OUT WHERE THE WEST BEGINS

Out where the handclasp's a little stronger,
Out where the smile dwells a little longer,
That's where the West begins.

Out where the sun is a little brighter,
Where the snow that falls is a little whiter,
Where the bonds of home are a wee bit tighter,
That's where the West begins.

Out where the skies are a trifle bluer,
Out where friendship's a little truer,
That's where the West begins.

Out where a fresher breeze is blowing,

Where there's laughter in every streamlet flowing,
Where there's more of reaping and less of sowing,
That's where the West begins.

Out where the world is in the making,
Where fewer hearts in despair are aching,

That's where the West begins.

Where there's more of singing and less of sighing, Where there's more of giving and less of buying, And a man makes friends without half trying, That's where the West begins.

-Arthur Chapman.

THE COUNTY FAIR

All the boys are

Please let me go!"

"Oh, Father, please let me go to the fair! You promised me I could a week ago. going, and I just can't give it up. and Harry was almost in tears over his disappointment. "I know all about it, Harry," his father answered. "I realize how much you have looked forward to the fair, and I should like to have you go. There is a great deal for a boy to learn at a fair, if he will only keep his eyes open, but you see just how it is. I am in bed with a sprained ankle, and your mother cannot leave the baby. So what are we to do? A boy of ten is too young to go to such a place without some one to look after him."

"Yes, Father; but Roy Bradish is going with two other boys who are twelve or fourteen years old, and they asked me to go with them. They could take care of me as well as not. I'd be good, Father. Please, please let me go!"

Harry begged so hard that at last his father yielded, and gave the boy permission to go with his friends.

"I would rather have you go with an older person," he said; "but there seems to be no one who can take you. Be very careful not to get into mischief. Don't shout, or run about, or do anything to attract attention. A quiet boy who takes care of himself is the boy I like to see.'

So, on the day of the fair, a warm sunny day in late September, Harry started off with his three friends. He had a dollar in his pocket for spending-money, and

a box under his arm, which was well filled with sandwiches and doughnuts. As he bade good-bye to his father and mother, he promised over and over to be good, and to come home before dark.

It was a long walk to the grounds where the fair was held every year, but the boys trudged along, talking and laughing, and having a good time.

At the entrance-gate Harry spent half of his dollar for a ticket, and it was not long before the other half was gone, for there were many things to tempt money from a boy's pocket. He bought peanuts and popcorn and a cane for himself, an apple-corer for his mother, and a whetstone for his father.

The other boys spent their money, too; and then they wandered around in the grounds, going into first one building and then another. There were exhibitions

of vegetables and fruit in one building, great piles of squashes and pumpkins; boxes of onions, turnips, beets, carrots, and parsnips; ears of yellow corn with their husks braided together, and cornstalks ten or twelve feet tall ranged against the wall.

The fruit was displayed on long tables in the center of the room, rosy-cheeked apples, luscious golden pears, velvety peaches, and great clusters of purple grapes. It was enough to make one's mouth water just to look at them.

But the animal-sheds were even more interesting. There were handsome horses, black, bay, and chestnut. Their coats shone like satin; and when their keepers led them out they arched their necks and pranced about, as if they were trying to say, "Did you ever see a more beautiful creature than I am? Just

wait a while, and I will race for you. See all these blue ribbons! I won them by my beauty and my speed."

Then there were the cattle, long rows of them, standing patiently in their narrow stalls; the pigs, little ones and big ones, white ones and black ones; and the sheep with their long coats of warm, soft wool.

After the boys had eaten their lunch they watched the horse-show for a little while, and then there was a free circus which they wanted to see, so it was the middle of the afternoon before they found their way to the poultry show.

Such a noise you never heard in all your life as the one that greeted their ears the moment they stepped inside the door. If you want to hear some queer music, just listen to a poultry band at a county fair, roosters crowing, hens cackling, ducks quacking, pigeons cooing, and turkeys gobbling.

Harry liked the poultry-show best of all. He had some hens at home which he had raised himself, and he stood for a long time watching a mother hen and her tiny bantam chickens.

"I wish I hadn't spent all my money," he said. to himself. "I'd like to buy two or three of those chickens."

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" said a loud voice in a cage behind him.

Harry turned quickly, and there stood a handsome white rooster, flapping his wings and crowing lustily. "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" he said again, and he walked back and forth in the narrow cage, strutting proudly, and spreading his wings as if to say, "What do you think of me?"

"Cock-a-doodle-doo! I'd like to buy you, too," said Harry.

"He is a beauty, isn't he, Roy?" he added, turning to speak to his friend. But the boys were gone. He walked the whole length of the building, and they were nowhere to be seen.

"Perhaps they have gone back to the sheep-pens,' he said to himself, and he ran across the grounds to look for them.

The judges were awarding prizes for the finest sheep, and the long low building was crowded with people, but there was no sign of Harry's friends.

"Where can they be?" he said, half aloud. "They may have gone over to see the cows milked by machinery. I'll go there next."

Just as he went out of the farther door of the sheepshed he met two men coming in. One of the men was smoking, and as he entered the shed he threw away the short end of his cigar. It fell in the dry grass near a pile of straw.

In a minute West Wind came scurrying across the field, and it was not long before he found the lighted cigar.

"What are you doing down there in the grass?" said West Wind. "Why don't you burn and have a good smoke by yourself?"

The red tip of the cigar shone brighter at the words. "So I will," it said, and it sent up a tiny curl of blue smoke.

"Pouf! pouf!" said West Wind. "Can't you do better than that?"

"Of course I can," and the stub burned still brighter.