The Adventures of Reddy Fox  by Thornton Burgess

Granny Fox Finds What Became of the Chicken

O LD GRANNY FOX was in a terrible temper. Dear, dear, it certainly was a dreadful temper! Jimmy Skunk laughed at her, and that made it worse. When he saw this, Jimmy Skunk just rolled over and over on the ground and shouted, he was so tickled. Of course, it wasn't the least bit nice of Jimmy Skunk, but you know that Granny Fox had been calling Jimmy a thief. Then Jimmy doesn't like Granny Fox anyway, nor do any of the other little meadow and forest people, for most of them are very much afraid of her.

When old Granny Fox finally got out of the bramble bush, she didn't stop to say anything more to Jimmy Skunk, but hurried away, muttering and grumbling and grinding her teeth. Old Granny Fox wasn't pleasant to meet just then, and when Bobby Coon saw her coming, he just thought it best to get out of her way, so he climbed a tree.

It wasn't that Bobby Coon was afraid of old Granny Fox. Bless you, no! Bobby Coon isn't a bit afraid of her. It was because he had a full stomach and was feeling too good-natured and lazy to quarrel.

"Good morning, Granny Fox. I hope you are feeling well this morning," said Bobby Coon, as old Granny Fox came trotting under the tree he was sitting in. Granny Fox looked up and glared at him with yellow eyes.

"It isn't a good morning and I'm not feeling fine!" she snapped.

"My goodness, how you have torn your skirts!" exclaimed Bobby Coon.

Old Granny Fox started to say something unpleasant. Then she changed her mind and instead she sat down and told Bobby Coon all her troubles. As she talked, Bobby Coon kept ducking his head behind a branch of the tree to hide a smile. Finally Granny Fox noticed it.

"What do you keep ducking your head for, Bobby Coon?" she asked suspiciously.

"I'm just looking to see if I can see any feathers from that chicken," replied Bobby Coon gravely, though his eyes were twinkling with mischief.

"Well, do you?" demanded old Granny Fox.

And just then Bobby Coon did. They were not on the ground, however, but floating in the air. Bobby Coon leaned out to see where they came from, and Granny Fox turned to look, too. What do you think they saw? Why, sitting on a tall, dead tree was Mr. Goshawk, just then swallowing the last of Granny's chicken.

"Thief! thief! robber! robber!" shrieked old Granny Fox.

But Mr. Goshawk said nothing, just winked at Bobby Coon, puffed out his feathers, and settled himself for a comfortable nap.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

Five Toes

This little pig went to market; This little pig stayed at home; This little pig had roast beef; This little pig had none; This little pig said, "Wee, wee! I can't find my way home."

 

The Eskimo Twins  by Lucy Fitch Perkins

The Woman-Boats

Monnie named the doll Annadore, and she loved it dearly. Koolee dressed Annadore in fur, with tiny kamiks of sealskin, and Monnie carried her doll in her hood, just the way Koko's mother carried her baby.

For Menie, his father made dog-harnesses out of walrus-hide. He made them just the right size for Nip and Tup.

Menie harnessed the little dogs to his sledge. Then he and Monnie would play sledge-journeys. Annadore would sit on the sledge all wrapped in furs, while Menie drove the dogs, and Monnie followed after.

Nip and Tup did not like this play very well, and they didn't always go where they were told to. Once they dashed right over the igloo and spilled Annadore off.

Annadore rolled down one side of the igloo, while Nip and Tup galloped down the other. Annadore was buried in the snow and had to be dug out, so it was quite a serious accident, you see, but Nip and Tup did not seem to feel at all responsible about it.

Kesshoo made knives and queer spoons out of bone or ivory for Koolee, and for himself he made new barbs for his bladder-dart, new bone hooks for fishlines, and all sorts of things for hunting.

He made salmon spears, and bird darts, and fishlines, and he ornamented his weapons with little pictures or patterns. He carved two frogs on the handle of his snow knife, and scratched the picture of a walrus on the blade.

Sometimes Koolee carved things, too, but most of the time she was busy making coats or kamiks, or chewing skins to make them soft and fine for use in the igloo; or to cover the kyaks, or to make their summer tent.

Once during the winter the whole family went thirty miles up the coast by moonlight to visit Koolee's brother in another village. They went with the dog sledge, and it took them two days.

They had meat and blubber with them and plenty of warm skins, and when they got tired, Kesshoo made a snow house for them to rest in. The twins thought this was the best fun of all.

The water turned deep blue, and danced in the sunlight, and ice floated about in it. Often there were walrus on these ice-pans.

The twins sometimes saw their huge black bodies on the white ice, and heard their hoarse barks. Then all the men in the village would rush for their kyaks and set out after the walrus.

The men were brave and enjoyed the dangerous sport, but the women used to watch anxiously until they saw the kyaks coming home towing the walrus behind them.

Then they would rush down to the shore, help pull the kyaks up on the beach, where they cut the walrus in pieces and divided it among the families of the hunters.

When the snow had melted on the Big Rock, hundreds of sea-birds made their nests there and filled the air with their cries.

Sometimes Kesshoo went egg hunting on the cliff, and sometimes he set traps there for foxes, and he helped Menie and Koko make a little trap to catch hares. There was plenty to do in every season of the year.

At last the nights shortened to nothing at all. The long day had begun. The stone hut, which they had found so comfortable in winter, seemed dark and damp now.

Menie and Monnie remembered the summer days when they did not have to dive down through a hole to get into their house, so Menie said to Monnie one day, "Let's go and ask father if it isn't time to put up the tents."

They ran out to find him. He was down on the beach talking with Koko's father and the other men of the village.

On the beach were two very long boats. The men were looking them over carefully to see if they were water-tight.

Koko was with the men. When he saw the twins coming, he tore up the slope to meet them, waving his arms and shouting, "They're getting out the woman-boats! They're getting out the woman-boats!"

This was glorious news to the twins. They ran down to the beach with Koko as fast as their legs could carry them.

They got there just in time to hear Koko's father say to Kesshoo, "I think it's safe to start. The ice is pretty well out of the bay, and the reindeer will be coming down to the fiords after fresh moss."

All the men listened to hear what Kesshoo would say, and the twins listened, too, with all their ears.

"If it's clear, I think we could start after one more sleep," said Kesshoo.

Koolee was gathering all the knives and spoons and fishing-things and sewing-things, and dumping them into a large musk-ox hide which was spread on the floor.

The musk-ox hide covered the entrance-hole. The first thing Koolee knew something thumped the musk-ox skin on the under side, and the knives and thimbles and needle-cases and other things flew in all directions. Up through the hole popped the faces of Menie and Monnie!

"Oh, Mother," they shouted. "We're going off on the woman-boats! After only one more sleep, if it's pleasant! Father said so!"

Koolee laughed. "I know it!" she said. "I was just packing. You can help me. There's a lot to do to get ready."

The twins were delighted to help. They got together all their own treasures—the sled, and the fishing-rods, the dog-harnesses, and Annadore, and bound them up with walrus thongs. All but Annadore. Annadore rode in Monnie's hood as usual.

Koolee gathered all her things together again and wrapped them in the musk-ox hide. She took down the long narwhal tusks that the dog-harnesses were hung on.

These were the tent-poles. She and the twins carried all these things to the beach. The men stayed on the beach and packed the things away in the boats. The other women brought down their bundles from their igloos. There was room for everything in the two big boats.

Only the skins were left on the sleeping-bench in the hut. When everything else was ready, Koolee and the twins went up on top of the igloo.

They pulled the moss and dirt out of the chinks between the stones that made the roof, and then Koolee pulled up the stones themselves and let them fall over to one side. This left the roof open to the sky.

"What makes you do that?" Menie asked.

"So the sun and rain can clean house for us," said Koolee.

Everybody else in the village got ready in the same way.

At last Kesshoo came up from the beach and said to Koolee, "Let us have some meat and a sleep and then we will start. Everything is ready. The boats are packed and it looks as if the weather would be clear."

Koolee brought out some walrus meat and blubber for supper, though it might just as well be called breakfast, for there was no night coming, and the twins ate theirs sitting on the roof of the igloo with their feet hanging down inside.

Once Menie's feet kicked his father's head. It was an accident, but Kesshoo reached up and took hold of Menie's foot and pulled him down on to the sleeping-bench and rolled him over among the skins.

"Crawl in there and go to sleep," he said.

Monnie let herself down through the roof by her hands and crept in beside Menie. Then Kesshoo and Koolee wrapped themselves in the warm skins and lay down, too.

It took Menie and Monnie some time to go to sleep, for they could look straight up through the roof at the sky, and the sky was bright and blue with little white clouds sailing over it. Besides, they were thinking about the wonderful things that would happen when they should wake up.

 

Mother Goose  by Frederick Richardson

Hush-a-Bye

 

Fairy Tales Too Good To Miss—In the Meadow  by Lisa M. Ripperton

The Little Red Hen

NE DAY as the Little Red Hen was scratching in a field, she found a grain of wheat.

"This wheat should be planted," she said. "Who will plant this grain of wheat?"

        "Not I," said the Duck.

        "Not I," said the Cat.

        "Not I," said the Dog.

"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.

Soon the wheat grew to be tall and yellow.

"The wheat is ripe," said the Little Red Hen. "Who will cut the wheat?"

        "Not I," said the Duck.

        "Not I," said the Cat.

        "Not I," said the Dog.

"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.

When the wheat was cut, the Little Red Hen said, "Who will thresh this wheat?"

        "Not I," said the Duck.

        "Not I," said the Cat.

        "Not I," said the Dog.

"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.

When the wheat was all threshed, the Little Red Hen said, "Who'll take this wheat to the mill?"

        "Not I," said the Duck.

        "Not I," said the Cat.

        "Not I," said the Dog.

"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.

She took the wheat to the mill and had it ground into flour. Then she said, "Who will make this flour into bread?"

        "Not I," said the Duck.

        "Not I," said the Cat.

        "Not I," said the Dog.

"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.

She made and baked the bread. Then she said, "Who will eat this bread?"

        "Oh! I will," said the Duck.

        "And I will," said the Cat.

        "And I will," said the Dog.

"No, no!" said the Little Red Hen. "I will do that." And she did.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

A Little Man

There was a little man, and he had a little gun, And his bullets were made of lead, lead, lead; He went to the brook, and saw a little duck, And shot it right through the head, head, head. He carried it home to his old wife Joan, And bade her a fire to make, make, make. To roast the little duck he had shot in the brook, And he'd go and fetch the drake, drake, drake. The drake was a-swimming with his curly tail; The little man made it his mark, mark, mark. He let off his gun, but he fired too soon, And the drake flew away with a quack, quack, quack.

 

Among the Forest People  by Clara Dillingham Pierson

The Little Bat Who Wouldn't Go to Bed

"C OME," said Mamma Bat, flying toward her home in the cave, "it is time that you children went to bed. The eastern sky is growing bright, and I can see the fleecy clouds blush rosy red as the sun looks at them."

The little Bats flitted along after her, and Papa Bat came behind them. They had been flying through the starlit forest all night, chasing the many small insects that come out after the sun has gone down, and passing in and out of the tangled branches without ever touching one. Indeed, Mamma Bat would have been ashamed if children of hers flew against anything in the dark. There might be some excuse for such a mistake in the daytime, for Bats' eyes do not see well then, but in the night-time! She would have scolded them well, and they would have deserved it, for Bats have the most wonderful way of feeling things before they touch them, and there are no other people in the forest who can do that. There are no other people who can tell by the feeling of the air when something is near, and the Bats made much fun of their friend, the Screech Owl, once, when he flew against a tree and fell to the ground.

And now the night was over and their mother had called them to go home. One of the little Bats hung back with a very cross look on his face, and twice his father had to tell him to fly faster. He was thinking how he would like to see the forest in the daytime. He had never seen the sun rise, and he wanted to do that. He had never seen any of the day-birds or the animals that awaken in the morning. He thought it was pretty mean to make poor little Bats go off to bed the minute the stars began to fade. He didn't believe what his father and mother said, that he wouldn't have a good time if he did stay up. He had coaxed and coaxed and teased and teased, but it hadn't made a bit of difference. Every morning he had to fold his wings and go to sleep in a dark crack in the rock of the cave, hanging, head downward, close to the rest of the family. Their father said that there never was a better place to sleep than in this same crack, and it certainly was easy to catch on with the hooks at the lower ends of their wings when they hung themselves up for the day. But now he just wouldn't go to bed, so there!

"It is your turn next," said Mamma Bat to him, when the rest of the children had hung themselves up.

"I'm not going to bed," the little Bat answered.

"Not going to bed!" said his father. "Are you crazy?"

"No," said the little Bat, "I'm not." 

"I don't believe the child is well," said Mamma Bat. "He never acted like this before. I'm afraid he has overeaten." And she looked very anxious.

"I am  well, and I haven't eaten too much," said the little Bat. "I think you might let a fellow have some fun once in a while. I've never seen the sun in my life, and there are whole lots of birds and animals in the forest that I've only heard about."

Papa and Mamma Bat looked at each other without speaking.

"I won't  go to bed!" said the little Bat.

"Very well," said his father. "I shall not try to make you. Fly away at once and let us go to sleep."

After he had gone, Mamma Bat said, "I suppose you did right to let him go, but it seems too bad that children have to find out for themselves the trouble that comes from disobedience."

The little Bat flew away feeling very brave. He guessed he knew how to take care of himself, even in daylight. He felt sorry for his brothers who were in the cave, but he made up his mind that he would tell them all about it the next night.

The eastern sky grew brighter and brighter. It hurt his eyes to look at it, and he blinked and turned away. Then the song-birds awakened and began to sing. It was very interesting, but he thought they sang too loudly. The forest at night is a quiet place, and he didn't see the sense of shouting so, even if the sun were coming up. The night-birds never made such a fuss over the moon, and he guessed the moon was as good as the sun.

Somebody went scampering over the grass, kicking up his heels as he ran. "That must be a Rabbit," thought the little Bat. "The Screech Owl told me that Rabbits run in that way. I wish I could see him more plainly. I don't know what is the matter with my eyes."

Just then a sunbeam came slanting through the forest and fell on his furry coat as he clung to a branch. "Ow!" he cried. "Ow! How warm it is! I don't like that. The moonbeams do not feel so. I must fly to a shady corner." He started to fly. Just what was the matter, he never knew. It may have been because he couldn't see well, it may have been because he was getting very tired, or it may have been because the strangeness of it all was beginning to frighten him; but at all events, he went down, down, down until he found himself pitching and tumbling around in the grass.

A Crow had seen him fall, and cried loudly, "Come! Come! Come!" to his friends. The Rabbits, who were feeding near by, came scampering along, making great leaps in their haste to see what was the matter. The Goldfinches, the Robins, the Orioles, the Woodpeckers, and many other birds came fluttering up. Even a Blue Jay sat on a branch above the Bat and shrieked, "Jay! Jay! Jay!" to add to the excitement. And last of all, the Ground Hog appeared, coming slowly and with dignity, as a person who can remember his grandfather should do.

"What is the cause of all this commotion?" he asked. He might have said, "What is the matter?" and then they would have understood him at once, but he was too haughty for that. He thought he had to use big words once in a while to show that he could. If people didn't understand them, he was willing to explain what he meant.

"We've found such a queer bird, sir," said the biggest little Rabbit, without waiting to find out what a "commotion" was. "Just see him tumble around!"

"Bird? That is no bird," said a Woodpecker. "Look at his ears and his nose. He hasn't even a bill."

"Well, he flies," said the biggest little Rabbit, "because I saw him, so he must be a bird."

"Humph!" said a Chipmunk. "So does my cousin, the Flying Squirrel, in a way, yet he is no more bird than I am."

"And this fellow hasn't a feather to his skin!" cried an Oriole.

"I don't say that my son is right," said Papa Rabbit, "but this creature has wings." And he gave the Bat a poke that made him flutter wildly for a minute.

"Yes, but what kind of wings?" asked the Goldfinch. "A pair of skinny things that grow on to his legs and have hooks on both ends."

"He must be a very stupid fellow, at all events," said the Ground Hog. "He doesn't talk, or walk, or eat, or even fly well. He must come of a very common family. For my part, I am not interested in persons of that kind." And he walked away with his nose in the air.

Now the other forest people would have liked to watch the Bat longer, but after the Ground Hog had gone off in this way, they thought it would show too much curiosity if they stayed. So one after another went away, and the little Bat was left alone. He fluttered around until he reached the branch where the Blue Jay had been, and there he hung himself up to wait until night.

"Oh dear!" he said, "I wonder how long a day is. I am hot and blind and sleepy, and if any more of the forest people come and talk about me, I don't know what I shall do. They don't think me good-looking because my wings grow to my legs. I only wish I could see what they look like. I believe they are just  as homely."

And then, because he was a very tired little Bat, and cross, as people always are when they have done wrong, he began to blame somebody else for all his trouble.

"If my father and mother had cared very much about me," he said, "they would never have let me stay up all day. Guess if I were a big Bat and had little Bats of my own, I'd take better care of them!" But that is always the way, and when, long afterward, he was a big Bat with little Bats of his own, he was a much wiser person.

 

A Book of Nursery Rhymes  by Francis D. Bedford

School Over

 

Mother Stories  by Maud Lindsay

Mrs. Tabby Gray

MRS. TABBY GRAY, with her three little kittens, lived out in the barn where the hay was stored. One of the kittens was white, one was black, and one gray, just like her mother, who was called Tabby Gray from the color of her coat.

These three little kittens opened their eyes when they grew old enough, and thought there was nothing so nice in all this wonderful world as their own dear mother, although she told them of a great many nice things, like milk and bread, which they should have when they could go up to the big house where she had her breakfast, dinner, and supper.

Every time Mother Tabby came from the big house she had something pleasant to tell. "Bones for dinner to-day, my dears," she would say, or "I had a fine romp with a ball and the baby," until the kittens longed for the time when they could go too.

One day, however, Mother Cat walked in with joyful news.

"I have found an elegant new home for you," she said, "in a very large trunk where some old clothes are kept; and I think I had better move at once."

Then she picked up the small black kitten, without any more words, and walked right out of the barn with him.

The black kitten was astonished, but he blinked his eyes at the bright sunshine, and tried to see everything.

Out in the barnyard there was a great noise, for the white hen had laid an egg, and wanted everybody to know it; but Mother Cat hurried on, without stopping to inquire about it, and soon dropped the kitten into the large trunk. The clothes made such a soft, comfortable bed, and the kitten was so tired after his exciting trip, that he fell asleep, and Mrs. Tabby trotted off for another baby.

While she was away, the lady who owned the trunk came out in the hall; and when she saw that the trunk was open, she shut it, locked it, and put the key in her pocket, for she did not dream that there was anything so precious as a kitten inside.

As soon as the lady had gone upstairs Mrs. Tabby Gray came back, with the little white kitten; and when she found the trunk closed, she was terribly frightened. She put the white kitten down and sprang on top of the trunk and scratched with all her might, but scratching did no good. Then she jumped down and reached up to the keyhole, but that was too small for even a mouse to pass through, and the poor mother mewed pitifully.

What was she to do? She picked up the white kitten, and ran to the barn with it. Then she made haste to the house again, and went upstairs to the lady's room. The lady was playing with her baby and when Mother Cat saw this she rubbed against her skirts and cried: "Mee-ow, mee-ow! You have your baby, and I want mine! Mee-ow, mee-ow!"

By and by the lady said: "Poor Kitty! she must be hungry"; and she went down to the kitchen and poured sweet milk in a saucer, but the cat did not want milk. She wanted her baby kitten out of the big black trunk, and she mewed as plainly as she could: "Give me my baby—give me my baby, out of your big black trunk!"

The kind lady decided that she must be thirsty: "Poor Kitty, I will give you water"; but when she set the bowl of water down Mrs. Tabby Gray mewed more sorrowfully than before. She wanted no water,—she only wanted her dear baby kitten; and she ran to and fro, crying, until, at last, the lady followed her; and she led the way to the trunk.

The lady followed her; and she led the way to the trunk.

"What can be the matter with this cat?" said the lady; and she took the trunk key out of her pocket, put it in the lock, unlocked the trunk, raised the top—and in jumped Mother Cat with such a bound that the little black kitten waked up with a start.

"Purr, purr, my darling child," said Mrs. Tabby Gray, in great excitement; "I have had a dreadful fright!" and before the black kitten could ask one question she picked him up and started for the barn.

The sun was bright in the barnyard and the hens were still chattering there; but the black kitten was glad to get back to the barn. His mother was glad, too; for, as she nestled down in the hay with her three little kittens, she told them that a barn was the best place after all to raise children.

And she never afterwards changed her mind.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

Doctor Foster

Doctor Foster went to Glo'ster, In a shower of rain; He stepped in a puddle, up to his middle, And never went there again.

 

The Sandman: His Farm Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Maple-Sugar Story

NCE upon a time there was a farm-house, and it was painted white and had green blinds; and it stood not far from the road. In the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. And the wagons, going through, had made a track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field; and through the wheat-field to the maple-sugar woods.

One day, when the winter was almost over and it was beginning to get warmer, Uncle John got out the old oxen. And they came out and put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke; for the snow was not all melted, and enough was on the ground for the sled to go on.

Then he put on the sled his axe and Uncle Solomon's, and a lot of buckets and a lot of wooden spouts he had made, and the big saw. Then he put little John on the sled and said "Gee up there," and Uncle Solomon came too, and they walked along beside the sled. And the old oxen walked slowly along the track past the barn and past the orchard to the wide gate that led into the wheat-field, and there they stopped. And Uncle John took down the bars and the oxen went through the gate and across the wheat-field, and stopped at the wide gate on the other side of the field. Then Uncle John took down those bars and the old oxen started and walked through and along the little road in the maple-sugar woods until they came to a little house beside the road, and there they stopped.

Then Uncle John opened the door of the little house; and inside, it was about as big as a little room that a little boy sleeps in. And in one corner was a chimney, and in front of the chimney was a great enormous iron kettle, set up on a little low brick wall that was just like a part of the chimney turned along the ground. In the front was a hole in the low wall, so that wood could be put in, and at the back, under the kettle, there was a hole into the chimney, so that the smoke would go up the chimney and out at the top. And in one corner of the little house were some square iron pans.

Then Uncle John put two of the buckets down in the house, and the big saw; and he shut the door and the oxen started and walked along until they came where were some maple-sugar trees, and there they stopped. Then Uncle John and Uncle Solomon took their axes and went to the trees and they made little notches in the trees, low down, so that there was room to put a bucket under. And they drove a spout in each notch and put a bucket under each spout. And then they went to other trees and made a notch in each tree and drove in a spout and put a bucket under and so they did until they had used up all their buckets.

Then the old oxen walked along until they came to a pile of wood that was cut up all ready to burn; and there they stopped and Uncle Solomon and Uncle John put the wood on the sled. Then they said: "Gee up," and the oxen walked back to the little house, and they took the wood off the sled. And the wood was in great long sticks, too long to put in the place under the kettle. So Uncle John got the big saw from the little house and he and Uncle Solomon sawed the wood into small sticks and piled it up nicely.

Then they put the saw on the sled and shut the door of the little house and the old oxen started walking back along the little road, dragging the sled, with the saw and the axes and little John. And they went through the gate into the wheat-field and Uncle John put the bars back; and they went across the wheat-field and through the gate at the other side, and Uncle John put those bars back. And they walked along past the orchard and past the barn to the shed.

And Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled and took off the yoke, and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

The next morning, Uncle John and little John started along the little road, past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard; and they climbed over the bars into the wheat-field, and went through the wheat-field and climbed over the bars into the maple-sugar woods. Then they walked along until they came to the little house, and Uncle John opened the door of the house and took out the two buckets he had left there.

Then they went to some of the maple-sugar trees where they had put buckets the day before, and the sap was dripping slowly into the buckets—drip—drop—drip—drop—and the buckets were nearly half full. So Uncle John poured the sap from those buckets into the empty buckets and went along to some other trees and poured the sap from those buckets in with the other, and the buckets he carried were full. So he took them back to the little house and emptied them into the big kettle.

Then he went to other trees and filled the two buckets again with the sap that had dripped, and emptied that into the kettle. And so he did until he had taken all the sap that had dripped.

Then he put wood under the big kettle and lighted it, and the fire burned and the sap got hot and after a while it began to boil. And while it was boiling, Uncle John stirred the sap once in a while with a wooden stirring thing he had made. And when it had boiled a long time, he dipped out a little with the stirrer and went to the door and dropped it in the snow, so that when it got cool he could see whether it was boiled enough. But it wasn't done enough, and he let it boil longer, and then he dropped some more in the snow; and this time he thought it was about right for maple-syrup.

So he dipped sap out of the kettle into a keg that was in the little house, until the keg was full. And then he put the bung into the bung-hole and set the keg in the corner.

Then Uncle John put more wood on the fire and the sap boiled a long time. And at last he thought it was done enough for maple-sugar; and he dipped some out with the stirrer and went to the door and dropped it in the snow. And when it got cold, he saw that it was hard, and was just right for maple-sugar. So he took the little square pans that were in the corner of the house and he dipped the boiled sap from the kettle into the pans and set them in the snow outside. Then he let the fire go out, and when the sugar in the pans was hard, he brought it into the house, and shut the door and started along the little road, and little John after. They walked along through the maple-sugar woods and climbed the bars into the wheat-field, and walked across the wheat-field and climbed the bars at the other side, and walked along past the orchard and past the barn and past the shed to the kitchen door, and there they went in.

The next morning, Uncle John and little John went to the maple-sugar woods again, and Uncle John got some more sap and boiled it and made maple-syrup and maple-sugar. And so they did every day until they had taken all the sap that the trees ought to give.

Then Uncle John got out the old oxen and they put their heads down and he put the yoke over and the bows under, and he hooked the tongue of the sled to the yoke. Then he said "Gee up there," and the oxen started walking along past the barn and past the orchard, and Uncle John took down the bars at the wheat-field and they went through and across the field, and he took down the bars at the other side and they walked through and along the road in the maple-sugar woods until they came to the little house.

There they stopped, and Uncle John opened the door and put the kegs on the sled, and all the little squares of maple-sugar and all the buckets and all the spouts that he had pulled out of the trees. And he shut the door of the little house, and the oxen started and walked back along the road through the maple-sugar woods into the wheat-field, and Uncle John put up the bars. And they walked across the wheat-field and through the gate at the other side, and Uncle John put up those bars; and they walked along past the orchard and past the barn, and little John came after.

Then the old oxen dragged the sled to the place where they kept the things that were to go to market, and Uncle John took off the maple-syrup and the maple-sugar and put them in that place. But some of the maple-syrup and some of the maple-sugar he put in the cellar for themselves to use; for little Charles and little John and little Sam liked maple-sugar and they liked maple-syrup on bread. And there was enough maple-syrup and maple-sugar to last them a long time and a lot to go to market besides.

Then Uncle John unhooked the tongue of the sled from the yoke and put the sled in the shed; and he took off the yoke and the old oxen went into the barn and went to sleep.

And that's all.

 

Mother Goose  by Frederick Richardson

A Pig

 

The Nursery Book of Bible Stories  by Amy Steedman

Ruth, the Gleaner

A LONG the hot dusty road that led from the country of Moab to the fair land of Judah three women were walking with bowed heads and weary, halting steps. Their sorrowful, heavy eyes took no pleasure in the summer beauty of the harvest fields, the shimmering silver of the olive trees, and the rich promise of the vineyards which bordered their way. The whole world looked sad to them, seen through a mist of tears.

Ruth and Naomi

There behind them, in the land of Moab, each of these women had left green graves, which held all they loved best. Naomi, the eldest, was perhaps the most desolate. Her thoughts went back to the time when she was as young and fair as the two daughters-in-law who walked at her side—when, with her husband and her two boys, she had trod that very road, seeking a home in a strange country to escape the famine which threatened them in her own land. Now she was returning to her native town of Bethlehem a childless, lonely widow.

The younger women, who were the wives of those two dead sons, were very sorrowful too, but for them there might yet be happiness in the world. They still had near and dear relatives and many friends in Moab, which was their native land. They had come far enough now, and it was time for them to return.

"Turn again, my daughters," said Naomi, "and go your way."

Their homes lay behind, and she must journey on alone to the little hill town which she had not seen for so many long years. They had kindly come so far to see her on her way, but they must come no farther.

So the little party halted, and one of the young women, weeping bitterly, kissed her mother-in-law and turned to go back. But the other one, whose name was Ruth, clung to Naomi, and would not leave her.

In vain the elder woman urged her to return, and pointed out that Orpah had gone, that home and friends and happiness awaited her there, while in front was only poverty and loneliness. Ruth only clung the closer as she sobbed out her tender, loving words.

"Intreat me not to leave thee," she said, "or to return from following after thee: for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God. The Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught but death part thee and me."

The tender words brought comfort to the heart of Naomi, as soft rain brings refreshment to the hard, dry earth. After all, she was not quite alone; she still had some one to love and care for. So together they journeyed on again, and at last came to the winding road which led up to the town of Bethlehem, nestling like a white bird upon the long ridge of hills.

Naomi knew every step of the way. It seemed almost like a dream to tread once more that winding road, to pass through the city gates and find her way to the little house she knew so well. Although she had been gone so many years there were still people who remembered her, and these came running out to greet her.

"Is this Naomi?" they asked wonderingly.

They could scarcely believe that this sad, broken-down woman could be the pleasant-faced, happy girl who had gone away with her husband and boys in the year of the great famine. But as they listened to her story they did not wonder that she seemed so old and talked so bitterly. It made them look very kindly upon the beautiful girl who kept so close to her mother-in-law, who had given up everything rather than leave her alone.

Naomi had been quite right when she had told Ruth that poverty lay before them. She had come back quite empty-handed, and it was necessary to find some work at once which would at least provide them with daily bread. Ruth, looking out over the fields where already the barley was being cut, made up her mind to go and work there. The poor were always allowed to follow the reapers and glean the stray ears of corn that fell unnoticed. She might at least gather enough to feed her mother-in-law and herself.

Very happily, then, Ruth set out, and found her way into the harvest field, which belonged to a rich man called Boaz. The reapers treated her kindly when she timidly asked for permission to glean there, and when the master arrived to see how the harvest went, he too noticed her at once, for she was very beautiful.

"Whose damsel is this?" he asked.

There were many people ready to tell him her name, and also to tell him how she had left her land and her people to come with Naomi, her mother-in-law. The story had been repeated all through the town.

Boaz listened with interest. Naomi was his kinswoman, and it was only right that he should help her. He would begin by helping the sweet-faced daughter-in-law who had chanced to come gleaning upon his land. So he went and spoke very kindly to the beautiful Ruth, and told her to come every day to his harvest field and share the reapers' food, and he would see that no one troubled her. He even told the reapers to let some handfuls of corn fall in her way, on purpose, so that there might be plenty for her to glean.

So each day Ruth went back and worked in the harvest fields, and each day as Boaz watched her he grew to love the gentle, loving-hearted woman more and more. And when at last the harvest days were over, he went to Naomi and asked that Ruth might become his wife.

There was no more poverty or hard work now for Ruth or Naomi, no anxious days of wondering how long their flour and oil would last. Boaz was very rich, and nothing was too good for his fair young wife, whom he had first seen humbly gleaning in his harvest field.

Happiness, too, began to steal back into the life of Naomi. Winter and spring passed, and when harvest time came round once more, all the sorrow and bitterness faded from her heart, for God sent a little child to comfort her. A baby son was born to Ruth, and the whole world seemed full of sunshine and happiness as she laid him in his grandmother's arms, and the two loving hearts rejoiced in their happiness, just as they had clung together in their sorrow.

Of course, they dreamed many happy dreams over the little downy head, and planned a splendid future for the baby, as all mothers and grandmothers will do. But even their dreams never touched the golden reality, for they did not know that he was to be the grandfather of King David, that in this same little town of Bethlehem there was to be born of his line a greater King yet, the King of Heaven.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

Diddle Diddle Dumpling

Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John Went to bed with his breeches on, One stocking off, and one stocking on; Diddle diddle dumpling, my son John.