First Grade Read Aloud Banquet

Songs for October

Girls and Boys



Looby Light



St. Paul's Steeple



Ye Jolly Miller

The Land of Story-Books

At evening when the lamp is lit,

Around the fire my parents sit;

They sit at home and talk and sing,

And do not play at anything.


Now, with my little gun, I crawl

All in the dark along the wall,

And follow round the forest track

Away behind the sofa back.


There, in the night, where none can spy,

All in my hunter's camp I lie,

And play at books that I have read

Till it is time to go to bed.


These are the hills, these are the woods,

These are my starry solitudes;

And there the river by whose brink

The roaring lions come to drink.


I see the others far away

As if in firelit camp they lay,

And I, like to an Indian scout,

Around their party prowled about.


So when my nurse comes in for me,

Home I return across the sea,

And go to bed with backward looks

At my dear land of Story-Books.

  Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday Saturday Sunday
Week 3 My Father Finds the Island from My Father's Dragon by Ruth Stiles Gannett Indian Pictures from Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans by Edward Eggleston The Kitten Who Lost Herself from Among the Farmyard People by Clara Dillingham Pierson Jack and the Beanstalk from Fairy Tales Too Good To Miss—Around the Fire by Lisa M. Ripperton An Old Trade-Route from On the Shores of the Great Sea by M. B. Synge The Twins Learn a New Trade (Part 2 of 2) from The Swiss Twins by Lucy Fitch Perkins The Story of a Beautiful Garden from Hurlbut's Story of the Bible by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut
Whisky Frisky, Anonymous Happiness by A. A. Milne
Mr. Nobody, Anonymous 		Armies in the Fire by Robert Louis Stevenson A Hint by Anna M Pratt Gaelic Lullaby, Anonymous An Emerald Is as Green as Grass 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]