Tom Slade at Black Lake

CHAPTER XXIX CHAPTER XXIX TOM STARTS FOR HOME There was nothing now to keep Tom at Temple Camp, yet there was nothing now to take him home, either. Nothing, indeed, except his work. The bottom seemed to have dropped out of all his plans, and he lingered on his lonely hilltop for the remaining day or two before the unsuspecting tenants of this remote little community should arrive. Of course he might have stayed and enjoyed his triumph, but that would not have been Tom Slade. He had not forgotten those stinging and accusing words of Roy's that morning when they had last met. He did not remember them in malice, but he could not forget them, and he did not wish to see Roy. We have to take Tom Slade as we find him. In those last hours of his lonely stay he did not go down much into camp, for he wished to be by himself, and not to have to answer questions about his departed friend, toward whom, strange to say, he cherished a stronger feeling of attachment than before. He was even grateful to Thornton for perhaps saving him the humiliation of Margaret Ellison's refusing to go out with him in his boat. There was no telling what a girl might say or do, and at least he was well out of that peril.... He busied himself clearing up the litter about the new cabins and getting them ready for occupancy. On Saturday morning he went down and told Uncle Jeb that he was starting for home. He was greatly relieved that the old man did not ask any questions about his companion. Uncle Jeb was much preoccupied now with the ever-growing multitude of scouts and their multifarious needs, and gave slight thought to that little sprig of a camp up on the hill. "En so yer ain't fer stayin', Tommy? I kinder cal'lated you'd weaken when the time come. Ain't goin' ter think better of it, huh?" The old man, smiling through a cloud of tobacco smoke, contemplated Tom with shrewd, twinkling, expectant eyes. "Fun's jest about startin' naow, Tommy. 'Member what I told yer baot them critters. Daont yer go back on account of no gal." "I ain't going back on account of a girl," said Tom. "What train yer thinkin' uv goin' daon on?" the old man asked. "I'm going to hike it," Tom said. Uncle Jeb contemplated him for a moment as though puzzled, but after all, seeing nothing so very remarkable in a hike of a hundred and fifty miles or so, he simply observed. "Yer be'nt in no hurry ter get back, huh? Wall, yer better hev a good snack before yer start. You jest tell Chocolate Drop to put yer up rations fer ter night, too, in case you camp." The guests at Temple Camp paid no particular attention to the young fellow who was leaving. He had not associated with the visiting scouts, and save for an occasional visit to his isolated retreat, where they found little to interest them, he had been almost a stranger among them. Doubtless some of them had thought him a mere workman at the camp and had left him undisturbed accordingly. It was almost pitiful, now that he was leaving, to note how slightly he was known and how little his departure affected the general routine of pleasure. A few scouts, who were diving from the spring board paused to glance at him as he rowed across the lake and observed that the "fellow from up on the hill" was going away. Others waved him a fraternal farewell, but there was none of that customary gathering at the landing, which he had known in the happy days when he had been a scout among scouts at his beloved camp. But there was one scout who took enough interest in him to offer to go across in the rowboat with him, on the pretext of bringing it back, though both knew that it was customary to keep boats on both sides of the lake. This fellow was tall and of a quiet demeanor. His name was Archer, and he had come with his troop from somewhere in the west, where they breed that particular type of scouts who believe that actions speak louder than words. "Did that job all by yourself, didn't you?" he asked as they rowed across. He looked a Tom curiously. "A friend of mine helped me," Tom said; "he's gone home." "Why didn't you hit into the main road and go down through Catskill? You're likely to miss the train this way." "I'm going to hike home," Tom said. "Far?" "In Jersey, about twenty miles from the city." "Some jaunt, eh?" Archer inquired pleasantly. "I don't mind it," Tom said. "What are you goin' home for?" "Because I want to; because I'm finished," Tom said. This ended the talk but it did not end Archer's rather curious study of Tom. He said little more, but as he rowed, he watched Tom with an intense and scrutinizing interest. And even after Tom had said good-bye to him and started up the trail through the woods, he rowed around, in the vicinity of the shore, keeping the boat in such position that he could follow Tom with his eyes as the latter followed the trail in and out among the trees. "Humph," he said to himself; "funny." What he thought funny was this: being an observant scout he had noticed that Tom carried more rations than a scout would be likely to take on a long hike, through a country where food could easily be bought in a hundred towns and villages, and also that one who limped as Tom did should choose to go on a hike of more than a hundred miles. A scout, as everybody knows, is observant. And this particular scout was good at arithmetic. At least he was able to put two and two together.... CHAPTER XXX THE TROOP ARRIVES The ten forty-seven train out of New York went thundering up the shore of the lordly Hudson packed and jammed with its surging throng of vacationists who had turned themselves into sardines in order to enjoy a breath of fresh air. The crowd was uncommonly large because Saturday and the first of August came on the same day. They crowded three in a seat and ate sandwiches and drank cold coffee out of milk bottles and let the children fly paper-bag kites out of the windows, and crowded six deep at the water cooler at the end of the car. In all that motley throng there was just one individual who had mastered the art of carrying a brimful paper drinking-cup through the aisle without spilling so much as a drop of water, and his cheerful ministrations were in great demand by thirsty passengers. This individual was scout Harris, alias Peewee, alias Kid, alias Shorty, alias Speck, and he was so small that he might have saved his carfare by going parcel post if he had cared to do so. If he had, he should have been registered, for there was only one Peewee Harris in all the wide world. "Are we going to carry the tent or send it up by the camp wagon?" Roy Blakeley asked, as he and the others crowded each other off the train at Catskill Landing. "Answer in the positive or negative." "You mean the infirmative," Peewee shouted; "that shows how much you know about rhetoric." "You mean logic," Roy said. "I know I'm hungry anyway," Peewee shouted as he threw a suitcase from his vantage point on the platform, with such precision of aim that it landed plunk on Connie Bennett's head, to the infinite amusement of the passengers. "Did it hurt you?" Peewee called. "He isn't injured—just slightly killed," Roy shouted; "hurry up, let's go up in the wagon and get there in time for a light lunch." "You mean a heavy one," Peewee yelled; "here, catch this suitcase." The suitcase landed on somebody's head, was promptly hurled at somebody else, and the usual pandemonium caused by Temple Camp arrivals prevailed until the entire crowd of scouts found themselves packed in the big camp stage, and waving their hands and shouting uproariously at the passengers in the departing train. "First season at camp?" Roy asked a scout who almost sat on his lap and was jogged out of place at every turn in the road. "Yop," was the answer, "we've never been east before; we came from Ohio. We haven't been around anywhere." "I've been around a lot," the irrepressible Peewee piped up from his wobbly seat on an up-ended suitcase. "Sure, he was conductor on a merry-go-round," Roy said. "What part of Ohio do you fellows come from?" "The Ohio River used to be in our geography," Peewee said. "It's there yet," Roy said; "we should worry, let it stay there." "Do you know where Columbus is?" Peewee shouted. "He's dead," Roy said; "do you fellows come from anywhere near Dayton?" "We come from Dansburg," said their scoutmaster, a bright-looking young fellow with red hair, who had been listening amusedly to this bantering talk. A dead silence suddenly prevailed. "Oh, I know who you fellows are," Roy finally said. "You're going to bunk in the three cabins on the hill, aren't you? Is your name Mr. Barnard?" "Yes sir," the young man answered pleasantly, "and we're the first Dansburg, Ohio, troop." "Do you like mince-pie?" Peewee shouted. "We eat it alive," said scoutmaster Barnard. "Can you eat seven pieces?" Peewee demanded. "If we can get them," young Mr. Barnard replied. "G—o—o—d night!" Peewee commented. "Our young hero has a fine voice for eating," Roy observed. "Sometimes he eats his own words, he's so hungry." "I don't think you can beat the Dansburg, Ohio, scouts eating," Mr. Barnard observed. "Is Dansburg on the map?" Peewee wanted to know. "Well, it thinks it is," Mr. Barnard smiled. "I know all about geography," Peewee piped up, "and natural history, too. I got E plus in geometry." "Can you name five animals that come from the North Pole?" Peewee demanded, regaining his seat after an inglorious tumble. "Four polar bears and a seal," Roy answered; "no sooner said than stung. Our young hero is the camp cut-up. You fellows ought to be glad he won't be up on the hill with you. He's worse than the mosquitoes." "We used to bunk in those cabins on the hill," Peewee said; "there are snakes and things up there. Are you scared of girls?" "Not so you'd notice it," one of the Dansburg scouts said. "Gee, I'm not scared of girls, that's one thing," Peewee informed them. "I'm not scared of any kind of wild animals." "And would you call a girl a wild animal?" young Mr. Barnard inquired, highly amused. "They scream when they get in a boat," Peewee said; "most always they smile at me." "Oh, that's nothing, the first time I ever saw you I laughed out loud," Roy said. And at that everybody laughed out loud, and somebody gave Peewee an apple which kept him quiet for a while. "I'm very sorry we can't all be up on that hill together," Mr. Barnard said, "I gather that it's a rather isolated spot." "What's an isolated spot?" Peewee yelled. "It's a spot where they cut ice," said Roy; "shut up, will you?" "Are there only three cabins up there?" one of the Dansville scouts wanted to know. "That's all," Westy Martin, of Roy's troop answered. "We spent, let's see, three summers up there. We had the hill all to ourselves. We even did our own cooking." "And eating," Peewee shouted. "Oh sure, we never let anyone do that for us," one of the Bridgeboro scouts laughed. "If you want a thing well done, do it yourself—especially eating," Roy said. "A scout is thorough." "Do you know Chocolate Drop? He's cook," Peewee piped up. "He makes doughnuts as big as automobile tires." "Not Cadillac tires," Roy said, "but Ford tires. Peewee knows how to puncture them, all right." "He'll have a blow-out some day," Connie Bennett observed. "So you boys used to be up on the hill, eh?" Mr. Barnard inquired, turning the conversation to a more serious vein. "And how is it you're not to bunk up there this year, since you like it so much?" As if by common consent Roy's troop left it for him to answer, and even Peewee was quiet. "Oh, I don't know," Roy said; "first come, first served; that's the rule. You fellows got in your application, that's all there was to it. I guess you know Tom Slade, who works in the camp's city office, don't you, Mr. Barnard?" "Indeed I do," young Mr. Barnard said. "We met in a shell hole in France. We knew each other but have never seen each other. It's rather odd when you come to think of it." "I suppose that's how he happened to assign you the cabins," Connie Bennett observed; "old time's sake, hey?" "Oh, dear no," young Mr. Barnard laughed. "I should say that you boys come first if it's a question of old time's sake. No indeed, we should feel like intruders, usurpers, if there were any question of friendly preference. No, it was really quite odd when you come to think of it. I never dreamed who Tom Slade was when our accommodations were assigned us; indeed, his name did not appear in the correspondence. It was just a case of first come, first served, as you say. Later, we received some circular matter of the camp and there was a little note with it, as I remember, signed by Slade. Oh, no, the thing was all cut and dried before I knew who Slade was. Then we started a very pleasant correspondence. I expect to see him up here. He was one of the bravest young fellows on the west front; a sort of silent, taciturn, young fellow. Oh, no," young Mr. Barnard laughed in that pleasant way he had, "you boys can't accuse us of usurping your familiar home. You must come up and see us there, and I hope we shall all be good friends." Roy Blakeley heard these words as in a dream, and even Peewee was silent. The others of Roy's troop looked at each other but said not a word. No indeed, we should feel like usurpers if there were any question of friendly preference . These words rang in Roy's ears, and as he said them over to himself there appeared in his mind's eye the picture of Tom Slade, stolid, unimpassioned, patient, unresentful—standing there near the doorway of the bank building and listening to the tirade of abuse which he, Roy, hurled at him. " If you want to think I'm a liar you can think so. You can tell them that if you want to. I don't care what you tell them ." These words, too, rang in Roy's ears, and burned into his heart and conscience, and he knew that Tom Slade had not deigned to answer these charges and recriminations; would not answer them, any more than the rock of Gibraltar would deign to answer the petulant threats and menaces of the sea. Oh, if he could only unsay those words which he had hurled at Tom, his friend and companion! What mattered it who bunked in the cabins, so long as he knew what he knew now? How small and trifling seemed Tom's act of carelessness or forgetfulness, as he loomed up now in the strong, dogged pride which would not explain to one who had no right to doubt or disbelieve. How utterly contemptible Roy Blakeley seemed to himself now! He tried to speak in his customary light and bantering manner, but he was too sick at heart to carry it off. "He's—he's sort of like a rock," he said, by way of answering Barnard's comments on Tom. "He doesn't say much. You don't—you can't understand him very easy. Even—even I didn't——. I don't know where he is now. We haven't seen him for a long time. But one thing you can bet, you're welcome to the cabins on the hill. He said we wouldn't lose anything. Anyway, we won't lose much. We've got a tent we're going to put up down on the tenting space. You bet we'll come up and see you often, and you bet we'll be good friends. Our both knowing Tom, as you might say, ought to make us good friends." CHAPTER XXXI ARCHER When these two troops reached camp they found the tall scout Archer waiting for them. How much he knew or suspected it would be difficult to surmise. "Uncle Jeb told me I might show you up to the hill," he said. "Some of you fellows came from Ohio, I understand. You're all to bunk up on the hill." "I guess that's a mistake," Roy said. "No, I think Uncle Jeb has things down about pat," Archer said in his easy off-hand manner. "The old man's pretty busy himself and so he told me to be your guide, philosopher and friend, as old somebody-or-other said." The two troops followed as he led the way, the Bridgeboro boys glancing fondly at the familiar sights all about them. "There's where we'll put up our tent," one of them said, pointing at the area which was already crowded with the canvas domiciles. The place did not look so attractive as Roy and his companions had tried to picture it in their mind's eyes. They had never envied the scouts who had been compelled to make their camp homes there. It seemed so much like a military encampment, so close and stuffy and temporary, and unlike the free and remote abode that they were used to. They all of them tried not to think of it in this way, and Roy was in no mood to cherish any resentment against Tom now. "It's near the cooking shack anyway, that's one good thing," Peewee observed. "Listen to the human famine," Connie Bennett said. "Peewee ought to be ashamed to look Hoover in the face." Roy said nothing. There was one he would be ashamed to look in the face anyway. When they reached the hill, he was the first to pause in amazement. "What do you call this?" Connie asked in utter astonishment. There stood the six cabins, the new ones bright and fresh in the afternoon sun. "I—I don't understand it," Roy said, almost speechless with surprise. Archer sat down upon a rock and beckoned Roy to him. "There isn't much to tell you," he said. "A fellow from your town has been up here building these three cabins, that's all. We fellows down at camp called him Daniel Boone, but I believe his name is Slade. He's been a kind of a mystery up here for some time. The cabins are for you and your troop, there's no mistake about that; Uncle Jeb knows all about it. You can see him later if you want to; there's no use bothering him now. I just want to say a word to you there isn't much time to spare. Uncle Jeb tried to make that fellow stay, but he wouldn't. I don't know anything about his business, or yours. I'm just going to tell you one thing. That fellow started away a little while ago, lame and without any money to hike home to the town where he lives. It's none of my business; I'm just telling you what I know. I've banged around this country a little since I came up—I'm a kind of a tramp—I have an idea he's hit into the road for Kingston. There's a short cut through the woods which comes out on that road about six or seven miles down. You could save—let's see—oh, about three miles and—oh, yes, Uncle Jeb told me to say you can have lunch any time you want it. I suppose you're all hungry." Not another word did Archer say—just left abruptly and, amid the enthusiastic inspection and glowing comments of his companions of both troops, Roy saw, through glistening eyes, this new acquaintance strolling down the hill, hitting the wildflowers to the right, and left with a stick which he carried. There was no telling how much he knew or what he suspected. He was a queer, mysterious sort of fellow.... ROY BLAKEY HELD OUT HIS ARMS SO THAT TOM COULD NOT PASS Tom Slade at Black Lake.—Page 199 CHAPTER XXXII TOM LOSES " Me for lunch! Me for lunch! " Roy heard Peewee scream at the top of his voice. And for just a moment he stood there in a kind of daze, watching his companions and new friends tumbling pell mell over each other down the hill. He was glad to be alone. Yet even still he paused and gazed at the task, which Tom Slade, traitor and liar, had completed. There it was, a herculanean task, the work of months, as it seemed to Roy. He could hardly control his feelings as he gazed upon it. But he did not pause to torture himself with remorse. Down through the woods he went, and into the trail which Archer had indicated. Scout though he was, he was never less hungry in his life. Over fields he went, and through the brook, and up Hawk's Nest mountain, and into the denser woods beyond. Suppose Archer should be mistaken. Suppose this dim trail should take him nowhere. Panting, he ran on, trying to conquer this haunting fear. Beyond Leeds Crossing the trail was hardly distinguishable and he must pause and lose time to pick it up here and there. Through woods, and around hills, and into dense, almost impenetrable thickets he labored on, his side aching, and his heart thumping like a triphammer. At last he came out upon the Kingston road and was down on his knees, examining minutely every mark in the dusty road, trying to determine whether Tom had passed. Then he sat down by the roadside and waited, panting like a dog. And so the minutes passed, and became an hour and—— Then he heard someone coming around the bend. Roy gulped in suspense as he waited. One second, two seconds, three, four—Would the pedestrian never appear? And then they met, and Roy Blakeley stood out in the middle of the road and held his arms out so the wayfarer could not pass. And yet he could not speak. "Tom," he finally managed to say, "I—I came alone because—because I wanted to come alone. I wanted to meet you all alone. I—I know all about it, Tom—I do. None of the fellows will bunk in these cabins till you—till you—come back—they won't. Not even Barnard's troop. I'm sorry, Tom; I see how I was all wrong. You—you can't get away with it, you can't Tom—because I won't let you—see? You have to come back—we—we can't stay there without you——" "I told you you wouldn't lose anything," Tom said dully. "Yes, and it's a—it's a lie ," Roy almost sobbed. "We're losing you , aren't we? We're losing everything—and it's all my fault. You—you said we wouldn't lose anything, but we are . Can't you see we are? You've got to come back, Tom—or I'm going home with you—you old—you old brick! Barnard wants you, we all want you. We haven't got any scoutmaster if you don't come back—we haven't." Tom Slade who had chopped down trees and dragged them up the hill, found it hard to answer. "I'll go back," he finally said, "as long as you ask me." And so, in that pleasant afternoon, they followed the trail back to camp together, just as they had hiked together so many times before. And they talked of Peewee and the troop and joked about there not being anything left to eat when they got there, and Roy said what a fine fellow Barnard was, and Tom Slade said how he always liked fellows with red hair. He said he thought you could trust them.... Let us hope he was right. The Tom Slade Books By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH Author of the ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. The Tom Slade books have the official endorsement and recommendation of THE BOY SCOUTS OF AMERICA. In vivid story form they tell of Boy Scout ways, and how they help a fellow grow into a manhood of which America may be proud. Tom Slade, Boy Scout Tom Slade lived in Barrel Alley. The story of his thrilling Scout experiences, how he was gradually changed from the street gangster into a First Class Scout, is told in almost as moving and stirring a way as the same narrative related in motion pictures. Tom Slade at Temple Camp The boys are at a summer camp in the Adirondack woods, and Tom enters heart and soul into the work of making possible to other boys the opportunities in woodcraft and adventure of which he himself has already had a taste. Tom Slade on the River A carrier pigeon falls into the camp of the Bridgeboro Troop of Boy Scoots. Attached to the bird's leg is a message which starts Tom and his friends on a search that culminates in a rescue and a surprising discovery. The boys have great sport on the river, cruising in the "Honor Scout." Tom Slade With the Colors a war-time boy scout story When Uncle Sam "pitches in" to help the Allies in the Great War, Tom's Boy Scout training makes it possible for him to show his patriotism in a way which is of real service to his country. Tom has many experiences that any loyal American boy would enjoy going through—or reading about, as the next best thing. Tom Slade on a Transport While working as a mess boy on one of Uncle Sam's big ships, Tom's cleverness enables him to be of service in locating a disloyal member of the crew. On his homeward voyage the ship is torpedoed and Tom is taken aboard a submarine and thence to Germany. He finally escapes and resolves to reach the American forces in France. Tom Slade With the Boys Over There We follow Tom and his friend, Archer, on their flight from Germany, through many thrilling adventures, until they reach and join the American Army in France. Tom Slade, Motorcycle Dispatch Bearer Tom is now a dispatch rider behind the lines and has some thrilling experiences in delivering important messages to troop commanders in France. Tom Slade With the Flying Corps At last Tom realizes his dream to scout and fight for Uncle Sam in the air, and has such experiences as only the world war could make possible. Tom Slade at Black Lake Tom has returned home and visits Temple Camp before the season opens. He builds three cabins and has many adventures. Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York The Roy Blakeley Books By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH Author of the TOM SLADE BOOKS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. Roy Blakeley In a book given by a kindly old gentleman. Pee-wee Harris discovers what he believes to be a sinister looking memorandum, and he becomes convinced that the old gentleman is a spy. But the laugh is on Pee-wee, as usual, for the donor of the book turns out to be an author, and the suspicious memorandum is only a literary mark. The author, however, is so pleased with the boys' patriotism that he loans them his houseboat, in which they make the trip to their beloved Temple Camp, which every boy who has read the TOM SLADE BOOKS will be glad to see once more. Roy Blakeley's Adventures in Camp Roy Blakeley and his patrol are found in this book once more happily established in camp. Roy and his friends incur the wrath of a land owner, but the doughty Pee-wee saves the situation and the wealthy landowner as well. The boys wake up one morning to find Black Lake flooded far over its banks, and the solving of this mystery furnishes some exciting reading. Roy Blakeley, Pathfinder Roy and his comrades, having come to Temple Camp by water, resolve to make the journey home by foot. On the way they capture a leopard escaped from a circus, which brings about an acquaintance with the strange people who belong to the show. The boys are instrumental in solving a deep mystery, and finding one who has long been missing. Roy Blakeley's Camp on Wheels This is the story of a wild and roaming career of a ramshackle old railroad car which has been given Roy and his companions for a troop meeting place. The boys fall asleep in the car. In the night, and by a singular error of the railroad people, the car is "taken up" by a freight train and is carried westward, so that when the boys awake they find themselves in a country altogether strange and new. The story tells of the many and exciting adventures in this car. Roy Blakeley's Silver Fox Patrol In the car which Roy Blakeley and his friends have for a meeting place is discovered an old faded letter, dating from the Klondike gold days, and it appears to intimate the location of certain bags of gold, buried by a train robber. The quest for this treasure is made in an automobile and the strange adventures on this trip constitute the story. Roy Blakeley's Motor Caravan Roy and his friends go West to bring back some motor cars. They have some very amusing, also a few serious, adventures. Roy Blakeley, Lost, Strayed or Stolen The troup headquarters car figures largely in this very interesting volume. Roy Blakeley's Bee-Line Hike The boys resolve to hike in a bee-line to a given point, some miles distant, and have a lively time doing it. Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York The Pee-wee Harris Books By PERCY KEESE FITZHUGH Author of the THE TOM SLADE and ROY BLAKELEY BOOKS May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. All readers of the TOM SLADE and the ROY BLAKELEY books are acquainted with Pee-wee Harris and will surely enjoy reading every volume of this series. Pee-wee Harris Pee-wee goes to visit his uncle whose farm is located on a by-road. Pee-wee conceives the idea of starting a little shack along the road in which to sell refreshments and automobile accessories. In accordance with his invariable good luck,—scarcely has he started this little shack than the bridge upon the highway burns down and the obscure country road becomes a thoroughway for automobiles. Pee-wee reaps a large profit from his business during the balance of the summer. Pee-wee Harris on the Trail Pee-wee gets into the wrong automobile by mistake and is carried to the country where he has a great time and many adventures. Pee-wee Harris in Camp The scene is set in the beloved and familiar Temple Camp. Here Pee-wee resigns from the Raven Patrol, intending to start a patrol of his own. He finds this more difficult than he had expected, but overcame all obstacles—as usual. Pee-wee Harris in Luck Pee-wee goes with his mother to spend the summer on a farm, where he meets a girl who is bewailing her fate that there is no society at this obscure retreat. Pee-wee assures her he will fix everything for her—and proceeds to do so—with his usual success. Pee-wee Harris Adrift A little spot of land up the river breaks away and floats down stream, with a laden apple tree growing upon it. Pee-wee takes possession of this island and the resulting adventures are decidedly entertaining. Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York THE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW SERIES May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list. BIRDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Neltje Blanchan. Illustrated EARTH AND SKY EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated ESSAYS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie FAIRY TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie FAMOUS STORIES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie FOLK TALES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie HEROINES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Coedited by Hamilton W. Mabie and Kate Stephens HYMNS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Dolores Bacon LEGENDS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie MYTHS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Hamilton W. Mabie OPERAS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated PICTURES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Dolores Bacon. Illustrated POEMS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Mary E. Burt PROSE EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Mary E. Burt SONGS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW Edited by Dolores Bacon TREES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated WATER WONDERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Jean M. Thompson. Illustrated WILD ANIMALS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Julia Ellen Rogers. Illustrated WILD FLOWERS EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW By Frederic William Stack. Illustrated Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York Transcriber's Notes Punctuation has been normalized to contemporary standards. Inconsistent spelling of "Peewee" (57 times) and "Pee-wee" (18 times) retained as in original. *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOM SLADE AT BLACK LAKE *** Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will be renamed. 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