On came the first horseman and down came Tancred’s sword. The Saracen fell. The next, who had seen the first one fall, waited for the third. Very cautiously they approached side by side, but they soon fared the same as their companion. It was Tancred who took possession of Bethlehem. He was made ruler over that part of the Holy Land, but hearing that Antioch was threatened by the Saracens, he went to its relief. For three years he held it against the unbelievers. Tancred’s cousin, Bohemond, who was the rightful ruler of Antioch, was held as prisoner by the Saracen commander; but finally Tancred succeeded in setting his cousin free. He at once gave up to his cousin the entire rule, although he had so endeared himself to the people that they besought him to remain. A battle wound was the cause of Tancred’s death. He met his fate bravely, and died with the purpose of saving the Holy Land still uppermost in his heart. * * * * * Between the years 1095 and 1270 there were eight crusades, all undertaken for the purpose of delivering the Holy Land from the Saracens. While they failed to accomplish that object, they were still of great benefit to the Church and civilization. They made the people better acquainted with the geography and history of other lands, and led to an increase of trade and industry throughout the known world. HOW THE ROBIN CAME tortures genesis hovering myth chieftain human wampum pity Happy young friends, sit by me, Under May’s blown apple tree, While these home birds in and out Through the blossoms flit about. Hear a story strange and old, By the wild red Indians told. How the robin came to be: Once a great chief left his son,-- Well-beloved, his only one,-- When the boy was well-nigh grown, In the trial lodge alone. Left for tortures long and slow Youths like him must undergo, Who their pride of manhood test, Lacking water, food, and rest. Seven days the fast he kept, Seven nights he never slept. Then the young boy, wrung with pain, Weak from nature’s overstrain, Faltering, moaned a low complaint, “Spare me, father, for I faint!” But the chieftain, haughty-eyed, Hid his pity in his pride. “You shall be a hunter good, Knowing never lack of food; You shall be a warrior great, Wise as fox and strong as bear; Many scalps your belt shall wear, If with patient heart you wait Bravely till your task is done. Better you should starving die Than that boy and squaw should cry Shame upon your father’s son!”