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Page 7 text:
THE TARGET Mr. Tracy’s Hobby It was a hobby of Mr. Tracy, a wealthy cotton mill owner, that it was better to have the children of the city tenements and hovels work in his mill, than to stay in their mis- erable homes, or play in the dirty narrow streets. Even though at times he admitted that the children were poorly paid and underfed, he stuck to his hobby, and accordingly he was opposed to the child labor law. But with his own beautiful daugh- ter, Janice, whom he loved very dearly, it was different. She was of the age of six, and lived in a beautiful home, just outside of the crowded city, surrounded with every luxury. One day while Janice was playing in the lovely park surrounding her home, she was kidnapped, and though the father searched frantically, it was in vain; he could not find her. Now, Mr. Tracy’s mill was better than many, but still the children that worked in it had a hard time and were very thin and worn. But Mr. Tracy knew that if the children did not work for him he would have to hire men and pay them better wages. So when the child labor ques- tion came up again, one year and a half after his child had been stolen, he was still opposed to it and riding his hobby, not only because of having to give higher wages, but because the kidnapping of his daughter had em- bittered him to the world. So he did all he could to prevent the law from passing. After a while the lawyers that were against child labor, persuaded Mr. Tracy to go through some of the worst mills, hoping to open his eyes. The last mill they visited was one of the very worst. Even Mr. Tracy’s embittered heart softened at the sight of the long rows of stunted, coughing, stooping little ones. “This is bad, very bad,” he said to the young lawyer next to him. They came to the end of a long row, when fleecy pieces of lint filled the air like a snow storm, and Mr. Tracy noticed with a pang the small- esth girl he had yet seen stooping over a loom. She was ragged and unkempt, and while he watched her she burst into a fit of coughing. Pity- ingly he put out his hand and touched her shoulder. She turned her face and lifted her dull reddened eyes. Mr. Tracy stared back, and then with a cry caught her in his arms; it was his daughter. Soon after this the child labor law- passed, finding Mr. Tracy highly in favor of it; and thus he lost his hobby. MARJORIE GIRVIN. AN UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL. Crack! The sound of a gun broke the stillness that had reigned over the farm all morning. Looking in the direction of the sound, I saw a chicken hawk falling to the ground. As it fell, something dropped from its claws. Running to see what it was, I found a little chick about four days old. As it was a peculiar kind, 1 realized it belonged to no one near but had been carried from some distance. At first, the gardener, Mr. Wyett, and I, thought the chicken was dead but we discovered it was simply suffering from a broken leg and fright.
Page 6 text:
4 THE TARGET Vanity! One night while we were sitting around the fire, everyone was speech- less until someone said, “Grandma, can’t you tell us a story?” As usual, grandmother had one ready, as she had crossed the plains when she was little. She hesitated a moment and then started. “We had crossed the river, marking the completion of about half of our jour- ney, and we had experienced no trouble Avith Indians. But ahead of us was a large forest in which many trains had been plundered and manj people killed. We stopped for the night on the outskirts of the wood so Ave might go through it by daylight. When, morning came I asked fwe of the girls to visit me. While Ave Avere talking I looked up, as if draAvn by some unseen force, just in time to see a dark face peer- ing through the trees. I said nothing of it to the girls and, as it did not appear for some time, I ceased to Avorry. “After a Avhile, however, I looked up and this time he Avas standing straight as an arroAV, looking into our Avagon. I screamed but he dis- appeared and nothing more of him A T as seen that day. We reached the other side of the forest and the order to corral Avas given, Avhich meant for all to bring their AA r agons in a circle in case of an attack. That night Avhen all Avas quiet A r e heard, ‘To arms!’ Everyone was there in a moment but no trace of the enemy Avas found, though a crackle of the leaves and a stealthy stride had been heard. One by one they all AA " ent to bed. “When we had left home, in my vanity I took a mirror, Avhich I hung on one side of our Avagon. The next morning, while preparing to continue our trip, I Avas combing my hair hair Avhen I felt a touch on my shoulder and Imard some grunts. To my horror, reflected in the glass Avas the face of the Indian. Those eyes! I Avas speechless, but my fear left me as I saAv him smile. He pointed to the mirror, from it to himself, from himself to six horses tied to a tree in the forest and then to me. It Avas clear to me that he Avanted my mirror. I gave it to him and made him understand that I did not AA ' ant his horses. Then I Avatched the cause of my terror glide into the woods, apparently A " ery Avell pleased A T ith the picture that met his vieAV as he gazed into the face of his new trinket.” MARION COWEN. A STREAM . The graceful drooping a u11oaa t s trailed their leaves in the rippling Avaters. Speckled trout darted here and there in the cool depths. The AA r ind fanned the surface into little ripples. The stream bubbled over the smooth slippery stones that lined the bottom. The SAAurling Avaters formed little eddies where tiny boats of leaves were A r recked. A feAv shy forget-me-nots peeped out along the bank. And the sunlight flickered through the leaves, mak- ing little bright spots on the Avater. MARION SMITH. Vivian Thaxter, hearing Edith Wieland stamp her foot on the floor: “She has pep in her heels.”
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6 THE TARGET As Mr. Wyctt was the one who shot the hawk, he claimed the chicken. He made a splint for its leg of two toothpicks and bound it. For a few days he was very careful in handling the chick and then turned it loose in his own garden, where he kept a pet pig. Imagine my surprise one morning, when I went to see the chick to see it run and jump on the pig’s back as if for protection. Ever since that day, two better chums can not be found. KENNETH FERGUSON. A BAREFOOT BOY. A ragged little boy sat on the creek bank, dangling his bare feet in th e running water. His face, tanned and sunburned, was wreathed with smiles, and his lips were parted, showing white teeth with the taste of strawberries still on them. His dirty pantaloons, frayed and wet at the bottom, were held up by one suspender, which, it was evident, had seen better days. The light fell across his face, showing the ring of straw which served as a hat, and the mop of brown hair under it. As he fished, a squirrel chattered in the walnut tree, a robin flew by with a worn, and a faint cheep-cheep of expectancy came from the nest where her young were waiting. Through the wood could be seen an orchard with ripe apples begging to be eaten. The sun was setting, so the Bare- foot Boy picked up his string of fish, and trudged cherrily along toward home, where he bowl of bread and milk was waiting on the back step. HELEN WOOD. AN INTERESTING INCIDENT. The district between Honkong and the Philippine islands is subject to terrific ocean cyclones or typhoons as they are called. These storms smash against the Chinese coast, doing great damage. Sometimes they turn south toward Singapore. It was one of these that I had the for- tune to be in. We had had an uneventful voyage from San Francisco to Honolulu, from there to Japan, and from Ja- pan to Hongkong. The day after we left Honkong a sticky warm mist suddenly appeared. This is the signal for a storm and so all movable things were made fast and the decks were cleared for action. Late that afternoon the sea began to get rougher, slowly at first then more and more so. At about eight o’clock the passengers were driven to their cabins, and still the storm grew. Finally the steamer, after pitching, rolling and jerking, de- cided to stand on its head and did so several times. Our cabin was on the third deck but even that was not far enough away from the water, for at about midnight a terrific wave crashed against our cabin, breaking open the porthole and flooding everything. Towards morning the storm abated and at about noon that day we were passing through a sea as glassy and slimy as that which Coleridge writes of in the “Ancient Mariner.” After two days of this we arrived at Singa- pore. When we asked the officers if we had been through a typhoon they laughed. We had only passed in the wake; the typhoon had been many leagues away. ADOLPHUS CHEEK.
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