trouble in the world? He cried out to
Uncle Henry and the children, who were now quite near, strange and
broken words, and he tried to tell them that he could not swim.

"Good boy, swim for it! You'll get it!" shouted Uncle Henry.

Caspar understood the word "swim," but not the rest. He thought the
kite man must be telling him that he could not swim, either. He looked
out to the flag; it was surely going into the water; it flapped and
dipped, then dipped deeper still, right into the water. Caspar did not
wait another minute. Off went his jacket, and with a wild look toward
the shore, he ran into the water. His feet slipped on the sandy
bottom, and the kite jerked up, then down, then up--but it was always
just out of reach.

They watched the boy, who was trying hard to keep the flag in sight.

"Hurry, hurry, Uncle Henry, he can't swim a stroke!" shouted Harry.

Uncle Henry was just in time; Caspar had a firm hold on Old Glory, and
came up tangled in its folds.

After Uncle Henry had shaken the water out of the boy, he sat him on
his shoulder, where everybody could see him. "Now, one, two, three!"
he said, as he waved his free arm. "All cheer for the boy who would
not let the flag be lost even if he couldn't swim! Hoo-ray!"

"Hoo-ray! hoo-ray! hoo-ray!" they said; and then they cheered all over
again, and crowded round Uncle Henry and Caspar until the pair started
home to put on dry clothes.

When little Caspar went home that night, he carried the flag that he
had saved. Grandmother had washed and dried it, and it looked as good
as new.

THE LOG CABIN BOY

How would you like to have begun life in a little log cabin set in the
midst of a western wilderness? Suppose, too, that the cabin had no
window and so many cracks that it let in the winter winds and even the
snow!

That was how little Abe first saw life a long time ago, in February of
1809. It was rough life for a small boy. Even his mother had to know
how to shoot, for the cabin was in the woods where wild beasts and
Indians surrounded it. There was nothing to eat except what Abe's
father raised or hunted. They had nothing to wear except the cloth his
mother spun and wove, or the skins of animals.

By the time little Abe was six years old, though, he had learned more
than a boy of that age to-day. He could fish and hunt. He was not
afraid of Indians. He could catch hold of a sycamore tree on the edge
of the brook outside the cabin, and swing hi