rest. Did
Simeon hear the bells and say, "Soon it will be my turn"?

Probably not. His senses had flown, for what good were they! The young
monk who now at eventide brought the basket with the bottle of goat's
milk and the loaf of brown bread was born since Simeon had taken his
place on the pillar.

"He has always been there," the people said, and crossed themselves
hurriedly.

But one evening when the young monk came with his basket, no line was
dropped down from above. He waited and then called aloud, but all in
vain.

When sunrise came, there sat the monk, his face between his knees, the
folds of his black robe drawn over his head. But he did not rise and
lift his hands in prayer.

All day he sat there, motionless.

The people watched in whispered silence. Would he arise at sundown and
pray, and with outstretched hands bless the assembled pilgrims?

And as they watched, a vulture came sailing slowly through the blue
ether, and circled nearer and nearer; and off on the horizon was
another--and still another, circling nearer and ever nearer.

-------------------------------------

I would write across the sky in letters of light this
undisputed truth, proven by every annal of history,
that the only way to help yourself is through loyalty
to those who trust and employ you.

BATTLE OF THE LITTLE BIG HORN

It was in the Spring of Eighteen Hundred Seventy-six that the Sioux on
the Dakota Reservation became restless, and after various fruitless
efforts to restrain them, moved Westward in a body.

This periodic migration was a habit and a tradition of the tribe. For
hundreds of years they had visited the buffalo country on an annual
hunt.

Now the buffaloes were gone, save for a few scattered herds in the
mountains. The Indians did not fully realize this, although they
realized that as the Whites came in, the game went out. The Sioux were
hunters and horsemen by nature. They traveled and moved about with
great freedom. If restrained or interfered with they grew irritable
and then hostile.

Now they were full of fight. The Whites had ruined the hunting-grounds;
besides that, white soldiers had fought them if they moved to their
old haunts, sacred for their use and bequeathed to them by their
ancestors. In dead of Winter, when the snows lay deep and they were in
their teepees, crouching around the scanty fire, soldiers had charged
on horsebac