SFCmagazineDecember2009PrintReady

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Cover Art by: Barb Bjornson
Come Take an Adventure in the World of Ink.
Welcome to Stories for Children Magazine for kids ages 3 to 12 years
From The Editor:
In addition to the holiday traditions celebrated in the
month of December, some people also have traditions
that have to do with the winter season itself.
I live in New York where the winters are cold and often
snowy. Our house is located on a little hill, perfect for
sleigh riding close to home. When my kids were little, my husband and I
created “toboggan runs” for them. Each year, we chose a different part of
our property. We’d use shovels to pile snow into starting platforms and
create hairpin turns and mini jumps. We’d curve the track down the hills,
through a gate, or around trees. It was an all-day, exhausting affair, but
well worth the trouble. We ha such fun and my children looked forward
to it each year. Our family toboggan run quickly became a tradition!
My children are older now; Alexander is 19 and Hannah is 17 and,
needless to say, they don’t play in the snow very much these days, but
they remember the toboggan run fondly and the times spent together as a
family playing in the snow. They speak of those times often. “Remember
the toboggan run that curved around the big tree?” I’d hear one say.
“Yes! That was awesome!” The other responds. My heart secretly smiles.
What’s your family’s winter tradition?
Happy Holidays!
Marie Letourneau, SFC Art Director
Would you like to write for us?
Stories for Children Magazine publishes short stories, articles, poems, coloring pages, word and
picture puzzles, book reviews, arts & crafts, and interviews with children's book authors and/or
illustrators for children ages 3 to 12.
For more information visit http://storiesforchildrenmagazine.org
Stories for Children Magazine
a division of Stories for Children Publishing, LLC
December 2009 Volume 3 Issue 9
ISSN: 1945-8649
Founded in 2007 by VS Grenier
Editor-in-Chief: VS Grenier
Managing Editor: Claudette Hegel
Art Director: Marie Letourneau
Fiction/Poetry Editor: Gayle Jacobson-Huset
Nonfiction Editor: Wendy Dickson
Copyeditor: Claudette Hegel
Proofreader: Wendy Dickson
Assistant Editor: Sandie Lee
Marketing Manager: Donna McDine
Editorial Offices:
All across the United States and Canada.
Publishing Offices:
54 East 490 South
Ivins, Utah 84738
Designed for use in the classroom.
Monthly back issues available at:
http://storiesforchildrenmagazine.org
Copyright © 2009 Stories for Children Magazine

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DEPARTMENTS:
Youth Submission:
Sounds at Sea Pg. 24
By: Jada Goksan, 3rd Place Winner
Coloring Page Pg. 19
Bookmark Pg. 18
Crafts
Puzzles
In this issue meet
Author Beverly Stowe McClure
Three Cheers for the Shortest Day 3-6 Pg. 4
By: Kathie MacIsaac
Warm Fuzzies rebus Pg. 5
By: G.R. LeBlanc
Is It Christmas Yet? 7-9 Pg. 6
By: Sally Phillips
The Rain Dance 3-6 Pg. 7
By: Cathy Witbeck, Grand Prize Winner
Do You Think We’ll Sink? 3-6 Pg. 8
By: Lauren McBride
Game of Catch 7-9 Pg. 10
By: Anne E. Johnson
Can You Leave Me Out? 3-6 Pg. 11
By: Lois Greene Stone
Noise in the Night 7-9 Pg. 12
By: Emese Reka Fromm
Playing With My Backyard Birdies 3-6 Pg. 14
By: Gayle Jacobson-Huset
Cornelia’s Deals 7-9 Pg. 20
By: Kathy McGrath and Chandel Crawford
I Can’t Get Up Until… 3-6 Pg. 22
By: Ellen L. Ramsey
It’s 75 Degrees-Let’s Build A Snowman 7-9 Pg. 23
By: Mary Reina
Hayley and the Class Play 7-9 Pg. 26
By: Adrienne Saldivar
Training a Ghost Dog 10-12 Pg. 28
By: Antje Martens-Oberwelland
Charlotte Smee and the Bicycle Tree 10-12 Pg. 30
By: Jessica Lawson
Christmas in Romania 10-12 Pg. 33
By: Dave Honaker (with David Roper)
A Sled Dog Tale 10-12 Pg. 34
By: Terry Lynn Johnson
Sounds of the Night 10-12 Pg. 36
By: D.M. Cunningham
Before Fingerprinting 10-12 Pg. 38
By: David L. Roper
Trapped in the Attic 10-12 Pg. 40
By: Shirley Hanson LaBrecque
The Spirit of the Season 10-12 Pg. 44
By: Donna Marie West
Featured Guest:
FEATURES:

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Three Cheers for the Shortest Day
By: Kathie MacIsaac
Give me an S!
“S” is for solstice. The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year because the sun rises late in the
morning and sets early in the evening. It is also the first day of winter in the northern part of the
world. It usually falls on December 21st or December 22nd.
Give me a U!
“U” is for unsure. A long time ago, because of the short winter
days, people used to worry that the sun might disappear
forever. They lit huge bonfires and had celebrations to try to
convince the sun to come back.
Give me an N!
“N” is for new beginnings. After the winter solstice, the days
grow longer and the sun gets brighter. Before long, it’s
springtime with new plants, leaves, and crops in the fields.
Give me an S! Give me a U! Give me an N! What does that
spell? SUN!
Three cheers for the shortest day!
Ages: 3-up
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Andrew Fratzke, youth
Copyright © 2009 by Kathie MacIsaac
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Marie Letourneau
Copyright © 2009 by Della Ross Ferreri

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Ages: 3-up
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Michelle Henninger
Copyright © 2009 by G.R. LeBlanc

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Is It Christmas Yet?
By: Sally Phillips
"Is it Christmas yet, Mom?" Jacob asked, hopping on
Mom’s bed.
"No, not yet, Jacob." She brushed her coat and laid it
over the chair. "Why don't you go see how the Christmas
preparations are coming along?"
Jacob raced downstairs. He saw Grandpa carry in a large
tub from the garage. "Is it Christmas yet, Grandpa?"
"No, not yet, Jacob." Grandpa smiled. He unsnapped the
lid and pulled out a long string of colored lights. "I could
sure use your help putting up all these Christmas
decorations."
Jacob helped Grandpa for a while and then went to the
garage. Uncle Jack was there. He untied the twine on a
huge pine tree. "Is it Christmas yet, Uncle Jack?"
"No, not yet, Jacob." He gave Jacob a pat on the head
and picked up the Christmas tree. "Could you do me a
favor and hold the door open,
please?"
After Uncle Jack brought the tree
inside, Jacob looked out the
window. Snow had begun to fall
and covered most of the lawn.
Only a few little brown blades of
grass poked out of the snow.
That’s looks like Christmas, he
thought.
Grandma played "Jingle
Bells" on the piano. Jacob sat
on the bench with her. He listened as Grandma sang.
Muffin, Jacob’s mop of a dog, howled along.
Jacob's stocking hung on the mantel. The stocking
pictured a happy snowman and a bright gold star. "Is it
Christmas yet, Grandma?"
"No, not yet, Jacob." She hugged Jacob. "We can sing
more Christmas songs later."
Jacob marched into the kitchen. He loved the spicy smell
of cinnamon. Aunt Sue used the mixer to stir something
in a big bowl.
Ages: 7-9
"Is it Christmas yet, Aunt Sue?" Jacob asked. His
elbow rested on the table and his hand held his chin.
Jacob watched her plop cookie dough onto the
cookie sheet.
"No, not yet, Jacob, but these Christmas cookies will
be done soon and you're going to love them."
"Jacob," Mom called, "we have to leave now. Come
and put on your jacket."
"Yippee!" Jacob whooped and clapped his hands
Muffin yapped. Her tail spun like an airplane
propeller.
Jacob ran outside and hopped into the back seat of
the car. Mom hummed "We Wish You a Merry
Christmas" as she buckled him in.
At the airport, Jacob saw crowds of people
everywhere. Mom checked the flight
board.
"The plane is on time." Mom said.
Jacob skipped down the passageway
and looked outside through the big glass
windows. A shiny, white-and-red
airplane pulled up to a gate. Jacob
jumped up and down. He watched the
people from the plane pick up their bags.
Jacob spotted a familiar face. He lugged
an Army duffle bag as big as Jacob.
Grabbing Mom's hand, Jacob pulled her
through the crowd. "Dad!" Jacob squealed, and
dove into his arms. Mom hugged Dad, too.
"You’re really here!" Jacob said, laughing.
"It’s great to be home," Dad said.
"Mom . . ." Jacob smiled.
"Yes, Jacob?" She put her hand on Jacob’s shoulder.
Jacob squeezed Dad’s hand. "Now it’s Christmas."
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Clair Ruddock
Copyright © 2009 by Sally Phillips

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The Rain Dance
By: Cathy Witbeck, Grand Prize Winner
“Mom, what can I do for fun, to play?” (If I don’t say “for fun, to play” she gives me a list of chores as long
as a skipping rope. You have to say what you mean with grown ups.)
“It’s a hot day out there, Cathy. Our fields are drying up. Why don’t you go find your friend Abby and do a
rain dance?”
I crossed the dirt road to the trailer where Abby lived. The dust flew with each step. It really was dry.
Abby Crow Feather was sitting on her front step.
“Hi, Abs,” I said. “My mom says we should do a rain dance. Do you know one?”
Abby crinkled her nose and shook her head. “I’ve seen lots of dances, but never a rain one. Let’s go see
if my mom knows.”
“Hey, Mom,” Abby said, “Cathy and I want to do a rain dance. Did you ever see one?”
“Sure, but we have to go outside. We’ll need some room,” Abby’s mom said. She put down the beads
she worked on. “I want you to let Charlie play.”
“But Charlie’s just three.”
“He’s three and he loves to do things with his six-year-old
sister.” Abby’s mom put her hands on her hips. That meant
no arguing. We went outside.
“First we need a drum,” Abby’s mother said. We went over to
the work shed. Some old rubber tires leaned against the
side.
“Hey, you could sit inside this big tire and pound the edges
like a drum.” I said, pointing.
“I could do that,” my brother John said, coming out of the
shed. “I could be a drummer.”
“That would work,” said Abby’s mom. “Now, girls, to do a rain
dance you have to chant to the sky and ask for rain.”
“What’s chant?” I asked.
“It means to sing the same words over and over. Then while you sing, you dance circles around the drum
tire.”
Abby and I danced. We sang, “We want rain, weeee want rain,” over and over as we circled the tire and
swayed and hopped from foot to foot. John beat the drum and we almost seemed to be in a trance until
we had to stop . . . because of rain. It was pouring. We had to stop and go inside. Our rain dance
worked.
~The End~
Ages: 3-up
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Michelle Henninger
Copyright © 2009 by Cathy Witbeck

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Do You Think We’ll Sink?
By: Lauren McBride
Larissa was excited. She was going to an island. Larissa had never been to an island before. After a long drive,
she could feel the car climb up and back down as Daddy drove over a long bridge. Larissa saw water below.
She saw the island ahead, but she couldn’t see what was under the island holding it up.
Daddy parked the car. Mommy, Daddy, and Larissa went inside a restaurant to eat. On her paper placemat was
a map of the island they were on. Water was all around. Larissa wondered why the island didn’t sink. Was the
bridge keeping it tied to the land? Was it floating? Larissa imagined balloons under the island, holding it up.
What if they popped?
Lunch came, but Larissa didn’t feel like eating. Her tummy ached. She grabbed the table in case the island
started sinking. She looked at her parents. They ate. Larissa stared at
her plate.
“What’s wrong?” Mommy asked.
“Why aren’t we sinking?” Larissa wondered. “Do islands float?”
Daddy laughed and hugged Larissa. He drew a picture of a
mountain rising up from the ground on her placemat. He drew water
over the land, but not over the mountain. “See, Larissa? An island
isn’t floating. It’s just a tall part of the ground with water all around
it. We could go swimming after lunch.”
Larissa grinned. She loved to swim. She suddenly felt very hungry.
She even ordered dessert.
They changed into swimsuits and then walked to the beach. “Look
underwater, Larissa,” Daddy said. “Do you see how the land slopes
down to the ocean’s floor?”
“Can I go there?”
“You can try,” Daddy, laughed.
Larissa tried to walk down the slope, but she floated up. She tried to swim down, but she got tired. Waves
pushed her around. “Do waves push the island?”
“Yes, but it doesn’t move.”
“Sand moves.” A wave washed sand over her feet. “May we build a sand castle?” Daddy helped. Mommy took
pictures. Larissa had fun.
“What makes sand?” Larissa asked.
“Over time, waves break rocks into tiny pieces.”
Ages: 3-up
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Beverly Luria
Copyright © 2009 by Lauren McBride

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Pasta Jewelry
By: Carina DeSwardt
What You Need:
Different shapes of pasta with a hole in the center, like macaroni or penne
Paint and paintbrushes
String
Instructions as easy as 1-2-3:
1. Cover your work area with newspaper.
2. Paint the pasta different colors and wait for it to dry.
3. Thread the pasta through the string to make a bracelet or necklace.
“What makes waves?”
Daddy sighed. Mommy said it was time to go home.
Larissa felt sleepy in the car. She was too tired to ask questions. She was too tired to open her eyes when
Daddy drove over the big bridge. She was not too tired to wonder what was under the bridge holding it up.
~The End~
Photograph Copyright © 2009 Carina DeSwardt
Copyright © 2009 by Carina DeSwardt

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Game of Catch
By: Anne E. Johnson
There’s nothing like baseball on a summer
day, or football and basketball in the winter.
People love games, especially with a ball to
throw, catch, or hit. You probably know many
ball games, but there are many around the
world that you may not have heard of.
Ball sports have a long history. Many of the
oldest ones were played at festivals honoring
gods. Some of those are still played today.
Every year, villages in the Himalayan
Mountains challenge each other to a game of
induara in celebration of the god Mahasu. A
team captures a soccer-type ball and they try
to hold it on their side of the field. Even the
stuffing for the ball is considered sacred.
Over 3,500 years ago in Mexico, the Aztecs
played a religious game called ulama. This
may be the earliest sport to use a rubber ball.
The players hit the small ball with sticks and
their arms and hands. The ball court was
believed to be a gateway from life to death, or
from human to divine. In some Mexican
towns, people still enjoy playing ulama, but it’s
not a religious game anymore.
Most ball games are just for fun. In Sweden
and Germany, kids play Brennball, which
means “burn ball.” In Brennball, as in
American baseball, a batter from one team
faces players on a field. However, there is no
pitcher. The batter tosses the ball in the air
and smacks it with a bat. He keeps one foot
on the batter’s plate and may not hit the ball
over his head. Nobody wears a glove, not
even the catcher. The batter scores one point
for reaching home plate, but six points for a
home run. And the team in the field also earns
points for getting runners out.
Not a baseball fan? Do you like volleyball or
soccer? Sepak takraw is an Asian game that
combines these two sports. Sepak is
Indonesian for “kick”, and takraw is Thai for
“woven ball.” This game dates back to the
Ages: 7-9
1400s. The volleyball-sized ball is made of woven
rattan reeds, like wicker furniture, so it’s hard and
light. Sepak takraw is played on a court with a
net, with three people per team. The ball gets
tossed into play, but then the game becomes
more like soccer. Players kick the ball, instead of
using their hands and arms. The court is much
smaller than a soccer field, and the ball has to go
over the net, so players kick it in an upward arc.
You must be very limber and acrobatic to play
sepak takraw.
For a net game that gives you another kind of
workout, try Hooverball. In the 1930s, Herbert
Hoover was the president of the United States.
His doctor invented this game to keep the
president in shape. Players caught and threw a
heavy leather ball called a medicine ball, tossing
it to their teammates and over the net. Hitting the
medicine ball was a bad idea, because players
might break their fingers!
If you’re worried about getting hurt, check out
Tchoukball. In the 1960s, Swiss biologist
Hermann Brandt studied the dangers of team
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Jack Foster
Copyright © 2009 by Anne E. Johnson

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Can You Leave Me Out?
By: Lois Greene Stone
"Hide me, Taffy," I spoke to my puppy. "I don't want to move away from Miami. Why does Daddy have to
work in Ohio where no one’ll know me?”
Taffy wagged her tail.
Mom came into the room. "You okay?" She kissed my head. "We'll be done soon. I have your tapes,
earphones, books, and coloring items in my carrybag. Anything else you want left out?"
"Leave me out."
Tiny tears touched Mom's eyes. "Daddy doesn’t have a job here anymore, but a company in Ohio wants him."
"Go without me."
"We couldn’t! You have to help us find a place to
live, pick it out with us, help me learn streets like you
tell me here when to turn the car to go down our
block. I can't go to the supermarket without you 'cause
you pick out the cereals, taste the grapes, and help me
decide between chicken or meat. Right? You’re a big
four-year-old helper. You show me stores’ Exit signs
so I know which door to leave from; I wouldn't know
Exit from In without your help. Oh. Handicapped
parking. You always tell me I can't park there and
which spot it is. See? I can't leave you here because
I'd be very confused without you." Mom lifted herself;
tiny bumps were on her knees from leaning on
them. She rubbed her hands on both of them as if to make the bumps disappear.
I pushed my head upwards and kissed Mom's bruised knees. "All better?"
"Thanks." Mom walked away, then turned. "Who'd kiss and make better if I left you here? Oh, did I tell you
Ohio has snow, and colored leaves that drop from trees and you can jump in the piles and they sound
crunchy?" She then left the room.
"Did you hear, Taffy? Leaves in big piles. Can we hide in them? I can't throw leaves on you in Miami." I
hugged my puppy. "Let's not bother the movers." I got up, pulled on rubber beach thongs, and trotted into the
Ages: 3-up
sports. He made up a safe game. Tchoukball
is played on a field or indoor court. The
players never touch each other. The ball hits
small trampolines (called “frames”) laid side-
ways around the field, instead of hitting a hard
wall or a goalie. Scoring depends on where
the ball bounces out of the frame.
Doctor Brandt named the game after the sound of
the ball hitting a frame: tchouk!
These are just a few of the many team sports
played around the world. It seems that people
everywhere enjoy a good ball game.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Rachelle Gray
Copyright © 2009 by Lois Greene Stone

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Noise in the Night
By: Emese Reka Fromm
“Go back to sleep,” I whispered to my baby sister in
the dark.
I looked over at her crib and realized she hadn’t
moved.
What was that noise then? I wondered.
It sounded like someone moving in or around her crib.
Suddenly I was frightened. I knew someone was in my
room, yet I could see no one.
“Mom?” I whispered again.
I thought that maybe my mom would answer, telling
me that she was here to check on the baby. No one
answered, but I heard some stirring near the baby’s
crib again. I was sure it was a monster. It had to be. I
had always thought a monster could creep in my room
at night. Both Mom and Dad always told me monsters
didn’t exist in real life.
What if they were wrong? How did they know about
these creatures? Monsters always come out at night
when everyone is sleeping. They are only interested in
kids, so they would never go to the parents’ bedroom.
I wished my old cat were still around! I used to feel
safe when he slept in my bed.
Finally I couldn’t take it any longer. Slowly I opened
my eyes. The room seemed quiet and peaceful as
always, but I knew someone was in there. I could feel
it. Then I heard it again, under my bed this time. It
definitely was a monster. He had crept under my bed
and was waiting for midnight to come get me. I
wanted to run into my parents’ bedroom.
Then I thought of my sister. What if the monster
Ages: 7-9
hallway. Cardboard boxes were piled up and the apartment door was open. I stood near the doorway and yelled
into the corridor, "I'm going to learn to ice skate and jump in leaves!"
One moving man asked me if the bedroom was ready to be packed.
"Uh huh," I said very clearly, sitting with my puppy in the hall.
~The End~
wanted to get the baby?
“Katie?” I whispered my baby sister’s name. She
didn’t move. She didn’t stir.
I was frightened for her. I had to see her. Slowly, I
got out of bed and tiptoed to her crib. She was
sleeping safe and sound. Good. At least the
monster didn’t get her—not yet. I was relieved, but
still terrified. I had to protect the baby.
There was no more noise in the room. Now, that I
was out of bed, everything seemed normal again. I
hadn’t imagined the noise. I couldn’t see much in
the dim light, but I spotted my flashlight on the
desk. I took it and crept back toward my bed. I
shone the flashlight under my bed.
I screamed, at least I thought I did, but no sound
came from my mouth. I dropped the flashlight.
The baby stirred. She didn’t wake up, though. My
heart raced as I stood there, frozen. A pair of green
eyes stared at me.
It’s a monster! I thought. I knew it! Then I realized
I still stood there, paralyzed with fear. A question
popped in my mind. Why didn’t the monster get
me? Those eyes looked frightened, now that I
thought of it.
Maybe he was little and lost. Maybe he wasn’t a
monster at all. I decided to take another look. This
time I turned the light on.
I bent down again. I didn’t see anything other than
the eyes peeking out from behind all the clutter
under my bed. I started cleaning it all out. My
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Sonia Sanchez
Copyright © 2009 by Emese Reka Fromm

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mom would have been proud of me! I found my
long lost teddy bear, some socks, two little baby
dolls, and one sneaker. When I finished cleaning,
I finally saw it. In the very back corner under my
bed, I saw a black kitten curled in a ball. She
looked at me with terrified eyes.
She probably came in through the open window
that afternoon. I wanted to pull her out and hold
her in my arms. I knew that would just frighten
her more. I remembered our old cat. When our
house was too noisy, he’d run to my room and
curl up under my bed. I remembered Mom
asking us all to leave him alone.
I went back to bed and tried to sleep. I knew that
sometime in the night, if she felt safe enough, the
kitty would come out. Maybe she would sleep in
my bed.
There was no monster under my bed after all.
Maybe Mom and Dad are right and monsters
don’t exist at all. Either way, as long as this
kitten is here, no monster will ever come in my
room. If monsters really exist, they are afraid of
cats, especially black cats.
I fell asleep hoping we could keep this kitty. She
would sleep with me and I would never be afraid
of monsters again.
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Isaac Cordova
Copyright © 2009 by Sandy Green

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Playing With My Backyard Birdies
By: Gayle Jacobson-Huset
My backyard birdies like to play a game with me.
I open the door to my patio and whistle to get their attention.
They all fly in a big group to the big bush by the patio door.
They hide from me in the bush so I can’t find them. They are so little
and I am so big. They think I am a giant.
I go outside slowly and quietly while they hide in the bush. I throw
bread chunks at the bush so they can have their dinner.
I go back inside the house and watch the birdies have some fun.
The chickadees like to hang upside down to get their chunk of
bread. Sometimes they will eat their piece of bread right there in the
bush.
Sometimes the birdies take their piece of bread over to the fence and eat it there.
Sometimes they take their piece of bread and drop it into their birdie bath so that the bread softens
and becomes easier to eat.
Look carefully at the big bush. Can you find the three birdies that are hiding? Can you find the piece
of bread? Can you see them looking at the piece of bread?
Watching your backyard birdies is a lot of fun. They like to play, too!
Ages: 3-up
Photograph Copyright © 2009 Gayle Jacobson-Huset
Copyright © 2009 by Gayle Jacobson-Huset

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Easy as Pie!
By: Ashley R. Shouse
Unscramble the pies 1-10 and then move the numbered letters to the answer spaces below.
1. plepa = __ __ __ __ __
8
2. blurbreye = __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
3
3. yerchr = __ __ __ __ __ __
1
4. pikmnup = __ __ __ __ __ __ __
11
5. panec = __ __ __ __ __
4
6. kye meli = __ __ __ __ __ __ __
6 12
7. melon = __ __ __ __ __
10
8. nabana marce = __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
7
9. wratbersry = __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
13
10. hapce = __ __ __ __ __
2
11. tewes topota = __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
5
12. clabkbrrey = __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __
9
Did you know __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ __ is really a __ __ __?!
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13
The answers are on page 18!
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Clipart Creations
Copyright © 2009 by Ashley R. Shouse

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how the citizens sometimes lived in caves they dug
behind their houses, and I read journals from
women who survived the fighting, and I knew I
had to tell their story. I bought a ton of books on
the Civil War, googled Civil War websites, and
watched Civil War movies. The result is my young
adult novel.
Your character, Breeze Brannigan has leapt
from the pages of Just Breeze and has created
her own blog at:
http://www.justbreeze.wordpress.com. What
type of interaction can your readers hope to
find with this greater than life character?
I hope young readers who are dissatisfied with
themselves, like Breeze is, will discover that it’s
not what’s on the outside of a person that’s
important, but what’s on the inside. I hope they
have fun with Breeze and her friends along the
way.
Please share with us a brief synopsis of what we
can expect from Breeze and her friends in Just
Breeze.
Eighth grade starts out the same as every other
year for Breeze Brannigan. She’s still the tallest
student, boy or girl, in her school, wears shoes that
would fit an elephant, and her smile reveals
dazzling braces that blind anyone within ten feet.
Then she meets Cam, the new boy in school, who
speaks with an accent and must be from another
planet, for none of the earthling boys she knows is
so polite. He also has a secret, a secret that could
mean life or death for Cam and his mother and that
Breeze must help him keep.
To date, what has been your most memorable
experience in your writing career?
I can’t point to just one experience as the most
memorable. They’ve all been wonderful. Having
Meet Author Beverly Stowe McClure
Bev, in your former life
you were a schoolteacher.
Do you find traits from
your characters come
from former students?
Good question. My
characters aren’t based on
former students con-
sciously, but I suppose
sometimes a student’s
personality—the quiet
child, the joker, the serious, or the troubled child—
might end up as a trait of a character.
You have several novels to your publishing credit
including Secrets I Have Kept, Rebel in Blue Jeans,
and the forthcoming Caves, Cannons, and
Crinolines, and Just Breeze. What is your approach
in keeping your characters fresh and appealing to
your readers?
Many times the characters develop their own
personalities in the beginning, whether they’re shy or
bold, quiet or talkative, reckless or cautious. I like to
interview them and ask about their goals or problems,
their families, their loves, hates, and fears. What they
tell me or don’t tell me helps to develop the character,
to know how she would act in a certain situation.
Historical characters, of course, must fit the time
period they live in. Their choice of words and their
actions must be accurate.
Please share with us the research you conducted
for your historical novel, Caves, Cannons, and
Crinolines.
The idea for this story came when we visited
Vicksburg, Mississippi, one summer. We toured the
battlefield, explored the old courthouse that was
standing during the Civil War and is now a museum,
and went through some of the old homes, learning the
history of the people who once lived in them. I met a
little lady whose grandparents had lived through the
siege of Vicksburg, and she told me their story. I heard
S F C F ea t u red G u es t

17
interview the characters, ask questions about
themselves and their families, as I mentioned above.
It’s amazing what they tell me. Even more interesting
is what they don’t tell me.
Have any of your characters done something you
never expected them to do?
Only all the time. I love it when they take control and
solve a problem for me. After all, this is their story, so
they should have some say in it. An example is Lizzie,
in Caves, Cannons and Crinolines helping the
wounded Federal soldier. She’s a southern girl; her
brothers are in the Confederate Army. So she
surprised me there, but her decision is a major part of
the story.
If yes, do you let them continue the path of their
choosing, or do you try to reel them back in?
I let them go and see where they’re headed.
Sometimes I have to backtrack because it doesn’t
work and rethink a scene, but sometimes the
characters know better than I do.
What character is your favorite so far?
That’s a tough one. My favorite is usually the
character I’m working with at the moment. I do like
Breeze a lot. She’s a lot different than my other
characters, maybe because she’s younger.
What can we expect from your creative talents in
the future?
I Live in a Doghouse is a middle grade story under
contract with TT, no date yet. I also have a chapter
book, Kate, Little Angel Sometimes, with Blooming
Tree Press, also no date, and my first picture book,
Frankie’s Perfect Home, is under contract with GAP.
Plus the three stories I’m working on: two teens, one
middle grade. And I’ve been asked for a sequel to Just
Breeze. Perhaps if I don’t sleep I’ll do that one, too.
Visit Beverly Stowe McClure at:
http://beverlystowemcclure.wordpress.com
http://justbreeze.wordpress.com
http://rebelinbluejeans.wordpress.com
that first article published in a magazine is one of
the best. It meant I was now a published author.
Then the first book was an awesome feeling, one I
shall treasure always. Each magazine article and
each book is memorable to me. The excitement
never goes away.
What advice would you give to aspiring young
authors? To late bloomers?
Whether you’re a young writer or a late bloomer,
if you want to be published badly enough, don’t let
those form letters that call you by the generic name
“Writer” or “Author” stop you. Keep writing, keep
submitting, and even if you’re a great-
grandmother, like me, you will one day hold that
magazine article or book in your hands. I’m proof
that persistence pays.
What has been your most challenging obstacle
in researching and finding the best publisher
for your novels?
Finding a publisher that accepts unagented work is
a challenge. Most large publishing houses are
closed to submissions except from agents. I have
sent queries to them anyway, and sometimes
they’ve replied. Think of small publishers,
however. Most are open to submissions, and they
produce beautiful books, at least the ones I’ve
worked with—and they know your name.
Have you ever experienced writer’s block? If
yes, what did you do to overcome it?
Not really. My head is so crammed full of ideas,
I’m working on three stories at the moment.
Sometimes I get stuck in a scene, but my
characters often take over and help me. If not, I
work on another manuscript for a while, and then
one day that troublesome spot will be clear. If not,
perhaps it should be cut or changed.
Prior to writing your first manuscript draft do
you create character profiles and interview
them?
I usually start out with a profile sheet listing the
bare essentials: name, eyes, hair, age, etc. My
characters become more real to me as the story
progresses, and I add to their profiles. One thing I
like to do is to let the main characters keep a
journal about their day-to-day life. Also, I Copyright © 2009 Stories for Children Magazine

18
Books by Beverly Stowe
McClure:
You can purchase books at any local, on-
line, or SFC bookstore.
Click here to visit the SFC bookstore
Answers to Easy as Pie:
1. Apple
2. Blueberry
3. Cherry
4. Pumpkin
5. Pecan
6. Key Lime
7. Lemon
8. Banana Cream
9. Strawberry
10. Peach
11. Sweet Potato
12. Blackberry
Answer to last question:
CHEESECAKE PIE

19
Coloring Page
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Liz Ball
Copyright © 2009 by Liz Ball

20
Cornelia’s Deals
By: Kathy McGrath and Chandel Crawford
Cornelia T. Witherspoon lay across her bed sobbing.
Her brother, George, popped his head into her room
and said, “Hey Corndog, what’re you crying about?
Someone do something to you at school today?”
“No,” came her muffled reply.
“Come on Neelie, you know you can’t resist telling
me.” Hearing his pet name for her, she looked up.
“Mom’s gonna redo my old dress for the Christmas
Social, but it’s uggggggggglyyyyyy! I really, really
loved the red velvet dress Emily Watson wore last
year. Mom says she can’t buy one because she lost her
job and things are hard now. It’s just not fair!”
George teased her, “I’ll trade you my old red shirt for
that ugly blue dress.”
Cornelia suddenly sat up. “Hey! Maybe Emily will
trade her dress!”
Monday, at lunch, Cornelia asked, “Emily, would you
trade the red dress you wore to last year’s Social for
something I have?”
The older girl looked amused. “What could you have
that I want?”
“Well, I have the new Teen Queen book Have It Your
Way!
Emily shook her head, “Got it.”
Undeterred, Cornelia continued, “I have five
‘Prandsome Hince’ comic books.”
“No thanks.”
“A collection of seashells?”
“Nope.”
“I have a really pretty assortment of scrunchies.”
Ages: 7-9
“No,” Emily said thoughtfully, “but that reminds
me. I’ve always wondered what my hair would
look like braided.”
Cornelia jumped at this opening. “My friend does
that!! If she’ll braid your hair, would you give me
the dress?”
“Deal.”
That afternoon Cornelia asked Ramona, “Would
you braid Emily Watson’s hair?”
“The 4th grader? Why are you asking?”
Cornelia answered, “I’m trying to work out a trade
with her and she wants braids.”
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Courtney Pippen
Copyright © 2009 by Kathy McGrath & Chandel Crawford

21
“Well, what do I get? That’s at least three hours of
work.”
She offered Ramona the same things she’d offered
Emily, but Ramona didn’t want them
either. Determined not to give up, Cornelia asked,
“Isn’t there ANYTHING you want?”
“I really liked that purple furry jacket Justine had
last year,” Ramona said wistfully.
Cornelia perked up and said, “If I can get it, would
you braid Emily’s hair?”
“Deal.”
The next day at lunch, Cornelia sat beside Justine
and said, “I like your new jacket! That purple one
was nice, too. Do you still wear it?”
Justine’s face scrunched up. “Ewww, no! My mom
picked it out, but it was way too silly for me.”
Again, Cornelia hid her excitement as she asked,
“Would you be willing to trade it?”
Justine didn’t hesitate. “Mike has a perfectly good
skateboard, but he got a new one! I’ll have to wait
foreverrrrrrrrrrrrr to buy one!”
“If I can get you Mike’s old skateboard, would you
give me your old jacket?”
“Deal.”
Later when Mike came over to hang with George,
Cornelia asked him if he’d like to trade his old
skateboard.
“Only thing I want is Oliver’s level one Acropolis
videogame; he has the new one,” he told her.
Cornelia double-checked, “So if I can get it, you’d
give me the skateboard?”
“Deal.”
Saturday morning, George asked, “Did you get
that red dress?”
“I’m close,” Cornelia shook her head and listed the
trades she’d done so far. “But I have no idea how
to work out a trade with Oliver!”
George’s eyes widened as he listened to the tale.
“Holy cow! You’re like the Elmwood Barter Queen!
Oliver’s a friend, maybe I can help.”
That evening, Cornelia could hardly contain herself.
“Did you talk to Oliver?”
“He wants me to help him build a go-cart, but I won’t
be able to get all my chores done if I’m over there
helping him.”
“I‘ll do them until you finish,” Cornelia offered.
“It could take a month,” he warned.
“Deal.”
That December, at the Christmas Social, the
Community Center was transformed into a glittering
wonderland. Everyone was shimmering, and Cornelia
felt like the most beautiful girl there! People
complimented her on the dazzling red velvet dress
with snowflake lace. Even Emily said it looked nicer
on Cornelia than it had on her.
Emily was radiant with her upswept braids. Ramona
was sporting the purple, furry jacket. Justine had been
learning new tricks with Mike’s old skateboard. Mike
was happily leveling in Acropolis. Oliver had been
grinning ever since he won the Elmwood
Thanksgiving Go-Cart Derby!
Cornelia never imagined when this whole thing started
that so many people would get something they wanted
without spending a dime!
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Courtney Pippen
Copyright © 2009 by Kathy McGrath & Chandel Crawford

22
I Can’t Get Up Until...
By: Ellen L. Ramsey
Mrs. Bear nudged Mr. Bear’s sleepy head. “It’s time to get up.”
Mr. Bear rubbed his sleepy eyes. “It’s too dark,” he said. “I can’t get up until the sun comes up.”
Mrs. Bear opened the curtains. Sunbeams danced across the room and into Mr. Bear’s sleepy eyes.
“The sun is up. You’re the only one still in bed,” Mrs. Bear said.
Mr. Bear pulled a paw from under the covers. The paw shivered. “It’s cold. I can’t get up until the sun is up
and until the fire has warmed the room.”
Mrs. Bear pointed to the fireplace. “You see,” she said, “the fire is up and it’s crackling and sparking and
making the room warmer and warmer.”
“But,” said Mr. Bear, “I can’t get up until the sun is up and until the fire is up and until the berry muffins are
ready to eat.”
Mrs. Bear sniffed. “Smells like the berry muffins are almost done. The sun is up and the fire is up and the
berry muffins are ready to pop out of the oven.”
“But,” said Mr. Bear, “I can’t get up until the sun is up and until the fire is
up and until the berry muffins are ready to pop out of the oven, and until . .
.”
“. . . and until you know your friends remembered,” Mrs. Bear said.
“Listen.”
Mr. Bear listened. “Someone’s scurrying up the wall.”
He listened again. “Someone’s tapping on the window.”
He listened again. “Someone’s hopping up the stairs.”
He listened yet again. “Someone’s trudging across the living room floor.”
Chipmunk scurried up the wall. Chickadee flew in the window. Rabbit
hopped up the stairs. They all waited while Badger trudged, trudged,
trudged up the stairs.
Rabbit bounced onto the bed. “It’s time to get up. Happy Birthday, Bear!”
“Now,” said Mrs. Bear, “you can get up and enjoy the sun that dances, the fire that crackles and sparks, the
berry muffins that are ready to pop out of the oven, and . . .”
“And the friends who remembered what day it is!” Mr. Bear said as he bounded out of bed.
~The End~
Ages: 3-up
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Deborah Johnson
Copyright © 2009 by Ellen L. Ramsey

23
It’s 75 Degrees-Let’s Build A Snowman
By: Mary Reina
Most people don’t picture snowstorms when
they think about Hawaii. They don’t imagine
making a snowman, or riding a snowboard
during a Hawaiian winter. That’s because
Hawaii is famous for its mild climate.
It's the only state of the United States
consisting of a group of islands located in the
middle of the Pacific Ocean and situated in the
tropics. Even during its winter season,
temperatures at sea level average between 75
and 80 degrees
Fahrenheit.
Air temperatures that high
would make snowfall
impossible if they existed
over all areas of the
islands at the same time,
but they don’t.
Hawaii is made up of a
group of volcanic
mountains that rise from
the sea floor and show
their tips above water as
islands. These big
"bumps" sticking out of
the surrounding ocean
help create small pockets of extremely
different climates and environments. What is
even more amazing is these mini
environments can exist on one island, at the
same time, and within a short distance of each
other. Hawaii’s tallest mountains are also the
places where extreme climate conditions make
tropical snowstorms possible.
Any place with snowfall needs air temperatures
low enough to allow moisture in the air to form
into snow. As warm, moisture-filled, ocean air
reaches the islands, it rises along the mountains
and cools.
People taking a winter’s drive up Mauna Kea,
the state’s tallest mountain, might begin their
drive at the coast on a day when the
temperature is 75 degrees. For every thousand
Ages: 7-9
Feet the car travels upward, air temperature on
Mauna Kea can drop two, three, or even four
degrees. Since Mauna Kea rises 13,796 feet
above sea level, temperatures on the mountaintop
can drop below freezing.
Most moisture reaching Mauna Kea falls as rain at
lower elevations. Sometimes, depending on the
climate conditions, moisture reaches the upper
slopes, crystallizes into snow, and covers the
mountaintop. After a storm, people get the chance
to do things you wouldn’t think are
possible on a tropical island.
Some people drive up to the snow
line, fill the back of a truck with
snow, and drive home to play with
snow. Imagine seeing a snowman
on a beach or on someone’s lawn
when there is no snow on the
ground.
People who own or rent four-
wheel-drive vehicles sometimes
travel to the top of Mauna Kea to
ski or snowboard. It only takes a
few hours to get to the
mountaintop, but it can be a rough
trip. The road is unpaved in some
places. The air is very thin at the summit and there
are no ski lifts. Skiers take turns driving up a rough
road to the summit.
If building a snowman on a tropical island seems
strange, how about doing it on the same island
where some of the mountains are active
volcanoes?
In Hawaii, it is possible to watch a river of
scorching lava burn a path to sea and walk on
frozen ground a few hours later. A bubbling hot
spring can be found on the same island as a
freezing cold mountain lake. Summer or winter, the
qualities of fire and ice that shaped Hawaii’s
mountains help create a tropical world most
people would never imagine.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Laura Lynn
Copyright © 2009 by Mary Reina

24
Sounds at Sea
By: Jada Goksan, 3rd Place Winner
As Sally lifted me onto the boat, I squirmed and wiggled to try to get out of her firm grip. I was really excited
for my first day out onto the sea and I couldn't stop moving.
John called to Sally, “Is Jane okay over there? I hope she doesn't get seasick."
Sally strokes my hair and says “Oh, I'm sure she will be fine, won't you, Jane?” I just stare up at her with my
warm, chocolate-brown eyes before I go exploring.
After I looked at every nook and cranny on the boat, John puts the boat into gear and I hear the roar of the
engines and run to the front of the boat. I can just see the sun setting over the horizon. Through the crystal
clear water, I see little schools of fish speeding out of the way. It is not long before I can look up and see the
stars. Sally and John have gone to bed and my fur stand on end while I listen to the spookiest noise of all ...
complete silence.
Suddenly I hear a big splash and bark for Sally and John. After what seemed like forever of nervous waiting,
Sally, looking sleepy, comes and pets me. She says some soft words to try to calm me down.
“There, there, girl. You're fine now. There's nothing to be afraid of
because its only a little fi-” A gasp cuts off her sentence. She
stands up and stares at something in admiration. I follow her gaze
up to see what could have been the biggest fish in the whole wide
world. I thought it would devour our boat easily, but instead it just
does a sluggish bellyflop back into the deep, dark ocean, making a
noise so loud it hurts my ears.
Shaking the salt water out of my fur, I hear Sally mutter to herself,
“Oh, wow! I've never seen a whale that close before.”
I bark and think, So that big fish is called a whale? Okay then. Bye
bye, whale, come again soon. I'll protect you from the evil little
cats.
Peering over the side of the boat, I still see the big circle of waves
the whale-thing left behind like a reminder of his presence. Sally
hugs me and goes back to tell John what he missed and continue
her interrupted sleep. I stay up on the deck and listen to the soft
churning of the waves beneath me and the sloshing sound of the boat bobbing up and down, up and down.
Slowly I am lulled to sleep by the soft swish of the sea, and eventually close my big brown eyes and think
about everything I heard on this adventurous night.
In the morning, John picks me up and puts me on the seat while he starts the engine and cruises the way home.
He tries to find a whale to see what he missed. Poor old John misses everything interesting.
~The End~
Youth Submission
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Roberta Baird
Copyright © 2009 by Jada Goksan, youth author

25
Turtle Island
By: Anita Yasuda
In 1876, the first Japanese-style garden was introduced to the United States at the
Philadelphia Centennial Exposition. Today, examples stretch from coast to coast. The largest
Japanese garden in North America is located at the Missouri Botanical Garden. It not only
covers 14 acres, but has a lake and four islands. One island is called Kameshima
(ka-may-she-ma) or Turtle Island. In Japan, turtles are a symbol of good luck and a long life.
Traditional Japanese gardens include water, rocks, and plants.
What You Need:
• A box
• Modeling clay (assorted colors)
• Small rocks or pebbles
• Pine needles or other greenery
1. Smooth out blue modeling clay until it covers the bottom of your box.
2. Use green modeling clay to form a turtle shape. This will be your island.
3. Arrange rocks around your island’s edge for the turtle’s head, legs, and tail.
4. Place additional stones in the water to suggest baby turtles swimming beside their
mother.
5. Add greenery to the island.
6. Use orange and white clay to make Japanese Koi, which is a type of carp or fish.
Photograph Copyright © 2009 Anita Yasuda
Copyright © 2009 by Anita Yasuda

26
Hayley and the Class Play
By: Adrienne Saldivar
“But Amanda is trying out for the same part!” Hayley
wailed to her mother, who was preparing lemon
chicken for dinner. Try-outs for the class play were
tomorrow. More than anything, Hayley wanted to play
Princess Lemon Drop. She’d never had a starring role.
“Even Mrs. Wolfe likes her better,” Hayley said.
“Amanda has this exotic accent. Everyone wants to be
her friend.” Amanda had just moved all the way from
New Zealand.
“Your teacher and classmates want her to feel
welcome,” her mom said. “Just do your best. No one
can play the part like you.”
Hayley didn’t hear her. She was busy trying to balance
a lemon on the tip of her nose.
“Princess, I need that,” her mom said. She took the
lemon and sliced it. “Hmm . . .” she added, “Princess
Lemon Drop sounds sour.” She handed Hayley a
lemon slice. “Take this to school and bite it before
reading your part. It’ll help you get into character.”
Hayley felt silly, but decided to give it a try. She
zipped the lemon into a plastic bag. One thing was
certain. No one else would think of playing the part
that way.
The following afternoon Hayley’s turn to audition
came. She put the lemon slice to her mouth and
slurped some juice. The acid made her wince. I feel
more like Princess Sour-ball, she thought. The class
giggled as her mouth puckered.
In a tart-sounding voice she read, “My fawther theenks
I should marry Prince Marshmalloooo.” Her
classmates laughed. When she finished reading,
everyone clapped.
“That was great,” her friend Spencer whispered.
“Very clever, Hayley,” said Mrs. Wolfe. “I see you
really got into the part. Now let’s hear Amanda.”
Ages: 7-9
Amanda read her lines. The class applauded. “Well
done, too,” Mrs. Wolfe said. “That lovely accent
certainly adds something to the character.”
It was time to vote. “Heads down, everyone,”
instructed Mrs. Wolfe. Hayley’s heart raced as
Mrs. Wolfe counted hands first for her, then for
Amanda.
“All right,” said Mrs. Wolfe. “Princess Lemon
Drop will be played by . . .”
Hayley swallowed.
“Amanda!” she announced. “Good job, girls.”
“It’s not fair,” Hayley complained to Spencer after
school. “I have to play a dumb court jester.”
“What’s wrong with that?” Spencer asked. “You’ll
have a cool costume.”
“Everyone will laugh at me,” Hayley said.
“Jesters are supposed to make people laugh,”
argued Spencer. “You’re good at that. You could
do some tricks.”
That night Hayley dug through her costume box.
She found a yellow princess dress and held it in
front of the mirror. She tried saying, “I’m Princess
Lemon Drop” in Amanda’s velvety voice, but she
thought her voice sounded like cardboard. She
tried picturing herself waltzing across the stage.
Instead she made faces in the mirror. She even
made herself giggle.
Hayley set the dress down and went back to her
costume box. She gathered up satin and pompons
and planned her costume and props. As Spencer
had suggested, maybe she did have some tricks up
her sleeve.
Each day she kept inventing silly faces in the
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Brigit McCone
Copyright © 2009 by Adrienne Saldivar

27
mirror. She practiced cartwheels in the living
room. Soon she managed to do them without
bumping into furniture.
Performance day came. It was time for Hayley’s
biggest scene. A fire had broken out in Princess
Lemon Drop’s bedroom. It was up to the jester to
save her!
Hayley prepared for her big entrance. She
cartwheeled onto the stage. Just as she turned
upside down, her foot caught the edge of the
wooden backdrop. Over she tumbled with a plop
onto her backside. Hayley felt her face redden
behind her stage make-up. Then she heard cheers
from the crowd.
They don’t know I goofed, she realized. They must
think it was part of my act.
After dusting herself off, she waved her arms
above her head and yelled, “I’ll save you, Princess
Lemon Drop!”
A big water pitcher sat on the bedside table.
Hayley snatched it and ran toward the tissue-paper
flames. Just as she was about to dump it over the
fire, she turned to the crowd and flung the contents
over their heads.
The audience shrieked, and then howled with delight.
Not water, but silvery confetti rained onto their seats.
On stage, Hayley danced about. With her pointy shoes
she stomped out the paper flames.
After the play, Amanda came to her. “Hayley, you
were amazing!” she said. “Especially that crazy
cartwheel!”
“You were, too,” she told Amanda. “I could never
have played Princess Lemon Drop the way you did.”
“You know,” said Amanda, “I was afraid to be in the
play. You did so well reading for the part.”
“Really?” asked Hayley. She couldn’t believe Amanda
had been worried.
“Of course,” said Amanda. “You were so funny!”
Hayley laughed. “At least jesters are supposed to be
funny.”
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Brigit McCone
Copyright © 2009 by Adrienne Saldivar

28
Training a Ghost Dog
By: Antje Martens-Oberwelland
Do you know what a “ghost dog” is? Well, it’s a
horse! When the Native Americans first spotted a
horse, they thought it was a huge dog. They had
been keeping dogs as companions and helpers
for centuries so they were scared to see such a
big one.
The Natives didn’t know horses because the
Spaniards first introduced the horse to North
America around 1600–1650. Horses were bred
and sold to Prairie tribes near Santa Fe. Indians
traded horses and in very little time, horses
roamed the plains of North America.
Native Americans
quickly learned
horses would be
useful animals.
Compared to dogs,
the horse was
stronger. It could
help transport their
possessions from
summer to winter
camp. The horses ate only grass, while dogs
needed meat. Dogs occasionally fought with each
other, while horses behaved peacefully. Being
much faster than dogs, horses were also good for
hunting.
How would they train these “ghost dogs”? The
Natives were smart to study the nature of the
species first. Basically, there are two different
kinds of animals: the hunter and the hunted. It is
usually easier to get the trust of a hunter, like a
dog or cat. But imagine you were a rabbit and a
fox tried to get your trust. As a rabbit, you know
that foxes will eat you. Wouldn’t you worry about
a friendship like that?
A horse sees you exactly like the rabbit sees a
fox. You are a hunter. It costs much time and
patience to earn a horse’s trust. Finally, when the
horse trusts you, there comes another problem:
wild horses live in herds. When isolated from its
herd to be trained, you become its new herd.
Ages: 10-12
Every herd needs a leader. If you don’t estab-
lish yourself as the leader, your horse will
think it’s the leader.
The Natives understood it was easier to learn
the horse language than to teach a horse the
human language. They used three different
kinds of communication with a horse: voice,
body language, and focusing. Focusing
means to direct your attention to something
specific like a place you want to go. If you
ever felt somebody staring at you from across
the room, then you know how a horse feels
your energy when you
focus at something.
The Native men had a
special relationship with
their war ponies. While
most horses lived in
corrals with their herd,
the war pony stayed
hobbled (tied-together
front legs) close to its
owner. Man and horse spent much time
together and knew each other well. At a fight,
war ponies were totally reliable, would react to
the tiniest move of its rider, and save its
owner from danger or death.
A warrior was said to be so close to his pony,
he would take it inside his tipi in bad weather.
To make room for the pony, women and
children had to look for someplace else to
sleep.
Today horses are still bred in North America
and different methods are used to train them.
Most people don’t rely on horses any more,
but keep them for pleasure and sports. And
don’t worry—I haven’t heard of any child who
still has to give up his or her bed in the middle
of the night to make room for a “ghost dog” to
sleep.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Anna Repp
Copyright © 2009 by Antje Martens-Oberwelland

29
Fun in the City Puzzler
By: Evelyn B. Christensen
To find the hidden name of a fun city place, first follow the five directions in order. Then write
the remaining letters in the spaces below in the order they appear in the grid.
1. Museums in cities have interesting things to see and do. Find the vowels in museum and
cross off each of them in the grid.
2. Subways in cities can be fun to ride. They travel underground. Cross off each letter
directly under each letter you already marked out.
3. It's fun to visit the animals at the city zoo. "Zoo" has three letters. Starting at the top and
moving left to right on each line down the grid, cross off every third letter remaining.
4. A city park is a fun place to play. Cross off every P and K in the grid.
5. Sports events in the city are fun to attend. Cross off every S and T in the grid.
The __ __ __ __ __ __ __ is a fun place to visit in the city.
E L S U N E P S
T U C I T Y I G
S O E P A S K E
A T L B U F U N
R E S T O K R T
U C A P E S W A
O K L E A R T U
M S P T E N Y M
Answerto“FUNINTHECITY”PUZZLER
"LIBRARY"
Photograph Copyright © 2009 Clipart Creations
Copyright © 2009 by Evelyn B. Christensen

30
Charlotte Smee and the Bicycle Tree
By: Jessica Lawson
Leaves fluttered in the breeze as the Smee family
walked through Corwin Park on an autumn afternoon.
It was the day before the Falcon Falls Fall Festival and
park workers hung decorations on trees.
“My goodness! What in the world is that all about?”
asked Mrs. Smee.
A crowd had gathered under the enormous elm tree at
the entrance to the park. Eleven-year-old Charlotte
Smee pushed her way to the front of the scene.
“What’s going on?”
A shiny red bicycle perched at the top of the tree. She
ran back to her Mom and Dad and demanded, “What
is that bike doing all the way up in the tree? How did
it get there?”
Her parents were speechless. Charlotte adjusted her
reversible hat over her long, brown braid so that it said
CHARLEY on the front. Charley was her investigator
name and this looked like a mystery! She pulled a
notebook from her back pocket.
“There has to be an explanation! I’m going to find out
what happened,” she announced and made a move to
get closer. Mrs. Smee held her back
“Not so fast, young lady! Stay here.”
Charlotte looked with pleading eyes at her father.
“Oh, please, Dad! Just let me ask a few questions!”
She saw her father bite down on his lip. He only did
that when he was trying not to smile. He turned to
Mrs. Smee.
“Oh, Helen, why not?”
“Okay, I give up,” said Mrs. Smee.
Charlotte spotted a very tall gentleman with a black
puppy standing closest to the tree. She would start
there.
Ages: 10-12
“Hello, Sir,” she began. “I’m very interested in
discovering how that red bicycle got up in this
tree. Clearly, you’re the tallest person here, so you
have the best view. Do you see any hidden ropes
or pulleys?” The man looked surprised, but he
peered carefully up at the tree.
“No, I don’t,” he said.
“Did you see somebody throw the bicycle up
there?”
“No,” he said. “Rover and I just got here ten
minutes ago and it was already there.”
“Oh,” said Charlotte, disappointed. He didn’t
know anything about the mystery. She ran back to
her parents.
“The witness didn’t see anything at all! There’s
got to be some explanation,” she muttered,
twisting her hat around in circles. “Hey Dad, can I
ask you a question?”
“What do you want to know?”
“Is a human strong enough to throw a bike into a
tree?”
“If the bike is light enough, and the person is big
enough, I suppose so.”
Charlotte’s face lit up—that had to be the answer!
“Of course, that bike is too big and too high up in
the tree for that to be possible in this case.”
Her face fell. “Well, have you ever heard of a
flying bike?” she asked hopefully.
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but it is a scientific
fact that bicycles do not fly.”
Charlotte wrote down the sad fact in her note-
book.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Candace J. Hardy
Copyright © 2009 by Jessica Lawson

31
She looked over at the park maintenance
workers. One lady had a bright yellow hard hat on,
and since people with hard hats tended to be
important, Charlotte went to see her.
“Excuse me, Ma’am,” she began. “I’m trying to
solve the mystery of the bicycle tree. Do you know
anything?”
The woman looked at her.
“My new worker stopped decorating that tree
because a crowd started gathering. There were a
couple of big piles of supplies over there, and I
told him to listen carefully and take everything up
to decorate. Now he has to wait.”
The crew boss motioned to a yellow machine with
a lift attached. A friendly man in brown waved
back. Charlotte didn’t know if it was important,
but she took notes.
“Anyway, about fifteen minutes ago I noticed the red
bicycle had appeared.”
Charlotte thought hard. The bicycle had “appeared”
fifteen minutes ago. Was a magician involved who
made things appear and disappear? It was
doubtful. She was back to square one.
Charlotte saw a uniformed man nearby. He wore a
badge that said “FALCON FALLS POLICE DE-
PARTMENT.” Policemen usually had a lot of
information, so she walked over to him.
“Yes, little girl? Can I help you?” he asked.
“Excuse me Officer, but I was wondering if you were
here exactly fifteen minutes ago?”
“May I ask why you need to know that?” he asked.
“I guess I don’t need to know, but I’m curious by
nature. I’m trying to solve the mystery of the red
bicycle.”
Suddenly, they heard yelling by the elm
tree. Somebody seemed very upset. He wore blue
spandex and a bike helmet, and had a phone in one
hand. The man caught sight of the policeman and
hurried toward them.
“What a coincidence,” he said. “I’d like to solve that
mystery as well, since it’s my bike up in that tree. I
went to make a phone call and left my bike over
there. How in the world did it get up in the tree?”
“Where exactly did you leave it?” asked the
policeman.
“Next to the park maintenance equipment. I figured
nobody would steal it with all the workers nearby.”
Mrs. Smee came over and politely interrupted.
“I’m sorry, gentlemen. Is my daughter bothering
you?”
“Not at all,” said the policeman, straightening his
badge. “She was just trying to help out. Maybe she
wants to be the new member of the police force,” he
chuckled. “It’s not easy being new, though—you have
to listen very carefully,” he teased.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Candace J. Hardy
Copyright © 2009 by Jessica Lawson

32
Charlotte looked at her notes. Listening very
carefully . . . that might just be the answer, she
thought. The bike owner was getting impatient.
“I just want to find out what happened to my bike!” he
yelled.
Charlotte whispered her idea to the policeman.
A minute later, everyone was shouting.
“Well, she told me to put everything into the tree!” the
new worker yelled, pointing to the crew boss.
“Did you?” bellowed the police man to the crew boss.
“Did you tell him to put everything up there?”
“Yes,” answered the crew boss crossly, “but what kind
of person would put a bicycle up in a tree?”
“Get back up there this instant and get my bike
down!” screamed the man in the blue spandex.
“I’m sorry!” moaned the new worker.
“Get up there!” sneered the crew boss.
“Clear out!” yelled the policeman to the crowd. He
patted Charlotte on her hat.
“Well done, Charley,” he said. “You solved the
mystery!”
She beamed at him. She loved being an investigator.
“Let’s go, Sweetie,” said Mrs. Smee. “That’s enough
excitement for the day. I’m proud of you.”
The Smee family walked toward the parking lot as the
yellow maintenance equipment made its way back to
the giant elm tree. When they arrived at the car,
Charlotte looked back. The lift had risen in the air, and
the new worker plucked the red bicycle out of the
branches.
Charlotte Smee changed her hat and folded her
notebook, carefully placing it in her back pocket for
next time.
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Feras Nouf
Copyright © 2009 by Wendy Dickson

33
Christmas in Romania
By: Dave Honaker (with David Roper)
Romania is well known as the home of
Dracula and gypsies, but it also has many
wonderful traditions. Among the favorites for
Romanian children are its Christmas
traditions. In America, the different traditions
about Santa have merged into the “jolly old
elf” who brings us presents December 25, but
not in Romania. In Romania, there are two
different Santas!
The first is Sfintu Nicolae. That means “Saint
Nicholas.” This is the Santa who wants to
know if you have been good or bad.
Sfintu Nicolae comes on December 6. The
night before, the children clean and polish
their boots and put them beside the front door.
When they get up the next morning, they look
in their boots to see what Sfintu Nicolae
brought. If the children have been good all
year, they find candy and small gifts. If they
have been bad, they find a stick or a switch.
You never hear of anyone getting a stick or a
switch, so apparently all the children are
pretty good. At least they are good for several
days before Sfintu Nicolae comes.
The second Santa is Mos Craciun. “Mos”
means “old man.” “Craciun” is the word for
“Christmas.” This is Old Man (or Father)
Christmas.
As the time nears for Christmas, people
decorate houses with tinsel garlands and little
white paper cutouts, which are put on the
walls, in the windows, and hung from the
ceilings, but they do not put up a Christmas
tree with presents under it.
Mos Craciun comes on Christmas Eve. When
the children go to bed on Christmas Eve,
there is no Christmas tree and no presents.
When they get up on Christmas morning, the
children find a tree with presents under it.
Ages: 10-12
Mos Craciun does not decorate the tree with
artificial balls and lights as people do in America.
The main decorations are silvery foil-covered
bonboanes (small hard candies). Some are made
with ciocolata (chocolate). In Romania, you get to
eat the decorations!
There are many interesting Romanian Christmas
traditions. For instance, on Christmas Day, many
families have a special meal featuring sarmale.
Sarmale is a special dish of cabbage stuffed with
pork and rice. It takes a long time to prepare and
is served on most holidays.
Then, on December 25 and 26, children go from
house to house singing colinzi, (Christmas
carols). People give the children cookies or small
coins. In the villages, children wear traditional
costumes and carry a stick with a star on the end,
representing the star of Bethlehem.
Romanian children enjoy all their Christmas
traditions, but they especially enjoy having two
Santas!
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Ginger Nielson
Copyright © 2009 by Dave Honaker with David Roper

34
A Sled Dog Tale
By: Terry Lynn Johnson
Heather squinted as icy snow pellets bounced off her
face. Man, she thought, this storm came up fast. She
gathered her ice fishing gear and packed it in the
sled. Her sled dogs, curled into eight furry balls in a
line, came to life. Each dog stood, shook the snow off,
and stretched its legs.
“Did you have a nice nap, Minden?” Heather ruffed up
the cheeks of her leader and smiled as the grey dog
yawned wide, her tongue curling upward. Minden
planted her front feet on Heather’s chest and she
almost fell backwards.
“You’re ready to go, eh?” She walked down the line of
dogs, all standing, wagging their tails, and watching
her every move. “Good boy, Nordic . . . .Ya, you too,
Tundra. Taiga, you little flirt, leave Smokey alone.”
She spent a few moments with each dog, checking its
feet for ice balls before re-attaching the tuglines to the
backs of their harnesses. Minden started to whine. The
sound trailed into a low moan and then a long howl
broke out. Immediately, all the dogs threw back their
heads and joined in. They stopped as suddenly as they
started.
“I know, I know. I’m hurrying. Okay?” Heather
glanced around to make sure she hadn’t forgotten
anything and stepped on the runners of the sled. The
dogs frothed and leaped in the air. They pawed the
snow and bucked against their tugs attached to the
shuddering sled. The noise of the dogs’ screams
always made Heather jumpy at the start.
“Ready?” Heather yanked on the snubline that tied
them to a tree and held on tight to the handlebar.
“Okay!” They lunged forward through the deep drifts
until they got back to the main trail. Heather looked
around nervously. Man, where’s the trail? It had only
been three hours since they came through here, but the
blizzard had changed the landscape. Everywhere she
looked was snow. Oh, man, her dad was gonna kill
her. Look how late it is; it’s gonna be dark before we
make it home. Heather pedaled her foot to help push
the sled.
Ages: 10-12
“Good girl, Minden! Find the trail. That’s
it.” Minden was Heather’s dog. She had been the
one to pick Minden from the litter for sale. Heather
and her dad drove five hours to get to the musher’s
kennel. He had a fancy racing kennel with all the
dogs staked out in rows and the puppies, round
bellies, big feet, and a sweet puppy-breath smell,
tussled in a pen. They bought three new puppies
that day, but Minden was the star. It was Heather
who had run behind her, encouraging her to pull
the tire. Heather hooked her in to the three-dog
team for Minden’s first run. Heather watched as
Minden grew and moved up in the team to be a
lead dog.
Not many dogs could be leaders. Pulling in front
of everyone and learning the right and left
commands was hard, but Minden was smart and
she wanted to please Heather.
Heather could see Minden, nose to the ground,
running ahead. Would she stay on the trail? How
could she even see? Maybe she should put Nordic
up with her. What was she thinking staying out so
long? Heather shielded her face with a hand and
watched the dogs pick through the deep snow up
to their bellies. There was no sound other than the
dogs panting and the sshh of the runners gliding
over top.
Just as Heather was about to stop the team, the
dogs perked their ears forward and pulled harder.
They were intent on something ahead. Heather
impatiently brushed at the thick flakes piling up on
her eyelashes. She strained to see ahead, but all she
saw was swirling snow. She’d be completely lost
if not for Minden.
The dogs broke into a gallop. What was going on?
Was it a deer on the trail? Hope it’s not a wolf.
What if it’s another beaver? Heather shuddered
when she thought back to the day the dogs had
fought with a toothy, mean beaver next to the
river.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Eileen Morries
Copyright © 2009 by Terry Lynn Johnson

35
Then she saw it. A snowmobile had flipped.
Heather let Minden run toward it and stopped the
team when they were a few paces away.
“Whoa! Where’d you come from?” A willowy
man in a black snowsuit looked startled as he
stared at Heather and her team.
“We’re on our way home. Is something wrong?”
“We were on our way home, too, but we lost the
trail in this blizzard.”
Heather stomped the snowhook down to hold the
team. A woman wearing a red parka sat on the
ground holding her arm.
“I think we’re still on—Minden, get down! Man,
I’m sorry, she’s a little too friendly.” Heather
hauled Minden off the poor man before she licked
him to death. The dog had dumped him in the
snow.
“If you know where you’re going, we could sure
use your help. I think my wife broke her wrist
when we crashed.” The man brushed himself off
and knelt next to the lady.
Heather nodded. “You can follow me.” Heather’s
heart suddenly felt too big for her chest as she
looked down at Minden rolling in the snow.
“I’m Doug; this is Sandy.”
Heather gave them a little wave before she walked
back to the sled.
Doug rolled the snowmobile and helped Sandy onto
the seat. Heather stood on the sled’s runners.
“Ready?” The dogs snapped to attention. “Okay!” The
dogs jumped ahead in unison.
“Good girl, Minden. Good dogs.” Minden was still on
the trail, feeling the hard pack under her feet.
The snow came down so hard Heather could hardly
see up the line to the leader. She was in the middle of
a white wall of cold. She pulled her neck dickie up to
protect her left cheek from the biting wind and wet
flakes. Spruce hung heavy with snow beside her on
one side, the river’s wide expanse on the other. The
dusky grays of the end of the day were gaining
speed. She glanced behind her and saw the light of the
snowmobile cutting a path to her.
They were almost home. The darkness had crept in
and Heather had to rummage in her sled bag for her
headlamp. She shone it on the dogs, but the swirling
snow in the air made her feel dizzy. She turned around
and shone behind her to Doug and Sandy. They were
still there.
Heather could see lights in the darkness ahead. The
dogs ran faster. Suddenly, they were in her own
backyard and her dad was striding toward her. The
new puppies yowled in the pen and the adults she
didn’t have with her howled a welcome. She was
home.
Doug and Sandy came up behind her. Doug offered
his hand to her dad and said, “Sure glad your daughter
came by, Sir. She probably saved me and my wife’s
life. And that dog . . . .”
Heather let a secret, proud smile creep over her
face. She knelt in the snow next to Minden and their
foreheads pressed together.
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Eileen Morries
Copyright © 2009 by Terry Lynn Johnson

36
Sounds of the Night
By: D.M. Cunningham
“If I can’t spend the whole night in a tent, everyone in
my troop will laugh at me,” Fidget told his older sister
Fiona. “I need to get my camping badge before I’m
ten!” He looked at her with large hazel eyes through
his dark mop hair.
“Fidget, there is nothing to be afraid of,” said Fiona.
“The scariest thing out here is your dump truck
pajamas. They might laugh at you for those.” She
smacked her grape bubblegum and twisted her long
brown hair between her fingers.
Fidget looked down at his pajamas and then at Fiona’s
bright purple shirt and yellow shorts. “At least I don’t
look like an Easter egg.”
“Whatever,” she said and rolled her eyes.
The summer sun dipped into the horizon and darkness
blanketed the sky. The sounds of night came alive.
Brrrup brrrup, chirp chirp chirp, squeak wee waw.
“What was that? And that? What about that?” Fidget
cried. He pulled his sleeping bag over his head and
quivered.
“Frogs, crickets, and trees, silly. Nothing to be afraid
of,” Fiona said. She flipped through her latest teen
magazine and shrieked. “What? No way!”
Fidget jumped out of his skin, “What?” He clenched
his pillow tight.
“Tiffany Arrows is wearing the same shoes Mom just
bought me,” she said. Her grin was so big it practically
swallowed her fourteen-year-old face.
The sound came from deep within the wooded area
beyond the tent: a scream so loud and scary, it must
have been human. Fiona froze and Fidget buried him-
self deeper in his sleeping bag. His teeth chattered like
a bouncy bag of marbles.
“I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about,” she assured
him as she stole a glance through the small mesh
Ages: 10-12
window in the tent. Moonlight washed among the
first few rows of trees. Beyond that was inky black
darkness.
“Doesn’t sound like nothing! That sounded like a
monster! I want to go home.” Fidget said.
“We’re sleeping in the back yard. The house is
twenty feet away. Come on, Fidget, you can do
this.” Fiona said.
The sound drew closer and louder. Fiona dropped
her magazine and curled into her sleeping bag.
“Now you’re scared, too?” Fidget asked.
“Shhh, I think someone might be in trouble,”
Fiona said. “We need to go get Mom and Dad.”
They moved to the front flap of the tent and
stopped. Something was right outside. Panting and
sniffing, it scurried around the tent while panting
and sniffing.
“I won’t get any badges if I’m eaten by a
monster!” Fidget whispered. The scream came
again. This time it was right outside, but it wasn’t
as loud and scary. Fidget lowered his sleeping bag
and listened.
“Wait a minute,” Fidget said. “Give me that
flashlight.”
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Linda T. Snider
Copyright © 2009 by D.M. Cunningham

37
Fiona handed him the flashlight. Her hand shook
like Jell-O. “What are you going to do?”
Fidget unzipped the front flap and pushed it aside.
He scanned the backyard with the flashlight. “I
knew it,” he said.
“What? What?” Fiona gasped.
Fidget grabbed his sister and pulled her toward the
opening and shined the light on a pair of reflective
eyes in a dark bush. Fiona screamed. Fidget
laughed.
“It’s okay; it’s just a fox,” Fidget said. “I
remember learning about this in school. Some
animals have certain types of barks. The fox
sounds like a scream.”
Fiona peeked back out of the tent and watched the
fox dart out of the bush and scamper into the
woods. The tiny animal scurried away. “Aw, he’s
kind of cute.”
“He’s scared, too,” Fidget said with a smile. They
shared a laugh.
“Everything okay out there?” Dad asked. He stood
in his robe and rubbed his eyes.
“Yeah, everything’s going to be okay,” Fiona said.
She smiled at Fidget. They sat back in the tent and
listened to sounds of the night as they fell asleep.
~The End~
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Marie Letourneau
Copyright © 2009 by Gale Sypher Jacob

38
Before Fingerprinting
By: David L. Roper
You’ve heard of fingerprinting, right? Do you know
who thought of the idea of a system to identify
people? Someone you probably never heard of:
Alphonse Bertillon. Instead of an inkpad, Bertillon
used a measuring stick. With that stick, he identified
thousands of criminals.
Bertillon’s idea was to measure those brought to
the police station. A grown man can change his
name, his clothes, his weight, or even how his face
looks, but his skeleton does not change.
Bertillon measured people’s height. He measured
the length of their heads and the
distance around their heads. He
measured the length of their arms,
fingers, and feet. If fourteen
measurements were taken, it was
unlikely another man would have
those measurements. In fact, the
odds were 286,435,456 to 1.That’s
pretty good odds!
Bertillon didn’t have instant
success. People ridiculed his
methods. Finally, the head of the
police department in Paris (the
Prefect) gave him a test. He gave
Bertillon three months to identify
one repeat criminal. With eight
days left, Bertillon identified a man
arrested two months before.
Before the year was out, Bertillon identified forty-
eight repeat offenders. Soon he had identified three
thousand repeat offenders. His system spread
throughout the French prison system. Newspapers
called his system “Bertillonage.” Bertillonage
spread throughout the world.
Bertillon was born in 1853. As a child, he did not
look like he could ever be world-famous. His father
and grandfather were famous in their chosen fields
of science. Alphonse was smart like them, but
uncomfortable around people. He was pale, thin,
and awkward. When he talked, he stammered.
When he walked, he stumbled over his own feet.
When Bertillon was 26, his father begged the
Prefect to give him a job. He was made a lowly
assistant clerk. His job was to make cards on
Ages: 10-12
people the police questioned, but there was no
system to the card files. They were basically
useless. That’s when Bertillon had his idea of
measuring criminals. As he did his measuring,
other clerks laughed at him. Those who were
measured laughed at him. Bertillon kept
measuring.
In 1882, the police department in Paris got a
new Prefect. As already noted, he gave Bertillon
a test. Bertillon passed the test with flying
colors.
Bertillon was made Director of
the Police Identification Service.
He took measurements of
suspects. He also had two
photos taken of each suspect:
one from the side and one from
the front. He encouraged
systematic laboratory methods
in police work.
His most famous case came in
1892. He identified a man who
had bombed a building where a
famous judge lived.
There were shortcomings in his
method. Some clerks were not
careful with their measuring.
Also the method could not
identify someone had not been
previously arrested. Another
method came to the forefront: fingerprinting.
Then the Mona Lisa was stolen from the Louvre.
Bertillon’s methods could not identify the thief
even though he left a fingerprint. When the man
was caught, they found that Bertillon had
previously measured him. He had even taken
his fingerprints. Before long, police used
fingerprinting as the preferred means of
identification.
Don’t label Bertillon a failure. Police still take
two photos of criminals. Bertillon is known as a
pioneer in systematic identification. He will
always be "the father of police identification.”
Not bad for a thin, pale, awkward guy who
stammered and stumbled!
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Aditi Laddha
Copyright © 2009 by David L. Roper

39
Collecting Fingerprints
By: Claudette Hegel
What You Need:
Index cards
Pen or pencil
Ruler
Index cards
Ink pad
Paper towels
Light or dark powder
Small paintbrush with soft bristles
Cellophane tape
Magnifying glass (optional)
Flashlight (optional)
1. Use a ruler to divide the back of index cards into 10 equal squares, one for each
finger and thumb on each hand. Label the squares “right index finger,” “left thumb,”
etc.
2. "Print" family members and friends by rolling their fingers one at a time across an ink
pad before rolling their fingers across the index card in the appropriate section. Ease
their fingers across the card—don't press the fingers flat. You may want to practice
printing people before using the cards.
3. Give the people you fingerprinted paper towels to use to cover their inky fingers until
they are able to wash their hands. Be careful not to get ink anywhere but on the
paper.
4. Note the date and name of the person you printed on the front of the card.
5. Look for fingerprints to identify. Prints are easiest to "lift" from a hard, smooth surface
such as a soda can or drinking glass. A flashlight and magnifying glass may help you
spot prints. Don’t try to lift fingerprints from surfaces that powder or tape may
damage.
6. After you've found a print, dip a brush lightly in light-colored powder such as baby
powder for a dark surface and dark-colored powder such as cocoa for a light
surface. Tap off the extra powder.
7. Lightly brush the powder over the print.
8. When you have a clear print, place a strip of cellophane tape carefully over the
print. Press gently and evenly on the tape. Don't move the tape or the print will
smudge.
9. Lift the tape and stick it to a piece of paper. If you used white powder, stick the tape
to dark paper. If you used dark powder, stick the tape to light paper.
10.Label the print with the date and where you found it (dining room table, refrigerator,
etc.). Compare the print with the prints you have on file. Fingerprints have three main
patterns used in identification: arches, loops and whorls. Check your library for a book
or the Internet for a website to give you more details on fingerprints.
11.When you discover to whom the print belongs, note the name beside the location
and date.
12.Be sure to clean areas where you lifted prints.
Photograph Copyright © 2009 Clipart Creations
Copyright © 2009 by Claudette Hegel

40
Trapped in the Attic
By: Shirley Hanson LaBrecque
“We need an adventure this weekend,” Amy said to
Daniel, her best friend. “What should we do since it’s
supposed to rain?”
They were on the school bus. Daniel shrugged. Being
ten years old could be so boring sometimes, Amy
thought. Daniel scrunched his eyebrows in thought,
but said nothing.
“Hey, I do have an idea,” Amy said suddenly. “How
about exploring my attic?”
She remembered being in the attic last weekend with
her dad. Huge, dark, gold-framed portraits she had
never noticed before hung from the rafters. Who
WERE those people? Amy still wondered.
Saturday afternoon Amy and Daniel pushed up on the
weighted attic door. They let their eyes adjust to the
dimness.
“Okay, what do we do now?” Daniel asked. “What are
we looking for?”
Amy didn’t answer and shuddered. Somehow it feels
completely different than when I was up here with my
dad, she thought.
“You wait here by the top of the stairs, Daniel. I need
to find something first.” Amy said.
Ages: 10-12
“Okay, no problem.”
"Phsst, Daniel, come over here," Amy hissed a
minute later.
"Boo, I'm already right behind you, Amy," Daniel
said. Amy jumped and Daniel laughed.
“Look at THIS,” Amy said, pointing toward the
rafters. “I found what I was looking for.”
Four huge portraits hung in a row about eight feet
in front of them. The ornately-carved gold frames
were three feet across and five feet high. Each
painting hung by two thick, worn ropes.
In the first painting, a man was dressed in a dark
soldier’s uniform and black boots. The background
was also very dark, so the man in the portrait was
barely visible. Amy wished she had brought a
flashlight.
“Wow! Amazing! Who are they?” Daniel asked in
a loud voice.
Amy jumped again. It was only then she realized
her heart was beating way too fast and she was
holding her breath.
Amy shifted her gaze slowly from the man’s boots
up to his eyes. SUDDENLY, the man in the
portrait BLINKED.
What just happened? Amy thought. This can’t be
real.
In a low voice and without turning her head, Amy
said, “Daniel, COME CLOSER! Something really
strange is going on.”
“What do you mean?” Daniel whispered as he
moved closer.
“Be quiet and watch,” Amy said softly. “Look at
his boots. Can you see where the canvas around
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Edrian Thomidis
Copyright © 2009 by Shirley Hanson LaBrecque

41
the toes of his boots is moving a little? It’s getting
sort of . . .”
Amy hesitated. She wasn’t quite sure what she
wanted to say, or if she could say it out loud at
all.
“Wrinkled” was the word she used to finish the
sentence.
They both stared at that section of the painting.
They didn’t blink. They didn’t move a muscle.
The man scraped his boots back and forth across
the inside of the canvas as if he were trying to get
out of the painting!
Amy put her hand lightly on Daniel’s arm, pulling
him back with her as she moved slowly away
from the painting.
“Be carefuuuuulll . . . .” said a rumbly voice.
Amy and Daniel jumped back.
Daniel’s eyes were like saucers and he talked so
fast Amy could hardly understand him.
“Has anything like this ever happened to you
before? What’s that on the ground next to his
boots? A rifle? How can he get out of the
portrait?” he continued. “This is all just so
strange. It’s utterly imposs . . . .”
A huge CRASH interrupted Daniel and sent them
both falling backward.
The second portrait had crashed to the floor and,
in slow motion, tipped forward. The top edge of
its carved golden frame began to tear through the
first canvas.
With a deep scraping, tearing sound, both edges
of the canvas slowly fell away. The dark man
flattened onto the attic floor like a rumpled piece
of thick fabric.
Daniel and Amy sat up and saw for the first time
the person in the second portrait. Neither of them
said a word.
The beautiful woman in the painting had a sad,
mysterious smile. Her head was turned slightly, as
if she were trying to look over her right shoulder.
CRRRASH! A second bang reverberated. The wooden
door to the attic fell closed. They were trapped! The
weighted door would be impossible to pull open from
above.
Daniel looked straight ahead as he whispered, “What
is that behind the woman in the painting?”
Amy stared. She blinked hard twice. This is
impossible, she thought.
Standing behind the right shoulder of the beautiful
woman in the second painting was THE MAN FROM
THE FIRST PAINTING. It was clear now that he was
a soldier, proudly holding his rifle.
As the woman’s lips moved, Amy’s mouth hung
open.
“I knew youuuuu would come baaack to meeee,” the
smiling woman said.
“It’s utterly impossible,” Amy said in a robot-like
monotone.
The man looked relieved and was now silent. The toes
of his boots were badly scuffed.
“This is absolutely utterly imPOSSible,” Amy said for
the third time.
“Hey, Daniel and Amy, are you up in the attic?” They
jumped. It was Amy’s dad calling to them. His voice
shocked them back to reality.
“Dad! Dad!” Amy yelled. “We’re trapped!”
In the short span of time it took Amy’s dad to walk up
the stairs and push open the weighted door, Amy and
Daniel looked at each other and had a whole conversa-
tion without saying a word.
Let’s not say anything about this, okay? Did we really
see what we saw? Do you think this house is haunted?
But aren’t there good ghosts and bad ghosts? Did
those people in the portraits used to live here? But
how could they talk to us?
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Edrian Thomidis
Copyright © 2009 by Shirley Hanson LaBrecque

42
“Hi, Dad,” Amy said cheerily, as her dad’s head
appeared above the floor.
Daniel stood close to Amy with a camera-smile, his
eyes open a little too wide, and didn’t say a word.
“How in the world did that old door fall closed all by
itself? That could have been dangerous. What were
you guys doing up here anyway?”
“Oh, just looking for some old books of mine,” Amy
said.
Have a Staycation
By: Colleen Cutayne
Amy’s dad glanced into the dim attic and spotted
the hanging portrait. “That looks like a beautiful
portrait of a Civil War solider with his wife and
children,” he said.
Neither Amy nor Daniel said a word. Where did
the children come from? Who was in the third and
fourth portraits? Who would talk or move next?
Good ghosts, bad ghosts?
~The End~
Turn your room into a hotel suite! What you will make are two door hangers, a card key, and
a sign with your room number on it.
Think of a theme for your hotel room such as a “Princess Suite” or “Grizzly Bear Cave.” Think
of a name for your hotel such as “Hotel (your name),” i.e. “Hotel Courtney.”
What you need:
• Some heavyweight paper (an empty cereal box will work)
• White paper
• Scissors
• Glue
• Ruler
• Colored markers
• Push pin, a tack, or tape
• Optional: 12-inch ribbon and hole punch
To make the door hangers:
1. Paste white paper onto the heavyweight paper and let dry.
2. Once dry, cut two rectangles measuring 3 ½ by 8 inches.
3. Two inches from the top of the shorter end of the paper, cut a one-inch vertical slit and
then cut a 2-inch circle in the middle of the paper. This is the handle for the door knob.
4. Decorate one door hanger with a nocturnal creature such as an owl and print “Do not
Disturb” or “Shhh – Sleeping Beauty” (for Princess theme) or “Grrr… Bear Hibernating –
Enter at own risk” (for Bear Cave theme).
5. On the other door hanger, write a breakfast menu like they have at real hotels. Put a
check box beside each item and make it fun. For example you could have 1) cereal 2)
pancakes 3) green eggs and ham. For a drink 1) Orange juice 2) Apple juice 3) Bug
juice. For fruit 1) banana slices 2) orange slices 3) slug slices (no salt).
6. Finish your door hanger with a choice of times for your wake-up call: 7AM, 8AM, 9AM or
noon.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Colleen Cutayne
Copyright © 2009 by Colleen Cutayne

43
For your hotel key:
1. Trace a library card or cut out a card from the heavyweight paper measuring 3 ½ x 2
inches.
2. Cover both sides with white paper.
3. When glue is dry, decorate the card by coloring a ¼ -inch black strip down the length of
the card. This is the magnetic strip that allows you to unlock your hotel room door.
4. On the other side, put the name of the hotel such as “Hotel Courtney” and draw a logo
if you want.
Every hotel room has a special sign to tell the room number:
1. Cut a 5 ½” x 8 ½” square or oval.
2. Cover with white paper. Use the colored markers to make a fancy border.
3. Print the name of the suite such as “Princess Suite” or “Bear Cave” and the room
number.
4. Make the room number 3 or 4 digits. For example if your lucky number is “8” then make
your room number “888” or use your birthday month and day so if your birthday is
December 30 then your room number would be “1230.”
5. Punch a hole in the top right corner and the top left corner.
6. Put ribbon through hole and make a knot so the ribbon won’t go through the hole. Do
the same to the other corner. This will make a pretty hanger for your sign. Hang on door
or just beside your door using the tack or push pin (check with mom first to see if it’s okay
to put a hole in the door).
Now your room is like a five-star hotel!
See samples below.
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Colleen Cutayne
Copyright © 2009 by Colleen Cutayne

44
The Spirit of the Season
By: Donna Marie West
Whether or not you practice the Christian faith, you
know that millions of people around the world
celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ on December 25,
but did you know that long before Jesus was born,
people were already celebrating the spirit of the
Christmas season?
As far back as the 300 B.C., the pagan
(non-Christian) Romans honored their god of
agriculture, Saturn or Saturnus, with a festival
bearing his name: Saturnalia.
Saturnalia observed the end
of the autumn planting
season and the winter
solstice. The winter solstice
is the time of year when the
day is shortest and the night
is longest, usually December
21. Ancient people
celebrated it because it
represented the end of winter
and the gradual lengthening
of days. Saturnalia was the
most popular holiday in the
Roman calendar, lasting for seven days from
December 17 to December 24.
During the week of Saturnalia, schools and law
courts closed. Athletes took a break from training,
and no one conducted public business. No one
declared war. No one executed criminals. The
usual toga, a white, one-piece outer garment worn
in public by all citizens of Rome, was abandoned
for the less-formal synthesis, a colorful, comfortable
tunic or robe. Slaves were treated as equals,
allowed to wear their masters’ clothes, and joined
them at the dinner table. They were also allowed to
wear the pileus, a cone-shaped felt cap that was
the symbol of free people, but they had to take it off
and go back to work after the holiday.
People decorated homes with evergreen trees and
wreaths of holly. Families got together for parties,
games, visits with friends, and the exchange of
gifts. People gave presents of money, clothing,
Ages: 10-12
books, tools, perfumes, wax candles, lamps,
food, and even pets!
People held a sacrifice at the Temple of Saturn,
the ruins of which still stand today in Rome. This
was followed by a public banquet where people
partied and shouted “Io (pronounced ‘Yo’)
Saturnalia!” The drawing of lots chose a mock
king to rule over the festivities. His word was
law and he could command of the people any
silliness he desired!
Immediately following
Saturnalia on December 25,
Roman soldiers and the upper
class celebrated Natalis Solis
Invicti, the birth of the invincible
sun god, Mithras. Mithraism
was a popular religion in
ancient Rome, where citizens
were free to worship a variety
of gods.
The Roman emperor Aurelian,
a follower of Mithraism,
combined the Mithras festival with Saturnalia in
A.D. 274, making December 25 the supreme
holy day across the entire Roman Empire.
Later, as Christianity took hold across the land,
leaders of the early church adopted the older
religious holiday for the celebration of Christ’s
birth. The first December 25 celebrations were
held in A.D. 336, 23 years after Emperor
Constantine and the Roman Empire officially
converted to Christianity. Pope Julius I called
the celebration “Christ’s Mass” in an effort to
give Christian meaning to the pagan festival.
The church hoped the new holiday would
squash the celebration honoring Mithras, while
keeping the spirit of the season. In time, of
course, it did.
“When the rich man shall feast his slaves, let his
friends serve with him!” — Lucian of Samosata
(A.D. 125–80), speaking about Saturnalia
Illustration Copyright © 2009 Jan Cornebise
Copyright © 2009 by Donna Marie West

45
Copyright © 2009 by Dorit Sasson
Chanukah Trivia Game
By: Dorit Sasson
Chanukah (or Hanukkah) is here! As you get ready to celebrate the miracle of this holiday,
take a short trivia quiz. How much do you know about this festival of lights?
1. By what other name is Chanukah traditionally known?
2. What is the miracle of the eight nights and days of Hanukkah?
3. The story of Chanukah is a time for Jewish people to celebrate what?
4. What was the name of the small band of Jewish patriots who victoriously won over the
mighty armies of the Syrian King?
5. What did the Maccabees find when they restored the Holy Temple in Jerusalem?
6. Name at least one thing you do on each night of the holiday?
7. What do the four Hebrew letters on the dreidel stand for?
8. What is the Hebrew word for dreidel?
Answers on Page 46!
Chanukah Craft Notepad Holders
By: Dorit Sasson
You can use this craft to make a fun "to do" list or homework pad.
What You’ll need:
• heavy cardboard
• cheap notepads (these may be bought in bulk at a dollar store)
• markers, scissors, paint
1. Use heavy cardboard to make the back of the notepad holder. You may either paint
your decorations or cut them out.
2. Cut out driedel shapes or draw Judah the Maccabee or a picture of a menorah.
3. Paste a notepad to the cardboard and you’re ready to write your heart out!

46
Chanukah Craft Gelt Bag
By: Dorit Sasson
Learn more about the tradition of Chanukah by making a Chanukah gelt gift bag.
What You’ll need:
• plastic strawberry or other fruit containers (these hold the best)
• blue construction paper
• stapler
• glue
• gold wrappers from chocolate Chanukah coins
• optional: glitter, preferably silver
1. Staple blue construction paper to the basket and glue on gold coins. You may also glue
on glitter. Careful – this can get messy!
2. Cut strips for handles and staple them to the basket.
3. You may also choose to write your name in Hebrew.
Now you’re ready to collect your Chanukah gelt! You may also want to give some money
to a charity or a person who may be in need.
Answers to Chanukah Triva Game:
1. The Festival of Lights
2. The oil in the temple burned for eight days
3. Religious freedom. The story of Chanukah tells of the Jews who were persecuted for many years by the
Greco-Syrian king Antiochus Epiphanes. Antiochus forced them to worship Greek gods instead of practicing their
own Judaism.
4. The Maccabees
5. One jar of pure oil, enough to keep the menorah burning for just one day
6. You light one more candle, exchange gifts, play dreidel, and eat fried latkes and donuts to remember the victory for
religious freedom and the miracle of the oil. You also play dreidel, a spinning top with four Hebrew letters: nun,
gimmel, hey, shin.
7. Nes Gadol Hayah Sham (“A Great Miracle Happened There")
8. Sevivon
Copyright © 2009 by Dorit Sasson

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