6 ACORN plexioned rough-looking fellow beating an elderly person. Whether the would-be-robber thought help had arrived or not he threw his victim in the snow and fled into the darkness. As the old gentleman in a half dazed condition arose, Jim brushed the snow from his clothes and offered his assistance. On the way home Jim poured out a tale of woe, which brought a decided look of sadness over the pale face of the old gentleman. "Well, Jim," said the old man, stopping before his home, "this is where I live." The old gentleman had gone but a few steps after their parting remarks when he turned and called the boy back. "By the way, Jim, I will expect you and your mother here for dinner tomorrow." "Oh, thank you, thank you, Mr. Bayley, you don't know how happy that will make my mother feel." Jim returned Mr. Bayley's "good night" and hurried home with a heart so light that, in spite of the bitter cold, he whistled a merry tune. When he arrived home, he rushed into the kitchen, threw his arms about his mother's neck and covered her face with kisses. "Why, Jim, dear, what is the matter with you? You must have had good luck tonight." Jim juggled the two oranges in the air for a few moments and then said, "I will tell you all, Mother, while you are preparing supper." She prepared a very meager meal, to be sure, but it was the best they could afford, and Jim certainly did justice to it, to say the least. "But don't you think we will be out of place, Jim?" said the mother after some thought. "I hardly think so, Mother, or he wouldn't have given me the invitation. The next dawn brought Christmas and with it a bustle in the home of the Bradfords. Nevertheless, they were soon ready and boarded a car for the brown stone mansion on Fourth Avenue. They were invited into a spacious parlor by Mr. Bayley himself, and soon were seated around a heavily ladened table. Here Mrs. Bradford heard once more the story of her son's bravery. "And for this, Mrs. Bradford," Mr. Bayley began, "I have decided to make you and Jim a present." Mrs. Bradford looked. amazed, but nearly wept with joy when the last words were uttered. "I have decided to pay the mortgage on your house and give Jim a suitable education. "Oh! Mr. Bayley," Jim and his mother cried in chorus. "How good you are. How will we thank you." "I deem this only a part of what I owe Jim for what he has done for me." That night there were no happier three in the whole city of New York than Mr. Bayley, Mrs. Bradford and-Jim. GAB B., '14. ACORN 7 The Literary Editor's Dream "I'll correct only this one before I go to bed," replied Harold in answer to the question of time for retiring. But as he corrected the misspelled words and rearranged several sentences the fingers holding his pencil finally relaxed. He wandered into the carpenter's shop. All the tools were working. Mr. Chisel met him and replied with reference to the story, "That's rather cut up," "and somewhat rough," added the file. "With the help of my friend, Fine Sandpaper, I could make it 'plane' in a minute," offered Mr. Smoother; "but even then it's too loose," advised Mr. Clincher. "Look," exclaimed Mr. Glew, turning to Mr. Jagged Edge, "it is incoherent." "Alas, 'tis true," answered T. Square. "And I see no "punch-uation," corrected the nail set. "One the 'hole,' it bores me a bit," complained the Brace. "Listen," called Mr. Sharptooth, "let's cut this short and take a spin with Mr. Lathe." As Mr. Lathe pulled the lever all the critics disappeared and left Harold there alone listening to the noise of the machine. He awoke to find that the steam was only buzzing through the radiator. E. S. N. A Snowfall in the Woods A snowfall in the forest broad Is very fair to see. The beauteous, universal white Finds rest on every tree, And hanging on their bending boughs It sings a song to me. I've heard a wondrous whisper say, When snowflakes leave the sky, That Mother Nature, queen of earth, Sends them to beautify; And so that wondrous whipser sweet, This song is my reply: When clouds bend low to kiss the pines, A tale in song is told; For like the strains of gentle tunes The snowflakes charm the cold. Their music fills my soul with mirth And thrills me manifold. WILL B. SAURIE, '15.