Kit Carson knew all about wild animals. He was a great hunter and a good guide to soldiers and settlers. On a march one day, as he was dragging an elk he had just shot for supper, he saw two bears running toward him. His gun was empty. He threw it down, ran as fast as he could, and reached a tree just as the bears reached him. He caught hold of a branch and swung himself up in the tree just in time. Bears know how to climb trees, and soon they were climbing up in the lower branches. Kit Carson broke off a limb, and from the highest branch, where he hung, he began clubbing the bears over the nose, their tender spot. “Whack! Whack!” The stick hurt, and the bears whined and growled with pain. First one bear and then the other tried to get at him, but each got his nose hurt. When their noses felt better they tried again. But Kit Carson pounded faster and harder than ever. One of the bears cried like a baby. Then both bears got down and went away and never came back again. They were too busy rubbing their noses.
One morning in the awful days of the Civil War the boys in blue and the boys in gray met together for their decisive battle near the little town of Gettysburg, Pa. Hearing that this town was to be the center of the battle, a neighbor ran into a little red-brick cottage and cried, “Jennie, you must remove your folks at once.” “Hush, hush!” she whispered, “there’s a little new-born baby and its mother in the next room, and they cannot be moved whatever happens.” “Why girl, the shells will crash through these brick walls as through paper!” said the man. “No matter, my sister and her babe cannot be moved, and I must stay here with mother to care for them,” replied Jennie, and the neighbor hastened sadly away.
Tramp, tramp, tramp, marched regiment after regiment in turn belonging to both sides, as they passed the little cottage, and Jennie noticed that every soldier’s eye rested eagerly on the windlass of the well in front of the little red-brick cottage, for the July sun shone hot in the sky. “They are thirsty,” said Jennie, as she filled the old oaken bucket from the well, and brought out every dipper and ladle and cup she could find for the soldiers to fill their canteens or to drink as they hurriedly tramped by. “I’m glad I did not go away,” she said; “there is something I can do here to help others.” And so she helped all she could until the troops had passed by for the battle. Later in the day the tide of the battle turned. The boys in gray reached the ridge and captured the town of Gettysburg. Then the boys in blue, on the run, retreated, moaning and groaning as they rushed past the little red-brick house, which now became the very center of the battle. Cannon, like thunder, shook the ground. Bullets, like hailstones, fell around them. Balls crashed through windows and walls as through paper, as the neighbor had said. The space around the well was strewn with the dead and dying. Hungry men begged for bread and the brave girl gave everything she had until she had not a crumb left. Then she said, “I’ll make some bread.” But scarcely were the loaves in the oven before a loud knock was heard at the door, and a soldier-boy stood there pleading, “I’m so hungry. Give me a bit of bread.” It would be three hours before the bread was baked, but biscuit would soon be ready, she thought. She quickly took up the dough and was remixing it to make biscuits, when whizz! a rifle-ball crashed through the open door, striking the girl in the breast, and she fell to the floor dead!