When he had spent four years with "The Graphic Company" he accepted a position as reporter for a paper published at Anderson, Indiana. In addition to his reporting work he wrote many short poems in the Hoosier dialect that took well. So successful was his work on this paper that Judge Martindale of the Indianapolis Journal offered him a position on that paper. About the first thing he now did was to write a series of Benjamin F. Johnson poems. In speaking of this series Mr. Riley said, "These all appeared with editorial comment, as if they came from an old Hoosier farmer of Boone County. They were so well received that I gathered them together in a little parchment volume, which I called, 'The Old Swimmin'-Hole and 'Leven More Poems', my first book." This book met with immediate favor. Speakers from east to west quoted from it. All wanted to know who the author really was. Modest as Mr. Riley was, he had to confess that he had written the book. Other books followed in close succession until when he died he had written forty-two volumes. But people were not satisfied with reading his books merely, they wanted to see and hear him. He, therefore, began in a modest way to read his poems before audiences in his native state. So delighted were these audiences, for he was a charming reader as well as a capable writer, that urgent calls came from every state in the Union to come and read for them. For a number of years he traveled widely and appeared before thousands of audiences, but this kind of life never appealed to him. Though he never married, Mr. Riley was always fond of the quiet of a modest home. Accordingly, the closing years of his life were spent in semi-retirement in his cozy home on Lockerbie Street, Indianapolis. HELEN KELLER A little girl was traveling with her father and mother. They were going from a little town in Alabama to the city of Baltimore. The journey was long and, as the little girl was only six years old, she wanted toys and playthings with which to pass the time. The kind conductor let her have his punch when he was not using it. She found that it was great fun to punch dozens of little holes in a piece of cardboard and she would touch each hole with one of her little fingers, but she did not count them because she had not learned how. By and by a pleasant lady thought she would make a rag doll for the little traveler. She rolled two towels up in such a way that they looked very much like a doll, and the little girl eagerly took the new plaything in her arms. She rocked it and loved it; but something troubled her, for she kept feeling the doll's face and holding it out to the friends who sat near her. They did not understand what was the matter.