First Grade Read Aloud Banquet

Songs for April

If All the World Were Paper



The Little Cock Sparrow



Ye Song of Sixpence



My Lady's Garden

The Months

January brings the snow,

Makes our feet and fingers glow.


February brings the rain,

Thaws the frozen lake again.


March brings breezes loud and shrill,

Tp stir the dancing daffodil.


April brings the primrose sweet,

Scatters daises at our feet.


May brings flocks of pretty lambs,

Skipping by their fleecy damns.


June brings tulips, lilies, roses,

Fills the children's hands with posies.


Hot July brings cooling showers,

Apricots and gillyflowers.


August brings the sheaves of corn,

Then the harvest home is borne.


Warm September brings the fruit,

Sportsmen then begin to shoot.


Fresh October brings the pheasent,

Then to gather nuts is pleasent.


Dull November brings the blast,

Then the leaves are whirling fast.


Chill December brings the sleet,

Blazing fire, and Christmas treat.

  Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday
Week 12 Animal Language from The Story of Doctor Dolittle by Hugh Lofting John Stark and the Indians from Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans by Edward Eggleston The Tadpole Who Wanted To Be Grown-Up from Among the Pond People by Clara Dillingham Pierson The Seven Ravens from Fairy Tales Too Good To Miss—Up the Stairs by Lisa M. Ripperton Hiram, King of Tyre from On the Shores of the Great Sea by M. B. Synge New Friends and Old (Part 2 of 2) from The Swiss Twins by Lucy Fitch Perkins The Boy Who Became an Archer from Hurlbut's Story of the Bible by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut
Who Has Seen the Wind? by Christina Georgina Rossetti 		Market Square by A. A. Milne
Spring's Waking by Isabel Eccelstone Mackay 		My Bed Is a Boat by Robert Louis Stevenson Sweet and Low by Alfred Lord Tennyson Mary Had a Little Lamb by Sarah Josepha Hale Daffadowndilly by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Milkmaid and Her Pail

A Milkmaid had been out to milk the cows and was returning from the field with the shining milk pail balanced nicely on her head. As she walked along, her pretty head was busy with plans for the days to come.

"This good, rich milk," she reused, "will give me plenty of cream to churn. The butter I make I will take to market, and with the money I get for it I will buy a lot of eggs for hatching. How nice it will be when they are all hatched and the yard is full of fine young chicks. Then when May day comes I will sell them, and with the money I'll buy a lovely new dress to wear to the fair. All the young men will look at me. They will come and try to make love to me,—but I shall very quickly send them about their business!"

As she thought of how she would settle that matter, she tossed her head scornfully, and down fell the pail of milk to the ground. And all the milk flowed out, and with it vanished butter and eggs and chicks and new dress and all the milkmaid's pride.

Do not count your chickens before they are hatched.


[Illustration]