OUTLINE FOR MONTH I The Rain. II The Weather. Fourth Year Geography Maude Mae Pickering September 1 Compare the soil to a sponge drinking up part of the water as it falls. II Part of it may seep out again along the hillsides or on top of the ground as a spring. Locate and visit a spring, if possible. Speak of their former use as wells in localities in which they are found. Also tell of their medicinal qualities often affording reasons for establishing health and fashion resorts. III Some creep into wells made for use in the home, to water stock, etc. Larger wells are used to supply cities with drinking water; affording power for small factories, light plants and other things. The driven wells which are usually mineral, produce the purest water. Surface wells are unsafe on account of typhoid fever. IV Why do wells and springs go dry in time of drouth? V Why does the soil get dryer as the days go by without a rain? VI Explain to the class the evaporation of water and why the water condenses in drops upon a cold surface. VIII Notice that a part of the rain runs off into the gutters and streams as soon as it falls. Form a sort of question bureau, encouraging the children to ask questions, also to give their own observations of the rain and its disappearance. THE WEATHER 1 Second Week Observations of the weather need not be carried on each day. Two days set apart for this each week will suffice. II On these days use thermometer for readings in the sun and shade. Also take temperatures at nine o'clock, twelve o'clock and four. The nine o'clock reading will probably be the best. III Air-moisture, dryness, dampness, fog, mist, rain and snow. IV Winds - gentle, strong and those which bring rain, cold or fair weather to your own region. V Teach use of weather vane and compass from real objects. The Friday Afternoon Story Hour - Alice E. Allen This series is arranged in four parts one part for each week of the month, Sometimes the story will be complete each week; sometimes, as in the case of "The Little Maid of Domremy," it is divided into four parts one part to be used each week. The stories are intended to be told to the children, although, of course, they may be read, if desired. When the poems of the series are too long or too difficult for the youngest children, tell them the story they tell. Sometimes, poems or stories may be made into little plays. Stories, poems, songs and plays are all chosen in the hope of inspiring good cheer, courage, self-sacrifice and patriotism at this time, when they are so needed. Use all the good pictures and good victrola records, suited to the subject, you can find. The Little Maid of of Domremy First Week Over-seas in France, there is a quaint little town set down among beautiful hills. On the crest of one of these hills, is a great forest. It stretches out its strong arms above the little town as if it loved it and would always protect it from danger. This village is named Domremy. With its narrow streets and red-roofed houses, it looks like many other French villages. But it isn't like any other village in France, or anywhere else in the world. Probably in every little home there is a small statue, worn by much handling. In these hard days of war and suffering, it is brought out very often to be looked at and worshiped. For the statue found in every home in Domremy, and in almost every home in France, for that matter, is a tiny figure of the greatest heroine in all the world - Joan of Arc. It is because she was born in this humble little town among the hills and lived there almost all her life, that it is one of the most famous places in all France. If you could go there, a crowd of eager, dark-eyed little boys and girls would take you proudly to see Joan's home. 'Here on January 6, 1412," they would say, "was born our Jeanne d'Arc!" If you could hear them say "Jeanne d'Arc," with their eyes shining and their voices soft and worshiping, you would never want to say it in any other way. The little house has but four rooms. It looks a poor small place compared to the birthplace of some great people. But after all, many great people are born in humble places. You remember a manger in Bethlehem, and Who was born there. And you remember, too, a log cabin in our own State of Kentucky, and who was born there. And whether you would think so or not, Jeanne was one of the happiest little girls that ever lived in any kind of a home, great or small. One reason she was happy was that she had so many people to love. There were Father, Mother, her brothers, and her little sister. She loved the people of Domremy, too; those who were poor and old and lonely and tired, as well as her own glad-hearted little chums. Sometimes, she took care of the sick. She loved the old priest and the church next door to her home. She loved the paths that wound away through the fields and lost themselves in the woods. She loved the woods, themselves, full of soft stirrings and whisperings. She loved the great kind sky with its sunshine and stars, its storms and rainbows. She loved her quaint little home town. And she loved France, her country, and was proud of it, just as we love and are proud of our own United States of America. Another reason Jeanne was happy was that she was always busy. She couldn't read or write - children didn't have any chances to go to school and learn these things in those far-off days. But she could bake and cook and weave and sew and knit. With seven people to feed and clothe, some one had to help Mother. And with geese and ducks and cattle and pigs, some one had to help Father. Jeanne loved to take the sheep to pasture in the quiet hills. She worked in the garden, too, in garden-time' and in the harvest season she used ber sickle with the others in the fields where the scarlet poppies grew with the wheat. But with all this, we are told that little Jeanne always found time to care for lost, stray, sick or hurt animals. The house was over-run with them. And she found time, too, to play all the games that little French boys and girls liked to play. There was one fascinating thing that those little long-ago people did, that you must do some day; perhaps next Arbor Day. Just on the edge of the great forest I told you about, stood a wonderful tree, "fair as a lily," we are told in the old stories. It was a great beech with low-hanging, wide-spreading branches. Once a year, anyway, the Domremy children went to this tree, danced and sung about it, and hung pretty flower-garlands on its branches. Then they sat down in its shade and ate little cakes. It seemed to them that the tree knew and loved to have them there. I almost think it did. I like to think trees love children. One reason the little folks loved this tree so much was that there were such sweet, wonderful stories told about it. The grown people most of them - didn't believe these stories. When people grow up, you know, unless they are very careful, their hearts grow up, too, and can't believe the lovely things they used to when they were young and just full of songs and sunny things. These tree stories were about little fairies — real live little fairy-folk that had once lived in this very tree. They had come out and danced and played and bad such good times. And they had loved the children. It was told still, in small, soft whispers, that after a little child died, a lovely wet-eyed fairy would steal out of her home in the great beech tree, and just where that little child had last danced, under the tree, the fairy would lay a little flower, called an immortelle. But after awhile, the grown-up people, who thought that if there were fairies, they were mischievous harmful little things, used to say long prayers around the old beech tree, to drive them away! So, when Jeanne d'Arc lived in Domremy, the fairies had long ago ceased to come out from their hiding-places. There was one old woman who thought she saw them out playing one night or so some one told some one, and that some one told some one else. In her heart, little Jeanne loved fairies. and wished they would come back again. There was a song these little Domremy children used to sing. Just think, after five hundred years, of having a song that little Jeanne d'Arc used to sing — a song which to the end of her life, she never forgot. You must learn it in its English words, now. And, some day, you will want to say it in French, as much like Jeanne d'Arc as you can. Now, what has kept your leaves so green, The children's tears! They brought each grief, That, healed, rose a leaf. And what has built you up so strong, The children's love! They've loved you long; Bide always green in our young hearts, Not heeding Time his flight. |