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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 14
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: @CSCI‘t %omance Beatrice Helland, ’31 It was night in the camp of the Tebu. A most beautiful night it was! As the moon rose it cast its beams ’mongst the tents and revealed dark figures talking quietly outside the doors. Hark! All faces were turned toward the east, from which direction soft music...
Show more@CSCI‘t %omance Beatrice Helland, ’31 It was night in the camp of the Tebu. A most beautiful night it was! As the moon rose it cast its beams ’mongst the tents and revealed dark figures talking quietly outside the doors. Hark! All faces were turned toward the east, from which direction soft music was heard. As they waited breathlessly, a figure glided up to the entrance of one of the tents, perhaps the poorest, but the most neatly kept. The figure was recognized as that of young Hussein, son of the chief of the Tebu tribe. When he reached the tent, he dropped at the feet of Zehu, the only daughter of Wekil, an old sage. When he had sung a poem of love, as is the custom in the Libyan desert, Hussein pleaded with the young damsel, saying, “Dear Zehu, most beautiful of the daughters of the great desert, I pray you come and keep for me my tent, and cook for me my meals, and be my loving wife.” To these pleadings Zehu answered with a solemn shake of her head. Fain would she have answered, as her mother and grandmother be- fore her had done, with a little tune of consent and love; but with her great, sorrowful eyes cast down she murmured, “No, there is Father. I cannot leave him, for he has often said that I am his only joy since my Mother Maho depart- ed for the land of goodness. I must stay to cook the rice and keep the tent for him.” In dejection Hussein turned away, and Zehu went to her straw mat to weep away the hours of darkness. Next morning Wekil said to Zehu, “Tomor- row, my daughter, is the day of festival. I will go to the valley of Kufra and pick there sweet dates, that we may join in the merry-making.” “That, dear Father, you must not do,” re- plied Zehu, “for you grow old, and your limbs are no longer strong. But rather I will go to this place, for I am sturdy, and I have made the journey before.” “Very well, then, but make haste, that you may return before night.” The young girl set out for the valley, ten miles from her home, riding on her own camel. The sun was high in the heavens when she reached her destination, so she quickly picked several baskets of the delicious dates. Then she lunched, filled her water-bags, watered her camel, and started for home. As Zehu turned homeward she noticed the perfect stillness of the desert. Soon, however, a breeze sprang up which became gradually stronger until the fine desert sand rose in circles and whirled around her, enveloping her as a cloud and obscuring her path. She realized with a pang that she was lost in a sandstorm, the terror of the desert-dweller. Zehu, being a daughter of the desert, knew it was best to keep going steadily. Night came, and the frenzied girl realized that if her camel should stop they would be buried in the sand. But she had been taught as a child that the beast would plod patiently on in spite of the raging wind; so she clung to it, seeking to shield her body from the blast by wrapping a coarse robe tightly about herself. Zehu ate some of the dates, of which she had a plentiful supply, but dared not drink much water, for one cannot tell how long a desert sandstorm may last. In the meantime, news went around in the camp that the daughter of Wekil was lost. A council meeting was held and old Wekil spoke thus, “My daughter, my only joy in life, my Zehu, went this morning to the valley of Kufra to gather dates. She went alone, accompanied by her camel only. My possessions are few, ‘but I would gladly give up all to have her back. Oh, that I had the strength of youth once more, that I might brave the storm and save my Ichild! But this useless body is for me now only a'hindrance and a mockery. If there be a young man here, valiant of heart, who will brave the fierce storm of the desert and bring back my Zehu, [he shall have her for his Wife.
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 15
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 13 Immediately two stalwart young men arose. The one was a prosperous camel trader, known throughout the region as a lover of camels —a haughty, avaricious man of the world. His camels shrank from his harsh treatment, and children instinctively drew back as he passed. He arose with a...
Show moreTHE DIAL 13 Immediately two stalwart young men arose. The one was a prosperous camel trader, known throughout the region as a lover of camels —a haughty, avaricious man of the world. His camels shrank from his harsh treatment, and children instinctively drew back as he passed. He arose with a swaggering air, a light of eagerness stealing into his cold, black eyes as he thought of the beautiful prize. Opposite him stood Hussein, with noble ‘brow drawn and jaws set, but in his eyes a look of infinite tenderness and longing. Looking from one to the other Wekil said, “I dare not choose who shall go for my daugh- ter, so I will permit both to go, and whosoever the gods wish shall have the reward, let him find her.” Hussein and the other went to the temples of their respective gods. They gave the priests gold, telling them to ask the gods which way to go in order to find Zehu, for she had doubt- less wandered far from her original course. Hussein’s priest told him to go to the east, and the other was directed to the south. They set out in the tempest, each with a mind and heart determined to find the object of his search, and to gain the reward. In the meantime the storm had increased in fury. Zehu had wandered for hours, her face and arms numb from the stinging sand, and s0 weary and aching that she seemed dazed. Suddenly out of the roaring of the Winds, she distinguished another sound. Could she be mis- taken? No, the tramp of camel’s feet and the shrill note of the bugle were too familiar to be mistaken. Summoning all her strength she answered with a shout. In a moment she recognized the form of a young man from her village. Now——who was it? Was it the lover of camels or the lover of Zehu? C’70’C7l/Cother Lawrence B ueide, ’31 How can I pay the debt I owe, Or thank thee for the love Which thou dost on thy son bestow,— Much like to His above! E’en now as I recall the Truth, You taught me to obey, I bless you for my happy youth. May God your care repay! I never will forget the home, The joys, the care, the love. Though far throughout the world I roam I’ll not forget thy love. ) Till now I’ve never lacked a friend, Abiding, kind, and true. However far on earth I wend, There’s none will be like you. Your path through life has oft’ been sad; You trod a rugged way. Your heart with love I would make glad, This happy MOTHER’S DAY. 0 God! For blessings undeserved, So richly poured on me, For godly parents and T'hy Word, Accept my praise to Thee.
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 16
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL OCife Earner! Sitenhof, ’29 Life—what a world of mystery Lies hidden in thy mighty bounds. We stand on thy great sounding shore Seeking thy wonders to explore. Lingering yet we fain would move, As overwhelming longings come: Adventures—with hand and heart; Learning to view thee as thou...
Show moreTHE DIAL OCife Earner! Sitenhof, ’29 Life—what a world of mystery Lies hidden in thy mighty bounds. We stand on thy great sounding shore Seeking thy wonders to explore. Lingering yet we fain would move, As overwhelming longings come: Adventures—with hand and heart; Learning to view thee as thou art. Thy ebb, thy flow, thy storm, thy calm, They whisper low of One who rules, Who, in His marvelous emlbrace Controls the secret of thy face. Upon thy bosom to embark And toss upon thy restless wave Will be ineffable delight When faith doth triumph over sight. C'7he Quest Einar Ryden, ’29 I found an index leaf not long ago Torn from a book of verse; and as I read The names of famous poets, and below Their names the titles of their works, there fled Before me visions of another world; And I saw nature in its full array 0f glorious splendor. There at last unfurled I found the beauty of an endless day. How sad the man With soul that never grows, Who sees no beauty in the distant star, Who loves no beauty and no beauty knows ;— Then never to have lived is better far. Remember still that beauty’s endless day Will come if you but long for it—and pray.
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 17
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: G7he (Secret of (Success Lawrence Hoff, ’30 “Get out of my house. Don’t ever darken the doors of your parental mansion again!” With these heated words and other expressions of greater vehemence my irate sire turned me out into a night of opaque darkness. Such stimuli are necessary at certain...
Show moreG7he (Secret of (Success Lawrence Hoff, ’30 “Get out of my house. Don’t ever darken the doors of your parental mansion again!” With these heated words and other expressions of greater vehemence my irate sire turned me out into a night of opaque darkness. Such stimuli are necessary at certain times for the making of bigger and better citizens. And this incident, trivial as it may seem to you, was no exception to the rule. It served its pur- pose in the making of a MAN. I, Theophilius Markam Beniditto Brown, sole owner and man- ager of the “Dinner Bell”, have something which I consider of great importance to tell to every aspiring, red-blooded American. I here- by request your very kind attention for the brief space of an hour while I impart to you some of the secrets of my success as a man of the business world. To begin where I left off before I made men- tion of my position in life, I shall ask you to recall the statement I uttered regarding my hasty exit from “Ye Olde House Where I was Borne.” The night was dark, sleety, and 0p- pressively warm. All I 'had with me Were the clothes on my back and tw0 suit-cases of wear— ing apparel, such as suits, shirts, and other every-day necessities. To be left thus to shift for myself was indeed tragic. Soon I realized that I was walking soberly down the road towards town and—. I shall ne’er forget the eery feel- ings I had as I crouched along the depot plat- form in that little, one-horse town, a rambling collection of pine-board shacks known to the community as Loneville. In fact I shudder even now as I recall the endless duration of that night. Game the dawn, and with it my still irate father. I believe he was sincerely regretful for his rashness of the evening previous, although he revealed no such emotion at the time. “Never again shall I allow you to run away from home on such short notice,” said he, as he cranked up the old Ford and ordered me to climb aboard. “Promise me you Will never put fire to the barn or smash up the radio and I’ll always be patient with you, my little man,” said father as we buzzed along merrily over the mile-and- a-half road back to “Ye Olde House Where I was Borne.” I had learned my great lesson. Home I re- mained until thirty years 1ater~fifteen years ago to-day—when dear father advanced me the necessary finances for carrying out my life am- bition: namely, the building of the “Dinner Bell”—the largest, finest, and only hotel in Loneville. For a thriving village with a popu- lation of almost one hundred-fifty, the hotel business is great. If I can pay off the first and second mortgage on it before they foreclose on me, it shall be mine——all mine. However, father has said that in case the un- forseen should happen, I can always return to a hearty welcome at “Ye Olde House Where I was Borne.” The Stream Orville M. Knutsen, ’31 Limpid, flowing waters gay, Laughing, babbling all the day, Rushing down the barren hills, Winding thru the rocks and rills, Cheerful, sparkling, rippling ever, Flowing onward, ceasing never: Drinking in the smaller streams, Till at last a river gleams With the ripples on its face, Dashing on at rapid pace—— Flowing onward into June, Singing many a merry tune To the budding apple-trees, Warbling birds and buzzing bees; 0n thy banks the early flowers, Brightened by the summer showers, Add new colors to the scene, Lighted by the river’s sheen.
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 08
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 6 THE DIAL getting a few shocks in his rack, was approach- ing the other with a reckless abandon that sat strangely upon him. For a “jag” meant a long rest, as all threshers know, and none better than old Bakken. Deeply interested in the outcome of this event, Gene failed to notice that \Vindy...
Show more6 THE DIAL getting a few shocks in his rack, was approach- ing the other with a reckless abandon that sat strangely upon him. For a “jag” meant a long rest, as all threshers know, and none better than old Bakken. Deeply interested in the outcome of this event, Gene failed to notice that \Vindy had un- loaded and that his turn had come until a sharp whistle from Windy aroused him. He started his horses with a flip of the lines and drove in close. There was an ominous hum; the feeder belt flew off the pulleys and struck the unsuspecting bay smartly on the flank. One powerful jerk of the team brought the rack clear of the pulley. They swung sharply from the separator; the load swayed once in the opposite direction and went over. Gene leaped clear of the load and started in pursuit of the galloping team, but he was no match for the frightened horses, hindered now only by the weight of the light truck. To the southwest lay a small coulee, and to- ward this the terrified horses seemed to be heading. Their arrival there would spell de- struction for the wagon, and likely for the horses as well. In the meantime, however, Suspenders had gone into action. Leaving his team at the rig he sprinted off at an angle to the course of the galloping team. In spite of his weight, he displayed remarkable agility and speed for the first ten yards. From that point on the air on the field seemed to become insufficient to his need. His gasps for air, while they increased the tension of his suspenders, failed to satisfy the cravings of his laboring muscles. Moreover, Windy in his empty rack had set out to head off the runaways. The big Swede, too, had set out for the coulee at a dog-trot. As the runaways saw Windy’s team approaching from the left, they swerved to the right with- out slacking their pace. This brought them into a course directly facing the lumbering Swede. In order to make sure that they should not pass on his left and still make the coulee, he turned toward his right. Seeing this, the runaways turned almost instinctively to their right. This brought them to the slight incline at the western end of the field. Spent by the run, they slowed down to a walk. They passed Bakken, who, leaning on his fork, had watched the whole proceeding. Now, however, his na- tive heroism asserted itself, and, approaching cautiously, he secured a firm grasp on the bridle of the nearest horse and shouted “Whoa!” in his most impressive manner. The tired horses, nothing loath, came to a full stop. Bakken tied the horses securely behind his rack, tossed on the last shock (there had been three), and drove in triumph toward the thresh— ing rig. Windy and the Swede turned to their own affairs, which, it seemed, lay also in the direction of the rig—the Swede first return— ing to his own team. Suspenders, indeed, had long since given up the chase. He was now returning to the rig. His breath was still coming in gasps—so much had the exertion taxed him. And now that the excitement caused by the runaway was over, the attention of all was focused upon the redoubtable Suspenders and upon the pair of straps over his shoulders with an almost hu- morous anxiety. Yes, the tragedy had occurred! One of the celebrated suspenders was hanging loose and useless. The other, howvever, was valiantly carrying on against fearful odds. He stopped at the tractor, and the crew gathered about him in mock concern. “Gimme them pliers,” was all ‘he said. ﬁg—
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 09
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: (/4 CScrap of gaper Addressed to Calvin Coolidge and F. B. Kellogg J. J. Skordalwold, ’81 “A scrap of paper,” quoth the doughty sages: Of man and his affairs on earth they know the gait From hoary chaos down thru all the ages To August twenty-seventh, nineteen twenty-eight. Thru all the realms of...
Show more(/4 CScrap of gaper Addressed to Calvin Coolidge and F. B. Kellogg J. J. Skordalwold, ’81 “A scrap of paper,” quoth the doughty sages: Of man and his affairs on earth they know the gait From hoary chaos down thru all the ages To August twenty-seventh, nineteen twenty-eight. Thru all the realms of life from whales to leeches They find that strife has been a sort of steady rule: With supercilious mien they whine: “This teaches That even nations must forever play the mule.” Some scraps of paper do attract attention: For instance, those from Sinai and from Runnymede; And right at home it’s worth our while to mention Our seventy-six and sixty-two—sweet freedom ’s seed. In human birth and life and desolation The sluggish slave sees “nothing new beneath the sun”; But seers of every age and every nation Agree a God-born plan of growth thru all does run. To make a heavenly dream of generations A cure for ills that never could be cured before Befits the youngest, strongest of all nations; And you who took the lead we honor and adore. A new-born. human conscience is the power You flung into a world of hate and love, of grief and mirth. In countless human hearts it’s bearing flower: Forever men shall glorify your names on earth.
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 10
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: G(Dinning éssay of the LAMBDA EPSILON PHI ESSAY CONTEST The Committee of Judges have met some very interesting personalities in the essays which were submitted for consideration. Some are endowed with delightful imagination and enthusiasm; others are more serious and medi- tative by nature; a few...
Show moreG(Dinning éssay of the LAMBDA EPSILON PHI ESSAY CONTEST The Committee of Judges have met some very interesting personalities in the essays which were submitted for consideration. Some are endowed with delightful imagination and enthusiasm; others are more serious and medi- tative by nature; a few are very precocious for high school students,——and so on. But per- haps the most gratifying characteristic ob- served, in almost every instance, was a tenden- cy not to found a purposive education merely upon a self-centered and mercenary advantage, but rather upon service through a noble love of fellow men. The following essay by Miss Mayme Maki of Buhl, Minnesota, portrays representative high school thinking in a very pleasing manner. Then come Mr. Jack Westfall of Montevideo, Minnesota, and Miss Lorene McNiff from Or- tonville, Minnesota, with papers ranking in second and third places, respectively. Mr. West- fall’s submission contains a very well-develop- ed thought which gathers a dignified power as it proceeds; but technical errors hold it down in the second rank. As far as matured and comprehensive view of life is concerned, Miss McNiff’s essay is outstanding. She, however, conforms her writing more to the classical form, the dialog, which easily could have been mold- ed into a one-act play if an effective plot had ‘been introduced. We wish to express our gratitude to the Eng- lish instructors and superintendents who en- couraged their pupils to give written expresion to thoughts regarding this vital problem. A bner Batalden ~Chairman, Committee of Judges. C7he GZvay of the Star When I [hitched my toy-wagon to a star, how little I thought of the star! It was there—a mysterious, luminous desire drawing me on; but close at hand was the enticing toy-wagon, my mind. I filled the corners with gossamers on which Peter Pans could dance, but there was little fruit in the wagon, for experiences of childhood are remembered as little more than. delightful adventures. When my wagon was passing over a rough piece of road, a solicitous parent or thoughtful teacher cleared the way. As I grew older, the desire to straighten out my own difficulties grew strong. With my desire for self-reliance has come a new problem; I want to learn how to travel with other wagons on the highway of Life. I direct myself toward college gates in the hope that in passing through, I may pluck the fruit that will ripen into a well-lived life. I, a representative of the youth of to-day, look to a college education as an effective exercise in mental discipline, as the most adequate and most effiC1ent source of information concern- ing human experience, and as a place for learn- ing how to co-operate with the makers of To- morrow. I shall expect to find teachers with patience, wisdom, and vision that I may be helped in learning how to withstand the temp- tations of greed and envy in my struggles in a work—a—day world—that the full significance of the star be always before me. I look to a college education as an effective exercise in mental discipline. I already realize the truth in a recent biology lesson—“Habits of orderliness, concentration, and perseverance make for unity and for strength.” May col- lege days make me realize orderliness as such a necessity, concentration as such a successful effort, and perseverance as so sure a means of victory, that my mind may assimilate matter quickly and accurately. As the most adequate and most efficient source of information, a college education should provide quick access to the master-minds of history that have made the To-day that is evolving into To—morrow. History is so rich in the experiences of mankind, and life is so short and complicated, that few other facts than those pertaining to one ’s chosen vocation can be pried into. I think a college education Will
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 11
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: save me from blindly following numerous by- ways in the hope of finally finding the road along which I must travel. As every type of work becomes more and more specialized, one becomes less self-suffi- cient and more dependent on the understand- ing and co-operation of one ’s fellow men. Col-...
Show moresave me from blindly following numerous by- ways in the hope of finally finding the road along which I must travel. As every type of work becomes more and more specialized, one becomes less self-suffi- cient and more dependent on the understand- ing and co-operation of one ’s fellow men. Col- lege should not be merely a period of isolated study; there is no finer book of philosophy than the study of human nature that is active around us, and nothing broadens or advances thought more than the give and take of conver- sation or argument. I look forward to lessons in the happy, healthy competition and team- w0rk necessary for success. THE DIAL 9 My aim in getting an education is to obtain the accurate information, the mental discipline, and the training in co-operation with other minds, that will make my mind the unit of beauty and strength essential for a useful life. Then, there is the star——As I climb up the highway of Life, it will become more bright and clear; my vision may be dimmed by sor- row and care, but again I shall see the star shining ahead—doubly bright, high, ’high in the galaxy of stars of God’s heaven. And when my work on earth is done, that star will lead me Home. Min Mayme Maki, Bull], Minnemta. Mix: Jenni Stiming, Eng/ix}! Imtruttor (9n Gil/Cartyrdom Arthur R. Johnson, ’32 Whenever I relive my childhood experiences, I often find myself brooding over the hard lot that always seemed to fall on me, and on me alone. The incidents seem trifling to-day, but at that time they were as real and serious as only childhood can make them. After working myself almost to the point of tears over some greatly magnified injustice, I would find re- lief in imagining the occurrence of a dreadful calamity which would put an end to my suf- ferings, and also satisfy my desire for revenge. Most often the dreadful tragedy was my pass- ing away quietly and peacefully some night from overwork and exhaustion. What would follow, my imagination pictured in all its grati- fying and lurid details—the consternation of my parents the following morning (I preferred not to linger long on that), their realization of the cause of my death, the touching burial- scene (I shed tears myself over that), my par- ents’ full realization of their loss, the better treatment accorded the younger members of the family, and finally, the tend-er regard for my memory. In my more desperate moods, the calamity assumed the form of a more or less violent death by suicide. I would be found stiff and stark, suspended from the limb of a tree, or my body would be accidentally discovered in one corner of the cellar with the gruesome evidence of poisoning still in my hands. In either case a touching note would be left behind, stating that I had willingly forgiven all my enemies, that I harbored no ill-feelings whatever, and that I bequeathed to specified members of the family all my property, except the three silver dollars I had received from my aunt as a birth- day present, which were to go to charity. At other times my imagination would be stir- red into action by the thought of running away from home. This was a more rOmantic story, and besides, it had several advantages. The shock to my parents Would not be so great, and I would still be alive and able to come back—- after making my fortune—to live happily ever after. I distinctly remember one time when I had threatened to run away after having been rebuked and punished for something I had not done. Instead of doing so, however, I secreted myself in the grove near the house for a long, long time (about two or three hours, I believe). The “big scare” failed to materialize, however, and it was a very sheepish son that crawled in- to the house that evening. The “fatted calf” turned out to be a gentle rebuke; but as noth- ing further was said, my actions, for the next few days at least, were akin to those of the re- instated son.
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 12
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: C7he acest ﬂying émbers Theo. Jensen, ’30 If we paddle up the Missouri River about twelve hundred miles from the point where it joins the Mississippi, we find ourselves in that part of our great country where the East has ceased, and the West has begun. No longer do we see fertile fields,...
Show moreC7he acest ﬂying émbers Theo. Jensen, ’30 If we paddle up the Missouri River about twelve hundred miles from the point where it joins the Mississippi, we find ourselves in that part of our great country where the East has ceased, and the West has begun. No longer do we see fertile fields, prospering farinsteads, and thriving towns. At this place the river glides silently. between a range of high and rough hills, commonly called bad lands, and a wide expanse of dry prairies. With the excep- tion of some sage—brush and an occasional clump of cottonwood trees near the bank of the river, the plains are barren of vegeta- tion, and the high hills lie bleak and bare in the sun. The surroundings are desolate, and we feel extremely lonely, so lonely that even the few straggling horses eking their scanty living from what little they can find, seem good company. Do you see that little speck away over there where the river seems to turn in among the hills? If we transfer from our canoe to an aeroplane and ascend several hundred feet, we shall be able to see not a few of these little black dots sprinkled over the plain and among the Ihills. So widely are they scattered, or so obscurer hid away among the hills and trees, that were we on the ground, we should seldom be able to see more than one, or possibly two, from the same place. These little things that we see are houses, or rather shacks, some of which are constructed of roughly-hewn logs, but the majority are sod houses. In each of these dingy, little dwellings live Indians, real redskins. We are in the midst of the Black Foot Indian Reservation, a place set aside by the United States Government Where the small remnant of this tribe, who earlier in great numbers freely roamed on the plains, are doomed to spend their last days. Here the Indians lead a very passive existence. There are no battles to fight, and no game to hunt. Rabbits and a few coyotes may be seen, but how can such game interest one who used to carry a scalp at his girdle and track the bear and fell buffaloes? The squaw no more hoes and cracks corn, nor makes buckskin moc- casins for her brave, for the soil is not worth the tilling, and the buck no longer roams the plain. The life of the Indian has deteriorated into one of inactivity and sloth. His only di- version from this type of life is the trip to the village a number of miles across the plain, Where from the federal Indian agent he gets his monthly pension which sustains him till he returns again thirty days later. Not that he is satisfied to lead this type of existence, but what else can he do? As we see the restless- ness of the caged lion pacing to and fro be- hind the bars, so we note in these Indians an uneasiness and a longing for something they cannot get: freedom—freedom to roam about as is the nature of their blood. They are as a bird With clipped Wings, or we may liken them to a lbeautiful musical instrument sadly out of tune. Occasionally, however, these native children of the plain break away from their dreary mo- notony. Usually once or twice during the sum- mer they all assemble for a great feast, or powwow, in memory of bygone days. Each In- dian :brings his Wigwam, his squaW, and his papooses; then they live together in one great camp for several days. This reminds us of the Feast of Tabernacles celebrated by the Israel- ites in commemoration of their passage through the wilderness. rI‘he chief and all his braves are geared in the brightest of paint, feathers, and beads; and as they sit about the fire in the late evening passing the pipe round the cir- cle, we see in their features the revived Indian spirit. The old peace dance begins; slow and weary it is, for it lacks the real spirit. How can they dance and sing songs of peace? Are they not in the midst of a strange people? Are they not captives having been pushed back and forced to remain in this cheerless place? They are not at peace! The warriors jump «up, mo-
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 03
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL Vol. I MAY, 1929 No. 1 ABNER BATALDEN, Editor-in-Chief Literary Editors Bun-iness Managers EMIL FOSSAN ADOLPH WINTHER THEO. JENSEN ERLING CHRISTIANSON TaMe of Content; i PRO LOGOS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .P. A. Sveeggen 2 ...
Show moreTHE DIAL Vol. I MAY, 1929 No. 1 ABNER BATALDEN, Editor-in-Chief Literary Editors Bun-iness Managers EMIL FOSSAN ADOLPH WINTHER THEO. JENSEN ERLING CHRISTIANSON TaMe of Content; i PRO LOGOS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .P. A. Sveeggen 2 “SUSPENDERS” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..Martin Quanbec/z 3 “'A SCRAP OF PAPER” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .J. J. S/zora’alsvold 7 THE WAY OF THE STAR . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Mayme [VIa/zi 8 3 ON MARTYRDOM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Artlzur R. Johnson 9 3 THE LAST DYING EMBERS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..Theo. Jensen 10 A COVERLET OF SNow . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Abner Batalden 11 DESERT ROMANCE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Beatrice Helland 12 TO MOTHER . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .l . . . . . . . . . . . . .Lawrence Bueide 13 LIFE . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Ernest Sitenhof 14- THE QUEST . . . . . .I. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..Einar Ryden 14- THE SECRET OF SUCCESS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .Lawrence Hoff 15 THE STREAM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ..0rShow less

Title: The Dial 1929, Page 04
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 12m acogos From mind to word—from word again to mind, With wealth of wisdom from the ages drawn, Man’s store of knowledge ever passes on From min-d to word—from word again to mind. From heart to word—from word again to heart, Inwrought with love that like the sunlight beams, The fellowship of...
Show more12m acogos From mind to word—from word again to mind, With wealth of wisdom from the ages drawn, Man’s store of knowledge ever passes on From min-d to word—from word again to mind. From heart to word—from word again to heart, Inwrought with love that like the sunlight beams, The fellowship of mortals ever streams From heart to word—from word again to heart. From soul to word—from word again to soul, With purpose that we may the Father know, The love of God will never cease to flow From soul to word—from word again to soul. P. A. Sveeggen
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 05
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: (Suspenders ﬁlartin Quanbeck, ’29 The sun was already sinking when the first hay-rack came thundering down the road to the completely lighted farmhouse where Dena Sommers struggled over a hot stove, frying steak for the threshers. They were always hungry, these threshers. They would gorge...
Show more(Suspenders ﬁlartin Quanbeck, ’29 The sun was already sinking when the first hay-rack came thundering down the road to the completely lighted farmhouse where Dena Sommers struggled over a hot stove, frying steak for the threshers. They were always hungry, these threshers. They would gorge themselves at the table and go Ofllt again, com— plaining to each other about the food. Ta'ble manners was something beyond their ken. Take old Suspenders, for instance. They called him Suspenders because he had the most remark- able pair that any of the crew had ever been privileged to see—all tied together and rein- forced With twine, Whipcord, and haywire. And still Suspenders seemed to be always on the verge of losing his trousers. Not that Suspen- ders cared. Having lived so long in imminent peril, he was inured to it. Yes, take Old Sus- penders as an example. “Then he approached the table, he seemed in desperate haste. Hun- ger or something keener drove him. With his left hand he would grab the nearest chair; with his right he would deftly grasp the meat plat- ter; all in one motion he would sit down, help himself to meat, and begin the operation of eating. Dena realized that they were hungry. She made all possible allowances. But how could hunger drive a man who had already eaten more than she could eat in a week, to slice his liberal piece of apple pie into two somewhat equal parts and send them, one after the other, to the place where they were forever lost—— powerless to do more than cause a slight at- tack of indigestion? And how she had slaved over that pie! How could they complain about the food when they didn’t even stop to taste it? It was a wonder they weren’t all sick the way they ate. They} were all like that—every last one of them. Up from the table even in the act of gulping down the last piece of pie! She wished heartily that her brother had not come out to the farm. But he had been so eager, and her uncle had been so badly in need of a man. He was a thrifty man, was Adam Sommers, and running the rig short-handed was a waste that he could avoid. She wondered how Gene fared. He had worked since noon now. His uncle had helped him hitch up then, for Gene knew nothing about farm work. And he, only sixteen and small for his age, was working out there among those uncivilized hobos. Since her aunt had died two months before, Dena had kept house for her uncle, but this was her first experience with a threshing crew. They had 'been there for two days now and just that noon her uncle had predicted four more days. She “hated the thought of it. The clatter of the wash basins reminded Dena that supper would soon have to be ready. These fellows did not stand upon formalities. As soon as one had finished washing—and it took but an instant for old Bakken—he would pro- ceed to the table. And there they had no pa- tience with—nor, indeed, any expectation of— delay. Bakken was an old Norwegian, some- where in the early fifties. He did everything with extreme care; it was remarked that even at the table he was slow oftentimes cutting his meat before devouring it. At the wash ba- sin too he exercised the greatest caution and nicety of judgment—never washing those fea- tures whose cleanness was not necessary to a sanitary handling of the food, or which could not be reached conveniently, such as the ears and neck. Windy was now holding forth by the wash stand (which Dena had set outside for the sake of safety and convenience), and to judge by the frequent bursts of laughter, had an appre- ciative audience: “I was comin’ in with my horses, and there strewed across the whole bloomin’ barn was pieces 0’ harness. The kid was sweatin’ away, takin’ everything apart. He had unhooked well-nigh everything but the lbellyband, I guess, and that was under the big bavy’s hind
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 06
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 4 THE DIAL feet. That was bad enough, but when I saw old Suspenders in the next stall, I held my breath. Yessir, I thought sure them suspend- ers was goin’ to go; there sure was a mighty strain on ’em. He was all doubled up like a jack-knife to keep from bustin’ apart.” Wizened, old Windy ’s...
Show more4 THE DIAL feet. That was bad enough, but when I saw old Suspenders in the next stall, I held my breath. Yessir, I thought sure them suspend- ers was goin’ to go; there sure was a mighty strain on ’em. He was all doubled up like a jack-knife to keep from bustin’ apart.” Wizened, old Windy ’s unmusical treble pealed out in what was undoubtedly meant to be an expression of mirth. No one laughed more heartily than he at his stories. The “kid” was Gene, Dena knew, and she wondered whether she should run over to help him. Just then she heard his voice outside the window by the wash stand. Windy was questioning him. “How’d you come out? Get ’em all hung up?” “Yeh.” It was Gene’s voice. Supper was the same as rusual, except that there was some merriment at Gene’s expense. Even Suspenders took time out to give vent to a few, lusty guffaws, and old Bakken’s stolid fa-ce once almost broke into a smile. Dena was up early the next morning—long before the crew stirred from their bunks in the hayloft. As she made fire in the kitchen stove, awakened Martha, her young assistant, and started preparations for breakfast, she could think only of the fact that she was dead tired and wonder what she would feel like by eve- ning. Presently before any one had appeared for breakfast, she heard the sputtering of the kerosene tractor and realized that the rig was being moved. The noise came nearer, and soon the tractor swung past the house at a good speed, turned to face the wind, and lined up with the separator. She was unwillingly a lit- tle thrilled by the 'prospect of seeing the outfit in action so near at hand. Gene was first at the breakfast table and proud of it. “I’m first man up to the machine this morn- ing,” he announced. He seemed quite to have forgotten the episode of the night before. After breakfast Dena watched the bundle wagons while they were being loaded. Old Bakken, she noticed, was careful as was his wont. He pitched the bundles into the rack one at a time, and, as the load slowly grew, he took particular precautions to keep the cen~ ter of the load filled, thus making a sharp ridge along the center. Working by the open window she could hear them talk to their horses. Suspenders was belaboring his horses with the fork handle. He was talking, mean- while, in no uncertain tones. The horses were apparently used to such treatment and moved forward at the same, slow, exasperating gait. “Jiminy,” he exclaimed, “wish the old plugs would pull a little harder than I push.” Hearing Windy yell at Bakken in his high- pitched voice, “Think it’s goin’ t’ rain?” she glanced at the sky involuntarily. It was clear and blue. Bakken’s more subdued tones came in reply, “No, why?” “Oh, I just noticed you were toppin’ off your load. She won’t take much rain now.” Bakken made no reply to this. Windy, true to the name his wordiness had earned him, was quite ready to speak of another’s delinquencies; not quite so ready to live up to his vocal standards. Thus now his load was not big enough to inspire awe in those who beheld it. As he turned at the end of the windrow, however, one front wheel struck a rock, the load swayed and went over, and Windy with it. He crawled out from among the bundles, nothing daunted, and launched into an obloquy 0n farmers who neg- lect to clear their fields of rocks. While his tongue was thus pleasantly engaged, he recov- ered his fork from the bundles and began the process of clearing the rack. From her point of vantage, Dena noticed with some amusement the effect of the incident on those who were in Windy’s vicinity: Tal- bot ’s man, a big Swede, left his horses and ap- proached, fork in hand, Gene ran up from the next windrow (Dena swelled with pride at that), and old Bakken turned in the middle of his row to avoid approaching so closely that aid would 'be expected from him.
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 07
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 5 The Swede set to work without a word. He never spoke when words were unnecessary. “Need some help?” queried Gene as he came up. “Yes. We got to get this rack up and get the bundles back on—sort of elevate it all back. Say, kid! You run over to the rig and get me the return elevator,...
Show moreTHE DIAL 5 The Swede set to work without a word. He never spoke when words were unnecessary. “Need some help?” queried Gene as he came up. “Yes. We got to get this rack up and get the bundles back on—sort of elevate it all back. Say, kid! You run over to the rig and get me the return elevator, will you? The separator man has it.” “Sure.” Gene hurried off. At the rig the men seemed to sense that something was up as Gene approached, for they gathered and talked in low voices. Gene, how- ever, failcd to notice anything unusual. “Say,” he yelled at the separator man, “let’s have your return elevator, will you?” “Sure,” was the reply, “if you’ll take it off.” He pointed to the elevator box fastened diagonally across the side of the separator. There was a roar of laughter from those of the crew who had witnessed the incident, which was heard by Dena above the roar of the ma- chine. S‘he shrewdly conjectured that her Ibrother was the butt of the joke. She could not, of course, hear what was said. For a moment Gene was hot with resentment. Then he too saw the ludicrousness of the situa- tion and laughed. Wise was he to do so, for a threshing crew, like other men, appreciate a good sport. Nevertheless, there was a great deal of good-natured raillery. As Windy ’s load was rebuilt and the forenoon wore on, “bring the elevator” became the byword when- ever Gene was by. Suspenders said it often with great gusto and each time with an air of having thought of a startlingly original witti— cism. He slapped his thighs and was quite con- vulsed with mirth. The booms seemed to or- iginate somewhere in the abdominal cavity and, as they rolled upward, to gather momentum and intensity. The forenoon was a long one for Gene. He wondered whether the crew would ever forget the matter. Nor did the noon intermission seem to improve matters much, for Gene’s ad- venture of the forenoon served as table talk; and the possibilities of the subject seemed so far from giving out that it promised to serve as such for many days to come. Little by lit- tle, however, the twitting grew more endurable. As he brought in his second load in the after- noon without eliciting any smart remarks, Gene began to feel that the incident had either been forgotten or that the joke had lost its savor. Suspenders came in to the machine earlier than usual, for the field was almost cleared. “Seems like \Vindy is hauling bigger loads ’n usual, this afternoon,” he remarked, inno- cently. “That’s so,” agreed Gene. “Wonder what’s up?” 7 “Dunno,’ rejoined Suspenders. “Can’t be that he is still using the elevator?” There was a burst of laughter from those present—for Suspenders had taken care that the conversation should not be too private,— and, when it subsided, Gene stepped closer to Suspenders. “No,” he said. “You know what I think? I think he’s gotten a pair of fresh suspenders!” The roar of derisive laughter that greeted this remark was very gratifying to Gene, be- cause it showed that the men were with him. Suspenders rose to the occasion by emitting an appreciative chuckle. He had reason to be in good spirits, because an old flivver had just pulled up to the rig with Dena and the after- noon lunch. Those who are fortunate enough to be by the machine when the lunch comes— thus being assured of quick service and hot coffee—are seldom in (bad humor. Then, too, Suspenders was given an excellent opportunity to divert attention from himself. Bakken had just left the machine and was driving toward the farther end of the field at breakneck speed. This remarkable phenomenon soon attracted the attention of all. The explanation, however, was obvious. The field was almost cleared. In the western end were still two short rows of shocks. The Swede, with half a load, was just finishing up one of these; Bakken, intent upon
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 18
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 6pilogue The orchestra has begun playing its overture. Instruments of many different tonal qualities and pitches have sounded the initial note. Some are perhaps too loud, others lack animation, and a few may be flat or sharp; but on the Whole, every one lha responded Willineg with an en- deavor...
Show more6pilogue The orchestra has begun playing its overture. Instruments of many different tonal qualities and pitches have sounded the initial note. Some are perhaps too loud, others lack animation, and a few may be flat or sharp; but on the Whole, every one lha responded Willineg with an en- deavor toward excellence. Each section is striv- ing to create an effect of harmony, and to in- spire its auditors. So have our group of writers begun; but they must also praceed—ever co-operating, ever alert, and ever vibrant with the creative spirit. They must constantly pursue the vision of a more perfect expression—now adding grace to the softer, more subtle emotion, then soaring to inspired heights of power; but ever reaching out toward a more adequate realization of the beautiful and true. Abner Batalden
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Title: The Dial 1929, Page 19
Collection: Literary Journals

Title: The Dial 1929, Page 20
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: ;..

Title: The Dial 1932, Page 10
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 8 ' THE DIAL upon time or place. Jesus has deﬁnitely stated that “God is a spirit" and that worship is above all a personal experience between my soul and God. In one sense, then, accessibility. worship is not dependent upon time. But in another sense it is dependent upon time, for psychological...
Show more8 ' THE DIAL upon time or place. Jesus has deﬁnitely stated that “God is a spirit" and that worship is above all a personal experience between my soul and God. In one sense, then, accessibility. worship is not dependent upon time. But in another sense it is dependent upon time, for psychological reasons. We have room for only one major thought at one time, and that is at the best ﬂuctuating in its hold. I need a favor- able environment for my worship, an environ- ment that will protect me from disturbance while I have my experience. This involves that a suitable time be set aside each day, and that I have a suitable place secure from interruption for my worship. The idea of a collective worship arises from our desire to share our experiences with others and to share in their experiences. We are gregar- ious even in worship. This means that the place of worship should be large enough to accomodate, if need be, our whole student body at one time. And since chapel is compul- sory, the need is, of course, further evident. Now time must be set aside from the duties of all students. that the opportunity be open to all. The place is also important, prefer- ably near or in the college proper. The chapel hour now becomes the college’s supreme ef- fort to provide a proper environment for the worship of its students. It is the climax of all its efforts in behalf of the human per- sonalities entrusted to it. It is not dissociated from its educative work; it crowns the efforts of the faculty. “Religion is the perpendicular in man’s life and destiny. It is the relation of man to the Ultimate Being which is Divin- ity.” We need religion in our educative process if for no other reason than that we do not become ﬂat and shallow. It is signiﬁ- cant that church architecture of the noblest type always suggests a straining of the soul upward. II There is a great danger in being too ab- stract and so I offer the following suggestions as to what I consider essential in the environ- ment for college worship: 1. The hour must be the most suitable. The middle of the forenoon is perhaps the best. The student is now wide awake and as yet unwearied from his work. 2. The place should be conducive to worship. The arrangements within the chapel should help to produce a spirit of reverence. Moreover, it should never be used for any other purpose, most decidedly not as a gymnasium or classroom. 3. Thetimeoftheeneciemeheuldbele' enoughtoanowameeeageeftweuty-Ive to thirty minutes inleuthtobe All announcements should be given by one person, without any comment. coudmssed i chapel should be provided with a pipe or- gan if it is possible. and at last ﬁve minutes of music should be provided be- fore the opening of the service. 4. The speakers should be carefully chosen. It is not right that the student body should be made the victim of some visiting brother’s itch to preach. No unprepared addresses should be permitted. 5. One liturgical service a week should be held. This liturgy should be adapted espe- cially for college worship, a symposium. perhaps. of the rich liturgical heritage of the Christian church. Other suggestions could be made. I know, but these represent, in the main, what I con- sider to be essential in an environment for college worship. III How often has not our President called at- tention to the responsibility involved in at- tending chapel! To him it is the culmination of all the efforts extended by the College for the release and the regeneration of the per- sonalities within its walls—the climax of the college day, and he feels that unless this cul- mination of eﬂort takes place for all the students present, the college has failed in its task. This involves co-operation on the part of the student as well as on the part of the one leading the convocation—a mutual under- standing of what is involved in being in the presence of Divine truth. The student who realizes this will have a religious experience. Out of the chaos of his life come order; out of perplexing problems and despair come praise and hope; out of the whirling tempest of doubts, fears and misgivings about spirit- ual things comes the calm and light of faith. He feels the power of the Divine ﬂow- ing into him; he ﬁnds reality; he ﬁnds God. and ﬁnding God, will be able to ﬁnd himself. He rises on the wings of prayer and iinds a new world where the old things have passed away and all things have become new; the very atmosphere is changed, luminous now with the light of Heaven; and in the East he sees the new, fresh, sweet dawn of Eternity. He warships.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 07
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: THE DIAL 6 The New Dorm Symphony J01)er HOMME QUIETNESS—heavy, sullen, and dark—— c," engulﬁng me. In the distance sounds the faint rumble of a train, and near at hand, the crunching of the milk-wagon’s wheels on the snow. Then again, that silence swallowing up everything. Yes, I am awake—early....
Show moreTHE DIAL 6 The New Dorm Symphony J01)er HOMME QUIETNESS—heavy, sullen, and dark—— c," engulﬁng me. In the distance sounds the faint rumble of a train, and near at hand, the crunching of the milk-wagon’s wheels on the snow. Then again, that silence swallowing up everything. Yes, I am awake—early. Suddenly — brrr! — I jump. My nerves taut, I. recognize the lusty voice of our trust- worthy friend, Big Ben. It rings and rings. I ought to shut it off, but it’s too cold to get up. I’ll let it run down. My room-mate turns over, ﬁnally waking up—the dormouse! Like an orator she makes a sweeping gesture, such a broad one that the clock is swept off the chair by her side. It crashes to the ﬂoor. Fully awake now, she sits up to view the wreck. But no, the thing is still tinkling in a sickly tone. Harmonizing with it, there are now ﬁve or six other alarms shrilling in the dis- tance. All about me, ambitious co-eds are waking to their daily duties. Whimsically, I parady the lines beginning “When Duty Whispers” thus: “When alarm clocks bellow loud ‘Get up!”’—my poetic vein is cut by “Get up yourself, lazybones!” from my room- mate. “Naw, I’m not hungry. Guess I’ll sleep through breakfast." Did I say “sleep”? Pardon me, I only meant “recline.” For who can sleep through the staccato of a dozen doors closing, and the crescendo of a medley of yelling voices? Thunder roars above me. I mutter, “Wish they’d hire a moving van. That would be a bit more quiet." 1k * i The morning passes; the afternoon replaces it. I return to my room after the last class- period, resolved to study assiduously. Once inside the door, I stop, my ear-drums thump- ing. The piano in the adjoining room is being horribly tortured. But if only that were all! I collect my senses enough to de- tect the blaring of two radios and the scream- ing of a portable. From the parlor quiver the liquid notes of aspiring divas. This con- glomeration of noise (call it music, if you must) is enough to harass a saint and I am no saint. I decide to contribute my own crash- ing ﬁnale, so I slam the door and run for the library. JP ‘ To a Birch Tree THER tall trees majestic were, which grew, Stalwart and strong beside the lake; But none gleamed white, as purely white as you, Through those dark shades which pine and maple make. When, in the woods, I came upon you there, Your bark with reckless wounds was scarred,- By human hands its beauty marred; And, where the cut was deep, your heart lay bare. G As silently, together, you and I Hid in the darkening shadows of the trees, The sunset ﬁlled the glowing, western sky, And balm was wafted on the evening breeze. GRACE JENSEN.
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Title: The Dial 1932, Page 14
Collection: Literary Journals
Search Result: 12 THE DIAL When Bjorn Met the Bear Bronx anwss \,1Y friend, Reider, and I had been camp- 1 ing in the mountains for two weeks. This morning we had been climbing a mountain top, which was simply hard work combined with a certain satisfaction of telling others we had been able to climb a certain...
Show more12 THE DIAL When Bjorn Met the Bear Bronx anwss \,1Y friend, Reider, and I had been camp- 1 ing in the mountains for two weeks. This morning we had been climbing a mountain top, which was simply hard work combined with a certain satisfaction of telling others we had been able to climb a certain high peak. The pleasure of such an ascent is not always so easily explained, and I suspect that it is not so much enjoyment, as is the delight exper- ienced by the mind in tyrannizing the body. Now we had eaten our supper and while Reider had gone up the river to ﬁsh trout, I was sitting outside the tent enjoying the even- ing by whittling a tentplug with my hunting knife. I soon dozed off. A short time later I heard an animal roam- ing around close to me. I did not dare to open my eyes, because if it were a bear. there was just one thing to do; remain still as if one were dead. “A bear!” I thought. My hair rose with the consciousness of his pres- ence, as it is supposed to do when a ghost passes by. The rapidity of thought in such danger is well known. I thought about what mother often called me: “The black sheep of the family.” I had always comforted myself with the thought that she must have been a little color blind, but now I agreed with her, although it was too late. I understood that even in such an obligatory review it is not possible to think of any good deeds one has ever done. The sins stand out larger than ever before. The bear came nearer. I could feel the warmth of his body. What could I do? I tried to think about every story I had heard or read in connection with bears. I knew the life of one of us would soon be in the past. I had never read of a man, except David, that had been able to kill a bear without a gun. Well, I still had my hunting knife in my right hand. If I could plunge my deadly weapon into Bruin’s vital regions, I would be saved, and more than that, I would be a hero. I tried to think about how I should proceed. The best spot in which to plunge the knife was either between the eyes, into the brain, or into the heart just behind the fore-legs. But this experiment would be dangerous. What should I do if the bear had the hind quarters turned toward me? I might be able to injure him, but then he would tear me into bits. No. that idea would be no good; there was not any chance. The hear was already touching my left foot. I tried to fix my last thoughts upon my home. What would they say when they should get the report that Bjorn was eaten by I bear, or as it would be in Norwegian: “Bjorn blev spist av en bjdrn"? That was not all, because the mind at such a time is not under control. How would it look on the heed-line in the newspaper with perhaps both names capital- ized? People might think that all With the name “Bjorn” had turned into cannibals. I could not follow that thought, because my mind began circling around. But one thing was clear, and that was that no person should be allowed to have an animal’s name. The bear was snuﬁing all over my body. I hardly dared to breathe. I was near a very unheroic and disagreeable death. Well, probably not? My mind began to wander again. For a long time there had been a keen dispute. among the biologists, whether s beer was a herbivorous, or a carnivorous animal. One group said it was herbivorous, proved by the teeth; the other group said it was carniv- orous, proved by the length of the intestine. Then, when the world would know that Bjorn was eaten by a bear, this scientiﬁc problem will be solved forever. I would have the honor of dying as a martyr for the cause of science. It was not much of a comfort to me, but my parents might be more honored by having my eptaph state that I died for the cause of science rather than just to satisfy the stomach of a hungry bear. The bear was snuﬂing around my head. I felt its moist, warm breath. It was now my last moment, unless some- one should come and shoot the beast. I was in agony. My thoughts were whirling around in my brain. I could not endure it any longer. I wanted to ﬁght my enemy. I was furious enough to tear the bear to pieces like David had done in days of old. I opened my eyes, and held ﬁrmly to my knife so as to be able to slash the beast into pieces. I met the piercing eyes of my enemy. We stared at each other rather surprised. I turned away from him and looked around to see if there were any other animals near, but no, there was only one, my enemy, s large, red calf. a" la» 14":
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