inish his devotions. These done, he
called his superior's attention to the savages lurking on the
outskirts of the glade and beckoned to them to come forward. Both
white men were eager to learn what the Indians might tell them, and
the elder, who spoke the Indian tongue, talked glibly with the
redskins. They, in turn, were curious about several things. First, the
strange contrivance that hung from Father Hennepin's belt. He
explained that it was to help him find his way through the uncharted
country. Save for the compass he would quickly be lost.

"Hugh," grunted one of the braves, "that no good. I lead you,"
surprising the Jesuit by his use of English.

"Good," answered the priest. The two white men went into the cabin,
gathered their scanty baggage, and reappeared at the door. By this
time the other Indians had disappeared down the path by which they had
come. In the opposite direction, without a backward glance, the party
of three men, the Jesuit, his companion, and the Indian guide, set out
to find new thoroughfares.

Now from morning to night traffic rolls along the same trail. The
narrow path that once found its way through the forest with many
turnings and twistings is now a wide, paved avenue. Over it go street
cars carrying busy people, trucks laden with gravel or coal, the
ever-present automobiles of people bent on pleasure. The street is
lined on either side with tall buildings: stores, offices, houses,
churches, museums. As we go down the avenue, we come to what was once
a clearing in the forest. Instead of the simple cabin, there are now a
variety of buildings: a small store whose owner, a French Canadian,
carries on a thriving business; opposite, a restaurant owned by two
yellow Chinese, who specialize in chow-mein; next door, the
establishment of a husky Yankee, who plies his trade by greasing
automobiles and supplying gasoline to motorists demanding that
necessity.

A thriving community now, what will this one time forest clearing be
two hundred years hence?

JANET MORISON, '27.

A CONVERSATION AT THE DINNER TABLE

At dinner Daddy told us he had seen a prince. I asked him what prince
it was.

Then Mother said, "Didn't you read the paper, Ella Sturgis?"

"No," I replied.

"It was the Prince of Greece," said Daddy, "and he wore a monocle."

Chucky said, "What is a monocle?"

"It is a glass people wear in one eye and squint a little to keep it
in," said Mother.

Then she asked