The Adventures of Reddy Fox  by Thornton Burgess

Old Granny Fox Makes a Mistake

O LD Granny Fox was running through the overgrown old pasture, way up back of Farmer Brown's. She was cross and tired and hot, for it was a very warm day. Behind her came Bowser the Hound, his nose in Granny's tracks, and making a great noise with his big voice. Granny Fox was cross because she was tired. She hadn't done much running lately. She didn't mind running when the weather was cold, but now—"Oh dear, it is hot!" sighed old Granny Fox, as she stopped a minute to rest.

Now old Granny Fox is very, very smart and very, very wise. She knows all the tricks with which foxes fool those who try to catch them. She knew that she could fool Bowser the Hound and puzzle him so that he wouldn't be able to follow her track at all. But she wasn't ready to do that yet. No, indeed! Old Granny Fox was taking great care to see that her tracks were easy to follow. She wanted Bowser the Hound to follow them, although it made her tired and hot and cross. Why did she? Well, you see, she was trying to lead him, and with him Farmer Brown's boy, far, far away from the home where Reddy Fox was nursing the wounds that he had received, when Farmer Brown's boy had shot at him a few days before.

"Bow, wow, wow!" roared Bowser the Hound, following every twist and turn which Granny Fox made, just as she wanted him to.

Back and forth across the old pasture and way up among the rocks on the edge of the mountain Granny Fox led Bowser the Hound. It was a long, long, long way from the Green Meadows and the Green Forest. Granny Fox had made it a long way purposely. She was willing to be tired herself if she could also tire Bowser the Hound and Farmer Brown's boy. She wanted to tire them so that when she finally puzzled and fooled them and left them there, they would be too tired to go back to the Green Meadows.

By and by Granny Fox came to a hole in the ground, an old house that had once belonged to her grandfather. Now this old house had a back door hidden close beside the hollow trunk of a fallen tree. Old Granny Fox just ran through the house, out the back door, through the hollow tree, and then jumped into a little brook where there was hardly more than enough water to wet her feet. Walking in the water, she left no scent in her tracks.

Bowser the Hound came roaring up to the front door of the old house. Granny's tracks led right inside, and Bowser grew so excited that he made a tremendous noise. At last he had found where Granny Fox lived; at least he thought he had. He was sure that she was inside, for there were her fresh tracks going inside and none coming out. Bowser the Hound never once thought of looking for a back door. If he had, he wouldn't have been any the wiser, because, you know, old Granny Fox had slipped away through the hollow tree trunk.

Granny Fox grinned as she listened to the terrible fuss Bowser was making. Then, when she had rested a little, she stole up on the hill where she could look down and see the entrance to the old deserted house. She watched Bowser digging and barking.

After a while a worried look crept into the face of old Granny Fox.

"Where's Farmer Brown's boy? I thought surely he would follow Bowser the Hound," she muttered.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

The Old Woman from France

There came an old woman from France Who taught grown-up children to dance; But they were so stiff, She sent them home in a sniff, This sprightly old woman from France.

 

The Japanese Twins  by Lucy Fitch Perkins

Morning in the Little House

O NE morning when Bot'Chan was just one month old, his big brother Taro woke up very early. The birds woke him. They were singing in the garden. "See, see, see," they sang. "Morning is here! Morning is here!" Taro heard them in his sleep. He turned over. Then he stretched his arms and legs and sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes.

The candle in the tall paper lamp beside his bed had burned almost out, but it was light enough so he could see that Take, in her bed across the room, was still asleep, with her head on her little cushion.

Taro called very softly, "Take, Take, wake up!" But Take slept so soundly she did not hear him.

Father and Mother and the Baby were all asleep in the next room. He did not want to wake them, because it was still so early in the morning. So he crept softly along the floor to Take's bed, and whispered in her ear, "Wake up, wake up!" But she didn't wake up. Then Taro took a jay's feather which he had found in the garden the day before, and tickled Take's nose!

First she rubbed her nose. Then she sneezed. Then she opened her eyes and looked at Taro.

"Sh-sh," whispered Taro.

"But I haven't said a single word!" Take whispered back.

"You sneezed, though," said Taro. "That's just as bad. It will wake up our honorable parents just the same."

"Well, you shouldn't tickle my poor little nose, then," said Take.

"Your honorable nose was tickled so that you would wake up and hear the birds sing," said Taro. "It is much nicer than sleeping! Besides, do you remember what is going to happen to-day? We are going to take Bot'Chan to the Temple!"

A temple is something like a church, only they do not do the same things in temples that we do in our churches.

The Twins loved to go to the Temple, because they had a very good time when they went there. They liked it as much as you like Thanksgiving Day and the Fourth of July.

When Take remembered that they were going to take Bot'Chan to the Temple, she clapped her little brown hands. "Oh, I'm so glad!" she said. Then she popped out from under the covers of her bed and stood up on the soft straw matting.

She was no sooner out of bed than from far away came the "Cling-cling-clang"  of a great gong. And then, "Tum-tum-t-y-y-rum"  rolled a great drum.

"Hark!" said Taro. "There go the Temple bells, and the priests are beating the sunrise drums! It's not so very early, after all."

"Now, you'll hear Grannie's stick rapping for the maids to get up," Take answered. "The Temple bells always wake her."

And at that very minute, "Rat-tat-tat"  sounded Grannie's stick on the woodwork of the room where the maids slept.

In the little house in the garden where the Twins lived, there are no thick walls. There are only pretty wooden screens covered with fine white paper. These screens slide back and forth in grooves, and when they are all shoved back at once the whole house is turned into one big, bright room. This is why the Twins had to be so careful not to make any noise. Even a tiny noise can be heard all through a house that has only paper walls, you see.

But every one is supposed to get up at sunrise in the little house in the garden, anyway.

The maids were stirring as soon as Grannie called them. They rolled back the shutters around the porch and made so much noise in doing it that Father and Mother woke up too.

Then the Twins didn't keep so quiet any more. "I'll beat you dressing," Take said to Taro.

She ran to the bathroom to wash her face and hands, and Taro ran to wash his in a little brass basin on the porch.

"Be sure you wash behind your ears, Taro," Take called to him. "And it's no fair unless you brush your teeth hard!"

Taro didn't say anything. His toothbrush was in his mouth, and there wasn't room for words too. So he just scrubbed away as hard as he could. Then he ran back to his room and dressed so quickly that he was all done and out in the garden before Take began to put on her little kimono! You see, all Taro's clothes opened in front, and there wasn't a single button to do up; so he could do it all himself—all but the sash which tied round his waist and held everything together. Take always tied this for him.

When Take came out into the garden she had her sash in her hand. Taro had his in his hand.

"I beat!" Taro called to her.

"You haven't got your sash on yet," Take called back.

"You haven't either," said Taro.

"We both of us didn't beat then," said Take. "Come here and I'll tie yours for you."

Taro backed up to Take, and she tied his sash in a twinkling.

Then she held up her sash. "Now, you tie mine for me, Taro," she said.

"Wait until Mother can help you," said Taro. "Boys shouldn't do girls' work."

"Oh, please, Taro," said Take. "I tied yours for you. I don't see why you can't tie mine for me!"

"Well, you know what Father said," Taro answered. "He said you are a girl and must mind me. You get Mother to do it."

"He said you should be kind and noble, too," said Take. "It would be kind and noble of you to tie my sash, because I'm just suffering to have it tied." She looked at him sidewise. "Please do," she said.

Taro thought it over. Then he said, "Well, come behind the lantern, and just this once I'll do it. But don't you tell, and don't you ask me to again."

"Cross my heart, Taro," Take promised. "I won't tell. You are a good, kind boy."

Taro tied the sash the best he could, but it looked very queer. It looked so queer that when, after a while, their Mother saw it she said, "Come here, my child; your sash is tied upside down! But I know it is hard to reach behind you. I must teach you how to make a nice big bow all by yourself." And Take never told her that Taro did it. No one ever knew it until this minute!

When they were all dressed, the Twins ran out into the garden.

There had been a shower in the night, and the leaves were all shiny, they had been washed so clean by the rain. The dew sparkled on the green iris leaves beside the tiny river, and the sunshine made the fish look like lumps of living gold in the blue waters of the little lake. The birds were singing in the wistaria vine that grew over the porch, and two doves were cooing on the old stone lantern that stood by the little lake. They were Taro's pet doves.

Taro held out his fingers. "I haven't forgotten to bring you something," he called.

The doves flew down and lit upon his shoulders. Taro took a few rice kernels from the sleeve of his kimono—which he used as a pocket—and fed the birds from his hand. They were so tame they even picked some from his lips.

"I will feed the fish too," Take said. And she ran to the kitchen where the maids were preparing breakfast. She came back with some white rice wafers in her fingers. First she threw some tiny bits of the wafer into the water. The fish saw them and came to the surface. Then Take reached down and held the wafer in her fingers. The little fish came all about her hand and nibbled the wafer without fear. One of them even nibbled her finger!

Take laughed. "Mind your manners," she said to the little fish. "It's not polite to try to eat me up when I'm feeding you! I'm not your breakfast, anyway!"

Just then they heard the tinkling sound of a little gong.

"Ting—ting—ting!"  sang Take to the sound of the gong. "Breakfast is ready." And she danced up the gravel walk to the house, her hair bobbing up and down, and her sash flying in the wind, so that she looked like a big blue butterfly.

Taro came too, and they sat down on mats in the kitchen, to eat their breakfast.

Their Mother was already serving their Father's breakfast to him in the next room. By and by she and Grandmother would have their breakfast with the servants.

This is a picture of the Twins eating their breakfast.

They each had a tiny table of red lacquered wood. On each table were two bowls. In one bowl was soup, and in the other rice.

Taro took up his soup-bowl with both hands. He was in a hurry.

"Oh, Taro!" Take said. "What would Mother say! You must be more polite. You know  that isn't the way to hold your bowl."

Taro set his bowl down again, and took it up carefully with one hand, just as you see him in the picture.

Take began to eat her rice. She had two little sticks in her right hand. She used these sticks instead of a fork or spoon.

But Take was in a hurry too. She spilled a little rice on the front of her kimono.

Taro saw it. "You're just as impolite as I am," he said. "It's just as bad to spill as it is to hold your bowl wrong."

"Oh, dear me! Then we're both impolite," said Take. "What would Mother say!"

"She'd be ashamed of us," said Taro.

"Let's see if we can't remember every single one of our manners after this," said Take.

Just as they were finishing their rice there came the sound of steps—Clumpity—clumpity-clump! 

"Who's coming?" said Taro.

"I think it's the hairdresser," Take answered.

She ran out to see. An old woman was on the porch. She had just slipped off her clogs.

In Japan no one thinks of such a thing as wearing street shoes in the house. It would bring in dirt and soil the pretty white mats. That was why she took them off.

Take bowed to the old woman. "Oha-yo?" she said politely.

"Oha-yo?" said the old woman to Take.

The Twins' Mother heard them. She came to the door. She bowed to the old woman, and the old woman bowed to her.

"Come in," said the Mother. "I hope you will make my hair look very nice today, because we are going to the Temple."

The old woman smiled. "I will make it shine like satin," she said.

The Mother got out her little mirror and sat down on the floor. The hairdresser stood behind her and began to take down the Mother's long black hair.

Bot'Chan had been awake a long time. Taro was playing with him on the floor.

The Mother called Take. "Daughter," she said, "a little nap would make our baby wide awake and happy when we start for the Temple. Would you like to put him to sleep?"

Take loved to put Bot'Chan to sleep better than anything else in the world. She took him in her arms and hugged him close. Then she swayed back and forth, and sang this little song:

"How big and beautiful Sir Baby Boy is growing. "When he becomes a good boy, too, Then I will make our garden larger, And build a little treasure house for him. Next to the treasure-house I will plant pine trees. Next to the pine trees I will plant bamboo. Next to the bamboo I will plant plum trees. To the branches of the plum trees shall be hung little bells! When those little bells ring, O Sir Baby Boy, how happy you will be!

She sang over and over, and softer and softer, about the little bells; and by the time the hairdresser had finished the Mother's hair and gone away, Bot'Chan was fast asleep.

Then Natsu put him down on some soft mats, and combed Take's hair.

Take stood still, like a brave little girl, though there were three snarls in it, and Natsu pulled dreadfully!

When every one was ready to go, they looked very splendid indeed. They all wore kimonos of the finest silk, with the family crest embroidered on the back and left sleeve. And Bot'Chan had new clothes that Grannie and Mother had made especially for him to wear on his first visit to the Temple.

When everybody else was dressed and ready, Natsu waked Bot'Chan and put his new clothes on him.

"Now, we can start," said the Mother.

She took Bot'Chan in her arms. Natsu slid open the door, and they all stepped out on the porch.

 

Mother Goose  by Frederick Richardson

About the Bush

 

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

Little Red Riding-Hood

O NCE upon a time there was a little girl who lived in a village near a forest, and she was such a nice little girl that every one was very fond of her. When she went anywhere she always wore a little red riding-hood her grandmother had given her, and so people called her "Little Red Riding-Hood."

One day her mother, who had just made some custards, said to her, "My dear, you shall go and see how your grandmother is; and you may take her a custard and a little cake of butter. I will put them in a basket that you can carry on your arm."

Little Red Riding-Hood was soon on the way to her grandmother's cottage, which was in the forest, a half hour's walk from the village. But she had not gone far into the woods when she met a wolf.

"Good day, little girl," said the wolf.

He was very polite, though at the same time he was wishing he could eat her; and that is what he would have done had he not been afraid of some wood-cutters who were at work near by.

"Where are you going, my pretty little lady?" he asked.

"I am going to see my grandmother," she replied, "and I am taking her a custard and a cake of butter from my mother."

"And where does she live?" the wolf inquired.

"Oh," said Little Red Riding-Hood, "you keep right along this road, and she lives in the first house."

"Well, good by," said the wolf. "I'm going to be passing your grandmother's and I will stop and tell her you are coming to see her."

Then the wolf ran on, and when he arrived at the grandmother's house he went to the door and knocked—tap, tap!

He got no answer, and he knocked louder—slam, slam!

But still there was no response, and after a minute he stood on his hind legs and reached up one of his forepaws to the latch and opened the door. He found not a soul in the house; for the grandmother had gone to market in the town. She had started early and had left her bed unmade and her nightcap lying on the pillow.

"I know what I'll do," said the wolf; and after shutting the door he put the grandmother's nightcap on his head and lay down in the bed and drew the covers up over himself.

Meanwhile Little Red Riding-Hood was coming along the forest road. She did not hurry. Sometimes she stopped to pick flowers, and sometimes she paused to hear the birds singing among the trees. But presently she reached her grandmother's cottage and knocked at the door—tap, tap!

"Who is there?" asked the wolf, softening his rough voice as much as he could.

"It's me, Granny—your Little Red Riding-Hood," she replied; and then she said, "Are you sick, Granny? Your voice is very hoarse."

"I have a cold," answered the wolf, "and I am not feeling well enough to get up to-day. You can press your finger on the latch and come in."

So Little Red Riding-Hood pressed her finger on the latch and opened the door and went in. "I have brought you a custard, dear Granny," said she, "and a cake of butter from my mama, and some flowers that I picked in the forest."

"You can put your basket on the table and take off your hood," said the wolf.

Little Red Riding-Hood put the basket on the table, and after she had taken off her hood she went to the bedside. "Oh, Grandmama, Grandmama," said she, "what hairy arms you have!"

"All the better to hug you with, my dear," the wolf replied.

"And oh, Grandmama, what great ears you have!" said Little Red Riding-Hood.

"All the better to hear you with, my dear," the wolf replied.

"And oh, Grandmama, what great eyes you have!" said Little Red Riding-Hood.

"All the better to see you with, my dear," the wolf replied.

"And oh, Grandmama, what a long nose you have!" said Little Red Riding-Hood.

"All the better to smell the sweet flowers you have brought me," the wolf replied.

"And oh, Grandmama, what great white teeth you have!" said Little Red Riding-Hood.

"All the better to gobble you up with!" cried the wicked wolf, and he leaped from the bed toward Little Red Riding-Hood with his mouth wide open.

But while the wolf and the little girl had been talking the grandmother had come home from market. She looked in at the door and saw the wolf in her bed, and then she ran to the woodpile in the yard and got an ax. Just as the wolf sprang toward Little Red Riding-Hood the grandmother rushed in at the door with the ax and gave the wolf such a blow that it killed him, and Little Red Riding-Hood was not harmed at all.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

Teeth and Gums

Thirty white horses upon a red hill, Now they tramp, now they champ, now they stand still.

 

Among the Meadow People  by Clara Dillingham Pierson

The Cheerful Harvestmen

S OME of the meadow people are gay and careless, and some are always worrying. Some work hard every day, and some are exceedingly lazy. There, as everywhere else, each has his own way of thinking about things. It is too bad that they cannot all learn to think brave and cheerful thoughts, for these make life happy. One may have a comfortable home, kind neighbors, and plenty to eat, yet if he is in the habit of thinking disagreeable thoughts, not even all these good things can make him happy. Now there was the young Frog who thought herself sick—but that is another story.

Perhaps the Harvestmen were the most cheerful of all the meadow people. The old Tree Frog used to say that it made him feel better just to see their knees coming toward him. Of course, when he saw their knees, he knew that the whole insect was also coming. He spoke in that way because the Harvestmen always walked or ran with their knees so much above the rest of their bodies that one could see those first.

The Harvestmen were not particularly fine-looking, not nearly so handsome as some of their Spider cousins. One never thought of that, however. They had such an easy way of moving around on their eight legs, each of which had a great many joints. It is the joints, or bending-places, you know, which make legs useful. Besides being graceful, they had very pleasant manners. When a Harvestman said "Good-morning" to you on a rainy day, you always had a feeling that the sun was shining. It might be that the drops were even then falling into your face, but for a moment you were sure to feel that everything was bright and warm and comfortable.

Sometimes the careless young Grasshoppers and Crickets called the Harvestmen by their nicknames, "Daddy Long-Legs" or "Grandfather Graybeard." Even then the Harvestmen were good-natured, and only said with a smile that the young people had not yet learned the names of their neighbors. The Grasshoppers never seemed to think how queer it was to call a young Harvestman daughter "Grandfather Graybeard." When they saw how good-natured they were, the Grasshoppers soon stopped trying to tease the Harvestmen. People who are really good-natured are never teased very long, you know.

The Walking-Sticks were exceedingly polite to the Harvestmen. They thought them very slender and genteel-looking. Once the Five-Legged Walking-Stick said to the largest Harvestmen, "Why do you talk so much with the common people in the meadow?"

The Harvestman knew exactly what the Walking-Stick meant, but he was not going to let anybody make fun of his kind and friendly neighbors, so he said: "I think we Harvestmen are rather common ourselves. There are a great, great many of us here. It must be very lonely to be uncommon."

After that the Walking-Stick had nothing more to say. He never felt quite sure whether the Harvestman was too stupid to understand or too wise to gossip. Once he thought he saw the Harvestman's eyes twinkle. The Harvestman didn't care if people thought him stupid. He knew that he was not stupid, and he would rather seem dull than to listen while unkind things were said about his neighbors.

Some people would have thought it very hard luck to be Harvestmen. The Garter Snake said that if he were one, he should be worried all the time about his legs. "I'm thankful I haven't any," he said, "for if I had I should be forever thinking I should lose some of them. A Harvestman without legs would be badly off. He could never in the world crawl around on his belly as I do."

How the Harvestmen did laugh when they heard this! The biggest one said, "Well, if that isn't just like some people! Never want to have anything for fear they'll lose it. I wonder if he worries about his head? He might lose that, you know, and then what would he do?"

It was only the next day that the largest Harvestman came home on seven legs. His friends all cried out, "Oh, how did it ever happen?"

"Cows," said he.

"Did they step on you?" asked the Five-Legged Walking-Stick. He had not lived long enough in the meadow to understand all that the Harvestman meant. He was sorry for him, though, for he knew what it was to lose a leg.

"Huh!" said a Grasshopper, interrupting in a very rude way, "aren't any Cows in this meadow now!"

Then the other Harvestmen told the Walking-Stick all about it, how sometimes a boy would come to the meadow, catch a Harvestman, hold him up by one leg, and say to him, "Grandfather Graybeard, tell me where the Cows are, or I'll kill you." Then the only thing a Harvestman could do was to struggle and wriggle himself free, and he often broke off a leg in doing so.

"How terrible!" said the three Walking-Sticks all together. "But why don't you tell them?"

"We do," answered the Harvestmen. "We point with our seven other legs, and we point every way there is. Sometimes we don't know where they are, so we point everywhere, to be sure. But it doesn't make any difference. Our legs drop off just the same."

"Isn't a boy clever enough to find Cows alone?" asked the Walking-Sticks.

"Oh, it isn't that," cried all the meadow people together. "Even after you tell, and sometimes when the Cows are right there, they walk off home without them."

"I'd sting them," said a Wasp, waving his feelers fiercely and raising and lowering his wings. "I'd sting them as hard as I could."

"You wouldn't if you had no sting," said the Tree Frog.

"N-no," stammered the Wasp, "I suppose I wouldn't."

"You poor creature!" said the biggest Katydid to the biggest Harvestman. "What will you do? Only seven legs!"

"Do?" answered the biggest Harvestman, and it was then one could see how truly brave and cheerful he was. "Do? I'll walk on those seven. If I lose one of them I'll walk on six, and if I lose one of them I'll walk on five. Haven't I my mouth and my stomach and my eyes and my two feelers, and my two food-pincers? I may not be so good-looking, but I am a Harvestman, and I shall enjoy the grass and the sunshine and my kind neighbors as long as I live. I must leave you now. Good-day."

He walked off rather awkwardly, for he had not yet learned to manage himself since his accident. The meadow people looked after him very thoughtfully. They were not noticing his awkwardness, or thinking of his high knees or of his little low body. Perhaps they thought what the Cicada said, "Ah, that is the way to live!"

 

A Book of Nursery Rhymes  by Francis D. Bedford

Little Boy Blue

 

More Mother Stories  by Maud Lindsay

Out of the Nest

Once upon a time a mother-bird and father-bird built a nest in a tree.

It was made of straw and leaves and all sorts of wonderful things, and even had lace trimmings on it.

Soon after the nest was finished, the mother-bird put two eggs in it, and then she and father-bird thought of nothing but keeping those eggs safe and warm.

Mother-bird sat upon them day and night; and even when father-bird would say, "You really must fly about a little and let me take care of the eggs," she did not like to leave them.

After a while two little birds came out of the shells,—which was just what she had been hoping for all the long time. The baby-birds were both so weak and small that they could do nothing at all for themselves but open their mouths very wide and call "Peep, peep! mother dear, peep!" Mother-bird and father-bird were busy all day getting them something to eat.

By and by, they began to grow; and then they had soft feather clothes to wear, which are the best clothes in the world for baby-birds.

Mother-bird said to them one day: "You are almost ready to learn to fly"; and then they felt very large.

That same day, mother-bird and father-bird flew away together to get something for dinner; and while they were gone the little birds heard a very queer noise which seemed to come from a pond near their tree. This is the way it sounded: "Kerchunk! Kerchunk!"

"Oh! what can it be?" said the sister-bird.

"I'll peep over the side of the nest and see," said her brother.

But when he put his head out he could see nothing, although he heard the sound very plainly: "Kerchunk! Kerchunk!" Then he leaned out a little farther and a little farther, till his head was dizzy. "Peep, peep! You'll fall!" cried the sister-bird; and, sure enough, she had scarcely said it before he tumbled out of the nest, down, down to the ground!

He was not hurt, but oh, how frightened he was! "Peep, peep! mother dear, peep!" he cried.

"Peep!" cried the sister-bird up in the nest; but the mother and father were too far away to hear their calls.

The brother-bird hopped about on the ground and looked around him. He was near the pond now, and the sound was very loud: "Kerchunk! Kerchunk! Kerchunk!"

"Peep, peep, peep!" called the birdie; and in a moment up hopped a big frog.

This was an old school-teacher frog, and he had been teaching all the little frogs to sing.

He hopped right up to the brother-bird. "Kerchunk! Kerchunk!" said he. "How can I teach my frogs to sing when you are making such a noise?"

"Peep, peep! I want my mama," said the baby-bird.

Then the big frog saw how young the birdie was, and he was sorry for him. "Come with me," he said, "and I will teach you to sing."

But the baby-bird only cried louder than ever at this, and a mother-dove, who was singing her babies to sleep in a neighboring tree, flew down to see what could be the matter.

"I can't begin to get my children to sleep in all this fuss," she said to the frog; but when she saw the little bird she was just as sorry as the frog had been.

"Poor, dear baby," she cried; "I will fly right off and find your mama for you." So she told her children to be good and quiet, and then away she flew.

Before long she met the father and mother and they all came back in a great hurry.

Then they tried to get the baby-bird into the nest again.

"He's entirely too young to be out of the nest," cried his mother, "and he must get in again at once."

"Spread your wings and fly as I do," said the father-bird.

So the baby-bird spread his wings and tried to fly; but try as he would he could not reach the nest in the tree.

"Put him into my school and I will teach him to swim," said the frog; "that is better than flying, and a great deal easier to learn, I am sure."

This was so kind in the frog that the mother-bird thanked him; but she said that she had to be very careful with her children, and that she was afraid the water might give the little bird a cold.

While they were talking, they heard somebody coming along, whistling the jolliest tune!

"Dear me! Dear me!" cried the birds. "There comes a boy!"

"He's apt to have stones in his pocket," said the frog.

"He will carry my darling off and put him in a cage! Oh, fly! fly!" begged the mother-bird. But before the baby-bird even had time to say "peep!" the boy came in sight.

Then the father-bird flew over the boy's head and the mother-bird down in front of him. The frog croaked and the dove cooed, but none of them could hide the little bird from him.

"If you hurt him I'll peck your eyes out!" cried the poor mother, who hardly knew what she was saying; but the boy picked the little bird up, just as if he did not hear her.

"Oh! what shall I do!" cried the mother-bird.

Then the boy looked at her and at the baby-bird and up in the tree where the nest was.

"Coo, coo, coo! I think I know what he's going to do," said the dove.

"There's no telling," croaked the frog; and they all watched and wondered while the boy put the bird in his pocket and began to climb the tree.

He swung himself from branch to branch, climbing higher all the time, until at last he reached the pretty nest where the sister-bird waited for her mama to come home.

Mother-bird and father-bird flew to the top of the tree to watch the boy.

"Suppose he should take her, too," said the mother-bird. But what do you  think he did?—Yes, indeed! He put the brother-bird back in the nest, as well as the mother-bird could have done it herself.

He put the brother‑bird back in the nest.

"Thank you! Thank you!" sang the mother and father, as the boy scrambled down again.

"Peep, peep! Thank you!" called the little birds from the nest.

"Coo, coo! I knew," cried the dove.

"Kerchunk! Kerchunk! I should like to have him in my school," said the frog as he hopped away to his pond.

And that is the end of my story.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

The Robins

A robin and a robin's son Once went to town to buy a bun. They couldn't decide on plum or plain, And so they went back home again.

 

The Sandman: His Farm Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Buying-Farm 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. And in the fence was a wide gate to let the wagons through to the barn. The farm wasn't Uncle Solomon's then, but it belonged to the man that had built the farm-house, and that man had built the barn first and then the house. And he had cut down the trees and made the fields smooth and nice where the different things were to grow. And when he had lived there a good many years, he was tired of being there, and he wanted to go somewhere else.

Captain Solomon had sailed on the great ocean a great many years, and he was tired of being a sailor, and thought he would like to have a farm; and besides, he was afraid that if he kept on being a sailor, his little boys would want to be sailors, too, and he didn't want them to be. There were three boys, Uncle John and his two brothers; and when they got big enough, Uncle John's brothers ran away and were sailors. For they didn't like to be on a farm. But Uncle John stayed on the farm after Uncle Solomon bought it.

So one day Captain Solomon came to the farm and he found the man that had got it all ready and had built the house. And the man showed Captain Solomon all the fields where the things were growing, and the orchard and the maple-sugar woods and the barn and the house. And Captain Solomon liked the farm. So he paid the man some money, and the man gave the farm to Uncle Solomon. For after he had bought the farm, the people all called Captain Solomon Uncle Solomon. Then the man took all his beds and chairs and tables and the other things from the house, and he moved them away to another place.

Then Uncle Solomon put all his things in great wagons, and it took a long time to move them to the farm, for Uncle Solomon had lived in Wellfleet, a town that is on the shore of the great ocean, and the farm was a long way from that town, and it was not on the shore of the ocean. They didn't have railroads then, and all the things had to be dragged in the wagons.

But at last the wagons came to the farm, and Uncle Solomon took all the things out of the wagons and put them in the house. He put the wagons in the shed and the horses in the barn. That was a very long time ago, more than one hundred years.

When all the things were put in the house, Uncle Solomon bought some cows and the things he needed to do farm work with. Then he began to do all the things that have to be done on a farm, the things that the other stories tell about.

And that's all.

 

The Sandman: More Farm Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Pasture 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 little track that led up past the kitchen door and past the shed and past the barn and past the orchard to the wheat-field.

One afternoon Uncle John found little John playing about near the kitchen door, and he said, "John, I want you to go to the big pasture and get the horse." That was before a rail-fence was put across the big pasture, and one of the horses was in that pasture, that day, to eat the grass.

And little John said, "All right, I will. And father, will you let me ride him home?"

Uncle John thought that would be all right, so he said little John might ride the horse home from the pasture, but that he mustn't ride him anywhere else.

So little John started running to the barn. He went to the stall that horse belonged in, and there was the horse's name, Joe, painted on the side of the stall. It wasn't very well painted, but it was good enough. And the harness and the halter were hanging on a peg at the end of the stall. They were too high for little John to reach, so he got a stick, and knocked the halter off the peg. The halter was a kind of a loose bridle that the horse wore when he was in the stall. It didn't have any bit, but only a loose strap that went around his nose and another that went behind his ears and buckled under his neck. And a rope was fastened to the strap that went around his nose, and they tied the horse to anything by the other end of the rope.

When little John had the halter, he went over to the feed box, where they kept the oats and the meal and the bran, and he found a middle-sized measure. And in this measure he put some oats, but only a little. Then he ran out of the wide door and down the little track, past the shed and past the kitchen door and out the wide gate into the road, and along the road until he came to the big pasture. And in one hand he had the halter, and in the other hand he had the measure with the oats.

When he got to the bars, there was the horse, waiting at the bars, to go home. But little John was sorry to see the horse waiting there, because he thought it would be a very short ride home. So he thought for a minute, and then he cried out, "Get along, Joe!" And he shooed Joe away from the bars. Joe didn't know what to make of that, so he went a little way and then stopped, to see what he ought to do next. And besides, he saw the measure of oats, and he wanted some.

Then little John let down the bars at one end, and he went in and shooed Joe farther away and made him go far off to the farthest corner of the field that there was, and that was pretty far, because it was a very big field. Joe wasn't the horse that chased him, so little John wasn't afraid of him.

When Joe had gone as far as he could, he stood in the corner, beside the stone wall, and he bent his ears forward and stretched his head out to get the oats. And little John put the measure of oats on the top of the wall, on a flat stone, and then, while Joe was eating the oats, he put the halter over Joe's nose, and pulled it up and put the strap behind his ears and buckled it under his neck. Little John had to stand up on the wall to do that, because he wasn't tall enough to do it while he stood on the ground.

When little John had the halter all buckled on, he put the rope over Joe's neck and tied the end to the other side of the loose strap that went around the horse's nose. Then he got on Joe's back, and he reached down and took the measure and held it in front of him, and he said, "Get up, Joe."

Then Joe started walking along over the field, and little John held on to the rope, that was just the same as reins, because it was fastened at both ends. And walking wasn't fast enough for little John, so he kicked his heels on Joe's sides, and Joe started to trot. That made little John bob up and down very much, because he hadn't any saddle nor any stirrups. So he held on tightly by the rope, and his elbows stuck out straight and waved up and down at every step, and his feet stuck out almost straight, and he had hard work to keep the measure from falling off. It wasn't very comfortable, but little John thought it was great fun.

When they came to the bars, Joe stopped trotting and stepped very carefully over the bars, so that little John shouldn't fall off, and then little John said "Whoa," and Joe stood still. Then little John got down. He had to just slide down, because there wasn't any other way. And he kept hold of the halter and put the bars up in the holes. Then he climbed up on the bars and got on Joe's back again, and Joe didn't wait for him to say anything, but he started right off.

So Joe trotted along the road and came to the farm-house, and he went in at the wide gate and up the little track, past the kitchen door and past the shed, and in at the wide door of the barn. And he didn't stop, but he walked right into his own stall and looked around at little John.

Then little John slid down off his back, and Joe held his head down while little John untied the end of the rope from the halter and tied it to a ring in the front of the manger. Then Joe moved over to one side of the stall, so that little John could go out. And little John put the measure back where it belonged and ran out of the barn.

After that, when little John went to the pasture, to get Joe, Joe saw him coming and ran as fast as he could over to the farthest corner of the big field. And he always waited there for little John to come and get on his back.

And that's all.

 

Mother Goose  by Frederick Richardson

The Tarts

 

The Nursery Book of Bible Stories  by Amy Steedman

Elijah, the Hungry Prophet

T HERE was a great famine in all the land, the famine which God had sent to punish King Ahab and the people for their wickedness. Month after month went by, and not a drop of rain fell, not a cloud hid the burning sun by day, no dew softened the dry parched earth by night. The grass was burned up, there was not a green blade to be seen in all the fields, no growing plant anywhere.

Elijah the prophet stood by the side of the little brook Cherith, and saw that the bed of the stream was dry; not a trickle of water ran over the stones now. For three years he had lived there in hiding, after warning King Ahab that the famine was coming. He had been kept alive all that time by the little silver brook and the food which God had sent him by strange messengers. No white-robed angels came to feed him; but instead, every morning and every evening, he heard the flutter of wings, and there flew down to him great black ravens carrying in their beaks bread and meat for his morning and evening meals.

Elijah and the Ravens

But now the stream was dry and the ravens were dead. There was nothing left to eat or drink, and the rain would not come yet for many months. Still, Elijah was not greatly troubled. He was hungry, but he knew that God, whom he faithfully served, would feed him in some way. Standing there by the dried-up brook, he waited, and in the stillness God's message came to him, and bade him go to a certain town where there was some one ready to feed him and take care of him.

Through the desolate burnt-up country Elijah journeyed, and when he reached the city to which God had directed him, he found hunger and misery everywhere. Still he went on, until he saw a poor widow woman, who with weary, bent back was stooping to gather a handful of dried sticks outside her little house. She lifted her head in surprise as Elijah spoke to her.

"Fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink," he said.

Surely he must know how precious every drop of water was now. How could the stranger calmly ask for a drink? Still, he looked very weary and travel worn, and she thought she might spare him a little water.

She turned to fetch the water, and again she heard his voice.

"Bring me, I pray thee, a morsel of bread in thine hand."

Why, he spoke as if she had only to stretch out her hand and take bread from her cupboard. "A morsel of bread"—when she was starving for want of food, she and her little son, waiting there indoors now for the last meal they expected to eat. There was but a handful of flour in the barrel, a few drops of oil in her cruse, and she had gathered the sticks to make a fire and bake a little cake. After that there was nothing to do but die of hunger.

"As the Lord thy God liveth, I have not a cake," she said, gazing at the stranger. She saw now that he was a prophet. But how could she feed him? She could only explain that there was nothing in the house but the handful of meal and the few drops of oil.

"Fear not," came Elijah's answer; "go and do as thou hast said: but make me thereof a little cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for thee and for thy son. For thus saith the Lord God of Israel, The barrel of meal shall not waste, neither shall the cruse of oil fail, until the day that the Lord sendeth rain upon the earth."

Elijah at Horeb

Was this man indeed a prophet? Did he truly bring a message from God? At any rate, she would do as he asked; and the woman hurried into the house, and with trembling hands she mixed and baked the little cake for the waiting stranger. Then she went again to look into the empty barrel. But there, at the bottom, was still a handful of meal, and in the cruse there was just as much oil as there had been before.

No fear of famine need haunt her now. There was always enough for her and her little son and the man of God who had come to lodge with her, and who slept in the loft under the roof. Every time she went to the barrel she found the meal there, and her heart was filled with thankfulness that she had not been greedy and selfish, but willing to share all she had with some one else who was also hungry. And it was not only food which she received as a reward from God, but later on also the life of her little son, in answer to His servant's prayer.

Not very long after this God sent once more the blessed rain to water the earth, and all the country rejoiced in peace and plenty. Only for Elijah there was no peace. The wicked people hated him, because he told them of their faults and of God's anger. They hunted him like a wild beast, and again he had to hide himself amongst the rocks and caves of the wilderness. Weary and disheartened, he lay there, and he almost began to lose his faith in God's care. He had been a failure, he thought; he did not want to live any longer. He forgot how God had fed him by those ravens; how he had been kept alive by the miracle of the widow's barrel of meal and cruse of oil. He was weary and hungry alone there in the wilderness, where he had crawled under the shelter of a juniper tree, and he only asked to die.

"O God, take away my life," he prayed, as he wearily closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Suddenly there was a light touch on his arm, and Elijah awoke. Was he dreaming, he wondered, or had his enemies tracked him out? He looked round, scarcely caring, and there at his side stood an angel.

"Arise and eat," said the shining messenger. He looked around bewildered, and there close by he saw a cake and a bottle of water. God had again sent to feed His hungry servant. He was too dazed to think; he could only stretch out his hand for the food, and, when he had eaten it, fall asleep once more.

Again came the touch, and again the angel pointed to another meal prepared for him, and afterwards in the silence God spoke to him, and put fresh courage into his heart.

So Elijah was strengthened once more to go on and finish the work God had set him to do, and when the end came it was no weary, disheartened man whom God called home. It was victory and not failure which wrapped him round as God's fiery chariot bore him upwards, never to know pain or hunger, sickness or sorrow again.

 

The Real Mother Goose  by Blanche Fisher Wright

The Old Man

There was an old man In a velvet coat, He kissed a maid And gave her a groat. The groat it was crack'd And would not go,— Ah, old man, do you serve me so?