MLADINSKI LIST
MESEČNIK ZA SLOVENSKO MLADINO V AMERIKI
JUVENILE
Monthly Magazine for the Young Slovenes in America. Published by Slov. Nat’l Benefit Society, 2657 S. Lawndale Ave., Chicago, 111. Rates: Per year: $1.20, half year 60c; foreign countries per year $1.60
LETO VIII.—Št. 10.	CHICAGO,	ILL.,	OKTOBER.	1929.	VOL.	VIII—No. 10.
Katka Zupančič:
METULJČKA
Metuljček lahkoživi družico si je zbral; na pot ženitovanjsko z njo se je podal.
Prirajala sta h cvetki: “Oj cvetka, dober dan! Pričel se, glej, je danes najin zakonski stan.
Boš nama kaj postregla ? Čuj, žejna sva oba,— še večkrat obiskala te bodeva midva.”
Postregla jima cvetka z veliko je skrbjo; kozarce napolnila s sladko je strdjo.
In pila sta metuljčka, smejala sta se vmes, noben ni, kakor zgleda, zakona vzel zares.
ČE. ..
Če bil bi bogat—
bi kupil si hišo
in kupil bi avto bleščat,
pa vozil po lepem se svetu—
če bil bi bogat.
Če bil bi bogat— bi rešil vse druge uboštva ter raznih zagat; in revščine konec bi bilo,— če bil bi bogat.
Če bil bi bogat— i mamici svoji bi kupil cel grad, pa ateku tudi— če bil bi bogat.
Pa nisem bogat— in atek, že star je, pa mora garat in mamica tudi— ker nisem bogat.
Jože Zavertnik
Dne 28. avgusta je na svojem domu v predmestju Chicaga v 60. letu starosti preminul vsem ameriškim Slovencem dobro znani delavski borec in voditelj Jože Zavertnik, bivši urednik Prosvete in soustanovitelj Slovenske narodne podporne jednote. Ves čas njegovega bivanja v Ameriki, kamor se je priselil pred 26 leti, se je udejstvoval v našem javnem življenju.
Z Jožetom Zavertnikom je Slovenska narodna podporna jednota zgubila agilnega pionirja, ki je z navdušenjem oral ledino med našim življem na ameriških tleh; vzpodbujal, učil in navduševal je delavce za napredne organizacije. Jože je bil vztrajen pri delu in zvest svojemu prepričanju do konca svojih dni. Zato pa konec njegovih aktivnosti krona njegovo delo, ki je obrodilo dober sad.
Ameriški Slovenci so z Zavertnikom zgubili mnogo. Bil je delavski organizator tu in v stari domovini. Zato je potrebno, da naraščaj Slovenske narodne podporne jednote pozna zasluge pionirja, ki je ameriškim Slovencem mnogo koristil.
Ko se je Jože Zavertnik v juniju poslovil od uredništva Prosvete, je bil obljubil, da postane stalen sotrudnik Mladinskega lista. Obljubo je izpolnil, žal, da mu je smrt koj po drugem prispevku prekrižala načrte. Mladinski list je v septemberski številki prinesel njegov prvi članek, “Kače na vzhodu,” namenjen naši mladini; v tej številki priobčamo njegov drugi prispevek, “Mladi junak,” ki je obenem poslednji.
Zavertnikovo delo je bilo plodonosno, posvečeno delavskemu gibanju, v katerem se je izkazal spretnega organizatorja in buditelja k napredni misli. Zato bo Jožetu Zavertniku ohranjen trajen spomin med staro in mlado generacijo ameriških Slovencev!
Marija Kmetova:
Meditacija
'SJ' POLUMRAKU trepeče lučka kakor rdeča roža, drhteča v vetru. Iz polu-
mraka v polumrak plahutajo misli in se naslanjajo s krili ob lučko.
Zunaj je pomlad.
Bele, prebele so čašice cvetja; bele, prebele so tenčice lepote in ob ograji so perunike: l.laste, baršunaste, kakor duše so globoke.
Zunaj je poletje.
Zlate, prezlate so njive žita; zlate, prezlate so luči bogastva in na travniku so rože: rdeče, dehteče, kakor ljubezen so goreče.
In jesen je zunaj.
Bakrene, mavrične so aleje kostanjev; bakrene, mavrične so sence skrivnosti in v ozračju je dobrota: svetla, mehka, kakor objem je božajoča.
In zima je zunaj.
Trda, okorna so pota snežena; trda, okorna je misel ledena in v obrazih je trpkost: zasenčena, zamrežena, kakor z nožem je zarezana. Kam bi s pomladjo, kam bi s poletjem? In kam z jesenjo in z zimo—kam? V vsem je skrivnost.
V polumraku trepeče lučka kakor rdeča roža, drhteča v vetru. Iz polumra-ka v polumrak plahutajo misli in se naslanjajo s krili ob lučko.
Znotraj je pomlad.
Svetla, presvetla so pota otroška; svetle, presvetle so misli mladostne in v mladosti je luč: velika in žarka in v daljo hoteča.
Znotraj je poletje.
Močne, premočne so roke človeške, močna, premočna so upanja	v	življenju	in
v	ljubezni je dom: zlat, prostran in z lučjo je obdan.
In jesen je znotraj.
Otožne, preotožne so misli spoznanja; otožni, preotožni so občutki zatajevanja in v tebi je mir: grenak, težak in s trnjem posejan.
In zima je znotraj.
Bridki, prebridki so spomini življenja; bridke, prebridke so ure samotne in	na vse kraje ena sama je pot: mrka in rezka, v smrt vodeča.
Kam bi z otrokom, kam bi z mladostjo? In kam s trpljenjem	in	s	smrtjo—
kam? V vsem je skrivnost.
V polumraku trepeče lučka kakor rdeča roža drhteča v vetru. Iz polumraka v polumrak plahutajo misli in se naslanjajo s krili ob lučko.
Jože Zavertnik:
Mladi junak
^ESTNAJSTLETNI Johnnie je moral po smrti svojega očeta, ki ga je pobrala proletarska bolezen, v premogovnik, da pomaga prehraniti svoje mlajše bratce in sestrice. Delal je komaj par tednov v premogovniku, ko ga je k sebi poklical preddelavec in mu povedal, da je njegova mezda povišana za dva centa na uro. Johnnie bi bil skoraj zavriskal veselja, da mu preddelavec ni šepnil na uho, naj molči o povišanju mezde napram svojim tovarišem. Njegovo začudenje se je pa povišalo, ko mu je preddelavec po štirinajstih dneh povedal, da so mu zopet povišali mezdo za en cent na uro. Po enem tednu mu je pa preddelavec rekel, da bo zopet zaslužil dva centa več na uro. Johnnie se je čudikin vpraševal samega sebe, kaj je povzročilo, da so mu povišali mezdo za pet centov v tako kratkem času, dasi sam še ni vprašal za povišanje mezde. Seveda, on je izvrševal točno svoje delo, kot mu je naročil preddelavec.
Ali je mogoče to povzročilo, da so mu povišali mezdo? Mogoče! Saj tako se je dalo sklepati.
Johnnie je bil odslej še bolj priden. Opravil je vedno več dela in preddelavec je bil zelo prijazen z njim.
Johnnie se ni prav nič dobro počutil med svojimi mladimi tovariši. Večkrat je zardel, kadar so uganjali svoje neslane dovtipe. Opoldne je sedel najraj-še med stare rudarje, da povžije svoje borno kosilce, ki ga je prinesel s sabo. Posebno dva sta vživala vse njegovo spoštovanje, pa ne zaradi tega, ker sta bila Slovenca, ampak bila sta vedno resna v svojih pogovorih o jednotah in delavskih organizacijah.
“Svoje kosilce lahko povžijem tudi v vajini družbi,” je rekel nekega dne, ko je prisedel k njima. “Naveličal sem se poslušati neslane ‘šale in dovtipe’."
Popoldne se mu je približal preddelavec in mu rekel napolglasno: “Johnnie, pazi s kom občuješ. Ta dva, s katerima si jedel opoldne, sta tujezemska socialista—rdečkarja, ki bi rada postavila vse na glavo v Ameriki. Člana sta neke tujezemske organizacije ter nočeta nič slišati o kompanijski dobrotvorni organizaciji. Pazi se, da te ne zapeljeta.”
Johnnieju so rojile besede preddelavca po glavi. Slišal je že večkrat o socialistih. Lani je čital, da so socialisti imeli svojega predsedniškega kandidata, ki je razvil program za delavno ljudstvo. Spominjal se je, da ga je oče nekoč peljal na shod, na katerem je govoril govornik iz Chicaga v slovenskem jeziku. Rekli so, da je bil to socialist.
Veselo čustvo se je polastilo mladega Johnnie ja, ko je izvedel, da sta stara rudarja socialista. Po delopustu je pospešil svoje korake in došel rudarja, ki so ga klicali za Toneta. “Toni,” je pričel Johnnie, “tudi jaz želim postati član vašega društva.”
“Socialističnega kluba?” je vprašal Toni. “Da,” je odgovoril hitro Johnnie. “Ne moreš, premlad si, mladinske socialistične organizacije še nimamo. Ti pa še nisi volilec. Ampak k Slovenski narodni podporni jednoti lahko pristopiš, ako te je volja. Predložim te na prihodnji seji. Toda molči o tem. Preddelavec ne sme ničesar vedeti o tem, kajti pričel te bo šikanirati. Bil sem vedno mnenja, da ti ne spadaš med nas, kajti preddelavec je bil vedno prijazen s teboj, bolj prijazen, kot je njegova navada.”
Nekaj dni kasneje je prišel neki tujec v premogovnik. Govoril je s preddelavcem. Pri tem je pa gledal mladega Johnnieja, ki je pomagal riniti na dvigalo voziček, naložen s premogom.
“Kako je z njim? Ali ste ga že privedli tako daleč?”
Johnnie je poslušal napeto; vprašanje je šlo mar njemu. Preddelavec je odkimal. “Počasi že pojde.” Johnnie je premišljeval, kaj te besede pomenijo.
Tuji gospod ga je potapljal po rami in mu dejal pri odhodu: “Bodi vedno tako priden, deček.” Johnnie je zardel do ušes. Pohvala mu ni ugajala. Notranji tojinstveni glas ga je svaril pred njo.
“Johnnie, mi imamo pri tej premogo-kopni družbi dobrotvorno društvo, v katerega so vpisani vsi preddelavci, superintendent in gospodje, ki delajo v rudniški pisarni. Pa tudi veliko rudarjev je vpisanih vanj,” ga je podučeval preddelavec po odhodu kompanista.
Ko je šel zvečer domov, se je obrnil na Toneta, da mu pojasni, kakšno je to društvo, v katerem so preddelavci in rudarji.	,
“Prokleti stari lisjak,” je zamrmral Toni med zobmi. “Johnnie, ti lahko postaneš član društva SNPJ ali pa postaneš član društva žoltih, ki so pri volji podpisati pogodbo ‘politega kužka.’ Oboje ne moreš biti.”
Pogodba ‘politega kužka?’ je razmišljal Johnnie sam med seboj. To besedo je že večkrat slišal.
“Ali niso to delavci, ki se prostovoljno odrečejo državljanskim pravicam, ki so zajamčene v ustavi?” je Johnnie vprašal zvedavo Toneta.
“Da,” je odgovoril Toni s trdim glasom. “Nikdar ne postanem član društva žoltih,” je odločno spregovoril mladi Johnnie.
Ko je prihodnji dan preddelavec vprašal Johnnieja, ako se je odločil za pristop v dobrotvorno društvo, je Johnnie odgovoril odločno: “Ne, mati je morala na smrtni postelji obljubiti očetu, da mi ne bo nikdar dovolila do 21. leta pristopiti k nobenemu društvu.”
Seveda je bila to laž v sili. Predde-
lavčev obraz se je skremžil in njegove oči so sovražno obšvignile mladega Johnnieja. Johnnie je vzdržal pogled in ostal miren.
Preddelavec ga je pustil na mestu in odšel. Po nekaj minutah se je vrnil in dejal preteče: “Johnnie, še žal ti bo, pa se pridruži tujezemskim rdečkar-jem, saj jabolko ne pade daleč od drevesa.” V Johnnieju je zakipelo. Rad bi bil odgovoril, toda spomnil se je svoje matere in mlajših bratcev in sestric in besede so mu obtičale v grlu, ki bi jih rad zaklical preddelavcu v obraz. Preddelavec se ni vrnil. Johnnie je zvečer povedal Tonetu, kaj se je dogodilo.
Toni mu je rekel, da naj pride še zvečer na njegov domov po večerji.
Johnnieju je bilo tesno pri srcu, ko je vstopil zvečer v Tonetov dom. Okoli mize je bilo zbranih že več rudarjev slovenske in hrvatske narodnosti. Sami znani obrazi. Pričel je govoriti Toni.
“Bratje! Tu pred vami je mlad junak—Johnnie.”
Mlademu Johnnieju je udarila kri v glavo. Zdelo se mu je, da prihaja glas iz daljave. “Postavil se je preddelavcu po robu, ko ga je prigovarjal naj pristopi kot član v dobrotvorno društvo. Že to je zadostno priporočilo, da postane član S.N.P.J. in se tako izvežba za delavskega bojevnika, ko doseže starost 21 let. Takih borcev delavstvo potrebuje, da zmaga. Prihodnjo nedeljo glasujemo vsi na seji za njegov sprejem.”
Mladega Johnnieja je bilo sram in ni vedel, kaj bi rekel. Ako bi Johnnie mogel čitati misli starih boja vajenih delavcev, bi bil razumel tudi njih besede.
Postal je junak! Prišlo je tako hitro in nepričakovano. Toda Johnnie je čutil v sebi moč in energijo, da postane delavski borec.
Gustav Strniša:
Na luni
luni je kovač. Noč na noč kuje same svetle zvezde, zlato mu pa daje bogataš solnce, ki slednji večer obiskuje sanjavo lunico.
Kovač kuje zvezde in jih spušča v vsemir ter kadi svojo pipico, ki je večja od največje kadi. Včasi puha iz pipe kar ogromne oblake dima, da je vsa luna v megli in gleda na svet krmežljavo kakor stara matora muca.
Kadar je kovač slabe volje, si s svojimi sajastimi rokami zasloni obraz ter skrije skoro vso luno, ljudje pa pravijo, da je prvi ali zadnji krajec. Kadar je še bolj otežen, skrije obraz v svoj črni robec, si briše solze in plaka; luna je tedaj ljudem popolnoma zakrita, zato pravijo, da je mlaj. Kovačeve solze pa prše v vsemir, težki meteorji so, ki se spremene na zemlji v kamne.
Kovač na luni je velikan, kakršnih ni nikjer na svetu.
Ko ljudje zagledajo polno luno in se vesele njnenga sija, pač ne vedo, da je kovač tedaj posebno dobre volje, kajti po svojem nakovalu tolče, da se vse trese, in zraven veselo žvižga. Tako noč včasi nenadoma zagrmi za gorami in se močno zabliska. Preplašeni ljudje gledajo v nebo in se čudijo: nobenega oblačka ni videti in vendar je zagrmelo in se zabliskalo.. Kovač na luni se pa široko reži na svet, saj je on tak rogovilež, v tihi noči se namreč čuje odmev njegovega velikanskega kladiva in se često zasveti iskra, ki skoči izpod nakovala, ljudje pa premišljujejo, kaj se je zgodilo.
Kadar je pa lunin mrk, je kovač na,bolj žalosten. Njegova kovačnica je zaprta, zvezde si tiho mežikajo in se vprašujejo, kaj je z velikanom na luni. Kovač pa žalosten sedi v svo,i kovačnici in se čuti zelo zapuščenega in nesrečnega. Tak čas se je nekdaj že vrgel iz lune, misleč, da bo utonil v vsemirju. Mož je pozabil, da sije na nebu prostrana rimska cesta. Padel je baš na to cesto, si raztrgal hlače in zvil nogo. Odšepal je po cesti, upaje, da bo po nji srečno dospel na zemljo. Ko je bil blizu svojega smotra, je pa razočaran opazil, da se spet bliža luni. Kmalu je obstal pred svojo kovačnico, globoko vzdihnil in spet pričel kovati zvezde ter jih bo koval in koval —  ---------
Nakladalca.
Gozd v jeseni.
Katka Zupančič:
Kaj bi bil rad
^ TESNIH šolskih klopeh pišejo nalogo. Vsak po svoje tuhta in rije po možganih ter išče gradiva, ki bi se dalo uporabiti. Mnogi so sicer kmalu zajeli primerno misel, toda zobličiti jo in jo dati na papir, to je težko.
Tam oni si je že namočil pero in ga zastavil na papir, pa se je spet premislil, naslonil je konec peresnika na zobe in premišljujoč strmi na prazno stran zvezka. Oni poleg njega upira pogled na točko, ki si jo je slučajno izbral na pobeljenem stropu šolske sobe. Deklica, tam na desni, mrcvari med prsti gumb, ki komaj še visi na njenem pisanem jopiču ; kakor da bi se dalo iz gumba kaj iztisniti!
Temnolaska v zadnji klopi se skrivoma skloni k svoji plavolasi sosedi in jo šepetaj e vraša, če ima dvoje peres, — njeno zija. Lahen šum pod klopjo in že si temnolaska veselega obraza vtika izposojeno pero v peresnik. Živahno povrta z njim v zrak, za hip pomiruje, naglo se sklone nad zvezek, pa prične pisati; in naloga raste, vrsta za vrsto.
Kodrasti glavi, tam v sredi, ne gre danes preveč od rok. Saj ni, da bi dečko ne znal, toda on hoče vedno nekaj posebnega. Samo en stavek ima na papirju, in pika koncem stavka je že tako na debelo izrisana, da bi jo že skoraj lahko zatipal. Pazno vleče dlačico s konice peresa—njegove oči naenkrat poži-ve—na obraz mu leže zadovoljnost in prvemu stavku dodaja drugega, tretjega ... Še njegov rožnati jeziček je prilezel med stisnjene rdeče ustnice, da sa poveseli uspeha.
Toda, katero zrnje je brez plev? Se med izbranim zrnjem se rade potaje, nikar med neizbranim. Tako je tudi v tem razredu sedelo poleg bolj ali manj nadarjenih, ali vsaj marljivih učencev nekaj takih, ki zaboga niso vedeli, kam s časom. Brezbrižno ti gledajo v zrak
in čakajo, da bo imel ta ali oni sosed že toliko napisanega, da se mu bo izplačalo prepisovati. Pa da jim čas nekoliko hitreje poteče, si radi poiščejo kake nedolžne zabavice. Naj večje veselje naredi letakemu lenuhu muha, ki ga slučajno obišče. To potem z vnemo opazuje in ji nastavlja peresnik, da se šeta po njem gorindol. Slednjič se muhi zahoče spremembe, zato zleti na sosedov odprti zvezek.
“Lej, lej, tinto gre pit, žejna je!” ugotovi lenuh. Obenem pa opazi, da je v tem času njegov sosed popisal že skoraj celo stran zvezka.
“Oho, zdaj pa na delo, sicer bom danes brez naloge!” se zboji.
Zavedajoč se, da je prepisovanje nalog prepovedano, si najprej skrbno ogleda, da-li ga učiteljica ne opazuje. Vesel, ker mu ta danes ne posveča posebne pažnje — vsaj njemu se zdi tako — stegne vrat in površno pogleda na zvezke vseh svojih sosedov, niti na pisanje onega, ki sedi pred njim ne pozabi.
“Ali ga vidiš, samogoltnega Tineta, kako je z roko obkrožil svoje čačke, da bi jih ne videl? Le čakaj, skopušek, si pozabil, da sem močnejši od tebe!” po-brunda sam zase.
“Nak,” se zgane, “še največ bom lahko zajemal od tegale na desni.” In že vise njegove oči na tuji lastnini—. Nato jih počasi okrene proti mizi, nadene si skrben obraz, kot da bi premišljal nekaj silno globokega, naredi kretnjo, kakor: aha, pogruntal sem jo! in mirno napiše ukradeni stavek v svoj zvezek. Tako nadaljuje, samo da za spremembo izmika snov zdaj temu, zdaj onemu. To, da se stavki ne ujemajo, mu ne dela niti najmanjših preglavic; da je le naloga!
Tak lenuh je bil Mihec. Vendar je ta svoji lisasti nalogi pridal vsaj konec h
svojega. In ta konec se je glasil: Rad bi postal tako bogat, da bi lahko lepo živel, ne da bi kdaj kaj delal!
Medtem, ko si je Mihec zaželel bogastva, ki mu naj bi kar na lepem padlo v naročje, so si drugi zastavljali cilje, težje ali lažje dosegljive, in nekateri so si začrtali pot, ki bi jih naj vodila do cilja. Na pr. Peter, ki je napisal, da se bo, ko bo vojne konec — bilo je sredi vojne dobe — izučil kovaštva. Pa bo koval železo, da se bo iskrilo in pelo, pelo tako, da se ga bo slišalo v sosednjo občino.
Ali pa Mirko, ki bi rad prišel do uniforme, najrajši do generalske, ali pa vsaj do policijske. In Anica: rada bi postala učiteljica, pa ji že sedaj računstvo dela strašne težave, zato se bo pa raje izučila za šiviljo.
Sladkosnedna Metka bo kajpada kuharica. Pa bo kuhala in pekla tako dobro, da bo zaslovela daleč na okoli. Pa jedla bo, kolikor in kar se ji bo vzljubi-
lo. “Ho, to bo življenje!” je dostavila in najbrže med pisanjem mlasknila z jezikom.
Minka—tudi Mihčeva, to se pravi lene sorte — si je poželela biti mestna gospa, ki bi imela svojo služkinjo . . .
“Študiral bom za advokata,” je napisal prepirljivi Stanko, sin petičnega gostilničarja — vojnega dobičkarja. Toda Stanko in študiranje? Sodeč po zmožnostih, ki jih je pokazal v ljudski šoli, se bi menda prej sova naučila slavčjega petja, ko Stanko tega, kar zahtevajo visoke šole. Pohlevni, a bistroumni Janko poleg njega bi rad prišel v tehniško šolo; toda oče, ubog delavec, ki je radi vojne postal le še ubožnejši, ga ne bo mogel podpirati; zato pojde, ko do-raste in si prisluži denarja, v Ameriko; morda si bo tam lažje pomagal naprej.
Tako in podobno je vsak izmed šolarjev dal duška svojim težnjam in željam.
Pogled na Blejski grad.
Vlakovodjev sin
-OTROCI so časih junaki!” — tako trdi znameniti angleški pisatelj Bernard Shaw. Na te besede sem se spomnil, ko se je pripetilo sledeče:
Tik pred postajo Helsingfors se je zgodila železniška nesreča. Vlak je skočil iz tira in z vso močjo zadel v postajno poslopje. Kakor čudež se mi je zazdelo, ko smo zvedeli, da ni bilo nika-kih človeških žrtev. Malo je bilo težko ranjenih in nekateri potniki so odnesli le neznatne praske. Večina potnikov in železniškega osebja si je rešilo življenje s tem, da so poskakali iz dreve-čega vlaka, ko so opazili, da je nesreča neizogibna.
Ivan Linnankorpi, vlakovodja, je pripovedoval o nesreči:
“Pri zadnji postaji pred Helsingfor-som je bilo še vse v redu. Ko smo vozili po hribu navzdol, sem mahoma zapazil, da se je pokvarila zavora. Poizkušal sem vse mogoče, a nič ni pomagalo. Kurjač, ki je stal poleg mene, je trosil na tir pesek in kamenje, da bi zmanjšal brzino, a vlak je drevil z ne-izpremenjeno naglico naprej. Takoj sem vedel, da je katastrofa neizbežna. Kurjač je v zadnjem trenutku, ko smo že vozili v postajo, skočil z vlaka. V naslednjem trenutku mi je šinilo po glavi:	“Izgubljen sem!” Tedajci pa
sem začutil strahovit sunek in vlak je obstal. Začudeno sem pogledal okoli sebe. Bil sem živ, le roke so mi bile polite s krvjo.”
Hrabri vlakovodja, ki ni zapustil svojega mesta, čeprav je gledal smrti v obraz, ni bil edini junak na tej vožnji.
V	tretjem vozu je sedel njegov sin, dvanajstletni Linnankorpi. Mali deček, ki je takoj zapazil, da se bliža strahovita nesreča, je začel kričati: “Skočite z voza! Rešite si življenje!” In res so začeli ljudje na njegovo povelje skakati iz dirjajočega vlaka. Tako so si mnogi rešili življenje. Naposled ni bilo v vozu nobenega potnika več, le mali Linnankorpi je ostal na svojem sedežu. Vedel je, da tudi njegov oče ne bo zapustil svojega mesta, zakaj mnogokrat mu je pravil, da mornariški častniki in vlakovodje ne smejo m'sliti na svojo rešitev, če se zgodi nesreča. Tako sta se peljala obadva, oče na lokomotivi, sin komaj tri vozove od njega, smrti naproti.
Zgodilo se je kakor čudež: oče in sin sta ostala živa. In to je najlepše na vsej stvari. Vlakovodji je bilo zmečkalo dva prsta, a dečka so potegnili težje poškodovanega izpod ruševin.
Vlakovodja Linnankorpi ima nekoga, na kogar je lahko ponosen!
C. P. K.:	Klepar.
M.S.:
Vseznal in nebodigatreba
'J'AM daleč za deveto goro je pred davnim časom živel kralj Nemakaj. Imel je dva sina—dvojčka. Prvi, Vseznal, je bil velik in vitek, znal je vse —vsaj z jezikom. Ni je bilo stvari pod božjim soincem, o kateri on ne bi bil mislil, da jo zna, zato se ga je tudi prijelo ime Vseznal. Drugi, Nebodigatreba, je bil majhen in čokat. Starši so imeli ž njim vedno, velik križ, kajti bil je prav gotovo vedno tam, kjer ga ni nihče potrebovati in nihče klical.
Če je mati kraljica, vsa utrujena od prevelikih skrbi in odgovornosti, malo počivala, je gotovo prihrumel v sobo Nebodigatreba in s krikom in vikom zdramil mamico iz sladkega spanca. Če se je oče posvetoval s svojimi ministri
o	važnih državnih zadevah, je prav go-tovo prilomastil v posvetovalnico mali debeluh in motil gospode v državniških poslih. Če je strežaj skrivaj odprl steklenico in poskušal sladko vince, ga je prav gotovo iz kakega kota opazoval mali princ in ga seveda zatožil očetu. Skratka, bil je povsod, kjer ga ni bilo treba in zato so ga tudi imenovali Nebodigatreba.
Kralj se je postaral in je hotel odložiti težko vladarsko breme. Ni se pa mogel odločiti, kateremu izmed sinov bi zapustil prestol, kajti bila sta mu oba enako ljuba in draga. Končno odloči: “Pojdita po svetu! Kateri bo več skusil in bo vedel ob povratku več povedati, bo moj naslednik. Nikomur pa ne smeta izdati, da sta kraljevega rodu! Ako kje stopita v službo, morata služiti najmanj teden dni v popolno gospodarjevo zadovoljnost.”
Tako je odločil kralj Nemakaj in tako se je zgodilo!
Poslovila sta se dečka od dobrega očeta in mamice ter krenila na pot.
Dolgo sta hodila čez hribe in doline, požirala prah po brezkončnih belih cestah, a doživela nista ničesar in niko-
gar nista našla, ki bi ju bil voljan vzeti v službo. Kar sta imela živeža s seboj, sta pojedla in želodec se jima je pričel že prav neprijetno oglašati.
Prideta naposled do bajte nekega čevljarja. “Veš kaj, Nebodigatreba,” reče Vseznal, “k čevljarju pojdem in ga poprosim za službo. Ti me pa počakaj tamle v senci kraj gozda! če me do večera ne bo nazaj, nadaljuj sam svojo pot, jaz bom skušal odslužiti vsaj teden dni.” Ne da bi čakal bratovega odgovora, jo je ubral proti delavnici mojstra kopitarja.
“Dober dan, očka, prosim, vzemite me za pomočnika, delal vam bom brez plačila da le dobim jesti.”—“Zakaj pa ne, takih ki bi le za hrano delali, ni baš mnogo. Toda, ali tudi kaj znaš?”— “Seveda znam, jaz znam vse!”—“Dobro je, tu imaš usnje, napravi čevlje, jaz pa pojdem tačas po opravkih!”
Vseznal se pogumno loti dela, ali oj nesreča! Kar je sešil, ni bilo podobno niti mošnji, kaj šele čevlju. Malce ga je le zaskrbelo, kaj poreče mojster, ko zagleda ta nestvor. Bilo pa je še hujše, nego je mislil, zakaj mojster ni štedil s psovkami in batinami. Končno se ubogi Vseznal najde na cesti, stokaje otiplje proti gozdu, kjer je med tem Nebodigatreba sladko spal.
“Dragi bratec,” reče Vseznal, “le pojdi ti k čevljarju služit, jaz ga imam že dovolj.” Nebodigatreba ne vpraša ne kaj ne kako, ampak jo mahne proti čevljarjevi bajti. Čevljar je med tem šel počivat. Zaklenil je sicer duri, a okno na dvorišče je pustil odprto.
Nebodigatreba pride do vrat in ko vidi, da ne more v hišo skozi vrata, išče, kako bi po drugem potu prišel do čevljarja. Najde odprto okno, ter nič hudega ne misleč skuša zlesti v sobo. Tedaj pa pridrvi iz sosednje sobe čevljar in besno zavpije: “Le počakaj, ti tat tatinski, jaz te naučim krasti.” V
velikem loku vrže ubogega Nebodigatreba na sredo gnojišča. Revež še do sape ni prišel, kaj šele do besede. Ko vidi, da vihti čevljar debelo palico proti njemu, jo popiha, ne da bi pojasnil čevljarčku kako in kaj. Ko prisopiha k bratu, se ta škodoželjno nasmehne in reče: “Kakor vidim, nisi prav nič dobro opravil, jutri pojdem zopet jaz iskat službe.” Lačna in žejna zaspita pod drevjem.
Drugo jutro jo ubere Vseznal proti vasi. Od hiše do hiše prosi, da bi ga vzeli v službo. Nikjer ga nočejo. Naposled pride do krojača. “Pomagati vam hočem, mojster, če mi date malo zajtrka, lačen sem tako da komaj hodim.” Krojaču se je ubogi deček smilil. Da mu kos kruha in klobaso ter ga vpraša, če zna šivati. “Gotovo, očka, jaz znam vse, le brez skrbi bodite. Kar sem z delom!” Sede in prične šivati.
Siva, šiva—a vse narobe; rokav pri-šije na vrat suknje, žep na koleno hlačnice, ubode pa dela palec dolge, samo da bi bil prej gotov.
Ko krojač pogleda, kaj je Vseznal se-šil, se razi j uti, vzame palico ter ga prav pošteno premikasti. “Lažnivec lažnivi, vse si mi pokvaril!” Vseznal je komaj ušel jeznemu krojaču.
Ko je pritekel k bratu, je žalostno sedel poleg njega ter mu povedal, da ga je krojač nagnal.
Cez nekaj časa gre Nebodigatreba poskušat svojo srečo h krojaču. Krojač je ravno skrival kos blaga, ki ga je bil prištedil pri prikrojevanju suknje. Bil le tako zamaknjen v svoje delo, da Ne-bodigatrebe, ki je rahlo odprl vrata, stal na pragu in iskal besede v pozdrav, še opazil ni. Ko krojač vidi, da ga pri njegovem nepoštenem poslu opazuje neznanec, se silno razjezi. “Kaj stojiš in zijaš, budalo, spravi se mi izpred oči!” Ko Nebodigatreba sliši te prijazne besede in vidi kako krojač sega po palici, se zasuče in brez besede izgine za vogalom.
“Kar dalje pojdiva, tu so sila nevljudni ljudje!” reče bratu, “eden me vrže na gnoj, drugi me hoče pretepsti.
Ne vem, kaj sem jim storil, toda tu ne bom več iskal službe.”
Prideta v mesto. “Veš kaj, jaz grem y gostilno za natakarja. To bom menda le znal,” pravi Vseznal. Korajžno stopi pred debelega krčmarja, ki je stal pred vrati lepe gostilne. “Gospod, za natakarja me vzemite, pridno vam bom služil.” Krčmarju je dečko všeč in ga kar sprejme v službo.
Kmalu je prišlo nekaj gostov, da si omočijo suha grla. “Idi v klet in prinesi vina!” veli krčmar Vseznalu. Ta vzame steklenico ter gre v klet. Dolgo ogleduje sode ter premišlja, kako bi prišel do v.na. Naposled izdere največjemu sodu pipo. Curek vina mu brizgne naproti. Hitro nastavi steklenico, ki je bila seveda v hipu polna, potem pa poskuša pipo zopet zabiti v luknjo. Ker vidi, da se mu to ne posreči, jo kar popiha iz kleti ter brez slovesa zbeži iz hiše, zakaj vedel je, da bi ga krčmar za njegovo umetnost v natakanju nič kaj ne pohvalil.
Krčmar čaka in čaka, a ko se Vseznal le ne vrne iz kleti, gre sam pogledat, kaj je ž njim. Lahko si mislite, kaj je rekel, ko je videl, da je vsa klet preplavljena z njegovo najboljšo kapljico. Vseznalu bi se gotovo ne bilo dobro godilo, če bi ga bil krčmar dobil v pest.
Ta seveda ni čakal nadaljnih ljubeznivosti, ampak jo je brzo ves moker odkuril tja, odkoder je bil prišel.
Tako sta poskušala bratca svojo srečo še v kovačnici, v kuhinji bogataša, tudi za hlapce sta se ponudila, a povsod jima je spodletelo. Vseznal ni ničesar znal in Nebodigatreba je prišel vedno o nepravem trenutku. Vsa obupana, lačna in žejna, bosa in raztrgana, se naposled znajdeta sredi polja pod velikim hrastom ter premišljujeta svojo žalostno usodo.
“Sedaj pa res ne vem, kje bi še poskusila svojo srečo,” reče Vseznal, “naju bi menda še sam vrag ne hotel imeti v službi.”
“No, pa pojdita z menoj, vzamem vaju za hlapca,” se oglasi tik pred njima raskav glas.
Kappe Boecker:
Bele peroti
J^EPO j_e poslušati pravljice. A za iz-premembo naj vam enkrat povem resnično povest.
Največja kmetija v Zatišju je bila Gorjančeva. Jakob Gorjanc je veljal za najpametnejšega in najbogatejšega v vasi in okolici.
Najmanjši in najmlajši, ki je služil pri njem, je bil pastir Tinče. V njegovem krstnem listu je sicer bilo zapisano “Valentin Krištof” in tako mu pravijo tudi danes, a tedaj so ga klicali za Tinčeta. Pri mizi je sedel med hlapci na zadnjem koncu; podnevi je bil na paši, ponoči pa je spal s hlapci v kamri poleg hleva.
Ponosni Jakob Gorjanc iz Zatišja je često trgoval in denar se je kotalil k njemu od vseh strani. Ležal je na njegovi nočni omarici in na okenski polici v hiši. Jakob Gorjanc je bil strog, pošten mož. Pred tatovi se ni čuval. A lepega dne je izginil z okenske police v hiši kupček denarja. Trinajst goldinarjev.
Jakob Gorjanc je sklical hlapce in dekle. Nihče ni bil videl tuje osebe. Gospodar je povpraševal po vrsti; prišel je do Tinčeta. Tinče je zardel kakor mak.
“Nič ne bom poizvedoval,” je dejal Jakob Gorjanc. “Ti dobro veš, da vse popoldne ni nikogar v hišo. Lahko se pride in odide neopaženo. Uverjen sem, da bo zvečer denar na oknu.—Sicer pa zahtevam, da vsi o tem molčite.”
Zvečer je ležal denar na oknu. A molčali niso. Kmalu je vedela vsa vas, da je Tinče tat in Tinče je to bridko občutil. Hlapci so zaklepali pred njim svoje predale, gledali Tinčeta postrani in se mu umikali. Tudi vaška deca se mu je umikala in na oknu ni bilo videti nikoli več beliča.
Jakob Gorjanc pa je nameraval Tin-četu pri prvi priliki odpovedati službo.
Domov se dečko ni pokazal tri tedne. A nekega večera je prišla k njemu mati. Bila je boječa, zdelana žena. S svojim delom je vzdrževala moža, ki je popival in jo pretepal. Tinče je moral z njo domov. A oče je jokal debele solze vsled ganjenosti in občudovanja samega sebe: on, ki gotovo ni bil brez napak, ni bil nikoli tako globoko padel, da bi bil kradel. Dečko si ni upal črhniti. A njegov obraz je okamenel, oči posteklenele. In vendar bi bil lahko povedal, da tudi on pomaga plačevati rdeče lise na očetovem obrazu, kajti prinašal je ves svoj zaslužek domov, dasi je bilo včasih težko. Nikoli ni mogel na veselice kot drugi. Še kadar so pri Gorjančevih plesali, je stal zunaj v temi in gledal skozi okno v razsvetljeno sobo. Ni imel praznične obleke ne celih čevljev.
Tinče sam mi je vse to povedal, tisti Tinče, ki ga sedaj zovejo Valentina Krištofa.
Za tistih trinajst goldinarjev si je bil hotel kupiti obleko, čevlje in cigaro. Cigara je bila zanj nekaj imenitnega, ker se mu je zdelo, da bi mu pripomogla do ugleda.
Po tatvini je hodil Tinče tih in mrk za delom. Vsi so ga sovražili in on je sovražil vse.
Neko nedeljo popoldne je sedel sam samcat v kamri. Tedaj je prišla k njemu Lenka, Gorjančeva edinka in mu zlezla na kolena kot prejšnje čase.
“Tinče, čisto nov goldinar imam. Ali ga skriješ?”
Tinčeta je prešinilo kot blisk. “Ali so to oče dejali?”
“Ne. o tem ne smejo ničesar vedeti; ali .me razumeš? Goldinar so mi dali babica, saj bo sedaj kmalu očetov god. Kupila jim bom nekaj lepega. Morda dobim še denarja—so babica dejali. A ne vem, kam bi ga skrila. Ti ga shrani, Tinče. Boš?”
“Bom.”
Tinče je vzel goldinar in Lenka je od -stopicala. Eno samo misel je imel dečko: Luka mora dobiti goldinar nedotaknjen nazaj. Bilo mu je, kot da se je zdramil iz težkih, morečih sanj. Jel je premišljati, kam bi goldinar verno skril. Premišljal je do večera. Pod noč pa ga je zakopal pod tretjo jablano v vrtu.
Minuli so dnevi. Rad bi bil pogledal pod jablano, a si ni upal, da ne bi izda! skrivališča. Neke noči pa se je oglasi' lo: “Zakaj ne bi vzel ti goldinarja, saj te itak imenujejo tatu in denar bi ti prav prišel. Lenki prepoveš govoriti o tem in molčala bo. Porečeš ji, da si goldinar tako skril, da ga več ne najdeš.” Menda je tako govoril sam zli duh.
Tinče je še drugo jutro tuhtal: “Bi ali nebi . .
Tedaj je prišla Lenka.
“Tinče, tu imaš še tri dvajsetice, dobro jih shrani. Očetu bom kupila nov, lep tintnik. Babica so dejali, da ga rabijo.”
Dečko je vzel denar. Sam mi je pozneje povedal, da se mu je Lenka tedaj zazdela kot angelj. Ko bi bil bolje pogledal, bi bil gotovo videl, da je imela bele peroti, ko je stala pred njim. Take peroti, kot jih ima angelj.
Nič več se ni čutil Tinče osamljenega in v mraku je zakopal dvajsetice h goldinarju. Vendar je bil vesel.
V	nedeljo je ves popoldan čakal na Lenko. V mraku se je prikradla k njemu.
“Tinče, očeta moraš prositi, da ti dado štiri ure prosto. A ničesar jim ne povej! In potem pojdi v mesto in kupi najlepšega! Tu imaš še en goldinar. Saj boš, kaj?” je moledovala.
“Bom, bom,” je obljubil Tinče, stopil h gospodarju in ga prosil za štiri ure prostosti. Jakob Gorjanc ga je strogo pogledal, a mu jih dovolil.
Naslednjega dne je Tinče že pred solnčnim vzhodom stopal proti mestu. Lenka ni bila pomislila, da je mesto precej daleč in da se v štirih urah komaj pride tja in nazaj. Tudi Tinče ni
bil tega pomislil. Tekel je, da mu je pot kar curkoma lil s čela, a pri duši mu je bilo praznično, kot na cirkus. Denar je bil izkopal že ponoči.
Čudno, naslednjega dne, ko je pometal dvorišče, ga je poklical Jakob Gorjanc k sebi.
“Tinče, sem pojdi!” in ko je Tinče stopil v hišo, je gospodar potisnil predenj skodelico dišeče kave in dejal: “Na, pij! Mati so šli z Lenko k bahici, da jih povabijo na kosilo.” Tinče je nerodno sedel, pil, se opekel, nemirno begal z očmi po sobi in si želel, da bi bil kje daleč na gmajni.
“Jaz sem že pomalical,” je dejal gospodar in vstal izza mize. “Ti pa le posedi, dokler se ti ljubi, saj je danes moj god.”
Gospodar je odšel. A ko se je Tinče okrenil, je videl, da je na oknu kup drobiža in Srebrnjakov. Tinčetu se je zdelo, kakor da sa'nja. Pri duši mu ni bilo niti žalostno, niti veselo. A šlo mu je na jok. Le to si je želel, da bi se v miru razjokal.
In se je.
Nikdar ni nihče več omenil tatvine. Vendar je Tinče čutil, da še ni pozabljena. In vsi so čutili, da se Tinče tega zaveda.
Minula so leta. Gospodar mu je povišal plačo, in na odpoved ni nikoli več mislil. Na polici ob oknu je zopet ležal denar.
Tinče je bil šestnajst let star, a Lenka dvanajst. Tedaj je prišla Lenka zopet k njemu.
“Tinče”—od navdušenja je komaj govorila, “sto goldinarjev imam. Babica so mi jih dali za dober začetek. Hočejo, da bi se učila igrati na klavir. To je še premalo za klavir, a babica pravijo, da naj še oče kaj primaknejo.” In se je veselo zasmejala, da se je še Tinče nasmehnil.
“Denar moramo naložiti v hranilnico. Ti ga moraš naložiti v mestu, Tinče. Brž zaprezi!”
Tinče je strmel vanjo. Čim dalj je strmel, tem jasneje je videl bele peroti.
“Kdo je to rekel?”
“Oče.”
“Ali ve?”
“Ve.”
“In kaj je dejal?”
“Dejal je, da bi ob tej priliki še zanj lahko naložil nekaj stotakov.”
Tinčetu je poskakovalo srce v prsih. Ko se je odpeljal izpred hiše, bi bil najraje zaukal. A v grlu mu je bilo suho in ves je trepetal. Gotovo bi se mu ne bilo posrečilo ta hip. In sploh, kaj bi ljudje rekli . . .
Opoldne je ponosno položil na mizo hranilni knjižici. Gorjančevo in Len-kino.
Zopet so minula leta. Tinče je postal Tine in je bil veliki hlapec pri Gorjancu. Lenka je imela osemnajst let.
Tedaj so govorili na vasi, da bo prišel snubec, bogat, ugleden posestnik. Lenka sama je to povedala Tinčetu, opoldne za hišo. Solnce je pripekalo, kure
so se kopale v prahu^ vse je bilo tiho. Le lastavica je švignila iz veže in zacvrčala.
“Drugje si poiščem službo,” je dejal Tinče. “Ne, ne, pri nas ostani,” je dejala Lenka in hotela oditi. A nenadoma se je obrnila in ga pogledala in iz oči ji je ušla solza.
“Tako dobri ste bili z menoj pri vas. Kako si mi bila dobra ti, tega niti ne slutiš. Rad bi ti nekaj povedal.” In ji je povedal o belih perotih.
“A sedaj bolje, da grem.”
Tine ni šel in snubec ni prišel.
Danes je Valentin Krištof posestnik na Gorjančevem v Zatišju. Lenka je njegova žena. In Tine trdi še danes: “Ko je bila majhna, so ji zrasle peroti. Lenka je rasla in peroti z njo.”
Klavir še vedno stoji v izbi. Nihče ne zna nanj igrati. Vendar bi ga ne prodali za nobeno ceno.
Na klavirju pa stoji tintnik.
Jesenski zameti.
Vladimir Levstik:
KIKEC
Zlezel Kikec, jezdec mali na konjička: hop!
Na semenj bomo jahali, da prodamo putkin čop!
Čop prodamo, zanj dobimo zlatov polno pest, z njimi v svet se zapodimo, križem krajev, križem cest.
JAŠE Z DOMA
V	Carigrad in Jokohamo, v Meko, v Zanzibar, na pero, ki piše samo, stricu Pesmokrpu v dar.
Po pero, ki samo piše: stric imel bo mir, mali Kikec pa v nedeljo lepih pesmic na izber!
Šale za male
Metka je vedela, da se ne sme približati krajem, kjer stoji napis “Pozor! Hud pes!”
Bila je velika zaspanka in najrajša bi bila ostala do obeda v postelji.
Takega jutra, ko jo pride spet mamica budit, zagleda ob postelji napis: “Pozor! Hud pes!”
Mamica pokliče Metko, a ta ji ogorčeno zakliče: “Mamica, ali ne veš, da se ne smeš približati krajem, kjer stoji napis ‘Hud pes!’?”
Vinko: “Očka, naš učitelj pa ne zna nič zemljepisa. Pred tednom dni je trdil, da teče Sava skozi Zagreb, danes pa pravi, da teče skozi Sisak.”
Milica: “Oh, saj je pri nas v šoli prav tako. Naša učiteljica pa ne zna računati. Včeraj je rekla: 3+3=6, danes je pa trdila, da je 2+4=6. Kaj naj ji zdaj verjamem?”
*
Tonček vpraša Janezka: “Zakaj se ne prideš več igrat na dvorišče?”
Janezek:	“Zato,	ker	ne	utegnem.
Dopoldne moram pušiti, popoldne mi je pa slabo!”
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V	juliski številki Mladinskega lista sta bila samo dva slovenska dopisa. Zato pa sedaj pišem jaz, da bo v oktoberski eden več. Julijska izdaja M. I/. se mi je zelo dopadla. Mladinski list prečltam takoj ko ga dobim, od začetka do kcnca. Povest “Tonček in Johnny” se mi je še najbolj dopadla. Ubogi Tonček!
Kadar se mi Mladinski list zapozni za par dni, sem vselej v strahu, da mi ga pismonoša morda zgubi, kajti jaz hranim vse številke Mladinskega lista. Enega imam še od leta 192G. Vse številke so še kakor nove. Ne maram, da bi mi ga kdo uničil, ker mi je bil večkrat koristen pri mojih šolskih nalogah. Kadar nimam nič za citati, pa grem in prebiram Mladinski list spet od kraja.
Šolske počitnice so minule (ko to pišem jih je ostalo še tri tedne) in težko sem pričakovala, da bi spet šola začela. V septembru sem pričela pohajati osmi razred (8-A). Stara sem 12 let. V zadnji polovici šolskega leta sem pomagala učiteljici popravljati domače naloge za sedmi razred. Imela sem sicer veliko dela z mojimi nalogami ob večerih, pa sem vseeno rada učitijici pomagala, ker sem s tem pridobila več skušnje v šolskem delu. Ob koncu leta mi je učiteljica dala primerno plačilo.
Pozdrav vsem čitateljem Mladinskega lista in tudi uredniku!	Evelyn	Hochevar,
2318 Cedar street, Pueblo, Colo.
*	* *
Dragi urednik!
Zopet sem se namenila, da napišem par vrstic za Mladinski list. Nimam sicer nič kaj posebnega pisati, ker tukaj v Trauniku je vedno vse po starem. Naše šolske počitnice so končale in šola je pričela dne 3. septembra.
Dne 7. septembra smo tukaj obhajali 10-letnco društva št. 387 SNPJ. Prvih deset let je hitro minulo, drugih deset bo pa še hitreje, vsaj tako jaz mislim.
Zelo rada bi videla, da bi se več bratcev in sestric oglašalo v Mladinskem listu. Nekateri pravijo, da se je težko pripraviti, pa ni tako težko, ampak samo mislijo si tako. Kar lepo vzemite v roke pero in papir, pa napišite par vrstic v M. L. Vsaki naj napiše in morda bo čez nekaj časa Mladinski list prihajal k nam po dvakrat na mesec. In tega bi se pač vsi veselili.
Naj končam za enkrat in pozdravljam vse bratce in sestrice ter čitatelje Mladinskega lista!	Mary	Ostanek,
Box 4, Traunik, M:ch.
*	* *
Dragi urednik!
Spet se oglašam v Mladinskem listu. Septembra meseca sem spet začala pohajati šolo. —Tukaj vam pošiljam eno pesmico, če jo boste priobčili.
V	jeseni.
Jesen je tu, po vrtu, travi, podlesek cvete nevesel.
Na jug zleteli so žrjavi, hladan je čas se nam začel.
Slovo že lastovke so vzele, v grmovju črni kos molči, senice so prišle vesele, od mrzle severne strani.
Po njivah se živina pase, več žitne bilke ni nikjer, plevel zdaj po strnišču raste, pastirčki kurijo zvečer.
Jesen rumena, dobra žena, otroci se je vesele, rdeča, bela in rumena, na drevju jabolka zore.
Pozdrav vsem čitateljem M. L.!
Mary Krainik,
231 E. Poplar street, Chisholm, Minn.
Namenila sem se, da spet napišem par vrstic za Mladinski list po slovensko. Jaz le malo pišem in čitam slovensko, ker je zame težko, vseeno pa se trudim, da se bom naučila. Vedno nestrpno čakam, kdaj bo pismonoša prinesel Mladinski list. Pri nas se preganjamo, da kdo ga bo prvi čital; jaz sem tako srečna, da ga vedno dobim zadnja.
Vreme je tukaj bolj slabo, ker vedno dež pada. Na vrtu vse lepo i-aste. Mi imamo veliko farmo. Ker nimam posebnih novic, končam in pozdravljam vse bratce in sestrice pri SNPJ in čitatelje M. L.!
Agnes Ostanek, Box 4, Traunik, Mich.
*	* *
Dragi iirednik!
Težko sem pričakovala Mladinski list. Mislila sem že, da ga več ne bo, ker je bilo par številk tako poznih. Jaz najprej preberem “Naš kotiček,” pa vidim, da je čedalje manj dopisov v njem. Bratci in sestrice bi se mogli bolj zanimati za slovenščino. Ne bo jim žal, pač pa bodo še veseli, ker se bodo naučili slovensko čitati in pisati. Jaz sem vesela, da sem se naučila čitati in pisati slovensko. Seveda napravim včasih kakšno napako, zakar naj mi urednik oprosti in naj mi popravi.
Pozdrav vsem čitateljem Mladinskega lista in tudi uredniku!	Anna	Matos,
Box 181, Blaine, Ohio.
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Dragi urednik!
Spet sem se namenila, da se malo oglasim v našem priljubljenem Mladinskem listu. Do-sedaj smo imeli malo več časa v poletnih počitnicah, sedaj pa ga ne bo več toliko, kajti šola je pričela s septembrom in treba se je učiti. Spet se bo treba učiti računstva, črkovanja in drugih predmetov. Morda smo že vse pozabili, kar smo se naučili v prošlem letu.
Prečitala sem ves “Chatter Corner” in tudi “Naš kotiček” in sem videla, da se veliko otrok zanima za Mladinski list. Nekateri pišejo angleške, drugi pa slovenske dopise. Dragi bratci in sestrice, le tako naprej. Pokažimo, kaj znamo. Saj nam ne bo nikdar žal, kar se bomo sedaj naučili. Cim več se bomo naučili, tem več bomo znali ko doraste-mo. Drugič kaj več.
Pozdrav vsem bratcem in sestricam SNPJ, čitateljem Mladinskega lista in uredniku!
Mary Matos, Box 181, Blaine, Ohio.
❖	*	sj:
Dragi urednik!
To je moje drugo slovensko pismo za Mladinski list. Jaz zelo rad čitam Mladinski_ list, ker se učim brati in pisati slovensko. Cesar
ne vem, pa mi mama povedo in me učijo pisati slovensko. Našemu priljubljenemu Mladinskemu listu želim veliko napredka.
Pozdrav vsem čitateljem in želim, da bi Mladinski list izhajal dvakrat na mesec, ne samo enkrat. Drugič bom kaj več napisal in morda tudi kaj boljšega.
Anton F. Zgonc,
Box 58, Westm’d City, Pa.
*	* *
Dragi urednik!
V	septemberski številki Mladinskega lista s em čitala Vaše priporočilo, da naj bi se mladi člani SNPJ in č.tatelji M. L. kaj več oglašali v slovenšč.ni. Zato sem se jaz odločila, da napišem par vrstic v nam mladini tako priljubljeni mesečnik. Skoro sem že pozabila pisati slovensko, kajti drugače nikdar ne pišem, le kadar se oglasim v Mladinskem listu.
Tukaj smo res imeli dolge nočitnice, ki so trajale cele štiri mesece. In tukaj na jugu je bilo prevroče, da bi človek pisal. Sedaj sem pa spet zaposlena s šolskim delom. Sem v osmem razredu in ravnotako tudi moj brat Frank; sestra Mary je v šestem razredu. Vsi smo člani SNPJ.
H koncu pozdravljam vse člane in članice mladinskega oddelka naše jednote. Upam, da bom od sedaj naprej videla kaj več slovenskih dopisov v “Našem kotičku” kakor sem jih do sedaj.	Frances	L. Kochevar,
Box 273, West Frankfort, 111.
*	* *
Dragi urednik!
Cenjeni urednik in dragi čitatelji Mladinskega lista. V prošli številki M. L. sem opazila, da so bila samo dva slovenska dopisa v “Našem kotičku.” Pa me je moja mama kregala, da nas je lahko sram, ker tako malo pišemo za “Naš kotiček.” Zato sem pa sklenil, da se bom kaj oglasil v Mladinskem listu, da bom pisal v slovenskem.
Povem vam, dragi čitatelji, da to poletje je bilo zelo kratkočasno. Udeležili smo se treh jubilejnih proslav 25 letnice SNPJ, poleg tega pa smo bili na koncertu Toneta Šublja, ki ga je priredil v Universalu, Pa. Posetili smo tudi socialistični piknik.
Ko smo bili na slavju 25 letnice SNPJ v Yukonu, Pa., sem imel priliko pozdraviti se s pokojnim Jožetom Zavertnikom. Rekel mi je, da naj delujem za socializem in za SNPJ. Povem vam, dragi mladi čitatelji, da je tudi meni zelo žal za njim, ker je prekmalu umrl. Bil je tako prijazen in pa tudi zelo priden.
Sedaj končam, se bom pa še prihodnjič kaj oglasil. Povem vam pa, da ne niš e m rad dopisov, rajši pa čitam dopise drugih članov v M. L.	Janez	Janezov—Fradel,
Latrobe, Pa.
Tu Vam pošiljam pesmico o mravlji in kobilici.
Poleti se skrbno je mravlja za kruhek borila, na kupe nosila si hrano drobno.
Kobilca veselo cvrči, mar delo je nji, opojna sinočne radosti vriskaje žgoli.
Mravlja marljivo se trudi in znaša na kup, da imela bo hrane za zimske dni.
Kobilca je pela ko čas je bilo dela, mravlja pa si je pridno vse preskrbela:
Prišla je zima, se kobilca je tresla, mravlja pa ji zapela: “O kresu si pela, zdaj nimaš jela, pa pleši pozimi in se ugrej.”
Lep pozdrav vsem čitateljem M. L.!
Mary Matos, Box 181, Blaine, Ohio.
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Dragi urednik!
Spet se oglašam v Mladinskem listu s par vrsticami v slovenskem, čitala sem “Naš kotiček” v septemberski številki M. L., pa sem videla v njem samo dva slovenska dopisa, mojega in od Mildred Ilovar. Angleških dopisov pa je vedno več. Kakor izgleda, se vsi bolj zanimajo za angleško kot za slovensko pisavo. Urednik je imel prav, da nas je pozval, da dopisujemo več v slovenskem. Kajti če bo šlo tako naprej, ne bo kmalu nobenega dopisa več v slovenščini v M. L.
Bratci in sestrice! Vsi na delo! Govoriti znamo vsi slovensko, zato pa še pišimo po slovensko. Ako nam snrva gre bolj slabo, se bomo že naučili, in pa naši starši nam bodo pomagali.
Mnogo pozdravov vsem čitateljem M. L.!
Anna Matos, Box 181, Blaine, Ohio.
♦	* *
Dragi urednik!
Cenjeni čitatelji M. L.! To leto je preteklo 25 let, odkar je bila ustanovljena naša velika jednota. In v tem letu, ko obhajamo srebrni jubilej SNPJ, smo zgubili enega izmed ustanoviteljev naše jednote, ki je bil graditelj jednote in boritelj za delavstvo.—Jože Zavert-nik, urednik Prosvete 18 let. Tako gredo eden za drugim. Zato pa se moramo mi, mlada generacija, zanimati za Slovensko narodno podporno jednoto. Citati moramo Mladinski list in Prosveto da se bomo dobro seznanili z delovanjem in razmerami pri SNPJ. Tako bomo tudi mi gradili in delali za našo veliko podporno organizacijo. Delujmo vsi za njen napredek kakor so delali naši predniki.
Pozdrav vsem čitateljem in Vam, urednik!
Jane Fradel,
1004 Alexandria steer, Latrobe, Pa.
Dragi urednik!
Prosim, da priobčite Simon Gregorčičevo pesem “Sam,” ki se mi tako dopade.
Sam.
Gorje mu, ki v nesreči biva sam; a srečen ni, kdor srečo vživa sam! Imaš-li, brate, mnogo od nebes, od bratov ne odvračaj mi očes!
Duh plemenit sam bo nosil boli, a sreče vžival sam ne bo nikoli.
Odpri srce, odpri roke,
Otiraj bratovske solze.
Kdor pa srečo vživa sam,
Naj še solze preliva sam!
Iskren pozdrav vsem čitateljem M. L.!
Mary Stroy,
924 Arnolda ave., Indianapolis, Ind.
*	* *
Dragi urednik!
Prosim, dovolite mi malo prostora v Mladinskem listu. Stara sem 13 let in pohajam v 8-A razred. Poleg tega hodim tudi v plesno šolo ter se učim akrobatnih in baletnih plesov. S tem sem začela leta 1926. Do sedaj sem nastopila že na raznih odrih. Nastopila sem tudi za društvo “Stragglers” št. G14 SNPJ v Collinwoodu dne 25. decembra 1. 1927. Učim se tudi na klavir.
Tukaj vam pošiljam mojo sliko v plesni pozi. Pozdravljam vse čitatelje Mladinskega lista!
Josephine Sintich,
956 E. 141 street, Cleveland, Ohio.
JUVENILE
MONTHLY MAGAZINE FOR YOUNG SLOVENES IN AMERICA
Volume VIII.
OCTOBER, 1929.
Number 10.
K. M.:
A LOGICAL STORY
AN OLD WOMAN was sweeping her house, and she found a little crooked nickel.
“What,” said she, “shall I do with this little nickel ? I will go to market and buy a little pig.”
As she was coming home, she came to a stile; but the pig would not go over the stile. She went a little farther, and she met a dog. So she said to the dog:
“Dog, dog, bite pig!
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t go home tonight.”
But the dog would not.	So	she	went	a
little farther, and she met	a stick.	So she
said:
“Stick, stick, beat dog!
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
But the stick would not. She went a little farther, and she met a fire.	' So	she	said:
“Fire, fire, burn the stick!
Stick won’t beat dog;
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
But the fire would not. She went a litttle farther, and she met some water. So she said:
“Water, water, quench fire!
Fire won’t burn stick;
Stick won’t beat dog;
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
But the water would not. She went a little farther and she met an ox. So she said:
“Ox, ox, drink water!
Water won’t quench fire;
Fire won’t burn stick;
Stick won’t beat dog;
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
But the ox would not. She went a little farther and she met a butcher. She said:
“Butcher, butcher, kill ox!
“Ox won’t drink water;
AVater won’t quench fire;
Fire won’t burn stick;
Stick won’t beat dog;
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
But the butcher would not. She went a little farther and she met a rope. So she said:
“Rope, rope, hang butcher!
Butcher wTon’t kill ox;
“Ox won’t drink water;
Water won’t quench fire;
Fire won’t burn stick;
Stick won’t beat dog;
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
She went a little So she said:
But the rope would not. farther and she met a rat.
“Rat, rat, gnaw rope!
Rope won’t hang butcher;
Butcher won’t kill ox;
“Ox won’t drink water;
Water won’t quench fire;
Fire won’t burn stick;
Stick won’t beat dog;
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
But the rat would not. She went a little farther and she met a cat. So she said:
“Cat, cat, kill rat!
Rat won’t gnaw rope;
Rope won’t hang butcher;
Butcher won’t kill ox;
“Ox won’t drink water;
Water won’t quench fire;
Fire won’t burn stick;
Stick won’t beat dog:
Dog won’t bite pig;
Pig won’t get over the stile;
And I shan’t get home tonight.”
The cat said: “If you will give me a saucer of milk, I will kill the rat.”
The Adventure of the Mason
By Washington Irwing.
'J'HERE was once upon a t'me a poor mason, or bricklayer, in Granada, who kept all the saints’ days and holidays, and Saint Monday into bargain, and yet, with all his devotion, he grew poorer and poorer, and could scarcely earn bread for his numerous family. One night he was roused from his first sleep by a knocking at his door. He opened it, and beheld before him a tall, meager, cadaverous-looking priest.
“Hark ye, honest friend!” said the stranger; “I have observed that you are a good man, and one to be trusted; will you undertake a job this very night ?”
“With all my heart, Senor Padre, on condition that I am paid accordingly.” “That you shall be; but you must suffer yourself to be blindfolded.” To this the mason made no objection. So, being hoodwinked, he was led by the priest through various rough lanes and winding passages, until they stopped before the portal of a house. The priest then applied a key, turning a creaking lock, and opened what sounded like a ponderous door. They entered, the door was closed and bolted, and the mason was conducted through an echoing corridor and a spacious hall to an interior part of the building. Here the bandage was removed from his eyes, and he found himself in a patio, or court, dimly lighted by a single lamp. In the center was a dry basin of an old Moorish fountain, under which the priest requested him to form a small vault, bricks and mortar being at hand for the purpose. He accordingly worked all night, but without finishing the job. Just before daybreak the priest put a piece of gold into his hand, and having again blindfolded him, conducted him back to his dwelling. “Are you willing,” said he, “to return and complete your work?”
“Gladly, Senor Padre, provided I am as well paid.”
“Well, then, to-morrow at midnight I will call again.”
He did so, and the vault was completed.
“Now,” said the priest, “you must help me to bring forth the bodies that are to be buried in this vault.”
The poor mason’s hair rose on his head at these words: he followed the priest, with trembling steps, into a retired chamber of the mansion, expecting to behold some ghastly spectacle of death, but was relieved on perceiving three or four portly jars standing in one corner. They were evidently full of money, and it was with great labor that he and the priest carried them forth and consigned them to their tomb. The vault was then closed, the pavement replaced, and all traces of the work were obliterated. The mason was again hoodwinked and led forth by a route different from that by which he had come. After they had wandered for a long time through a perplexed maze of lanes and alleys, they halted. The priest then put two pieces of gold into his hand: “Wait here,” said he, “until you hear the cathedral bell toll for matins. If you presume to uncover your eyes before that time, evil will befall you:” so saying, he departed. The mason waited faithfully, amusing himself by weighing the gold pieces in his hand, and clinking them against each other. The moment the cathedral bell rang its matin peal, he uncovered his eyes, and found himself on the banks of the Xenfl; whence he made the best of his way home, and reveled with his family for a whole fortnight on the profits of his two nights’ work; after which he
was as poor as ever. He continued to work a little, and pray a good deal, and keep saints’ days and holidays, from year to year, while his family grew up as gaunt and ragged as a crew of gypsies. As he was seated one evening at the door of his hovel, he was accosted by a rich old curmudgeon, who was noted for owning many houses, and being a griping landlord. The man of money eyed him for a moment from beneath a pair of anxious shagged eyebrows.
“I am told, friend, that you are very poor.”
“There is no denying the fact, senor,—it speaks for itself.”
“I presume, then, that you will be glad of a job, and will work cheap.”
“As cheap, my master, as any mason in Granada.”
“That’s what I want. I have an old house fallen into decay, which costs me more money than it is worth to keep it in repair, for nobody will live in it; so I must contrive to patch it up and keep it together at as small expense as possible.”
The mason was accordingly conducted to a large deserted house that seemed going to ruin. Passing through several empty halis and chambers, he entered an inner court, where his eye was caught by an old Moorish fountain. He paused for a moment, for a dreaming recollection of the place came over him.
“Pray,” said he, “who occupied this house formerly?”
“A pest upon him!” cried the landlord; “it was an old miserly priest, who cared for nobody but himself. He was said to be immensely rich, and, having no relations, it was thought he would leave all his treasures to the Church. He died suddenly, and the priests and friars thronged to take possession of his wealth; but nothing could they find but a few ducats in a leathern purse. The worst luck has fallen on me, for, since his death, the old fellow continues to occupy my house without paying rent, and there is no taking the law of a dead man. The people pretend to hear the clinking of gold all night in the chamber where the old priest slept, as if he were counting over his money, and sometimes a groaning and moaning about the court. Whether true or false, these stories have brought a bad name on my house, and not a tenant will remain in it.” “Enough,” said the mason sturdily: “let me live in your house rent-free until some better tenant present, and I will engage to put it in repair, and to quiet the troubled spirit that disturbs it. I am a good citizen and a poor man, and am not to be daunted by the Devil himself, even though he should come in the shape of a big bag of money!”
The offer of the honest mason was gladly accepted; he moved with his family into the house, and fulfilled all his engagements. By little and little he restored it to its former state; the clinking of gold was no more heard at night in the chambcr of the defunct priest, but began to be heard by day in the pocket of the living mason. In a word, he increased rapidly in wealth, to the admiration of all his neighbors, and became one of the richest men in Granada: he gave large sums to the poor, by way, no doubt, of satisfying his conscience, and never revealed the secret of the vault until on his death-bed to his son and heir.
L. M.:
Death Valley
The name “Death Valley” was not conjured up by a poetic imagination as many California names have been, but commemorates a tragic incident in the American settlement of California.
A large group of California-bound emigrants were encamped near Salt Lake City in the late fall of 1849. The fate of the Donner party was still fresh in the minds of the Utah settlers who counselled the emigrants not to try the northern passes across the Sierra. Eventualy it was decided to attempt a southern entry into California over the route of a Mormon trail. No wagons yet had traversed this road but it was believed to be passable. Accordingly a guide was engaged and a train of 107 wagons set out over the southern route.
But the emigrants were impatient. They had heard of a short-cut that would take them across the Sierra in the vicinity of Tulare and thereby save them a vast deal of time and traveling in reaching the mines which was their objective. Arriving at Mountain Meadows in the southwestern corner of Utah, 27 wagons and something more than 40 emigrants decided to take the short-cut.
The party that deviated from the better known route however, immediately began to experience privation and hardship. They found little water, food for the oxen became increasingly scarce as they crossed the arid wasteland of
Southern Nevada, and soon they were in a deplorable plight. The party again divided, but intercepted each other from day to day. Finally all entered Death Valley down Furnace Creek Canyon.
One group camped in the vicinity of the present Furnace Creek ranch; the other, to which Manly was attached, seeking a western outlet from the valley, journeyed south and at last brought up at what now is known as Bennett’s Well (named after a member of this party). When death seemed imminent, Manly and another bachelor in the party agreed to seek aid. The pair started out over the Panamint Mountains, passed Searles Lake, struck into the Walker train near Indian Wells (Owens Valley), proceeded southward across the Mojave Desert, traversed Soledad Canyon and finally reached Los Angeles. Procuring food and animals they returned over the same route and rescued the party that had remained behind, and which included women and children. Before civilization was reached, however, of the more than 40 who left the main caravan at Mountain Meadows, thirty-four had perished.
On leaving the region in which they had spent so many miserable and distressing weeks, Manly turned for one last look, murmuring “Good-bye, Death Valley.” Thus, it is asserted, Death Valley received its name.
Webster’s Blue Back Spelling Book
By D. H. Payne.
^LONG in the forties and fifties Webster’s Old Elementary Blue Back Spelling Book was the most prominent educational factor. We do not except the McGuffey’s Readers even, with all their impress on past generations. Noah Webster was the most thorough English scholar in the whole world. An examination of the spelling book itself, if you can find one, will convince any good judge that he not only knew his English, but everything pertaining thereto. The spelling book not only taught spelling, but pronunciation, punctuation, accent, emphasis, capitalization, hyphenization, and much now found in the grammar, geographies, dictionaries, the sciences histories and general literature. The old book has been out of print for a generation but nothing better has taken its place. A few years ago the American Book Company reproduced a reprint of facsimile, of which one of its agents gave me a copy. 1 wonder if any one in Davis county has one of the originals. I am not sure that Noah Webster had the originals copyrighted, but in 1857 his surviving children procured a copyright in their own names. Later it was copyrighted by G. and C. Merriam in their own names, who are the publishers of the Webster dictionaries. Much of the materials in these dictionaries was found in, possibly taken from, the Elementary Blue Back. Those old spellers were filled not only with all the essentials of spelling, but also much general and technical information on many subjects. To know what the book contained made one well educated. It contained so many references to and comments upon nearly every field of knowl-eldge that the student who mastered it was well equipped. The book naturally preceded the McGuffey series of readers and Webster’s dictionaries and pre-
pared the way for them. It became a sine qua non. There was a saying when asked where you found some certain information, “In the back part of the spelling book where the leaves are torn out.” It was presumed that the book leaves were gone. Why? Even these back leaves contained Seven Fables with morals, current yet today, and worn-out leaves had fixed them in the memory of a generation. There had been the fable of Old Tray, the good old dog. He made the fatal mistake of associating with the surly old dog Tiger and both got a good beating. From that originated the saying or caution about being found in bad company.
Then we had the case of the foxy lawyer, or partial judge. A farmer went to the lawyer and told him: “One of your oxen has been gored by an unlucky bull of mine, how am I to make you reparation?” The lawyer replied, “I expect one of thy oxen in return.” Then the farmer said: “A mistake. It is your bull that has killed one of my oxen.” The lawyer replied:	“Indeed
that alters the case. I must inquire into the affair, and if”: From that has come the oft-repeated remark, “That depends on whose ox is gored.”
There was another one where a proud high-stepping milkmaid was carrying her milk to market. The pail was on her head and she was studying about the finery she was going to buy and how she would put on airs when the young fellows came around. Without thinking of the milk, she gave her head a toss and spilled the milk. Now we would say “She spilled the beans.” Those back leaves have given those fables, with their moral lessons, to the literature of our day. When my school memories started, the old Blue Book and the spelling exercises occupied much time of the teacher. Scholars were
taught their A B C’s at school. The teacher would gather the few little tots around her knees and point out the shapes of the letters, being sure to always tell them that S was like a snake. The next in order a b, ab, cat, cat, and then on and on to the end of the book to the column with eight syllable words. There were usually three spelling classes and they were graded by size like they grade oranges out here in California. There were columns of words where s.lent letters occurred, others where the words sounded alike, but their definitions were given to distinguish them. Still others of irregular orthography. Then the book gave pages where different forms of names and verbs controlled the spelling. Also the spelling of numbers and fractions wras illustrated, abbreviations explained and words and phrases from the foreign languages were given with the translations. Such high sounding phrases we learned as “Ad Captandum vulgus—to captivate the populace.” How to punctuate, and where and when to use capital letters was taught.
Friday afternoons were generally used for spelling contests. Two captains were selected, they would “choose up,” line one division on each side of the schoolhouse and spell words about
until all were spelled down but one. That side would win that stood up the longest.
Nor jvas that all. Perhaps once a week there would be a match spelling between the different schools in that part of the country. The champions from each school would there meet and fight it out to see which had the best spellers. It was a coveted honor to be the best speller in the county. He was the Babe Ruth or Lindbergh. But as like as not it was one of the girls who carried off the honors. She would be the Gertrude Ederle. Such diversions were common in the fifties and sixties here in Iowa. There were contests in mental arithmetic, in ciphering, and in singing geography, and they helped to give inspiration and pep to the pioneers.
Nor have we told all the Old Elementary contained. From page to page, nearly all through the book, were sentences given, showing how to use the words and their proper meaning. Mr. Webster thus put into the minds and memories hundreds of wise sayings, much useful information and truths formative of character. These help to show the influence of Webster’s spelling book in the education of the children of the pioneers.
Winter.
Outdoor Stunts
A Ramble
A bit of lunch in the knapsack, comfortable hiking clothes and a sunny sky overhead and you have the main ingredients of a happy day in the open. Someone familiar with nature lore is a great addition to the group and the children may find “lessons in the running brooks” and add to their store of knowledge as well as to their physical well-being.
While on the hike the Juvenile Guardian may keep the children interested with a game or two like this:
1. For a period of ten or fifteen minutes the chi dren will march along in silence, looking about them and taking nole of the different things they see. Then a short rest period is occupied with naming as many of them as possible.
2. For another short period a little later on the children will again be silent and observe as many of the woodland sounds as possible. A list of the things heard will occupy another rest period.
3. The sense	of smell	can	be tested	in the
same way,	bringing	keen	enjoyment	of the
pleasant odors of the countryside.
Caterpillar Race
Sides are chosen and two teams formed. All the players sit down upon the ground in two files, with the head of each team behind the base line. The knees are bent so that the feet are	near the	hips	and each	player
reaches back	with his	two	hands and	grasps
the ankles of the player next behind him. At the signal to go, the entire column moves forward, endeavoring to keep from breaking the column by anyone losing his grip on the ankles of the next member of the team. In this formation the contestants creep across the goal and return to the starting point. The race is won by the line which first completes the distance without breaking the hold of any member.
Poison Race
Arrange markers at intervals of about three feet in two rows of five each—more can be used if desired. These markers should be constructed so that they can be easily knocked over, thus injecting the element of hazard into the race. At the signal to go the first one in each line hops forward on one foot to weave in and out among the markers, circling the last one and returning over the route he came. Any markers knocked over must be replaced before the contestant continues his course. This is repeated by each member of the teams and the first team to finish is the winner.
Centipede Race
The players of each team lock their arms around the waist of the player next in front of them and race in this compact position across the distance line, turning around without breaking their formation, and end the race when the last man of the team crosses the base line.
Quadrupled Race
The first two players on each team stand back to back behind the base line. The two lock arms behind them. At the signal to go the first player bends forward, lifting the second player so that his feet are clear of the ground and carries him on his back in this position^ When he has crossed the distance line, he lowers the player upon his back, without changing their relative position. and that player, upon getting his feet upon the ground bends forward, lifting the first player upon his back, and runs back with him in this position across the base line. When the first couple finish the next in line proceed and so on until all have run.
Recruit
The fort is a designated space from which the recruit ng officer sallies forth to secure men for his regiment. The remainder of the players run about freely until one is touched by the offcer. Both then retire to the fort to come forth again with hands joined. They endeavor to secure the next recruit without breaking their hold and when this is done they retreat to the fort as before. This procedure is repeated until all are caught. It is permissible to break the hold in returning to the fort for the players at large may touch one of the recruits who then has to carry to the fort upon his back the one who has touched him. However, if the hold is not broken none of the recruits can be tagged.
Last Out
One player is chosen to be “it” and stands with his back to the rest of the players who have lined up behind him in couples. At his signal the last couple in the line run forward and endeavor to join hands without being touched by the one who is “it.” Ii one player is caught he becomes “it,” and the former catcher takes his partner. If another is caught they go to the head of the line and the couple who are now in the rear run next. If the partners are made up of boys and girls, let the catcher be a boy and allow him to catch only the boy, or let a girl catcher follow only the g'rl.
•EDITED fr B Y
■(joyful^
[members
ofthe
Ls.n p.j.
Dear Editor:
I belong to the Lodge No. 117 SNPJ at Yukon, Pa. On July 28 we had a big picnic and I enjoyed it very much. Everybody had a good time. Every boy and girl who belong to the Lodge got five tickets free.
Best regards to all. Edward Medved,
Box 40, Yukon, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
I have not written for the Mladinski list for a long time, so please excuse me. I would like to write often, but I haven’t time now. It’s harvest time here. There is a lot of work with the grain. Apples and other fruit were ripe in the latter part of August, also vegetables.	Yours	truly,
Joe Marinac, El Moro, Colo.
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Dear Editor:
This is the first time I am writing for the Mladinski list. We all belong to the SNPJ. Here are some riddles:
Why does a cat eat a rat’s tail last?—Ans.: Because it uses it for a toothpick.
Black and white and red all over.—Ans.: Newspaper.
Why is a tree like an elephant?—-Ans.: Because they both have a trunk.
What’s half of 8?—Ans.: Cut it in the middle and it’s 3.	Hedwig Ban,
956 Haugh street, Indianapolis, Ind.
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Dear Editor:
We are all members of the SNPJ. I haven’t written for the Mladinski list lately, so I decided to send a few jokes for the children to read them.
Why does a rabbit go over a hill?—Because he can’t go under the hill.
Why don’t they make telephone poles any longer?—Because they are long enough.
Did you ever see a rabbit with a tail?—If he says yes, he is a liar, if he says no, he tells the truth.	Yours truly,
Bertha Sabotin,
961 Haugh street, Indianapolis, Ind.
♦	♦ ♦
Dear Editor:
I	thought I would relate to the readers of the Mladinski list what happened here in Export during July. The weather was very nice, with the exception of a few days when it was rather cold.
My cousin Vera Beniger came from Smith-ville, Ohio. She came here for her vacation, and we had a bag full of fun and laughter. We also went swimming and hiking. We even helped our neighbor to load hay, rye and oats, in spare time. When it was all stored away in the barn, it caught afire one early morning.
Brothers and sisters, please write to me. Best regards to all. Rose J. Beniger,
R. D. No. 1, Export, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
Our Lodge of the SNPJ had a “big time” last month.—We have four kittens, a dog and a cow. Did you ever see a kitten without a tail? Well, we have one.—Uniontown has a baseball team. They are champs of five states.
Josephine Rupar,
Box 1274, Uniontown, Pa.
Dear Editor:
I am again writing to the Mladinski list.
1 will now explain how to play “Tin Can Alley” which most children enjoy. Make holes about seven feet apart. There should be only
2 holes. Put two cans behind each hole. There should be 4 players. Two players have the bat in the hole, and the other two should knock the cans down, first one, then the other. If you knock 3 cans down, you are out. If you bat, you must run from hole to hole, counting the scores. When you get to 21, you have finished the game. When 3 cans are knocked, the other 2 children play this game.
•—I think I have written enough.
Bertha Krainik, Chisholm, Minnesota.
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Dear Editor:
With the beginning of the school year I entered the fifth grade here. I am sending a few riddles and wish that you would publish them.
1. Upon the hill there is a mill, and upon the mill there is walk, and upon the walk there is a key. Oh, whatever can it be?
A.: Milwaukee.
2. What goes around the house and only makes one track?
A.: Wheelbarrow.
Best regards to all members.
Amelia Modic, Box 227, Homer City, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
I am writing this letter because I never saw one yet in the M. L. from Westmoreland City. Altho there are many other Juvenile members of the SNPJ in this city, I am the only one who writes for the M. L. There are five in our family and we all belong to the SNPJ, Lodge No. 78. I am now a freshman at Norwin High school, and am going to be 15 years old in March. I am a member of the SNPJ for 12 years. I can read, talk and write the Slovene language.
Mr. Waste Basket, please don’t eat my letter.	Respectfully	yours,
Anton F. Zgonc.
P. S.—I wish some of the members would write to me. My address is: Anton F. Zgonc, Box 58, Westmoreland City, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
Dear Readers.—I began to realize that our magazine would be much more interesting, if we would write original poems, stories, etc. So I thought I would write an original story. I am trying hard to make this story interesting to the readers.
Here is the beginning of the story:
“The Mystery of the Diamond Necklace.”
Mr. Mason returned from South America where he had been touring for a month. With him he brought a diamond necklace for his well known daughter, Shirley. She was now eighteen and had never had a party.
One day, as Shirley and her father were lunching at the hotel, she asked:
“Daddy, may I have a masquerade party, to show my necklace to my friends?”
“Of course,” he replied. “You may make out the invitations tonight and send them tomorrow.”
They went home, Shirley overjoyed with the consent of her father, to make out the invitations.
The night of the party arrived. She was masked as a Spanish senorita, and wore her necklace. Nick Carr, her boy-friend, was dressed as a Spanish senor. The guests were all admiring her necklace and Nick had no chance to dance with her, so he wrote a note and slipped it to her. She escaped the guests and went out into the garden where she met Nick. He asked her why she would not dance with him, instead of dancing with Don Dawson, a pretended detective. She got angry and told him she never wanted to see him again and she went back into the house.
Don came up to Shirley and asked her to dance and she consented. He put his arm around her neck and so fascinated her in his flattery that she did not notice or miss her necklace which Don unfastened and put into his pocket.
Nick in his anger and embarrassment left the party early and thought he could never forgive Shirley again.
Meanwhile Shirley discovered her necklace had disappeared, and she immediately ran to Don, and related her story. He said boastfully:
“I will get it for you, for I am a noted detective,” and he proudly showed her a false badge that he wore.
He made an announcement to the guests that they would play a new game. He lined the guests and called them into a vacant room, one by one, and searched each, failing to find the necklace. Everyone being searched, he told Shirley that the necklace was not in the house.
The thought flashed through Shirley’s mind, “Could it be Nick?”
(To be continued in next issue.)
Regards to all.	Carolina Kraytz,
Franklin Boro, Conemaugh, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
I am 13 years old and in the seventh grade at Clark school.—This is my first letter to the M. L. I haven’t seen any letters from this
district in the M. L. yet, so I have decided to write a few lines. Here are a few riddles I would like to see in the M. L.:
G.: What has more bones than a shark?— A.:	A graveyard.
Q.: What has teeth and can’t bite?— A.: Comb.
I wish some of the members would write to me, as I would gladly answer their letters. Josephine Mastnock,
1000 Summeriea ave., Washington, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
I am writing you a few lines to tell the readers that I am an old member of the SNPJ, as I have been in the SNPJ lodge for 12 years. I also want to tell you that I enjoy the magazine very much; Oscar Godina’s letter (Chic-igo, 111.) was interesting.—Here are a few iiddle~:
1. What castle has no windows and doors? —An egg.—2. What goes under the water and never gets wet?—An egg in a duck.—What goes down the steps on its head?—A tack in a shoe.
Best regards to all brothers and sisters.
Violet Beniger, R. N. No. 1, Export, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
I am sending you a jolce which I would like to see put in the M. L.—“You have a goat now, Willie?”—“Yes,” said the boy.—“What do you feed him on?” asked the man.— “Grass and hav, mostly. And today he had my colored picture-book for dessert.”
Yours truly,
Louise Kosik, Box 3, Smithdale, Pa.
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Dear Editor:
I am sorry I didn’t write for the Mladinski list for the August and September numbers. But now I will try very hard to write every month from now on. I wish we would have the chance to vote for the M. L., so that it would come weekly instead of monthly.
I wish some of the members would w'rite to me.	Anna Paul,
442 Wellington ave., Akron, 0.
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Dear Editor:
This is my first letter to the Mladinski list. I am 13 years old and in the 8th grade in school. I have two sisters and two brothers, and all of us belong to the SNPJ, including mother, father and myself.
Here is a joke:
A boy just started to school. The teacher asked him, “What is your name?” The boy answered: “I don’t know.” “What does your mother call you when she has cakes and cookies for you?” asked the teacher. “She
doesn’t have to call me, I am there already,” replied the boy.
I wish some of the boys and girls would write to me. Success to the M. L. and SNPJ!
Rose Pregel,
Box 134, R.F.D. No. 2, Detroit, Mich.
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Dear Editor:
School started again and I was glad that it started. Our school started on September 4. —What is the matter with some of the Kenosha boys and girls? Why do you not write to our little magazine? Well, I shouldn’t say little, because our magazine is quite large.— There isn’t much news for me to write this time, only that there was an automobile accident in which a girl was killed, and found two months later in the woods.—I will write more next time.
Sisters and brothers, don’t forget to write to the M. L.	Yours	truly,
Mary Mayl,
4822 17th ave., Kenosha, Wis.
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Dear Editor:
This is the third time that I am writing to the M. L., but my letters were never published. I wish to see this one in the M. L.
I am 12 years old and in the 7th grade of St. Mary’s school. I wras born in Europe. I don’t know how to write in Slovene very well, but the next time I promise to write in Slovene, anyway.
There are only three in our family, father, mother and I. We all belong to the Slovene National Benefit Society, Lodge No. 142. I don’t see very many letters from Cleveland in the M. L. Wake up, boys and girls in Cleveland. I wish some of the boys and girls would write to me.	Antonia	Subat,
16002 Saranac Rd., Cleveland, O.
❖	*	:!t
Dear Editor:
I always like to read the Mladinski List, because it is so interesting. This is my first letter to the M. L. I decided to write because I like to read the letters from boys and girls that I don’t know. I wish that some of the Juvenile members would write to me.
Anna Kovach,
Box 930, West Mineral, Kans.
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Dear Editor:
I am writing you a few lines to let you know I enjoyed very much the M. L. when I saw my name in it. I am sure that the children will like the jokes very much, so I will keep up in sending you a few each month.
Yours truly,
Mary Bruder,
2819 West 10th st., Indianapolis, Ind.
Dear Editor:
Ihere were fifteen English letters in the August number of the Mladinski List. Let us all write and perhaps the M. L. will come once a week instead of once a month.
I wish Violet Beniger would write to me.
Sincerely yours,
Bessie Josephine Paulich,
Box 193, Sugarite, New Mexico.
❖	* 4s
Dear Editor:
This is my first letter to the M. L. I decided to write because I didn’t see any letter from Smithfield in the M. L. for a long time.
We all belong to the SNPJ local lodge, except my mother. I enjoy reading the letters, stories and poems in the M. L.—I am 14 years old and I wish some of the members of my age would write to me. I will gladly answer their letters.	Anne	Marie	Marolt,
Route 2, Box 16, Smithfield, Pa.
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Misinterpreted
“Mary, didn’t I tell you to hang out the lug and beat it? Here you have been gone two whole hours. Where have you been, anyway?” “Yas, ma’am, you told me to hang the rug on the line, then beat it. And I did.”—“Beat it”—as Mary thought—meant “run out and play.”	Yours	truly,
Mary Stroy,
924 Arnolda ave., India»apolis, Ind.
Dear Editor:
Herewith I am sending you a poem called “My Ford.”
I own a little can,
It rattles like an old tin pan,
The wheels are loose and wobbly,
The horn is loud and squabbly,
Its radiator has a leak,
And its top looks like old Pike’s Peak.
It hasn’t even got a bumper,
I often think “I ought to dump her.”
But tho it isn’t much for style,
’Tis good for many and many a mile.
I wouldn’t trade my rattling pal For a brand new Cadillac or La Salle.
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Dear Editor:
This is my first letter to the M. L. I enjoy reading the magazine.—I have a pet kitten I call “monkus.” The people next door have a goat. I enjoy watching the goat chew corn.— I am 11 years old and am in the sixth grade. Here is a joke:
A Question of Weight
“Why,” asked the judge severely, “did you strike your husband with the kitchen chair?” “Because,” said the wife, “I couldn’t lift the kitchen stove.” Sincerely yours,
Walter Jerris,
923 Lante street, Baldwin Park, Calif.
WHAT A POSTAGE STAMP THINKS ABOUT
I wonder what a postage stamp thinks about? What it would say if it could talk:
I am licked before I start out, yet I always deliver the goods.
I am stamped on at the beginning, but never at the finish.
I always get in a corner and start in by getting in a box, but I find my way out.
I sometimes look like two cents, but that doesn’t lessen by importance.
I always have a head on me, but I keep it to myself.
I’ve got to be stuck on something before I can do any work.
THE TOTEM POLE
The real meaning of the name is “family token,” and dates back to a time when people did not have individual names for themselves, but were known by their tribal name, the latter usually that of an animal, as bear or wolf. They even believed, sometimes, that they were descended from the animal from which the tribe derived its name. Later, the individual was distinguished by another name, the name the result of some personal characteristic, as Lazy Wolf or Laughing Bear. The emblem or name of the tribe, whatever it was, they placed on all their possessions, sometimes their own bodies, and they erected totem poles, on which the emblem was engraved, and used them as idols for worship.
THE BOY AND HIS CHUM
By J. W. Foley.
And lay himself down full of gladness To save me—and starve right to death.
If we should 'be shipwrecked together And only had water for one.
And it was the hottest of weather Right out in the boiling hot sun,
He’d tell me—no matter how bad he Might want it—to take a drink first; And then he would smile—oh, so glad he Had saved me—and perish from thirst!
Or if we should chance to be fighting On opposite sides of a war,
And I was a spy with the writing Which he should be out hunting for, He might capture me, but he’d let me Go free and not get the reward;
And then, when nobody could get me, He’d run himself thru with his sword!
Or if we were lost on the prairie And only had food for a day,
He’d come and would give me the share he
Had wrapped up and hidden away; And after I ate it with sadness
He’d smile with his very last breath.
And if I was wounded in battle
And out where, great danger might be,
He’d come thru the roar and the rattle Of guns and of bullets to me.
He’d carry me out, full of glory,
No matter what troubles he had;
And then he would fall down, all gory With wounds, and would die—but be glad!
We’re chums—that’s the reason he’d do it;
And that’s what a chum ought to be.
And if it was fire he’d go thru it,
If I should just call him to me.
You see other fellows may know you, And friends that you have go and come;
But a boy has one boy he can go to For help all the time—that’s his chum!
RIDDLES
Why is it that a fisherman cannot tell his gross profits? Because they are always net.
When are oysters, like a fretful husband ? When found in a stew.
Why is a muddy road a guardian of public safety? Because it reduces the speed of autos.
Why is a beggar like a baker? Because he needs (kneads).
Which is the most dangerous bat that flies in the air? A brickbat.
Who are the best bookkeepers? Those who never return a book.
Why do birds clean out a fruit tree so quickly? Because they take away a peck at a time.
What do people do in Japan when it rains? Let it rain.
Patch on a patch and a hole in the middle? A chimney.
TONGUE TWISTERS
I	saw six long slim slick saplings for sale.
Strict, strong Stephen Stringer snarled slicky six silky snakes.
Sadie Setherway saw Sandy Snook-ums soaped and shaving.
She'la saw a short silk sash shop full of short silk sashes when the sun shone on the shop.
*
NO APPLAUSE, EITHER
“Gee, Mother, at the circus there was this girl who rode away over on one side of the horse and underneath and up on his neck and way back and dragging from the saddle and everything!”
“That’s nothing,” broke in big sister. “I did that the first time I rode.”