I have been very much interested in a Benefit for the Sufferers of the late California Earthquake. It was held in Mechanics Building and twenty thousand dollars was raised. It was all done by the young people of Boston. We had the Salem Cadet Band as a foundation, and then the children gave pretty dances, marches, songs, readings, etc. It was a vaudeville and pop concert show all in one and it lasted two days. Such gay crowds I never saw. Pa said the ladies were lovelier than ever and every one was glad to help, by her presence, and also many brought friends who were strangers here. I think that the Salem Cadet Band is a peach. Every one enjoyed listening to the band and then they made a splendid orchestra for the fancy dancing; so that it all together was a fine success. I have jotted down two of the selections given by children present. David Westfield, six years of age, gave a wonderful selection which I shall put right here; it was called “Esau Buck and the Buck-saw.” Pa said how a boy six years old could recite a piece so complicated was a wonder. He said that David Westfield was a live wire, and he should keep track of him to see what end he made. He says he is liable to be a big man some day, and something will drop at City Hall if he got power there. Now for the selection. David made a low bow to the big audience, stood up on the seat of a big automobile that was on the stage as one of the props, and began thus: “An old farmer, way out in Kansas, whose sons had all grown up and left him, hired a young man by the name of Esau Buck to help him on his farm. On the evening of the first day they hauled up a load of poles for wood and unloaded them between the garden and the barnyard. The next morning the old man said to the hired man, ‘Esau, I’m going to town this morning, and while I’m gone you may saw up the wood and keep the old Buck out of the garden.’ When the old man was gone, Esau went out to saw the wood, but when he saw the saw, he didn’t saw it. When Esau saw the saw he saw he couldn’t saw with that saw, so he didn’t saw it. When the old man came home, he said, ‘Esau, did you saw the wood?’ and Esau said, ‘I saw the wood but I didn’t saw it, for when I saw the saw, I saw I couldn’t saw with that saw, so I didn’t saw it.’ Then the old man went out to see the saw, and when he saw the saw, he saw that Esau couldn’t saw with that saw. Now when Esau saw that the old man saw that he couldn’t saw with that saw, he picked up the ax, and chopped up the wood and made a seesaw. The next day the old man went to town and bought a new Buck-saw for Esau Buck and when he came home he hung the new Buck-saw for Esau Buck on the sawbuck, by the seesaw. At this time Esau Buck saw the old Buck eating cabbage in the garden, and when driving him from the garden Esau Buck stopped to examine the new Buck-saw that hung on the sawbuck, by the seesaw. Now when Esau stopped to examine the new Buck-saw that hung on the sawbuck, by the seesaw, the old Buck made a dive for Esau, missed Esau, hit the seesaw, and knocked the seesaw against Esau Buck, who was getting up with the Buck-saw, which hung on the sawbuck, by the seesaw. Now when the old man saw the old Buck make a dive for Esau Buck, miss Esau, hit the seesaw, and knock Esau over the sawbuck, by the seesaw, he picked up the ax to kill the old Buck, but the old Buck saw him coming, dodged the blow, knocked the old man on to Esau Buck, who fell on the Buck-saw, over the sawbuck by the seesaw. Now, when the old Buck saw Esau Buck knock the old man over the sawbuck, by the seesaw, and break the Buck-saw and the sawbuck, and the seesaw, he went into the garden and ate up the old man’s cabbage.” You should have heard that crowd cheer that kid; he had a big bouquet of daisies. Pa said he ought to have had a whole field for that piece of work. I liked one very much that Millie Green read, it was called “Naughty Zell.” Pa said it was the limit for a saucy girl. Pa said it was the best he ever heard, so here it is: “The other day, Kep Elbert, that’s my beau, was goin’ to go fishing on Soap Creek, and he said I could go long too, if I would be real good, and not scare the fishes, so we got up dest as early. Kep thinks an awful lot of me, so he does, he let me dig all the fish worms. I got mamma’s milking-pail half-full of ’em—it’s lots of fun to dig fish worms. I heard the old milkman coming and I had to run like everything and put the pail back quick, ’cause he might ask Bridget for a pan and then she wouldn’t let us go fishing. Bridget is awful mean—t’other day she just up and slapped me ’cause I put a toad in my grandmother’s bed, to see if she wouldn’t scream like everything when she saw it. I knew it wouldn’t bite her all the time, so I did, but the man poured the milk in the pail all right and I breathed easier again. I had to dig a whole lot more, though, before we went. First thing, we had our breakfast, ’cause we’se awful hungry, then I put the bait on the hook, and Kepie fished. We had to drink water out of Kep’s shoe—it didn’t have but a teeny, weeny, little hole in the toe—’cause I had to leave the pail at home. Kep was awful cross, though, he wouldn’t let me whisper for an hour—guess it was more than two hours. I just had to keep a-biting my tongue, atween my teeth, ’cause I wanted to know so awful bad why he didn’t catch any. I was kind of glad when a snake runned over my bare foot, so I had to scream, and then Kep said, ’twas no use a-trying to fish where girls was. I guess Kep had a good time, but I don’t think I care for fishin’ much, it’s too much like Sunday school for me. My mamma tells me when I’m naughty to tell Satan to get behind me, and I did tell him, and he pushed me right into the creek. I don’t think I’ll tell him that no more, ’cause I had on my best apron and stockings, and when I got home, why, there was a lot of company there, and mam’s face got awful red and everybody didn’t say nothin’ for a long time, an’ then pretty soon I heard an old man say, ‘H’m, that young one is a regular torment, she needs a rawhide to guide her for awhile;’ and I said, ‘Oho, ol’ man, was that you a-talkin’? You had not better get too smart around here, I’ll fire you out bodily. Who do you think you are talkin’ to, anyhow, ha? You old crank, you!’ You bet I scared him, he never said no more about me, you bet you. I don’t care, he’s dead now, and I am glad. Would you believe it, my mother sent me to bed without my dinner. Don’t you think she did, I don’t care, ’cause some day I’m going to die, then she’ll wish she had been kinder to me when I was just taking my own part, so she will—she will too. I never stayed up there neither, I run over to Nettie Bell’s house, and when I came back, why, the company wasn’t gone yet, and I said, ‘Mamma says city folks is always coming here three times to her once, and always staying all night, and the boys have to sleep out in the barn,’ Then everybody looked funny, and Mrs. Hull said, ‘William, children and fools always speak the truth, let’s go home at once,’ and I says, ‘No one wants you here.’ Then mamma cried, and papa laughed, and big brother Fred got a big stick, but he didn’t catch me ’cause I run awful fast, when I was going to get a licking. I had to run outside into the yard and hid under the rose-bushes, close to the hammock, until they forgot. That’s where Mary and Slicer does their sparking, an’ they don’t ‘low us children round there neither, don’t you think they do, and I knowed I either had to hide under the rose-bush or skip, and what do you think I did? I bet you can guess. I hid under the rose-bush, so I could take notes, ’cause Kep thinks an awful lot of me, and why, if we’d ever get big, why, an’ if we’d ever want to spark any, and if Kep didn’t know how, I’d know, but I couldn’t hear what they was saying ’cause they never said nothing for a long time, and then pretty soon they would be a-talking just as low, and just as low, and then pretty soon, Slicer said, ‘My Precious Darling! I couldn’t in the world ever love any one else but you,’ and then he gave her a great big kiss, and she never said quit that, or nothing, an’ I jumped right out and said, ‘That’s a great big fib, ’cause I saw you taking another girl out riding on Soap Creek, so I did,’ and he said, ‘You rattlesnake, where do you spect to go for tellin’ such great, big fibs, what ain’t so,’ and I said, ‘I don’t expect to go to no place where you are, you old smart crank. I just hate all men and boys except my Dad, and Kep, so I do, that’s my mind right now, see?’ Say, I know something, something good, about some one. I ain’t going to say who said it, but the one that did don’t tell lies. ’Twasn’t so, though. I was walking t’other day down-town when I heard some one talking about me, and I knew if I didn’t go back I’d never know, so I went back, and some one what knows very much said, ‘There goes the prettiest and smartest girl in town,’ and that was me; just ’cause my Dad’s rich is no sign I am smart. Why, my Dad’s got ever so much money, he could just throw it away if he wanted to, but he don’t want to. This is about the worsest dress I got—’taint the very worsest, I guess it’s about the best one I got, tho I can have better dresses than this if I want ’em, but I don’t want ’em, ’cause I have got better sense than to want things I can’t get. I guess folks think ’cause my ma dresses me up so nice that they can get me to speak every place, but I don’t ever want to speak, ’cause I don’t guess they want to hear me, all the time. On Kep’s birthday he had a great big party to his house, and they got Kep to speak first, ’cause I guess they wanted to save the best for the last, and pretty soon they didn’t ask me to speak. I know they wanted to hear me awful bad, but they didn’t ask me, so pretty soon I said I guessed I’d speak my piece now, and I did. I guess everybody thought I spoke it awful good. I didn’t hear no one say they did, but I guess they did. I’ll speak a teeny, weeney little bit of what I spoke at Kep’s birthday party. I won’t speak all of it ’cause I guess you don’t want to hear all of it. (Bows) I know it but I can’t think of it—now I know: ‘Mary had a little wool,’—no, that isn’t it—‘Mary had a little lamb, its wool was black as dew’—oh, no—‘Mary fleeced a little lamb,’ no (not as bad as that), ‘Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was wool, and died.’ Oh, I don’t know what Mary did have, boo-hoo.” So ended that. Then a boy gave a monologue called, “Every Little Bit Helps.” It was fine, and was received with much applause and laughter.

EVERY LITTLE BIT HELPS