Courtesy of Ralph A. Felton

At the American University of Beirut, Syria

The schools and colleges founded by missionaries believe in an all-round education which includes athletics.

UNDER MANY
FLAGS

BY
KATHARINE SCHERER CRONK
AND
ELSIE SINGMASTER

NEW YORK
MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT
OF THE UNITED STATES AND CANADA

COPYRIGHT 1921 BY
MISSIONARY EDUCATION MOVEMENT OF THE
UNITED STATES AND CANADA

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

FOREWORD

In olden days kings and emperors sent their armies to conquer weaker nations. As soon as the victory was won, the flag of the vanquished was torn down, and the flag of the victor was raised.

Two thousand years ago a new king sent his army into the world. It was a small army with no guns and no battleships, and in it were only twelve men. They were commanded to go first to the lands nearest to them and then out "into all the world."

They were not to tear down any flags, but they were to raise the banner of their Leader above all other flags. There was on it a new device, a Cross, which signified that the king was a King of Love. His commands were such as no other conqueror had ever given:

Teach All Nations
Heal the Sick
Cleanse the Leper
Feed the Hungry
Clothe the Naked
Preach the Gospel

The enemies against whom His soldiers were to fight were not human beings, however wicked and depraved they might be, but ignorance and poverty and superstition and hunger, which made people wicked.

The army did not long number only twelve men; it soon grew to hundreds and thousands. Of the soldiers some were shipwrecked, some were stoned, some faced lions and tigers and poisonous serpents; but they all did the King's work. They preached the gospel, not only from pulpits, but in schools and hospitals and on the farm. They taught men how to make better homes, and to raise more food; they healed the sick and comforted the dying by telling them of Heaven. Under many flags they fought, but by their lives and their teachings they lifted the flag of their Leader above all.

It is of a few of these brave men and women that this book tells. The authors hope that the boys and girls who read it will enlist in this army.

K. S. C.
E. S.

March, 1921.

I
A BAKER BY NECESSITY

It was muster day in Maine, and little Cyrus Hamlin was about to start from the farm on which he lived with his mother and brother to town where he would see the regiment hold a sham battle. He had expected his brother to go with him, but he was ill. As Cyrus started away alone, his mother said:

"Here are seven cents to buy gingerbread with. Perhaps you will put a cent in the missionary box as you go by Mrs. Farrar's house."

Cyrus thought he had a great deal of money. Seven cents in those days were as much as fifty now, and they would buy a good deal for a small boy. He could easily spare a little for the missionary box.

As he went along he tried to decide whether he should put one cent or two into the box, and he wished his mother had said definitely either one cent or two and had not given him a choice. Finally he decided on two. Then a voice within him said,

"Well, Cyrus! Five cents for yourself and only two for the heathen!"

He decided that he would put in three cents. By this time he came to Mrs. Farrar's house and there was the box. Was it right to keep three cents for himself and give only four to the heathen? He stood staring and thinking, thinking, thinking. At last he grew tired trying to decide, and what do you suppose he did? Into the missionary box went every penny!

All day long he trotted round watching the soldiers, listening to the bands, and having a good time. But he didn't go near any refreshment tables. Late in the afternoon he made for home and burst into the house crying out:

"Mother! I'm as hungry as a bear! I haven't had a mouthful today."

His mother was astonished.

"Did you lose the money I gave you?"

"No," said Cyrus. "But you didn't give it to me right. It wouldn't divide equally, so I dropped it all in."

"You poor boy!" said Mrs. Hamlin, half laughing, half crying. "Just a minute and you shall have your supper!"

Several years later Cyrus thought earnestly about another problem. He and his brother had all they could do to keep the farm going. There was no money to buy new farm implements, no money even to keep them in order. Gradually they wore out, and after a while the yoke for the oxen went to pieces. The making of an ox-yoke is a very difficult matter for a grown man and almost impossible for two boys thirteen and fifteen years old. But Cyrus and his brother examined the old yoke and looked at each other and then back at the yoke.

"We can't buy one," said the brother.

"We'll make one!" said Cyrus.

They cut down a birch tree and set to work. They did not have the proper tools, but they borrowed them—and you may be sure they returned them in good shape,—and they put in all their spare time for days. By and by the yoke was hewn out, and they scraped it with glass and polished it with a dry stick. But alas, when they bored the holes for the bows to fit into, they put them in the wrong place!

Did this discourage them? Only for a minute. They knit their brows, they looked at each other and then at the ruined yoke, and they went and cut down another tree. This time they succeeded in making a perfect yoke, and when it was painted a bright red, they were the happiest boys in Maine.

Still another time Cyrus set his mind on an interesting problem. He was now almost a man; he had determined to be a missionary, and he was studying in the Academy six miles from home. Every other Saturday he walked home around Bear Pond and across Hawk Mountain. He carried his gun with him, and as he went along, he sometimes shot game to take to his mother. Once he met a bear, but the bear got away.

The view from the top of the mountain was wonderful, and Cyrus had an eye for beauty. One day as he turned from a look at the distant woods and fields, his eye fell upon an object near at hand. At his feet the precipice dropped suddenly a hundred feet and on the very edge hung a large boulder.

He looked at this boulder with interest. One Fourth of July the young men in the neighborhood had gathered to see whether they could push it over, but had failed. Cyrus suddenly forgot everything but this rock. Could anything in the world be more delightful than to shove the great thing off and hear it go crashing down? It couldn't do any harm, and it would be better than any Fourth of July celebration ever staged.

He not only stared at the rock, he examined it carefully, and then he thought again. The boulder rested on gravel, and if that could be cut out, down it would fly. He hurried home to tell his brother.

The next Saturday the two Hamlins and a friend met on the mountain and dug away at the sandy bed on which the rock lay, but it did not move. The next Saturday they came again. At supper time it seemed as though they would have to give up all hope of finishing that day, and they were dreadfully afraid that some one would come and complete the work and get the credit.

"Let supper wait!" said they.

Again they set to work, and presently one of them shouted, "It's moving!"

With a wild leap the boys got out of the way. The rock moved slowly at first, then faster and faster and in the end it plunged down, striking sheets of fire as it flew. Bang! it struck the granite cliff and burst into three great fragments. Swish! it rushed down on its way to an open field below.

Never were there three happier boys. They went home to supper in the twilight, hearing the echo of the terrific crash and knowing that the great boulder had had to yield to their strength and persistence.

But the time came when Cyrus Hamlin faced problems a thousand times more serious than making an ox-yoke or moving a boulder. He became a missionary as he had intended and was sent to Constantinople. There he taught Armenian boys in Bebek Seminary, and it became the dream of his life to build a college.

"Education is the way to peace and enlightenment," he would say. "If we could found Christian institutions where we could train young men in all professions, then they could go out to set an example to their fellow countrymen and be their leaders."

He never walked through the narrow streets or crossed the Golden Horn without looking all round for a suitable location, and he had already about twenty in mind. But his dream did not come true. In the first place, there was no money. In the second place, he had to fill with other work all the time he might have spent planning for a college. He had to be textbook as well as teacher, and he had to make all his own apparatus.

When he moved into a house, he had to repair it; when his poor Armenian students and their families were without clothes, he had to find a way to cover them. When they were refused work by the cruel Turks, he had to find work for them. He taught them how to make and sell stoves and stove-pipes and various useful articles.

One poor man became insane when he had no way of supporting himself and his family and believed that he was turned to stone. Just as soon as Dr. Hamlin gave him work, he was cured. Dr. Hamlin suggested to him that it was best to make an article for which there was a demand.

Courtesy of Robert College

Robert College, Constantinople

This picture taken in Turkey in Asia looks across the Bosphorus, a mile wide at this point, to Turkey in Europe and the site chosen by Cyrus Hamlin for his college. The modern buildings "rub elbows" with towers six hundred years old.

"If there are thirteen hundred thousand inhabitants in Constantinople, there are thirteen hundred million rats," said he. "Make rat traps! I'll show you how!"

Soon the man had to have assistants to sell his traps.

Still more Armenians came for help, and Dr. Hamlin had to stop dreaming about his college and plan how he could feed them. An idea had occurred to him vaguely; now it grew into a well-developed scheme. He would teach them to make bread. Everybody needed bread, and in Constantinople the bread was not good and all the work was done by horse-power. He would bake by steam.

The fact that he had never made bread did not trouble him in the least. He had never made an ox-yoke, or rolled a boulder down a mountain until he tried.

His fellow-missionaries laughed at him, but they couldn't laugh him out of his plans, and he ordered his machinery from America. The difficulties were many, some were serious and some funny; but in the end the engine and the boiler were set up and everything was in order. The dough was mixed, the oven heated, the loaves were moulded; but alas, the bread was sour and could not be eaten. Dr. Hamlin experimented again and again until one morning he had delicious loaves of bread to sell.

Now he smoothed out his forehead. The bakery was successful, the poor Armenian Christians had work; again he could devote his time to his teaching and could think of his college.

But he was mistaken. England and Russia went to war, and to Scutari on the other side of the Bosphorus were brought the wounded English soldiers. Dr. Hamlin looked across the water and thought of the suffering boys and hated war. He did not think of any effect upon himself. But he was to be seriously affected.

One day an orderly came to the door of the Seminary and asked him to come to the hospital at the invitation of the chief physician, Dr. Mapleton.

"And what does he want with me?" asked Dr. Hamlin. "I'm very busy."

"He wants to see you about bread."

"About bread!" repeated Dr. Hamlin, and obeyed, wondering.

In the hospital he found himself in the presence of a busy man, so burdened by responsibilities that he hardly had time to look up.

"Are you Hamlin the baker?" he asked.

"I'm Hamlin the missionary."

Dr. Mapleton lifted his head. "That's just like everything in this country," he said irritably. "I send for a baker and get a missionary! Thank God, I'm not a heathen that I should want a missionary!"

Dr. Hamlin laughed. "But I'm the baker," he said.

"You, the baker!" repeated Dr. Mapleton.

Dr. Hamlin explained how he had been forced into the baking business.

"Then will you bake bread for our hospital? What we get is not fit to eat. Our poor invalids won't touch it; they can't. We're in a tight place."

Dr. Hamlin stood with knitted brows.

"You will, won't you?" said the physician, earnestly.

Dr. Hamlin uttered a fateful "yes." One couldn't refuse such a plea as this! In a few minutes the contract was signed. He promised to furnish two hundred and fifty loaves a day. But as he left the hospital he looked around. Two hundred and fifty loaves a day! They would not go far if all these beds were to be filled by patients. It looked as though the whole British army were expected.

Alas, the beds were all needed. First fifty a day, then a hundred a day, the soldiers were carried in from the hospital ships, sick, dying, with dreadful wounds. Dr. Hamlin could neither teach his Armenians nor dream about his college when he had six thousand, then twelve thousand loaves of bread to make each day. He thought of nothing but baking.

The poor patients had almost no nursing, and his heart ached. He offered to organize a corps of nurses for the night when there was no one to take care of the helpless invalids, but he was refused by the brutal officers.

Then one morning he went to the hospital and heard a strange piece of news. A soldier told him, his eyes almost popping from his head in his astonishment:

"Fancy, Mr. Hamlin! Some women have come to this hospital. Did you ever hear of such a dreadful and improper thing?"

"What women?" asked Dr. Hamlin.

"A Miss Florence Nightingale with a force of assistants."

"Good for her!" said Dr. Hamlin. "It's time that somebody should come here and do something."

That morning he kept his eyes wider open than ever. The Hamlin family were famous hero-worshipers; Cyrus's grandfather had named six of his boys for heroes. They were Africanus, for Scipio Africanus, Hannibal, Cyrus, Eleazer, Isaac, and Jacob, and the other three, one might mention incidentally, were Americus, Asiaticus, and Europus. Here, Dr. Hamlin saw, was a real live hero, in the bud at least.

He watched Florence Nightingale moving quietly about in the scene of misery and horror. The poor lads spent no more lonely nights. Every want was attended to. The death-rate went steadily down. It was one of the great achievements of history, and he had a part in it; he baked the only bread Florence Nightingale would let her sick boys have.

But still his dream had not come true, and in the confusion it seemed to grow more and more dim. The war went on, bread had to be baked every day, new ovens had to be built, thousands of pounds of flour had to be bargained for.

Presently he had a new occupation—he set up a laundry. The clothes of the wounded men were filthy, and he offered to have them washed. But they were so filthy that the women feared to handle them, badly as they needed work. The brain which had studied the making of an ox-yoke and the pushing off of a boulder and the making of bread worked quickly. Out of an empty cask Dr. Hamlin made a washing machine, and the vermin-filled clothes did not have to be touched by hand until they were clean—a new problem was solved! His friends had told him that he had sixteen professions, and now he had another,—that of laundryman!

He did not suspect that all the time he was baking bread and washing clothes there was coming nearer and nearer the fulfilment of his dream. He had prayed and hoped that some day a rich man would come and see the good that might be done by a Christian college. Now that good man was at hand, Christopher Robert, an American merchant.

Mr. Robert was traveling in the East, and one day as he was crossing the Bosphorus he saw a boat loaded with loaves of bread.

"What in the world does this mean?" he asked his friends. "That looks like American bread. Who bakes it?"

"A missionary named Hamlin," was the answer.

"A missionary who bakes bread!" repeated Mr. Robert.

"He baked it first to give work to his Armenian Christians, and when the hospital was opened he was persuaded to bake it for the patients. It's the best and also the cheapest bread ever seen in this part of the world."

"I should like to meet that man," said Mr. Robert.

"That will be an easy matter," said his friends.

But when Mr. Robert met Dr. Hamlin, he heard only a little about bread and a great deal about another matter. Though no record of their conversation has been kept, it must have been something like this:

"I'm very much interested in your bread-making, Dr. Hamlin."

"I had no idea what I was getting into," was Dr. Hamlin's probable reply. "But it had to be done. What I'm chiefly interested in is the founding of a Christian college here in Constantinople."

"It must have been a tremendous work to bake all this bread."

"It was, but oh, Mr. Robert, what wonderful work we could do if we could have a college to train young men!"

"And your laundry enterprise, Dr. Hamlin, that must have been the greatest blessing to the sick."

"It made them more comfortable. If we could have a Christian college here, it would leaven the whole empire."

"How did you learn so many trades, Dr. Hamlin?"

"Oh, I picked them up. You see, Mr. Robert," Dr. Hamlin repeated his favorite sentiment, "education is the way to peace and enlightenment. If we could found a large Christian institution where we could train young men in all professions, then they could go out to be the leaders of their people."

It is likely that at this point Mr. Robert gave up trying to get information about bread-making and laundering and said, with a twinkle in his eye, "Well, tell me about your college!"

Dr. Hamlin took a long breath and began. How long he had waited! But here, please God, was a hearer with a receptive heart and a large purse.

Mr. Robert listened earnestly and his heart was moved. What better use could one have for one's money than to bring enlightenment to this dark corner of the world? In a few minutes he was not only listening, but helping Dr. Hamlin to plan, and within a few years Robert College crowned the hill which Dr. Hamlin selected as the best site he had considered.

Mr. Robert was a generous man and he would undoubtedly have put his money to good use somewhere, but Robert College would not be shining like a star in a dark sky if he had not seen Dr. Hamlin's boat-load of bread crossing the Bosphorus on its way to Florence Nightingale's sick boys.

II
THE MAN WITH A MILLION BIBLES

It was a hot summer day. The people of the city of Paracatu in Brazil were standing or lounging in groups about the doors of their little houses, which were built close together.

Children with scant clothing played about in the streets. Their bare, brown feet were used to the hot pavements. Mothers sat squatted in the doorways making lace. One woman was beating mandioca for her family's almoco, or lunch, while another woman fanned a fire of coals on a little round, iron stove.

Suddenly the children ran back out of the street. The women looked up and saw a procession of nine mules coming into the city. Many trains of mules passed by their doors, but this one was different from the others. The man who rode on the foremost mule had a very fair skin. Riding behind him were three Brazilian men whose faces were dark like the faces of the women who sat in the doorways and the children who played in the streets. Five of the mules carried packs loaded with a tent, some cooking pots and pans, and books. There were books not only in the packs on the backs of the mules, but more books in the pockets of the four men.

As the procession passed out of sight, the women looked curiously to see where the men were going to stop, and wondered why they had come and what books they carried.

Towards evening one of the women went about among her neighbors to tell the news she had heard.

"The man who rode at the head of the mule train is Dr. Hugh Tucker. He comes from North America. Tonight he is going to speak in the public square. There are many people who say that it is the book which he has that has made his country great and free."

In the evening a crowd came to the public square to hear Dr. Tucker. They asked him many questions. Some who had money, or who could read, bought Bibles so they could learn more for themselves of the things he told them. He gave Bibles to those who had no money.

Dr. Tucker's business was to give the Bible to the people of Brazil. For years that was what he had been doing. In the beautiful city of Rio de Janeiro he had a great store to which people came by the hundreds to buy Bibles and from which Bibles were sent by mail and by colporteurs in all directions.

These colporteurs, or Bible men, went through the cities of Brazil and far into the country. Sometimes they walked, sometimes they rode on mules, and sometimes they traveled in ox-carts. Dr. Tucker himself often rode with them, as he did on this trip when they stopped at Paracatu. This journey through towns and open country lasted for six weeks.

There were few houses along the rough and hilly roads. Now and then long-legged ostriches ran across the path before the mules. Gaily colored parrots perched on branches of the trees; monkeys chattered in the vines beside the small streams; and here and there a fox or a tatou ran past. Sometimes the prairie with its waving grass stretched before them like an ocean. At night they pitched their tent beside small streams where the grass grew fresh and green.

One Sunday morning as they rested in front of their tent, an ox-cart stopped before them, and a man jumped out and asked for a cup of coffee. As he drank the coffee, Dr. Tucker read to him from the Bible.

"Go on, go on," the man called to his driver. "I'll follow later. Never in all my life have I heard such strange things as this book tells."

The next morning the colporteurs were up at three o'clock. The moon lighted their way as they rode. They stopped at a house for breakfast, and Dr. Tucker took out a Bible and read from it to their host.

Hugh C. Tucker

Not only did he put the Bible into the pulpits and bookcases of Brazil, but its spirit of love and service found expression in the hearts of the people, in parks, schools, and playgrounds.

"No, no, don't stop!" said the man, when Dr. Tucker started to help load the mules. "Read more. Let the others load the animals while I call my neighbors, that you may read to them, too, and tell them what these things mean, for they are new and strange to us."

Every day they met people who asked, "Where are you going, and what is this new book you carry with you?"

"How can these things be?" said one man. "Is it true that so long as two thousand years ago such wonderful things happened and today I hear of them for the first time and even yet my friends have not heard? You are slow about giving the Bible to my people!"

Now Dr. Tucker had thought he was giving the Bible to the people of Brazil just as fast as he could, but he redoubled his efforts. He sent out still more colporteurs. They gathered the people in the public squares of the cities and read and preached to them, and the people listened gladly. Sometimes the colporteurs started out with sacks filled with Bibles and came back with their sacks full of the images the people had been worshiping and had cast away when they read, "I am the Lord thy God. Thou shalt have no other gods before me."

Dr. Tucker has given more than a million Bibles to Brazil. He presented a Bible to President Prudenti Moraes on his inauguration day. He has found many ways of giving the spirit of the Bible in addition to putting the book into the hands of the people. He does not wish anyone to think that this is a magical book, and that it is enough merely to have it.

When he took Bibles to the sick boatmen down in their poor little mud huts by the river-side, he found they had no one to care for them properly,—there are many thousands of sailors coming into the port of Rio every year,—so Dr. Tucker became the "seamen's friend." He rented a house and made it a Seamen's Home. In one year more than ten thousand sailors came to his Home. Most of them were glad to pay for their meals and beds, but he did not turn any away if they were ill or had no money. There were free beds and free meals for those who needed help, and doctors to care for those who were sick, and employment found for those who were out of work.

While he was preaching in the slums of Rio he found many people who were poor and sick, as there are in all great cities. He went to a young Brazilian doctor and asked him to visit the homes of the poor people in the slums.

The young doctor came back and said, "Why, Dr. Tucker, it is almost enough to make anyone ill just to go into these homes and see how the people live. There are so many dark rooms and so little sunlight, and the houses are very dirty. In almost every home someone is sick." Dr. Tucker remembered how the multitudes came to Jesus and were healed, and so he thought one of the best ways to give more of the Bible to the people was to help those who were sick.

He had stereopticon pictures made which showed how tuberculosis might be prevented. Then he went to the United States Ambassador and to the mayor of Rio and to the president of the Board of Health and to other great men who could help him and told them he was going to give a lecture and wanted them to come and sit on the platform. He sent cards out all over the city telling how many people had tuberculosis and what they should do to be cured and inviting people to his meeting.

Those who came were so much interested in the pictures, that the city officials arranged for him to show them to the children in the public schools. Then they had him talk to the people who gathered in the public squares of the city. The government gave him money to fight tuberculosis, and he started a hospital where sick people without money could be treated and where they could hear and read about Jesus the Great Physician.

Next he started a school for poor children. The children wanted to come to school, and Dr. Tucker was very happy until he saw how strangely they behaved.

"What can be the matter with them?" he asked. "They sit with their hands folded. They don't want to study or even to play. Their eyes are dull."

He asked the children questions and visited their homes to find out why they did not want to study or to jump about and play.

"No wonder my school children sit with their hands folded," he said when he came back. "They are half starved. Some of them have nothing but a cup of coffee and a pickle to eat all day."

He remembered how Jesus had fed those who were hungry, so every day he provided a lunch of whole wheat mush with milk and sugar. Soon the hollow cheeks of the children began to get round and rosy, their eyes began to shine, and they wanted to run and jump and play.

"I wish we could feed all the hungry children in Rio," said Dr. Tucker one day. He knew he could never get them all in his little school, but he thought of another plan—he started a cooking school to teach the mothers to cook good meals at home. He told the gas company about his plan, and they gave him the stoves he needed. The mothers came with their children, and while the children learned reading and writing and arithmetic, the mothers learned how to prepare food that was better for children than coffee and pickles. Dr. Tucker had found another way to give the Bible to Brazil.

One day he said, "The Bible tells us to clothe the naked, but how can we ever get clothes enough for all of the poor people of Brazil!"

Presently he walked into the office of a sewing machine company and told the manager about his plan to clothe the naked.

"That would be fine!" the manager said. "Of course the only way to clothe all the poor people is to teach them how to make their own clothes."

He sent sewing machines to Dr. Tucker's school, and soon the mothers were learning to sew. Dr. Tucker had found still another way to give the Bible to Brazil.

Now his school children were well and happy. Their cheeks were round and rosy, for they had a lunch at school and their mothers gave them good food at home. Their clothes were neat and clean, their eyes were bright and shining, and they were ready to study and play. But where should they play? There was no trouble about a place to study. They could study at school or at home, but when they wanted to play there was no place at all. Rio is one of the most beautiful cities in the world, and many of the people are very wealthy and live in beautiful homes, but Dr. Tucker's poor little children in the slums lived in houses that were built close together right on the street.

There was a very beautiful park, with lovely green grass, but the superintendent of parks was very proud of his green grass and had a fence of iron rails around it with a sign, "Keep off the grass" wherever a child could get in.

Every time Dr. Tucker saw that park, his eyes looked like the eyes of his school children when they were hungry. But one day as he went through the park, his eyes began to twinkle. He clapped his hands and said to himself, "I'll do it!" At once he walked up boldly to the mayor of Rio and the superintendent of parks.

"The children have no place to play," he said. "Why don't you open up a part of the city park for a public playground?"

The mayor and the superintendent of parks were so shocked they could scarcely say a word. They were so proud of their beautiful park, they had never let people even walk on the grass; and now this bold man actually dared to propose that they should put swings and teeter boards and tennis courts right where the grass was most beautiful!

But they could not forget what he said about happy children being worth more than beautiful grass, and one day they drove to Dr. Tucker's door in a fine automobile and invited him to ride with them. They did not ask him where he wanted to go, but drove straight to the park.

"We have decided to do what you ask and let you make your playground on one condition," announced the mayor.

"Good!" said Dr. Tucker, "What's the condition?"

"That you get all the equipment for a first-class playground," answered the superintendent of parks.

Dr. Tucker was thinking very fast. "Equipment for a first-class playground" meant swings and bars and teeter boards and tennis nets and footballs and ever so many other things boys and girls love in a playground. With the same twinkle that was in his eyes when he looked at the park and said, "I'll do it," he said now, "All right, I'll take you up."

He did not have a single cent in his pocket to buy all these things and he did not know where he was going to get so much money, but he said to himself:

"I'll look around a bit and see what I can see."

The first thing he saw was some men tearing up an old street-car track. He went to the manager of the street-car company. "What are you going to do with those old rails?" he asked. "May I have them?"

"Yes, I guess so," answered the manager.

Dr. Tucker said "Thank you" very politely and then added, "I'll have to have them shaped a little differently and a few holes bored in them. Would you mind doing this in your shop?"

The manager said he would do that, too. When Dr. Tucker said "Thank you" very politely again and turned to go, the manager asked: "What in the world do you want those old rails for?"

"For swing supports and all sorts of equipment for the playground."

He told the manager about his ride with the mayor and the superintendent of parks and all about the things he was going to make for the playground and athletic fields out of those lovely old rails.

"Nonsense, man!" said the manager. "Those old rails aren't good enough. Why you ought to have the best stuff money can buy for Brazil's first public playground."

"Of course we ought," said Dr. Tucker, "but since we don't have the money to buy them with, I propose to see what we can make."

"What would you buy if you did have the money?" asked the manager. "Think it over and let me know."

Dr. Tucker went home and got a catalog of a New York store. A few days later he went into the manager's office with the catalog in his hand. The manager was so busy he scarcely had time to look up.

"Are you too busy to look at the things we need for the playground?" asked Dr. Tucker.

"Yes, I am," replied the manager. "You just take that catalog and mark what you need, and when I go to New York perhaps I can get it for you."

Dr. Tucker's eyes twinkled twice that time. He felt as if his fairy godmother had shown him a wonderful palace and told him to help himself. He sat down and marked in that catalog the things he knew the boys and girls of Rio would have marked if they had held his pencil.

The manager took the catalog to New York with him and bought every single article that had a mark before it. He paid for them with dollars—seven hundred and forty of them—out of his own pocket.

Courtesy World's Sunday School Association

A Playground in Rio de Janeiro

On the grounds of an old private park the children of the city now swing and slide and bat and jump.

When the swings and bars and outfits came and were set up in the park, the opening day was announced. The people came in crowds from all over the city. The band played, and the flag of Brazil was raised. The mayor made a speech, and the children cheered, and then they scampered off to swing and slide and bat and jump; and the first public playground of Brazil was open.

That evening Dr. Tucker walked down the street. He thought of his million Bibles, and he thought of his school and his playground which put the love of God into visible form.

"The Bible is coming into Brazil," he said to himself. "Not only into the pulpits and into bookcases, but its spirit of love and service is coming into the parks and schools and the streets and, best of all, into the hearts of the people." And his own heart was glad.

III
THE STORY OF POIT

In the interior of South America, with the rivers Parana and Paraguay to the east, with Argentine to the south, and Bolivia to the west, there is a vast, low country called the Gran Chaco, about as large as the state of Texas and inhabited by Indians. The country is flat and there are grass-lands, swamps, and forests of palm trees. There are many different animals with which the children of the North are not familiar but of which they may have seen pictures, among them the tapir, the marsh deer, the otter, the peccary, and the armadillo. There are some savage animals such as the jaguar, the puma, and a very large wolf with a long mane.

There are also some of the queerest animals in the world, especially the ant-eater, a bow-legged creature seven feet long from the tip of his snout to the tip of his hairy tail. There is a queer little opossum about the size of a mouse, with enormous black eyes, fan-like ears, and a long tail, which runs about in the trees like a squirrel. Most interesting of all is the lungfish which can live either in the water or in the air. In the wet season he stays in the swamps and eats and eats, and when the dry season comes and the swamps disappear, he burrows in the ground and lives without eating anything, by using up the fat he has stored.

There are many birds both large and small, from great ostriches down to tiny hummingbirds, and there are insects of all kinds, ants and crickets and mosquitoes and beetles and locusts, and there are twenty-four different kinds of frogs, each with a different croak.

For many weeks no rain falls, and the Indians have a hard time to get along; then when the rain comes they have more than they need to eat, water-birds, fish, and, by-and-by, their harvests. They do not mind having to tramp round in deep water, because wet weather brings plenty.

Among the Indians in this strange country was a young man named Poit. One morning in December Poit awoke with a frightened, anxious heart. It was not because he was too warm, though in December in Chaco the mornings are hot, nor because he had not slept comfortably on his bed on the ground nor because he was hungry; it was because he plotted a wicked deed. Today Poit planned to do the most dreadful thing anyone can do, he was going to kill his best friend, the missionary.

Though these Indians lived so uncomfortably, they did not want to change their ways, and they killed everybody who came to explore their country or to search for silver or to tell them of the love of God. Even soldiers sent to conquer them by force failed because they were so fierce and cunning.

The chief reason for their resistance and their cruelty was not wickedness, but ignorance and dreadful fear. They were afraid of spirits and afraid of witches and wizards. They were so afraid that the souls of the dead might come and annoy them that whenever anyone died they destroyed the village and went to another place to live. This wasn't very difficult because their houses were made of boughs stuck into the ground. They were especially afraid of people unlike themselves, and this was the reason they killed foreigners.

In spite of their objections, a little mission had been established among them. It was situated on the banks of the Paraguay River and its influence did not extend very far inland, but it was a beginning. The first missionary died as a result of his hard work, and there arrived one day a new missionary, a tall, slender young man, hardly more than a boy in years, whose name was Barbrooke Grubb.

Mr. Grubb was not satisfied to stay along the river where he could see only a few of the Indians, he determined to travel to the interior villages. He knew perfectly well that the undertaking was dangerous. He had heard of the explorers and the missionaries whom the Indians had murdered; he knew that a poor white man who had strayed from his companions and had taken refuge with them had been slain; he knew that if sickness broke out while he was staying in a village, he would be held responsible and be killed. He knew that if an Indian had a bad dream about him, he might kill him.

Nevertheless, he not only visited the interior of the country, but he lived with the Indians for months at a time, staying in their villages, eating their strange food, hunting and fishing with them, so that he might learn all about their ways and help them. He went unarmed and unprotected, saying that he was a messenger of peace.

He had many thrilling experiences, and some that were very funny. Of course he did not know the language well at first and he mistook the word "evil" for the word "good," and assured the people that he was a friend of the "evil spirit."

Courtesy of Samuel Guy Inman

Girls of the Chaco Mission School

They are not having a picnic, but have just eaten their noonday meal, and the kettle of maize is nearly empty.

He had many amusing encounters with the witch-doctors. You would not think from the picture of a Chaco witch-doctor that they could frighten anybody, but these natives lived in deadly fear of them. Mr. Grubb proved how foolish it was to have faith in them. When a witch-doctor claimed to have a charm against bullets, Mr. Grubb said:

"All right; you stand over there and I'll shoot at you, and you won't mind a bit."

The witch-doctor wouldn't hear of this trial, and the Indians laughed at him.

Once Mr. Grubb heard that a witch-doctor was taking needles out of his patients' bodies, and he proved that the witch-doctor bought all the needles from him and that the cure was a pretense.

Some of the Indians were very smart. There was one called Pinse-apawa, who came into Mr. Grubb's tent one day just as Mr. Grubb was taking some medicine. This medicine had an alcoholic smell though it had a dreadfully bitter taste, so bitter that you could hardly swallow it. Pinse-apawa smelled the odor of liquor.

"Ah!" he said. "You won't let us drink liquor, but when you are here alone you take it yourself!"

"Have some," invited Mr. Grubb.

Poor Pinse-apawa took a big swallow and after that he knew the difference between liquor and medicine.

Now Poit, who opened his eyes on a warm December morning intending to murder Mr. Grubb was not a witch-doctor; he was a clever, intelligent Indian, and when he was good, he was a great help. We do not like to call him a bad Indian, even though he was to do such a dreadful deed. Though he had had every chance under Mr. Grubb's teaching to learn to be good, he had not met him until he was a grown man, and then it is very hard to change your heart.

By this time Mr. Grubb had been in the Chaco for seven years, and the work he had done was truly wonderful. At the mission station there was a settlement where the people lived in permanent houses instead of wandering from place to place. Strangers could go about unarmed and in safety. The Indians had been taught to work, not only at odd moments, but steadily. They had been taught to take care of sheep and cattle and to raise vegetables.

They had learned to distrust the witch-doctors and to take precautions against contagion. They had learned to respect the law and to live at peace with their neighbors. They had built several hundred miles of cart tracks. They had axes, knives, hoes, scissors, and many other possessions which Mr. Grubb had had shipped from England to help them to live more comfortably and to earn their living more easily. Some could even read and write.

They had learned still more important lessons. Mr. Grubb had taught them that it was unspeakably wicked to kill the poor little babies as they had been doing, and equally wrong to bury alive sick people whom they thought would soon die. He had taught them also that it was wrong to drink liquor because it made them frantic and wicked. Though they did not always do what was right, hundreds of them knew what was right, and had begun to try to be good.

They knew also—and this was most important of all—about God and Jesus, and, though none had openly become Christians, the seed of Christianity had been planted in their hearts.

Now Poit had a special chance to learn what was right because he was constantly in the company of Mr. Grubb who had brought about this wonderful transformation. He was very bright and Mr. Grubb depended upon him, and he seemed very faithful and Mr. Grubb trusted him. He could hunt and set traps, and steal quietly up to the ostriches and capture them, and find his way through the woods, and make bows and arrows, and do other useful things.

When Mr. Grubb had been in the Chaco for seven years he went home to England for a vacation, the first vacation he had had. Other young men had come to help him, and the mission was so well established that it would not suffer in his absence.

Before he went away, he planned carefully for his return. He intended then to visit a distant tribe called the Toothli, to which Poit belonged, and he had already built a bullock road in that direction. He sent Poit to a distant settlement with seventeen head of cattle and other goods and told him that he was to settle down there and make friends with the people. He was not to sell the cattle to people who would use them for food, but only to those who would raise other cattle, because Mr. Grubb was very anxious for the natives to learn to care for stock.

Poit was to tell the Toothli that the missionaries would come and live with them if they would do certain things. They must give up making beer, and they must not hold feasts which lasted more than three days. They must work when they were called upon for the good of the whole settlement, and they must help to build the cart track and keep it clear. They must live at peace with their neighbors, and above all they must cease at once the killing of little children.

Poit had done so well, that this important work was entrusted to him and off he went with his cattle and his goods. He was very proud and at first he obeyed Mr. Grubb's directions. But alas, his pride in Mr. Grubb's confidence and his feeling of responsibility did not continue. He forgot what he had learned; he convinced himself that Mr. Grubb was gone for good; and he took possession of the property which Mr. Grubb had given him. He began to sell the cattle to people who used them for food, and he took the money for himself.

When Mr. Grubb came back, Poit was terrified. He had not believed Mr. Grubb's promise nor had he understood in the least how devoted Mr. Grubb was to his work. Now the money had to be paid over, and he had to give an account of the cattle, and he had spent a part of the money, and the cattle had been eaten. In order to cover his crime, he stole money from the missionaries. He was so clever that they did not at first suspect that he was the thief. But he could not bring the cattle back to life and soon he realized that discovery was at hand; Mr. Grubb would learn that he had not been faithful.

Mr. Grubb prepared at once to fulfil his promise to visit the Toothli people, and so little did he suspect Poit of wrong-doing that he made him the leader of the six Indians whom he took with him.

It was so hot that the party traveled by night to avoid the sun. They had a pretty comfortable track to walk on, but on both sides were thickets of trees and vines in which the twenty-four kinds of frogs croaked in twenty-four different notes, and everywhere were mosquitoes which flew out hungrily when they heard human beings approaching.

Suddenly Mr. Grubb looked round and saw that, of all his company, only Poit was in sight. He sent him back at once to find out why the others lingered. In a little while Poit reappeared and reported that one of the bearers had a thorn in his foot, and his companions were extracting it. They would all be along, he said, in a few minutes.

But the few minutes passed and the Indians did not come. Poit had wickedly told them that Mr. Grubb did not need them and that they might return toward the mission. He had dreamed that when his disobedience was found out, Mr. Grubb had killed him, and he had decided in terror that he must kill Mr. Grubb as soon as possible. He meant to go on for a few days until they had reached the Toothli country and then he would do the deed. He believed that the people of his tribe would help him to hide his crime.

Mr. Grubb noticed that Poit seemed downcast, but he did not dream what he had in his heart. The two went on alone, and still the other Indians did not overtake them. Poit suggested that perhaps they had gone home because they did not approve of the journey. Still Mr. Grubb did not suspect his evil intention, and they traveled on, arriving presently at the village which was Poit's home.

Here Mr. Grubb inquired about the cattle, but everybody was in league with Poit and helped him conceal his theft, and still Mr. Grubb was deceived. The people said that the cattle had merely strayed away, and he gave orders that they be collected before his return.

For two days he and Poit journeyed toward the distant settlements, and at last Poit decided that he could postpone the murder no longer. His heart was depressed when he woke, because in his sleep he had understood more clearly than when he was awake what a fearful thing it was to kill a man who had shown such love for those who would gladly have been his enemies.

As he moved about, his courage revived; he ceased to be downcast and became cheerful. So cold-blooded was he that he sat beside Mr. Grubb on the ground while he sharpened the long iron arrow with which he intended to kill him.

Barbrooke Grubb

Unarmed and unprotected, he was a messenger of peace to the Indians of Paraguay.

They were now traveling by day, and they set out at about half-past six for their last journey together. The sun was already high and so hot that it had dried the heavy dew. They had gone but a short distance when Mr. Grubb saw that he had been led into a thicket. He observed a strange look on Poit's face, and did not realize that he had caught Poit's eye at the moment when he was trying to get into a position from which he could shoot him.

A moment later he bent over, trying to break a path through the undergrowth, and in that instant Poit lifted his bow and arrow. A stinging blow under his shoulder blade, and Mr. Grubb understood in a flash that this was not his friend but his enemy, and that he had been shot, perhaps fatally.

When the deed was done, Poit came to himself. He shouted in dismay and terror, "Ak kai! Ak kai!" and rushed away.

He had run only a short distance when he sat down to think. He believed that he had either killed Mr. Grubb outright or that Mr. Grubb would soon die from his wounds or that he would be slain by a jaguar whose tracks they had crossed. He decided craftily that he would set out straightway for the mission and say that he had seen a jaguar about to leap, and that, shooting at the jaguar, he had killed Mr. Grubb.

He had not gone very far when he met an Indian with paint marks on his body, which showed that he was in mourning. Poit supposed this meant that Mr. Grubb was dead—someone must have found Mr. Grubb's body before the jaguar devoured it. He ran back into the forest. By this time he was out of his mind with fear. For hundreds and hundreds of years the Indians had killed foreigners without thinking anything about it; but now there was a change. Here was an Indian mourning for a foreigner! Poit was puzzled and frightened. He did not yet know that all the Indians were crying out for vengeance upon the man who had tried to murder their benefactor.

But what neither Poit nor the mourning Indian knew was that Mr. Grubb was still alive. How he reached the mission was a miracle. He was more dead than alive from the wound which pierced his lung, and from exhaustion. Sometimes he staggered along leaning on two Indians; sometimes he rode a horse on whose back he had to be supported. Often his companions had to lay him down on the ground lest he should die. He suffered from the heat by day and was tortured by the mosquitoes by night. As though this were not enough, one night a goat belonging to an Indian jumped on him by accident!

But at last he reached the mission and had proper medical attention, and all along the weary way the Indians saw his agony and understood that he was suffering because he had come to help them. They thought not only of him, but of the Master about whom he had told them, and they believed that he had been saved by a miracle.

Though Mr. Grubb still lived, the Indians decided that Poit must die, and they searched for him until they captured him. He pleaded with them desperately, reminding them that he was their relative whom they had known all their lives and that Mr. Grubb was only a stranger; but they would not listen.

When he heard that Poit was to die, Mr. Grubb tried to save him, but in vain. He did, however, succeed in saving Poit's family whom the Indians would have killed also. This forgiving spirit amazed and touched them still more.

Now this story is sad and dreadful and there would not be any reason for telling it if Poit's death were the end. But in a way, it was only a beginning.

Mr. Grubb had to make two journeys for further medical attention, one to Ascuncion, nearly four hundred miles away, and one to Buenos Ayres, nine hundred miles away. It was December when Poit attacked him; it was June before he was able to take up his work. When he did so, the seed so strangely sown by poor Poit had ripened. Two Indians who had been impressed by Mr. Grubb's devotion and by his almost miraculous recovery asked to be baptized. Thus the foundation of the Church in the Chaco was laid.

Mr. Grubb is still working, and the extent of his influence has greatly increased. The Indians in the distant settlements no longer wait for him to seek them out; they come to see for themselves what he has done and to hear the story he has to tell. The government has named him the "pacificator of the Indians."

Do you not suppose that sometimes as he thinks of his years in the Chaco, he thinks with pity of poor Poit and hopes that his cry "Ak kai! Ak kai!" showed repentance as well as fear of punishment?

IV
TREE-NOT-SHAKEN-BY-THE-WIND

Ten-year-old Fred Hope looked up at the men who looked down at him. He was very happy because he had just taken the pencil and paper which one of the men handed him, and written

Fred Hope$1.00

He lived on a farm near Flat Rock, Illinois, and many times he had seen his father sign his name to a subscription paper when the deacons had been collecting money for the church and had made up his mind that some day he would sign his own name. At last he had done so, and his eyes were shining.

"Now," said he, "I've got to find a way to make that dollar."

He took a hoe and some beans and went into the garden to begin to earn his dollar. He planted the beans and watched eagerly to see them grow. It was a bad year for beans in Illinois and there was no crop. But he did not give up. From beans he turned to rats. The rats had been eating his father's grain and Fred made a contract to rid the place of rats at five cents apiece. It happened there were more rats than beans in Flat Rock that year and no Indian chief ever counted with more pride his scalps of white men than Fred the notches which numbered the rats he had slain. Soon the dollar was paid, and his father's grain was safe.

The next money Fred made was to pay his way to college. When he had almost enough saved, his mother said:

"Father does not see how he can get along without you on the farm. He has had a great deal of trouble and lost a lot of money."

"Of course I'll stay, and I'll find a way to go to college later on," answered Fred.

When he was twenty-four years old he went to Maryville College in Tennessee. There he had to begin with the small boys in the preparatory department.

"You might just as well give up," said some of his friends. "You are so far behind you can never catch up."

But Fred only laughed. "I'll find a way. When I can't raise beans I always catch rats."

He worked as hard at his lessons as he had on the farm, and played as well as he worked. He was the best man on his football team, and when he graduated he was president of his class.

While he was at school he thought he would like to be a missionary, but he did not wish to be a preacher and he had never heard of a missionary who was not a preacher. At last he settled it this way:

"If God wants me to be a missionary and there is any way I can be a missionary without being a preacher then I'll be one."

A few years later as a steamer neared the west coast of Africa, Fred Hope jumped from one of the berths. He called to his wife to dress as fast as she could so they should not miss the first glimpse of the shore.

He had found a way; he was going to Elat on the west coast of Africa to take charge of the Frank James Industrial School. As he stood on the deck in the gray light of the early morning, he seemed to see John Ludwig Krapf and Robert Moffat and David Livingstone and all the men and women who had found a way to give their lives to Africa, and his heart was glad.

He could see two white dwelling houses surrounded by tall coconut-palms and other tropical plants, beyond the dashing surf at the Batanga landing. How anxious he was to reach them! The travelers were lowered to the small boat in a "Mammy chair," a seat swung by ropes from the deck of the steamer. Then the sturdy black men pulled for the shore, their wet backs gleaming in the sunlight.

A boy who had come from Elat to meet them was waiting with two bicycles. Mr. Hope had never been on a bicycle, so he practised riding round and round, to the amusement of all the crowd. Then he and Mrs. Hope started on their long journey of one hundred and ten miles in the narrow path through the African jungle.

On either side of them giant trees reached upward for many, many feet before spreading out branches to the sunlight above. Underneath the trees there was no sunshine, only the gloom of dense foliage. It made them feel as though they were in a great cathedral,—the quiet, the great pillars of the trees, and the dim light.

As they rode on through the villages and the bush, people crowded round them curiously. The black men could not speak the white man's words or make the white man understand their words. They pointed to Mr. Hope's head.

"They want you to take off your hat so they can see your straight hair," said the boy.

Mr. Hope took off his hat. They looked at his straight hair very solemnly. Then they pointed to Mrs. Hope's head.

"They want to see the hair that is like long ropes," said the boy. Mrs. Hope took off her hat.

They moved their hands to their heads and then far out until she understood that they wanted her to take out the hairpins and stretch her hair as far as it would reach "like long ropes."

They gazed with wonder at its length and softness. Then one of them opened his mouth and pointed first to his teeth and then to Mr. Hope's mouth. Soon every black man was doing the same thing.

"They want to see your brass teeth," the boy explained. Mr. Hope opened his mouth, while the people who had never heard of a dentist gazed with much respect at the gold fillings.

"How do the people all along the way know we are coming?" asked Mr. Hope. "There are no telegraph wires or telephones."

"By the drums," answered the boy. "Every village has its drums. They are hollowed out of logs so the ends make curious sounds that speak to those who listen. When you pass through a village the men who beat the drums call to the next village, 'Strange white man is here.' All important men have drum names. Perhaps you will do something so brave they will give you a drum name some day."

When they reached Elat, Mr. Hope began to find the work God had provided for a man who was not a preacher. The missionaries who had been in Africa said that the boys and men who went home after being in the mission schools had nothing to do. There were no stores for them to run, no factories or shops in which they could work, and no one had ever taught them how to farm.

© Underwood and Underwood

Native African "Wireless Station"

Every village on the West Coast has its drum by which messages are sent from village to village.

There were not even any decent houses. They had to live in little huts made out of the bark of trees, with a dirt floor, no windows, and only one little door, so low that they had almost to crawl in. Their houses had only one room, and in that room all the family cooked and ate and slept. The chickens stayed in a little room built at the side of the house. There was no way for them to get in except through the same door that led through the house. Often they stopped to take a peck at the food the women were grinding between heavy flat stones.

The houses were very dirty. The women had no time to keep their houses clean; they had to dig and hoe the ground and harvest the crops and look after their children and cook the meals.

Meanwhile the men sat round the huts and smoked and drank and palavered. To "palaver" means to talk and talk and then talk some more. Sometimes they went hunting and sometimes they fought men of other tribes. If they had known how to work or if it had been the custom for them to work, they would not have been so good-for-nothing.