there lived a boy named Hans. One day Hans
played a trick on his aged godfather and a dwarf pun
ished him for it. The dwarf put chains on Hans' hands
and feet, and led him to the world below. When Hans
and the dwarf reached Pluto's kingdom, Hans was spoken
to by "the dwarf who said, "You shall not be freed from
the underground world until next summer when an elf
maiden will break the chains with which you are bound.''
Then he disappeared, leaving Hans alone.
All thru the long winter Hans remained in the lower
world, thinking the dwarf had forgotten him. He was fed
by two ravens, one bringing drink and the other food.
He remained there for four months. On the eve of the
one hundred and twenty-first day, he noticed a chariot in
the distance. As it drew near a lady (or elfmaiden,
rather,) stepped out. She had a large hammer in her
hands, and there was a kind look on her face as she whis
pered softly in his ear, "Summer is here, and I have
been sent to set you free," at the same time breaking
the dreaded chains. When she threw them away Hans
For Saturday, May 27:
"A MEMORABLE MEMORIAL DAT."
Memorial Day always means something doing that is dif
ferent from the other days or holidays to the year. And
when there are different things to- do. it is just as sore that
there are unexpected different things to happen. Descriptions
of Memorial Day ceremonies are not wanted, unless there is
something connected with them that is "memorable" for the
teller of the s_iry, or ont of the ordinary in the observances of
the day. The papers most be in the hands of the editor of
The Journal Junior
HOT LATER THAN SATURDAY EVENING. MAY 80,
at S o'clock. They most be strictly original, written In ink
on one side only of the paper, not more than 300 words In
length, nor less than 100, marked with the number of words
and each paper signed with the grade, school, name and ad
dress Of the writer. The papers must not be rolled.
For Saturday, June 3:
The stories should be true, if possible, but may be fiction,
if one cannot remember any kind of a story connected with
any kind of a letter box. A great -variety is possible in writ
ing on this topic, but in erery case the point of the story
should depend on the letter box. It must be the chief actor.
The papers should be in the hands of the editor of The Jour
nal Junior NOT LATER THAN SATURDAY EVENING, KAY 37,
at o'clock. They most be strictly original, written in ink
on one side only of the paper, not more than 300 words in
length, nor less than 100. marked with the number of words
and each paper signed with the grade, school, name and ad
dress of the writer. The papers must not be rolled.
THE JOURNAL JUNIOR, MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, SATURDAY, MAY 13, 1905.
found himself in the upper world with the bright sun
shining over his head. James A. Coles,
A Sixth Grade, 1105 Sixth Street S.
WINDERS OF RIBBONS.
Summer is coming! Summer is coming' Oh, does not
that send a thrill of joy thru your mind and body? You
walk to school more briskly and study harder, for will not
vacation soon be here with its play and happy timest
When you step from some building into the fresh, warm
air, and hear the wind whispering softly to the flowers,
"Summer will soon be here," it seems as tho you can
hardly suppress your joy. Hear the trees whispering
their woodland secrets to each other as they sway gently
back and forth. Here and there the buds are peeping
out. Are they not a sure sign of summer, for who can
tell better than the buds when summer is coming!
The brooks are purling softly as they flow over stones
and unwind their silvery ribbons behind them. They are
tired of hearing the loud crack* of the ice and are glad
because the air is full of murmuring sounds. We hear the
soft, musical sounds of the birds as they fly around carry
ing material for the building of their nests. Oh, what is
that yellow spot that is nodding above the grass? That
Can You Find the Other Clown?
is God,'s flower, -the dandelion. There! it has begun to
rain and you hasten home to sit by the window and read
but your mind wanders away from the book and you
watch the raindrops pattering down, while you make all
kinds of plans for summer. Who can say these are not
whispers,whispers of summer? We are thankful, be
cause we live in this beautiful world.
A Sixth Grade, Grace E. Matthews,
Jefferson School. 1114 Chestnut Avenue.
WHEN MOSQUITOES TUNE UP.
June is the month we hear the first whisper of sum
mer. The air is warm, the flowers are in full bloom, the
gardens and parks have put on their summer dresses. No
matter which way we turn, everything seems to whisper,
"Summer has come." Even the flies and mosquitoes
whisper so loud that one is glad to take shelter under the
screen porch. At Sunday school we hear the whisper
going around, planning picnics and drives. But harkl I
think I hear papa and mama talking about taking a trip
to the lake and going fishing that makes me, feel like
whispering in a loud voice, "Hurrah for summer!"
A Fifth Grade, Clarence Bettridge,
Grant School. 1210 Logan Avenue N.
A WORLD OF FLOWEES.
I went out on the porch early one spring morning
when the sun was lazily rising from his bed on the other
side of the hill. It was such a beautiful day I decided to
take a walk before breakfast. A cool breeze was linger
ing around. The trees were swaying lightly, with a few
green leaves decorating their brown, bare limbs. Not
very far from our house was the wood. I seemed that
I heard a fairy softly whispering, "Come to the wood
come, and I'll show you something you have not seen this
year yet." Unconsciously I followed the sweet voice, and
soon found myself in the wood. Imagine my delight when
I found a large patch of violets. I had been hunting for
violets for a long time, bat had not succeeded fld^nding
any before. Now I had found the violets withou^l^arch
ing, so I picked a bouquet and took them home, happily
"All the wood is filled with" Sound
Sweet the perfumed air is ringing, -^f ~^J
Up and" down and round and round
Blithesome songs the birds are singing.
Oh, the ./happy summer hours,
When the world's a, world of flowers,"
MOTHER OAK SMILES.
I is the whisper of summer that awakes the floWers
brings back the birds and tells of the bads bursting into
leaves. The sunshine wakes the lark to sing and the
leaves are Jelling in soft tones that summer is here.
There are little purple- violets growing beside the rivu
let that gladdens the field and woods. There are sturdy
oak trees by the rivulet just bu"Hing, and at their feet
violets and sweet^anemones are blossoming. All around
us is tender green foliage whieh is v*ry beautif uI?%The
A Eighth Grade, ^Ethel Cederberg, ^VA Sixth Grade^' 237 Thirty-fourth Avenue N.
.Adams SchooL 92f Thirteenth Avenue 8.
violets perfume the air. They hear the soft little voices
of the leaves calling to the robin, "Come back, -eome
back." The little anemone grows by the trunk of the
tree and on the hill, whispering soft little words to its
friends, the violet and the wood anemone. Mother oak
looks down and smiles at the dear little flowers as they
whisper to eaeh other. The robin sings a soft, sweet
song telling that summer is here, and then the flowers
join in the sweet chorus. The violet has its leaf for an
umbrella and the anemone has Mother Oak which serves
very well. The bears, snakes, toads, hornets, beetles,
butterflies and moths have all come out of their winter
homes because of the whisper of summer.
Sixth Grade, Annie Carlson,
Schiller SchooL 3525 Second Street NE.
A WEE BLUE VIOLET.
One still summer evening my sister and I walked thru
the woods enjoying the fresh evening breeze. I looked
at the trees, grass and flowers all showed that Mother
Nature had made ready for summer. While I was picking
a few flowers I spied a violet hidden near a rock it
seemed to say in a sweet little whisper, "Summer has
come and I am so glad. It was so dark and dreary in the
ground, so I pushed myself up thru the earth and here I
am, the first blue violet out this year." When this story
was told I picked the violet and carried
it home. Euth Fossberg,
712 Twenty-Seventh Avenue S.
A Sixth Grade, Seward SchooL
A STILL SMALL VOICE.
One day early in April I sat reading on
the grass beneath an old oak tree. While
I sat there very interested in the story
which I was reading I thought I heard
someone talking. I looked around but
could see no one. Thinking it was only
imagination I continued reading my
story. In a few minutes I again heard the
same sound. This time I stood up and
looked in all directions as far as -eye could
reach, but still could not see anyone.
While I stood there feeling quite satis
fied that the spirits were whispering to
me, I happened to glance up at the bare
branches of an elm tree. Away up, on
the very end of a little twig, I noticed one
little leaf. Ah! I said to myself, You
are the guilty one." I then climbed up
into the tree to where the little leaf was.
I put my ear close to it and listened. Al
most too faint for the ear of man to hear,
I heard this little leaf whisper, "Summer
is coming." Gladys Gillesby,
227 Oak Street SE.
A Seventh Grade, Motley School.
JACK'S FIEST SERMON.
Last week father, grandfather and I
drove to Groveland Park, a suburb of St.
Paul. After picking anemones, spriiig
"beauties, bloodroots and yellow and blue
violets, I came upon a pale green sprout
making its appearance from the cold
earth. At once I was interested and sat
down on a mossy log to pick it to pieces.
After a time I found it was a young" Jack-in-the-pulpit,
"How-do-you-do, Eeverend Jack? You are out rather
"Lower your head. I fear you cannot hear me. I
am too young to preach, but I can tell you a few things
about the coming summer.''
I shall be glad to hear you. I seems good to see
a harbinger of summer," I said.
"Ye s, I am glad I am sent to foretell summer. You
aTe the first one to discover that I am out of the ground
so early. Probably you have observed the showers that
fell lately they are heralds of summer. Mayhap you have
heard the orioles or wild canaries. They, too, tell of sum
mer. In a month you will probably gather wild roses.
They bring the first breath of summer. All the world re
joices when they come."
"Excuse me, Eeverend Jack, for interrupting you,
but I wish to ask your forgiveness for uprooting you. I
am very sorry."
"Certainly, certainly all I eome into this world for
is to give pleasure. My mission is to proclaim that sum
mer will soon be here. You might let others know this
message, which I have told you. Altho I am of little ac
count, I have told you of the approaching summer."
He concluded with a nod and at once became speech
less. Often have I thought of this conversation and won
dered at the great miracle which comes once a year,
changing cold winter blasts to mild summer breezes.
Eighth Grade, Beth Johnson,
-Holmes School. 59 Seymour Avenue SE.
A MEADOW LARK'S LILT.
A long time ago as I was walking along the path in
a wood, 1 heard a sound of some bird and. looking sky
ward beheld a beautiful meadow lark singing his first
-song of summer. He was sitting on the tip-top of a
large oak tree viewing the place around him, trying to find
a place for his nest.
Looking downward I saw the Mayflowers and grass
springing up out of the earth. Soon the meadow lark
flew away and no more of his beautiful song was to be
heard. I walked home with the thought in my mind
^thaTsummer had come at last. As I walked home I saw
raWe.birds flying hither and thither with a tiny piece of
stricw38k*ome niud, or twig, ready to build nests in the
^to| of some tree where none could get them. This was
tne first whisper of summer I had heard or seen for a
.^ong time. Arthur Johnson,
'~A *BBY PRECOCIOUS BUD.
May, the month of wild flowers, has come and the
trees, shrubs and-flowers are whispering of summer. The
fiat wild flower that is found snugly hidden under piles of
dead leaves Si heralded with shouts of joy, and when the
first robin is seen it seems as if spring, the forerunner of
summer, has really eome.
On one of those soft, balmy days as I lay idly in the,
hammock, I heard a great deal of talking and seoldinf
going on above my head. Looking up I saw two robi*^