. The Sweet Briar Magazine. ! chorused the twins, as they got up. Itwas such a beautiful story! Thank you for telling it to us,mother dear. You are welcome, my pets, said Lady Tiger, and shekissed them a loving good-night. When the two little figureshad disappeared, she turned to her husband: Oh, those were stirring times, Thomas! she said. And you tell them in a stirring way, my love, repliedSir Thomas. Ill put out the candles, darling, while youwind the clock. One by one the lights were extinguished, and only thesilver radiance of the moon illumined the Tigers was long since ov
. The Sweet Briar Magazine. ! chorused the twins, as they got up. Itwas such a beautiful story! Thank you for telling it to us,mother dear. You are welcome, my pets, said Lady Tiger, and shekissed them a loving good-night. When the two little figureshad disappeared, she turned to her husband: Oh, those were stirring times, Thomas! she said. And you tell them in a stirring way, my love, repliedSir Thomas. Ill put out the candles, darling, while youwind the clock. One by one the lights were extinguished, and only thesilver radiance of the moon illumined the Tigers was long since over, and the Jungle was asleep. Maeye Sutherland. THE SWEET URIAH MAGAZINE 87 Song of tfte ©noto The blinding snow in the face, The struggle of strength in the air;The free blood pounding in joyous raceThrough hearts steeled high to dare!Oh, for the heart of the storm,To be one with the winds that howl;To stretch an arm gainst the roaring blast, To live in the storm; to die in the storm,As the Vikings in ages past! E. B. 8S TEE SWEET BRIAR MAGAZINE Cfte aDtientures of JfreDericb tfte ©reat THINK I had better say in the beginningthat this story has nothing to do with theFrederick the Great whom you have readabout in a history book. That one lived agood many years ago, and was a king;whereas, this one of whom I am writing isa girl, who is living still, and who is likely to live a longwhile too, in spite of all the thrilling events that happenedto her. But at the time of which I write she was calledFreddie—not from any tomboyish inclinations, but becausethat had been her fathers name before her. On the afternoon when the story opens, Freddie waseating chocolates in front of an open fire in her Washingtonhome. Outside, it was raining, and disconsolate peoplewent past under dripping umbrellas, but inside the warmlibrary it was cheerful and cozy. There were blue violetsin a bowl on the table, and Freddie wore a blue dress whichexactly matched her blue eyes, and with the fireli
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