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I found the favorite game of the children was playing fireman and soldier. One party had a little ladder and was carrying a baby on this, pretending she had been hurt and was

THE DOLL THAT THE SOLDIER MISTOOK FOR A BABY.

being taken to the hospital. It was great sport, and they laughed merrily as they bore her along. One little boy had a toy pistol, another a wooden sword, and with these weapons they marched about playing soldier. They had plenty of models, for real soldiers on foot and horseback were everywhere around them. There were bugle calls for meals, and everything in camp was carried on in true soldier fashion.

Six little boys were seen skipping about on the grass, singing:

"Red Cross buns! Red Cross buns!

One-a-penny, two-a-penny,

Red Cross buns!"

The Red Cross Society was doing so much good in distributing food and clothes, that the children thus showed their gratitude by changing the words of the old song from "hot cross to "red cross."

A large number of the city school-houses were burned in the fire, and one of the early contributions for relief came in the form of thirteen dollars from the Indian children of a

school in Indian Territory. One of the girls wrote that the money was to be used for buying brick and stone for the new school buildings. The closing exercises of the schools were held all together in Golden Gate Park, thousands of children uniting in singing patriotic songs and listening to words of cheer from eloquent speakers. The bright smiling faces of the boys and girls of San Francisco, meeting in the open air amid the trees less than six weeks after their city had been destroyed and the homes of thousands had been burned, was a sight to stir the hearts of all assembled. Seldom in the world has there been such a notable gathering of children.

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sea.

But while crowds of young people have thus been kept busy with school and play, there is much work for these homeless children by the Mothers find it hard to keep their families clean, and to care for babies in camp, so big sisters must help tend the little ones, and boys must find wood and keep the camp-fires burning. Indeed there are many children of tender years who are earning their own living in San Francisco. Down amid the ruins where heaps of bricks and rubbish are strewn about in con

fusion, and everybody must walk in the middle of the street, dodging the honking automobiles and the teams hauling brick and scrap-iron, newsboys are selling papers as busily as ever. On the water front, hard by a camp of soldiers,

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what they were doing it for and they told me they meant to have a vegetable garden there. A little girl carrying a demijohn stood in the ruins of her former home. When I asked her what she was about she replied: "Packing water up to camp." All their water had to be carried four blocks up hill, and the boys and girls did their share of this work.

Yes, the children of San Francisco have been tried and have proved themselves worthy of their descent from the men who crossed the plains in the days of '49 after gold was dis

of the first Sunday after the fire, when tents were few and frail and fathers stood all night in the storm holding a flimsy shelter over their dear ones, the children did not complain. In days to come, when the new city rises strong and beautiful out of the ruins of the old, when men point with pride to this broad avenue and that fine building, they will not forget that in those days of trial it was the mothers and children who, looking up to the husbands and fathers and brothers in loving trust, gave them the strength and the spirit to meet the crisis and to win.

VOL. XXXIII.-123.

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THE CRIMSON SWEATER.

BY RALPH HENRY BARBOUR.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE POACHING.

WHEN Otto Ferris had happened into the Senior Dormitory in time to see Tom Forrest hand his fishing rod to Chub, he had thought nothing of it. And when, having found the book he was after, he returned to the Campus and ran into Horace, he mentioned the incident as a mere bit of unimportant news; on a drowsy Sunday afternoon nothing is too slight to serve as conversation. Horace settled himself with his back to a big elm tree and thought it over.

If Doctor Emery should learn of the fact that Chub and Roy had gone fishing he would promptly punish them. But the punishment would be something not worth considering. But if, by chance, the two boys were detected fishing on private property, say on old Farmer Mercer's territory, they would suffer badly; they might even be expelled. Horace did n't want anything as bad as that to happen to Chub for he only half disliked that youth, but he could n't think of anything that would please him more than to see Roy Porter leave school in disgrace. In that case he could, he believed, very quickly regain his former leadership.

In a few minutes he had thought out a scheme which might work, and which, if it did work, would probably bring about the results desired. It was risky, but Horace was n 't a coward, whatever his other faults were. He looked about. Otto was deep in his book under the next tree. Horace smiled to himself and called across to him. Otto listened to the scheme with avidity and promptly pledged assistance.

"What you've got to do," directed Horace, "is to get the sweater. He keeps it on top of

his trunk; I saw it there a couple of days ago when he opened it."

"But supposing it 's locked?"

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"I don't believe it's locked," answered Horace. 'Anyhow, you go up and see. I'll wait here."

"Well, but-but why don't you do it?" blurted Otto.

"Now don't you begin to ask questions," replied Horace severely. "You do as you're told. If you don't you may have trouble keeping your place in the second boat."

"That's all right," whined Otto, "but you more than half promised to get me into the first, and you have n't done it."

"I said I would if I could," answered the other coolly. "If you could row as well as Whitcomb I'd give you his place, but I'm not going to risk losing the race just to please you. Run along now."

Otto went, but was soon back again.
"I can't do it," he said. "Tom Forrest's

up there asleep on his bed."
"Lazy chump," muttered Horace, crossly.
"Wait; I'll go along.”

There was no doubt of the fact that Tom was sleeping. His snoring reached them outside the door. Horace and Otto tiptoed in and the former considered the situation. Then, motioning Otto toward Roy's trunk which stood beside the head of his cot, he placed himself so as to watch Forrest and cut off that youth's view of the trunk. Otto crept to the trunk. It was unlocked and the crimson sweater lay in the top of the till. Down came the lid again noiselessly and Otto retreated to the door, the sweater stuffed under his coat. Horace crept after him.

"All right so far," murmured Horace as they went softly downstairs. "Now we 'll take a walk. Can't you stuff that thing away better

than that? You look like an alderman. Here, had landed just one mythical trout and was I'll show you." preparing to cast again when his eye caught a He folded it flatly and laid it against Otto's dark figure stealing along the porch toward the chest, buttoning his coat over it. meadow gate.

But once on the road, instead of following it toward the village they crossed it and made up through the woods. When they reached the creek they turned up it and went stealthily, keeping a sharp lookout for Chub and Roy. As it was, in spite of their caution, they very nearly walked on to them at the deep pool, and had they not fallen instantly to the ground would have been detected. Afraid to move away lest the rustling of the branches prompt the others to investigate, they had to lie there for fully a quarter of an hour while Chub whipped the pool and Roy went off to sleep. Then they saw Chub wind in his line, glance at Roy and move toward them. Luckily for them, however, Chub took it into his head to try the opposite side and so crossed over on the stones and passed them by. They waited until he had slowly taken himself down-stream. Then Horace sat up and saw the idle pole lying on the ground almost at Roy's feet. It was Otto who finally, after much persuasion and threatening, crept over and secured it without arousing the sleeper. Then, making a little detour, they went on up the creek.

Five minutes brought them to the edge of Farmer Mercer's property and in view of a placard threatening dire punishment to trespassers. Horace now donned the crimson sweater, threw his coat to Otto and jointed up the pole.

"Wish I had a line and fly," he muttered. "They'll think he was a crazy sort of fisherman, I guess."

Leaving Otto at the wall, he clambered over. A couple of hundred yards further on there was a place where the meadow came down to the stream and where there were neither bushes nor trees to screen it. It was in full view of Farmer Mercer's big white house which lay perhaps an eighth of a mile away across the meadow. Here Horace, a readily-distinguished crimson spot against the green of the farther trees, halted and went through the motions of casting his line. But all the time, you may be sure, he kept one eye on the white house. He

Out flew the non-existent line. Through the gate hurried Farmer Mercer. Then, as though catching sight of the latter for the first time, Horace became apparently panic-stricken. He dropped his pole, picked it up again, looked this way and that for escape, and finally, when the farmer was less than two hundred yards away, dropped his pole again and plunged into the bushes.

"Hi!” shouted the pursuer. "Hi! Come back, you rascal !"

Instead

But Horace refused the invitation. he made for the spot where Otto was awaiting him, threading his way through the trees along the creek. The farmer's cries continued and the farmer still pursued, trying his best to head off the fugitive. But he was running a losing race, for when Horace picked up Otto they ran in earnest and all the farmer had for his trouble was a discarded fishing pole minus line or hook and a vivid memory of a crimson sweater.

The two boys made a short cut for the school, but, as luck would have it, when they reached the dormitory the troublesome Tom Forrest was wide awake. So Horace, who had stowed the sweater under his own coat this time, had to smuggle it under his pillow and await Tom's departure. But Tom apparently had no present intention of leaving. And a few minutes later Chub and Roy clattered in. When they saw Horace and Otto they deferred telling Tom about his pole, and Chub laid himself down, very stiffly because of his own pole, on Roy's bed. Conversation languished. Horace mentioned the fact that he and Otto had been for a walk and Chub replied that they too had taken a stroll. Both sides waited for the others to leave. Suddenly the supper bell rang. Horace went to the wash-room and Otto followed. Chub slipped off down-stairs and Roy told Tom about the pole. Tom good-naturedly told him to let the old thing go. Then Roy, by the merest chance, noticed that his trunk was unlocked, turned the key, slipped it into his pocket and followed Tom down to supper. A moment after when Horace went to return the sweater to its place he found

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