BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

Evening Star, Issue 20468, 26 April 1930, Page 9

BIG BROTHER BILL and the BAIRNS

A VERY GALLANT GENTLEMAN From the icefields and the snow of the Antarctic a strange Eskimo-sound-ing name came flickering over the wireless. It was Chinook, the name of a dog. Why should Chinook’s name be carried right round the great curve of the earth, over freezing ocean and tropic sea, to fall on listening ears'in North America? Chinook was a dog known all over the United States, a mighty dog, a leader of dog teams, a winner of the Blue Riband of dog sledge racing. The word that came with his name by wireless was that Chinook was gone. _ Because he had been such a magnificent dog he had been chosen to go with Commander Byrd’s expedition ..tp the Antarctic His master, Arthur Walden, sailing with a team of other sledge dogs, had begged that he should be taken. Chinook was not so young as he had been; he had passed his mighty prime when none could lead a dog team as ho could. But he was wise ami tough and strong, a leader born. When the dog lovers of America heard that Chinook was to go with the expedition some, knowing the hardships and perils that the dog teams share with the men, said it was a pity to risk him. Others thought that Chinook, who had snuffed the north wind that blows from the Arctic, should be given a chance to go to the Ant•artic too. What his master Walden said turned the scale, Chinook would fret without him, ho said. So Chinook went, and at the Bay or Whales he pulled his weight on the sledge with the best of' them. His master employed him lightly in the trial trips. Chinook was in his tweltth year, which is old for a dog that may have to work in the blizzards of tho Antarctic when tho thermometer falls far below zero. One day Walden began to teach one of the younger dogs the task of leading the team, a responsible part which Chinook had hitherto filled. The hard pulling and the pace to bq set had •become too much for poor Chinook. Chinook watched. He was not jealous. Before this, in the sledge races at home, he had seen his leadership usurped once by one of his own sons, and had concurred in his master s judgment without a growl. But this was something different. « What was m Chinook’s mind? Did the sagacity which had made him such a leader among dogs tell him that this was a sign that he was past his work? In his eleven years of team work he knew that a dog that cannot pull is worse than useless—a burden, an encumbrance. . , . , Chinook made up his doggy mind. One morning ho had gone—vanished for ever into that white continent which stretches from the Bay of Whales to tho South Role. That was tho word that came _ over tho wireless to set America grieving. Like another gallant gentleman who sought and found his .unknown grave there, old Chinook went out alone into tho icy wastes rather than remain to be a burden to his companions. He lies in those vast and silent spaces with Captain Oates. They waited and hoped for, him. They watched to see his sturdy brown form clambering over the hummocks.. Surely he could not be lost. Once it was Chinook who always went in search of a wanderer and brought tho missing dog in. But now the others nosed lor him in vain. Chinook never came back. Never again will he snuff that northern wind, the Chinook from which he took his iiamd. Somewhere ho found the end of the trail. Perhaps death found him at the bottom of some crevasse; yet that seems unlikely with so experienced a dog. Some instinct, it seems more likely, must have told him that his end w r as near. And so ho wont out. greathearted knight that he was, to meet it.

His grave will never be found. But his epitaph will be one of the proudest that man or dog can ever win; “ Here lies a very gallant gentleman of a dog, who was never a burden to anyone.”

THE CHILD HUNTER Not long ago a man went tramping through one of the great forests ot Northern Ontario hunting children, Ho was not seeking lost children. Kb was trying to track down children who might be Jiving somewhere in the wilds. Just as the trapper looks out for silver fox pelts, he was looking fov signs of a child’s footprint or listening for the sound of a child’s voice. Woodsmen, miners, or trappers make their way into these vast forests far away from village or town. They live in solitary shacks, and their children would never learn to read or write if the Department of Education and the great Canadian railways had not hit on the idea of sending school to children who cannot go to school. Four railway cars are fitted up as classrooms, with sleeping quarters for the teachers, and they travel up and down on a 150-milo heat, making halts of a fow days at certain sidings, Tho children from scattered shacks assemble at the sidings for each visit of tho school coach, and when it moves on they take homo work hack to the shacks.

The child hunter of whom wo write was ono of tho railway coach teachers looking for any chance settler who might not have hoard of tho travelling school. Ho was rewarded for his search by finding a wooden shack some forty miles from the railway siding. “ Anybody at home?”, he asked. Yes; "two boys of nine and eleven. “Where’s your father?” Father was seeing to his traps right down by Hudson Bay. • “ When will he be back?” Father would not be back for a long, long time. “Where’s your mother?” She was dead. The two boys were left to look after themselves all alone in that forest in tho depth of winter. Tho child hunter took them back to the railway coach and built them a little house by the siding thatched with spruce and banked with snow. /There the three had a wonderful Christinas together, and there the hoys heard tho ■story of Bethlehem for the first time. Just before school broke up for tho

Hello Everybody!

Christmas holidays the schoolmaster found that twenty-six of his twentyeight pupils did not know tho meaning of Christmas. Some of these children would grow up like savages but for tho railway coach school. Others would grow up unable to speak or write the language of the Empire to which they belong, for it is said that about 90 per cent, of the settlers are alien immigrants. When tho children’s lessons are done their parents come to the coach at nightfall asking to be taught English and arithmetic and the use of maps. Enthusiastic teachers work all day and half the night bringing light to tho forest dwellers. And never was any school more popular. A writer tells of children paddling canoes thirty miles to get to school of making long journeys on snowshoes. How dreary life would be in the wintry forest but for the books and pictures of the school coach! No school attendance officer is necessary for tho travelling school.

OLD TOMMY Old Tommy was feeling cut up. For nine year's ho had had an undisputed right to the best chairs and the cosiest fireside sent in his home. , Now he has been obliged to give up not only tho best chair, but, far worse, the most comfortable fireside seat, where ho took his frequent naps. All this was because of a poor, halfstarved kitten that had wandered quite uninvited into his mistress’s kitchen one morning. What hurt Ins dignity most was that the kitten was too giddy for words. After a day or two of good feeding it regained its natural playfulness, and would insist on teasing Tommy just when that dignified personage was preparing for a nap. Another source of scorn was that when a mouse made an appearance in the kitchen tho kitten, instead of catching it, as it easily could have done, proceeded to play with it. So Tommy had felt compelled to leave his cosy fireside basket and chase the mouse, and by that time, of course, he was too late to catch it. When ho returned, disgruntled by his failure, ho was astonished to see the kitten snugly asleep in his basket. Being a well-brought-up, gentlemanly cat, it never occurred to him to remove the intruder forcibly, and ho was obliged to take , a'back seat. There is no telling what these unfortunate incidents might have led to had it not been that one morning tho kitten disappeared. That day after the kitten vanished Tommy was happier than it was quite decent for him to bo; yet at night lie began to feel just a bit lonesome, and by the next morning that just-a-bit hall grown into a big lump. With the first morning light Tommy trotted out of the house, a thing his mistress had never before known him to do at that early hour. All tho day ho was away, and Ins mistress grew quite anxious about him. Then, just as it was going dark, he came trotting up the garden path, and by his side was the kitten.

His mistress likes to think that he went to look for it.

PETER BEHEDEK Genius, like the wind, blovveth where it Hate th. Lately there has been held in Budapest a one-man show of the work of a Hungarian peasant painter who never had a lesson in his life, and _ never saw a .picture gallery till Jong after he had become a painter of standing. Always, from his earliest childhood, Peter Benedek had loved drawing more than anything. He had saved up his pennies to buy pencils and paper, as other children saved them up to buy sweets, and 'when his schoolmates played football or went birdnosting he stayed at homo and drew. Of course, his parents had no patience with these goings-on, and on week-days at least ho was forced to work in the fields, as befitted a- poor peasant’s son. For they wore poor people, so poor that after a while they found it impossible to live on the produce of their bib of land, and Peter had to go to town to seek' work in a factory. But even then he could not give up his favourite and there came a day when his drawings attracted tho attention of_ the superintendent, who summoned him to his office. He was ordered to show all his work that he had by him; and he heard with amazement that it was very good. From that day on Peter’s life was changed as by a magic wand. Ho was taken from the factory and given freedom and facilities to live for his painting alone. But he was given no artistic instruction; that, it was felt. w T ould onlv spoil the freshness and originality of bis genius. “ It ivas told,” ho says a little wqndoringly, “ that if anyone tried to interefere with tho way 1 did things i was to take a pistol in each hand and shoot him.” Four years uo;o was held tho first exhibition of his paintings. It was opened by the Minister of Education, kind drew such crowds that they could hardly move from room to room. In a day his reputation wips'inndo, and ho was justified not only in the eyes of tho scoffers of his native village, but also in those of his parents, whom ho loves. “ Our poet Petofi wrote that no man dies without having been happy once,” ho says. “ I can die now. for on that day I was perfectly happy.” lie still lives on in lus own village, and, though the Government has given him a little freehold cottage, ho has no studio, but paints wherever the mood takes him—generally in the poultry yard. The village girls come to him to have their portraits painted. They no longer laugh at him as they used to; but ho has not found one among them willing to marry him. And so this little man with the reverent eyes and the slow, honest smile, whoso (pictures, far from being the crude daubs one might expect, are the most delicate, ethereal interpretations of a vivid and poetic imagination, is in some respects a lonely man. But ho has his compensations. To dream dreams, to be able to turn them into

things of beauty for all to see, is not given to everyone; nor to go out and bring back the world’s praise to those whom one has to thank for one’s existence and to see their anxious disapproval changed into joy and pride. Two days before this second exhibition of his works Peter Benedck was told that one of the archdukes was coming to the opening. He was silent for an instant, then looked up with radiant face.

“ So is my mother,” ho said. And, sure enough, she was there, the little wrinkled peasant woman with a black kerchief on her head; and it the tears rolled down her cheeks as she listened to the things that were being said about her famous son they were happy tears, which glistened where they lay.

THE BOY WHO STARTED OH MONDAY A reader vouches for the truth of this story, which _ happened long ago to a relative of his. A boy he knew had the secret of friendship with all birds and animals. When the time came for leaving school he applied for a job with a city firm. The principal, impressed by the excellence of the lad’s handwriting, invited him to call. “ Did you write this application yourself?” was the first question. “ Yes, sir,” said the lad. Then, observing a protuberance on one side of the lad’s chest, the chief said:—

“ What are you carrying there under your coat?” “ A pigeon, sir,” was the reply. “ And what for?” asked his examiner.

Tiio boy blushed and stammered. “ Well, sir.” ho said. “ I thought that alter I liacl seen you 1 might tie a message to its 'eg and send it off to tell my mother I had got the place.” “ Let me see it,” said the man of business. Then taking the pigeon from the lad, ho added: ‘‘We’ll put it in this drawer while you sit down and write your application over again.” • The lad did so, and after a glanco at the writing the principal said:— “ You had bettor leave the pigeon with mo, and after I have considered the matter I will send it off to tell you if you have been successful.” When the boy reached homo his mother told him the pigeon had already returned, and that attached to its leg was a slip of paper with the words “Start on Monday.”

THE TRUNK IN THE ATTIC A BED-TIME TALE Although Michael and Diana had lived in the old Confer House all their lives it happened that there was one room at the very top of it into which they had not oven peeped, it had a door just liko the other doors,, but with a difference, for this one was always kept locked. Now ono day when nurse Avas out Michael made a discovery. _ The children were all alone, for their mother, who had been with them in tho nursery, was called doAvnstairs to a visitor. Tho afternoon had become misty and wot,. and they had to stay indoors. They decided to play hide and seek, Running upstairs, they stood for a moment outside the door of the mysterious room. Something had caught their attention. The door itself was open. Holding hands, Michael and Diana gave it a small push and poked their inquisitive little faces inside. it was a box room. And rviiat a lot of boxes 1 Boxes of all sizes, colours, and kinds—and one old wooden chest. “ lot’s look inside,” Michael sug gested. “We may find some hidden treasures.” And hidden treasures indeed they did find 1 Not treasures liko gold oi jewels, but fascinating clothes to) dressing up in. Munnnie’s visitor was evidently going to stay a long while, so tho* chi I dren had a lovely, undisturbed time all to themselves. Michael was king and Diana avus queen. They played all sorts of games. They Avere gypsies, they Avere pirates, and they had just found parts of a pierrot’s costume. And then suddenly from doAvnstairs came Mummie's voice calling to them. “Jump in this old trunk :»nd hide!” cried Michael.

He quickly flung off his dressing-up clothes and opened the oak chest. ‘‘l’ll run down to mummie,” he added, “ and she’ll hare lots of fun looking for you.” “Promise that you won’t tell where I am,” Diana said, jumping in. “ All right, 1 promise,” Michael called out as ho ran from the room. “ We’re having hide and seek,” ho explained to niummio. “ Diana is hid* ing. She won’t oome from licr hiding place till you find her.” So miiinmie began to search—in tho nursery cupboards and downstairs in tho drawing room, and in the other rooms one by one, but no Diana could sho And. Meanwhile Diana wasn’t very com fortablo in the chest. It was dark and stuffy, though now and again she pushed up tho lid, because niummio bad often told her that air and light arc our two best friends and wo cannot do without them. Michael had not quite shut tho door of the box room, and she could hear niummio calling her as she hunted about in the passages. Then she heard a door shut somewhere and then—silence. For some little tinuf sho stayed there holding tho lid up. She was remembering the fate of the poor bride in tho story of ‘ The Mistletoe Dough, who jumped in an old chest just like this and was never seen again. It was a little frightening, and Diana pushed the lid up higher. But it was getting heavy, so, standing up, sho propped it wide open. Then, because she was still supposed to bo hiding, she picked up a big Paisley shawl, which she found folded in tho bottom of the chest, and gathered it round her. The shawl made a soft padding for Die sides of the chest, anti as Diana

lay there the sound of tho pattering raindrops made her feel quite drowsy. In a few minutes she was fast asleep. All this time Michael had kept his promise, and would not say where Diana was; and for quite a long while Miiinmie did not think of the room upstairs, because she knew it was usually kept locked. But at last she remembered that she had been into the room that very morning. Perhaps she had loft it unlocked. She ran upstairs. Why, so she had! And the door was a little open. Miiinmie put her head inside and gazed about. All was quiet and still. Not a sound except the little tapping raindrops. Sho was sure Diana could not be here. She would never have stayed crouching behind a box all this time—for that seemed to be tho only place to hide. She looked behind each box. No Diana! And then she caught sight of the oak chest. Why, the lid was open! Who had opened it? She ran forward and peeped inside. There was nothing to be seen but her Paisley shawl. And yet it looked uncommonly fat. Mnmmie stooped down and touched it, and something moved. The next moment Diana was in her arms I A very sleepy Diana, but a wide-awake one. “What a clever hiding place!” said Muminie. “You really did make me very puzzled. And what a sensible little girl to leave tho lid open I”

THE LOUIE RECIPE / ■ ■ There is a way to make old-fashioned barley sugar. It is quite wholesome, too: —One pound of loaf sugar, one gill and a-half of water, lemon juice. Boil sugar and water till large bubbles form on it as it boils and begins to whiten. Add lemon juice, and stir for a minute or two until a spoonful dropped into water breaks off short. ‘Pour into a greased tin, and as it coola cut into strips and twist. Cheerio, everybody. BIG BROTHER BILL.