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VERSE 1 Eight or ten boys stand in center, as corn to be cut down by the "reapers" (part of remainder of children). A few boys stand aside to be the "wagon."

Here we see the poppies and the corn
In the harvest fields in the early morn,
And these little reapers with sickles so bright
Are reaping away with all their might,
With all their might, with all their might,
With all their might, with all their might,
These little reapers with sickles so bright
Are reaping away with all their might.

VERSE 2 A few children stand up the "sheaves" together, then "reapers" sit round in ring and "eat lunch."

With bands of straw build the sheaves so tall,
And stack them up so they will not fall,

Then sit in the shade, for that is best,

To eat your lunch and take a rest.

To take a rest, to take a rest,

To take a rest, to take a rest,

Then sit in the shade for that is best,

To eat your lunch and take a rest.

VERSE 3 "Wagon". four or six boys drawn by two "horses." The boys forming the "wagon, ," close around those forming the "sheaves" and the horses pull them away. Remainder of children "glean" the ears left.

Here come the wagons along the road,
So send them back with a heavy load,
But leave some ears for the gleaners there,

For everyone must have a share.
Must have a share, must have a share,

Must have a share, must have a share,
But leave some ears for the gleaners there,
For everyone must have a share.

-Words by Beatrice M. Hyatt (slightly adapted)
Second Week

Last week, I told you about the things that Joan of Arc loved. As she grew older, there were two of these things that she loved more and more. One of them was France her own beautiful France. For almost a hundred France had been at war with England. She years, had seen her proud farmies defeated. Many of her towns

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ENGLISH FOLK DANCE

and cities had been taken away from her. She had grown discouraged. Instead of standing up and fighting for her rights, as France has always done, she was resisting England only feebly sometimes not at all.

Jean was only a little girl, but she knew many of the reasons for this, just as you know many of the reasons for the great War over-seas. She knew that the present King of France was an old man, who had lost his mind, and who was King only in name. The ruler of France was really the Queen, a wicked, heartless woman, who had given up much of her country to the English and who was willing to sign it all

over.

Jeanne knew that at the death of the old mad King, his son, Charles, should be crowned King of France, but if his mother had her way, he would not be. Jeanne heard all these things talked over soberly by the older people. Sometimes, a traveler through the quiet town would thrill them all, especially the little girl listening eagerly to every word, with tales of battles. And she knew well that France needed some one, great and strong and true-hearted, to rise up and give her fresh courage, so that she would stand up for her rights.

The other thing which meant more and more to Jeanne as she grew older was the church, next door to her home, with its colored windows and clear-sounding bells. Her little bedroom was on the side of the house nearest the church. Joyously on feast-days, solemnly on fast-days, the great bells spoke to her. They sounded in her dreams and woke her, often, in the morning. Through all her life, when she was at work or at play, when she was glad or sorry, the church-bells rang in and out, in and out, as a silver thread winds through a many-colored fabric. As she grew older, little Jeanne played less. She went to church more. Sometimes, she stole in, laid down a little offering of wild-flowers, said a little prayer, and stole out again. Often, it seemed to her that the tall saints in the windows leaned toward her just a little, smiled and gave her their blessing.

Then, into this little girl's life came something so strange and wonderful, after five hundred years, we don't know just how to explain it. She began to hear, often, mysterious beautiful words, spoken to her alone. She, herself, always spoke of them reverently as "The Voices." It is told that the first time the Voices came to her, she was at play among the flowers and butterflies of her father's garden. Afterward, she beard them in the poppy-fields, in the forest under the great beech tree, in the dim, quiet church.

--

The Voices always seemed to speak out of a great stillness and a white shining glory. Perhaps, she saw forms like angels anyway, down deep in her pure, little-gir[ heart, she knew that these Voices came to her straight from heaven and that she must always do just what they told her to do.

At first, they said, "Be a good girl, Jeanne. Mind Go often to church!" These Father and Mother. things were easy. By and by, the Voices began to say strange things which filled her little heart with a wonder and awe. They talked to her about France, of the grave danger it was in, of how it must be saved and saved at once. And at last, the Voices told her that she was the only

one in all the world who could save France. They told her she must leave home, go to Charles, ask for an army, and save the city of Orleans from the English armies.

It isn't strange that a little country girl, like Jeanne d'Arc, wondered and trembled and said, "I? I-Jeanne d'Arc-save France? Why, I am only a little girl. I cannot fight. I cannot even ride. I know nothing of war. I can only sew and knit and tend my father's sheep. I cannot save France!" "Only you- Jeanne d'Arc can save France!" the solemn Voices would

answer.

With all these great and wonderful things in her heart, it isn't strange that Jeanne became quiet and different from all her little playmates. Sometimes, even when she was with them, she didn't seem to hear their talk and laughter. She didn't notice or sing any more. She wasn't unhappy, exactly, but she felt almost as if she was in a dream.

More and more often, she stole away from everyone and went into the church to lay down her blossoms and say her prayers for herself, for her dear ones, and for France. The unlight touched her softly as she knelt. But often whe.. she rose, her eyes were dark and troubled. For she held France in her heart, just as a mother holds a dear child who is in great pain and needs help.

By and by, the Voices told Jeanne d'Arc, listening humbly, that she must leave Domremy - her home, her brothers, and little sister; the church with its bells; the forest, with its fairy-tree and its nodding wild-flowers; all the lovely things she had always known and loved, and go away just wherever the Voices led her, to save France.

If little Jeanne d'Arc hadn't loved France more than anything else in all the world more even than home and parents- perhaps she would not have obeyed the Voices. But then, if she hadn't loved France more than anything else in all the world, God would never have chosen her to go and save France, would He?

Knowing that she must do all these great things that the Voices told her, Jeanne went to visit an uncle. With his help she went to see the Governor of that region of country. The Governor- a gruff, though not unkindly person was amazed when a slip of a girl in a plain red homespun gown stood up before him, said she would save France, and demanded to be taken to Charles.

"She is mad," said the Governor, "or else she is bewitched. It's a pity, for she is a pretty lass. Take her back home.

Jeanne was taken back to Domremy. Father and Mother and the neighbors and all her chums felt sorry that she bad such strange fancies about hearing Voices and saving France. It was a pity that she was so different from other girls.

Jeanne said little. In her heart, she must try againin spite of what anyone thought or said. For the Voices spoke clearly, and were not to be disobeyed:

"God has chosen you-and you only-Jeanne d'Arc to save France!"

How a Song was Written

On the deck of a small boat are two Americans, held there as prisoners. It is a dark September night. But the air is full of bursting shells and rockets, and the boom of cannon. Fort McHenry, on the Potomac River, not far from the City of Washington, is being bombarded by the English.

Up and down, up and down, pace the two men. Every time a shell bursts, they follow its flight anxiously. They listen eagerly until the boom of the cannon from the fort tells them that the American soldiers there are still defending themselves. When the night is bright for a minute, lit up by flaring rockets, they peer eagerly toward the fort.

By and by, the cannon no longer replies. The two men look at each other. Does that mean, perhaps, that the fort has been given up? They cannot know till morn

ing comes. So up and down, up and down, all night long, they pace. They count the hours. They watch for the first faintest sign of light in the east.

At last it comes. They strain their eyes toward the fort. At first they can see nothing. Then up flashes the sun, and catching its very first beam, what is that they see over the fort?

A Flag-Red, White, and Blue, and spangled with stars the Flag of their own United States of America. Seeing that Flag, they knew that the attack on the fort had failed. It was still held by the American troops.

One of the men was Francis Scott Key. He sat down on the deck of the little boat. Looking up, now and then, at the beautiful Flag shining over the waters of the Potomac, he wrote some wonderful words.

Do you know what they were? The words of our own national anthem - "The Star Spangled Banner." Listen to them, again, and notice how clearly and beautifully they tell the story of that night and morning.

There never was so beautiful a Flag. And there never was a Flag stood for such beautiful things - all the pure, true, good things we know and love. And the song that we sing about it our own Star Spangled Banner Song holds the flash of its colors, the ripple of its folds, the glory and strength of its stars and stripes. When we hear it, we stand up, straight and strong and proud and glad, and sing with all our hearts:

oh, how they love that wonderful Marseillaise of theirs. We love them too, and stand up and sing them, whenever we hear them. But best of all, we love

Our Star Spangled Banner

Long may it wave
O'er the Land of the Free,

And the Home of the Brave

NOTE This may be readily made into a little play-two of the children pacing the deck of the boat; others defending the fort. When the Flag is discovered to be "still there," the first stanza and chorus of "Star Spangled Banner" may be sung.

Third Week

On her seventeenth birthday, Jeanne left Domremy again. The old King was dead. But Charles, the son, bad not yet been crowned. The Voices told Jeanne that she must go to him, fight and win great battles for bim, and see him made the King of France."

When you look at pictures of Jeanne d'Arc, you do not wonder that she was often called Jeanne the Beautiful. But no picture can quite catch the light that shone from her delicate, sweet young face, and wonderful eyes. And there was something about her simple little peasant that she was that made people stop and look at her, wonder about her and ask questions, and finally like her and listen to what she had to say.

So, after a long, long time, she was given permission by Charles to come to his Court and tell him all that she wanted to. Six strong armed men, who loved her and watched over her carefully, went with her.

Charles was holding court in a gay city. Not so far away, his armies starved in the city of Orleans. They were almost ready to surrender the whole city, with its belpless men and women and little children, to the English armies outside the gates. They had held out almost as long as they could.

We like to read stories about these old courts of Kings. There are always knights in armor, of course, grave ministers and bishops, and ladies like flowers in their gay colors. There is a throne where the King sits in all his royal robes. Everyone who was allowed to come into his presence must bow down before him.

The Court of Charles wasn't unlike the others. There wasn't much money in France at this time, even for its King. But Charles made a brave show with what he had. Now, when Charles and his courtiers knew that Jeanne d'Arc was coming to Court, they decided to play a trick upon the simple little girl from the country. Of course, she wouldn't know anything about courts and kings. She would be bashful and bewildered by all the splendor everywhere. So, Charles was to dress himself simply in the robes of one of his ministers. And the minister was to wear the King's royal robes and sit upon his throne, "She has never seen me," Charles told his minister. "If these Voices, of which she says so much, lead her to me, I shall know that she is sent from heaven. But if she thinks you are the King, we will know at once that she is no different from any girl, and unfit to be trusted with armies.

in Domremy, into the Court of Charles, came Jeanne d'Arc. Her proud little head_was lifted high. Her wonderful eyes searched the ranks from side to side.

At last, she saw the King—at least she saw the person on the throne in the King's robes. Would she know? The court was breathless. The ladies bent their jeweled heads to watch. The Kings' eyes never left her face.

To the amazement of those who had come with Jeanne to the Court, she did not fall to the ground before the throne. She did not even bend her head. Her eyes passed swiftly from that figure on the throne on and on down the lines of princes, ministers, and courtiers. The next instant, her whole face lit up with joy. In the simple robes of his minister, she saw Charles her future King. To him, she almost ran, kneeling before him.

said Charles. "But thereupon the throne, girl-there is the King!"

"You are the King," said Jeanne simply, "and_no other."

So the King believed that Jeanne was led by divine Voices as she said. He took her hand and lifted her to her feet. She told him in her sweet, straightforward way what the Voices had told her. France was in grave danger. The King bowed his head. Deep in his heart he knew that only too well. But it could be saved. The

king lifted his eyes and gazed deep into the Maid's clear,

serious ones. As he looked, he felt himself a better man stronger, truer, more what the King of France should be. d'Arc, unfaltering and unafraid. "Through God's help I will save France!" cried Jeanne

She told Charles that he must give her an army, so that she could go to Orleans and defeat the armies of the English. The King found it hard to believe that this frail girl could lead an army, much less save France. But his need was so great. And here she was, sure and strong, before him, her eyes filled with that light such as he had never seen before. Then, too, he had already been told how as she had come through the towns on her way to him, the common people had run to meet her, hailing ber as the only one who could save France. Sometimes, the common people know more about who and what can save them than kings and czars. Some one in the Court remembered, too, a story, or legend, so old it had been almost forgotten. A great seer, named Merlin, had foretold that one day France would be saved by a Maid.

Here was a girl from Domremy, who called herself just that "The Maid." She was ready to save France. She said God would help her. "But if God can save France, "[said some one in the Court, "why should we fight at all?'

"The armies fight," cried Jeanne, the Maid, "but God gives the victory!'

And so, at last, the King yielded. The little s venteenyear-old Maid of Domremy was declared Commanderin-Chief of all the Armies of France.

(From the Teacher's Edition of Educational Music Course published by Ginn & Company By permission of the publishers.)

impressive appearance. But they don't look much like the armies of those old days.

An army, then, meant a great company of men and borses, a flourish of color, a flare and blare of trumpets, a clash of swords. The men wore suits of armor, helmets, and breastplates that glittered in the sun. Their swords were sharp and shining. The trappings of their steeds were of gay colors. They carried proud banners which caught the light and could be seen a long way off.

Leading just such an army as this, on a wonderful horse of her own, was a slim, upright little figure the Maid of Domremy. Her armor had been made specially for her. Nothing quite so small in the way of armor had ever been seen before. It was of strong, gleaming steel. But her coat, of the kind that knights wore, was soft and warm. And her little-girl heart loved its color. She carried a splendid sword.

The sword of Jeanne d'Arc has a story all its own. Once upon a time, it had gone with the knights on their wonderful Crusades against the Saracens.

When a sword was wanted for the new girl Commanderin-Chief of all the Armies of France, the girl herself said: "There is a sword hidden behind the altar of an old church.'

Directed by the Maid, to this old church, went her messengers. They found the sword, just as she had said. Legend says that when it was taken from its hiding-place, the rust fell from its blade, leaving it clean and keen.

The tender-hearted little Maid of Domremy, who not so long ago, had taken care of all the hurt and sick animals she could find, did not want to kill anyone with her great sword. Her part in battle, she said, was to ride in the midst of her soldiers and lift high a banner that all might see it.

A beautiful banner was made for her. It was a great shining thing of snow-white linen. On one side was a figure of God Himself.

He held the earth in his hands. On either side of Him, knelt an angel, holding a lily. On the other side of this banner, was the Virgin, and the shield of France held up by angels. Jeanne had a smaller banner, too, all her very. own. It was blue as the skies above far-off Domremy. On it, was a spotless dove and the words:

"In the name of the King of Heaven!"

No wonder the girl, small and weak herself, felt strong and safe and sure, going forth to do battle for the right under such banners as these.

She knew God would take care of her and the armies of France.

Her strength was as the strength of ten, Because her heart was pure!

All history rings with the stories of the little Maid of Domremy, now called the Battle Maid. The city of Orleans had been under siege for seven long weeks. The women and little children, shut up there, were almost without food. Into this city, rode the Battle Maid with her army.

How glad everyone was to see her! "Can Orleans be saved?" they asked her.

"Through God, I will save it for France!" cried Jeanne d'Arc.

Into battle, she dashed with her troops. She lifted her wonderful banner high.

"On, on!" she cried," we cannot fail!"

There are so many things I would like to tell you about her. We are told that, sometimes when the strife was over for the time, she was found on the battle-field, caring with sure and gentle hands for the wounded English soldiers. Once, she was wounded herself. She was frightened, like any other girl. Some of her soldiers carried her from the field. But as soon as she could, she struggled to her feet, and went back.

When her troops saw her, pale but holding aloft their Flag, they were so inspired that they went on to victory.

Of course, nothing could hold out long before her. The English armies were driven from Orleans. The city, free at last from the long siege, went wild with joy. The little Maid of Domremy became the Maid of Orleans.

Wherever she went, people knelt before her, kissing her little hands, and blessing her in all the sweet, quaint ways they knew. It is told that once, so many country-folk, all in their scarlet and white skirts and bodices, lined the street down which she passed, that she seemed to walk through a garden of bowing poppies and lilies.

Orleans has never forgotten the wonderful Maid that came to its rescue in its hour of great need. On the eighth of May, 1429, the siege was lifted. On the eighth of May, still, there is a celebration of the event. The day is called "Jeanne d'Arc Day."

No wonder the little town of Domremy is proud to hold the home of Jeanne d' Arc. No wonder all the little French towns, and big ones, too, treasure almost above everything else, the statues and pictures of the Maid, who, five hundred years ago, saved France.

After her splendid victories, Jeanne d' Arc stood beside Charles under the the lilies of France, and saw him crowned King. Charles made her the "Lady du Lis." This means the Lady of the Lilies. It is a fitting name for the purehearted, flower-like little girl, but better, far better, we love to think of her as Joan of Arc. The world has for the most part forgotten all about the "Lady du Lis." But so long as great deeds and pure are told and reverenced, it can never forget Joan of Arc. Across the years, it sounds like a bugle-call.

The little Maid of Domremy has become the Battle Maid, the Maid of Orleans, the Maid of France — The Maid of the whole world! Here are some words of hers that we can learn and always remember. They will help us when we are in trouble or danger. For they mean just as much to-day in the United States, as they did five hundred years ago, in France:

"When God fights, it is small matter whether the hand that wields the sword be big or little!"