The Wonderful Wizard of Oz  by L. Frank Baum

The Cyclone

DOROTHY lived in the midst of the great Kansas prairies, with Uncle Henry, who was a farmer, and Aunt Em, who was the farmer's wife. Their house was small, for the lumber to build it had to be carried by wagon many miles. There were four walls, a floor and a roof, which made one room; and this room contained a rusty looking cooking stove, a cupboard for the dishes, a table, three or four chairs, and the beds. Uncle Henry and Aunt Em had a big bed in one corner, and Dorothy a little bed in another corner. There was no garret at all, and no cellar—except a small hole, dug in the ground, called a cyclone cellar, where the family could go in case one of those great whirlwinds arose, mighty enough to crush any building in its path. It was reached by a trap-door in the middle of the floor, from which a ladder led down into the small, dark hole.

When Dorothy stood in the doorway and looked around, she could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side. Not a tree nor a house broke the broad sweep of flat country that reached the edge of the sky in all directions. The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass, with little cracks running through it. Even the grass was not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until they were the same gray color to be seen everywhere. Once the house had been painted, but the sun blistered the paint and the rains washed it away, and now the house was as dull and gray as everything else.

When Aunt Em came there to live she was a young, pretty wife. The sun and wind had changed her, too. They had taken the sparkle from her eyes and left them a sober gray; they had taken the red from her cheeks and lips, and they were gray also. She was thin and gaunt, and never smiled, now. When Dorothy, who was an orphan, first came to her, Aunt Em had been so startled by the child's laughter that she would scream and press her hand upon her heart whenever Dorothy's merry voice reached her ears; and she still looked at the little girl with wonder that she could find anything to laugh at.

Uncle Henry never laughed. He worked hard from morning till night and did not know what joy was. He was gray also, from his long beard to his rough boots, and he looked stern and solemn, and rarely spoke.

It was Toto that made Dorothy laugh, and saved her from growing as gray as her other surroundings. Toto was not gray; he was a little black dog, with long, silky hair and small black eyes that twinkled merrily on either side of his funny, wee nose. Toto played all day long, and Dorothy played with him, and loved him dearly.

To-day, however, they were not playing. Uncle Henry sat upon the door-step and looked anxiously at the sky, which was even grayer than usual. Dorothy stood in the door with Toto in her arms, and looked at the sky too. Aunt Em was washing the dishes.

From the far north they heard a low wail of the wind, and Uncle Henry and Dorothy could see where the long grass bowed in waves before the coming storm. There now came a sharp whistling in the air from the south, and as they turned their eyes that way they saw ripples in the grass coming from that direction also.

Suddenly Uncle Henry stood up.

"There's a cyclone coming, Em," he called to his wife; "I'll go look after the stock." Then he ran toward the sheds where the cows and horses were kept.

Aunt Em dropped her work and came to the door. One glance told her of the danger close at hand.

"Quick, Dorothy!" she screamed; "run for the cellar!"

Toto jumped out of Dorothy's arms and hid under the bed, and the girl started to get him. Aunt Em, badly frightened, threw open the trap-door in the floor and climbed down the ladder into the small, dark hole. Dorothy caught Toto at last, and started to follow her aunt. When she was half way across the room there came a great shriek from the wind, and the house shook so hard that she lost her footing and sat down suddenly upon the floor.

A strange thing then happened.

The house whirled around two or three times and rose slowly through the air. Dorothy felt as if she were going up in a balloon.

The north and south winds met where the house stood, and made it the exact center of the cyclone. In the middle of a cyclone the air is generally still, but the great pressure of the wind on every side of the house raised it up higher and higher, until it was at the very top of the cyclone; and there it remained and was carried miles and miles away as easily as you could carry a feather.

It was very dark, and the wind howled horribly around her, but Dorothy found she was riding quite easily. After the first few whirls around, and one other time when the house tipped badly, she felt as if she were being rocked gently, like a baby in a cradle.

Toto did not like it. He ran about the room, now here, now there, barking loudly; but Dorothy sat quite still on the floor and waited to see what would happen.

Once Toto got too near the open trap-door, and fell in; and at first the little girl thought she had lost him. But soon she saw one of his ears sticking up through the hole, for the strong pressure of the air was keeping him up so that he could not fall. She crept to the hole, caught Toto by the ear, and dragged him into the room again; afterward closing the trap-door so that no more accidents could happen.

Hour after hour passed away, and slowly Dorothy got over her fright; but she felt quite lonely, and the wind shrieked so loudly all about her that she nearly became deaf. At first she had wondered if she would be dashed to pieces when the house fell again; but as the hours passed and nothing terrible happened, she stopped worrying and resolved to wait calmly and see what the future would bring. At last she crawled over the swaying floor to her bed, and lay down upon it; and Toto followed and lay down beside her.

In spite of the swaying of the house and the wailing of the wind, Dorothy soon closed her eyes and fell fast asleep.

 

Anonymous

Once I Saw a Little Bird

Once I saw a little bird Come hop, hop, hop. So I cried, "Little bird, Will you stop, stop, stop?" I was going to the window To say, "How do you do?" But he shook his little tail, And far away he flew.

 

Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans  by Edward Eggleston

Quicksilver Bob

R OBERT FULTON was the man who set steamboats to running on the rivers. Other men had made such boats before. But Fulton made the first good one.

When he was a boy, he lived in the town of Lancaster in Pennsylvania. Many guns were made in Lancaster. The men who made these guns put little pictures on them. That was to make them sell to the hunters who liked a gun with pictures. Little Robert Fulton could draw very well for a boy. He made some pretty little drawings. These the gun makers put on their guns.

Fulton went to the gun shops a great deal. He liked to see how things were made. He tried to make a small air gun for himself.

He was always trying to make things. He got some quicksilver. He was trying to do something with it. But he would not tell what he wanted to do. So the gunsmiths called him Quicksilver Bob.

He was so much interested in such things, that he sometimes neglected his lessons. He said that his head was so full of new notions, that he had not much room left for school learning.

One morning he came to school late.

"What makes you so late?" asked the teacher.

"I went to one of the shops to make myself a lead pencil," said little Bob. "Here it is. It is the best one I ever had."

The teacher tried it, and found it very good. Lead pencils in that day were made of a long piece of lead sharpened at the end.

Quicksilver Bob was a very odd little boy. He said many curious things. Once the teacher punished him for not getting his lessons. He rapped Robert on the knuckles with a ferule. Robert did not like this any more than any other boy would.

"Sir," said the boy, "I came here to have something beaten into my head, not into my knuckles."

In that day people used to light candles and stand them in the window on the Fourth of July. These candles in every window lighted up the whole town. But one year candles were scarce and high. The city asked the people not to light up their windows on the Fourth.

Bob did not like to miss the fun of his Fourth of July. He went to work to make something like rockets or Roman candles. It was a very dangerous business for a boy.

"What are you doing, Bob?" some one asked him.

"The city does not want us to burn our candles on the Fourth," he said. "I am going to shoot mine into the air."

He used to go fishing with a boy named Chris Gumpf. The father of Chris went with them. They fished from a flat boat. The two boys had to push the boat to the fishing place with poles.

"I am tired of poling that boat," said Robert to Chris one day when they came home.

So he set to work to think out a plan to move the boat in an easier way than by poles. He whittled out the model of a tiny paddle wheel. Then he went to work with Chris Gumpf, and they made a larger paddle wheel. This they set up in the fishing boat. The wheel was turned by the boys with a crank. They did not use the poles any more.

 

A. A. Milne

Summer Afternoon

Six brown cows walk down to drink (All the little fishes blew bubbles at the may-fly). Splash goes the first as he comes to the brink, Swish go the tails of the five who follow. . . . Twelve brown cows bend drinking there (All the little fishes went waggle-tail, waggle-tail)— Six from the water and six from the air; Up and down the river darts a blue-black swallow.

 

Among the Farmyard People  by Clara Dillingham Pierson

The Lamb with the Longest Tail

T HE Sheep are a simple and kind-hearted family, and of all the people on the farm there are none who are more loved than they. All summer they wander in the fields, nibbling the fresh, sweet grass, and resting at noon in the shadow of the trees, but when the cold weather comes they are brought up to the farmyard and make their home in the long low Sheep-shed.

That is always a happy time. The Horses breathe deeply and toss their heads for joy, the Cows say to each other, "Glad to have the Sheep come up," and even the Oxen shift their cuds and look long over their shoulders at the woolly newcomers. And this is not because the Sheep can do anything for their neighbors to make them warm or to feed them. It is only because they are a gentle folk and pleasant in all they say; and you know when people are always kind, it makes others happy just to see them and have them near.

Then, when the cold March winds are blowing, the good farmer brings more yellow straw into the Sheep-shed, and sees that it is warm and snug. If there are any boards broken and letting the wind in, he mends them and shuts out the cold. At this time, too, the Horses and Cattle stop often in their eating to listen. Even the Pigs, who do not think much about their neighbors, root in the corners nearest the Sheep-shed and prick up their ears.

Some bleak morning they hear a faint bleating and know that the first Lamb is there. And then from day to day they hear more of the soft voices as the new Lambs come to live with the flock. Such queer little creatures as the Lambs are when they first come—so weak and awkward! They can hardly stand alone, and stagger and wobble around the little rooms or pens where they are with their mothers. You can just imagine how hard it must be to learn to manage four legs all at once!

There is one thing which they do learn very quickly, and that is, to eat. They are hungry little people, and well they may be, for they have much growing to do, and all of the food that is to be made into good stout bodies and fine long wool has to go into their mouths and down their throats to their stomachs. It is very wonderful to think that a Cow eats grass and it is turned into hair to keep her warm, a Goose eats grass and grows feathers, and a Sheep eats grass and grows wool. Still, it is so, and nobody in the world can tell why. It is just one of the things that are, and if you should ask "Why?" nobody could tell you the reason. There are many such things which we cannot understand, but there are many more which we can, so it would be very foolish for us to mind when there is no answer to our "Why?"

Yes, Sheep eat grass, and because they have such tiny mouths they have to take small mouthfuls. The Lambs have different food for a while,—warm milk from their mothers' bodies. When a mother has a Lamb to feed, she eats a great deal, hay, grass and chopped turnips, and then part of the food that goes into her stomach is turned into milk and stored in two warm bags for the Lamb to take when he is hungry. And how the Lambs do like this milk! It tastes so good that they can hardly stand still while they drink it down, and they give funny little jerks and wave their woolly tails in the air.

There was one Lamb who had a longer tail than any of the rest, and, sad to say, it made him rather vain. When he first came, he was too busy drinking milk and learning to walk, to think about tails, but as he grew older and stronger he began to know that he had the longest one. Because he was a very young Lamb he was so foolish as to tease the others and call out, "Baa! Your tails are snippy ones!"

Then the others would call back, "Baa! Don't care if they are!"

After a while, his mother, who was a sensible Sheep and had seen much of life, said to him: "You must not brag about your tail. It is very rude of you, and very silly too, for you have exactly such a tail as was given to you, and the other Lambs have exactly such tails as were given to them, and when you are older you will know that it did not matter in the least what kind of tail you wore when you were little." She might have told him something else, but she didn't.

The Lamb didn't dare to boast of his tail after this, but when he passed the others, he would look at his mother, and if he thought she wouldn't see, he would wiggle it at them. Of course that was just as bad as talking about it, and the other Lambs knew perfectly well what he meant; still, they pretended not to understand.

One morning, when his mother's back was turned, he was surprised to see that she had only a short and stumpy tail. He had been thinking so much of his own that he had not noticed hers. "Mother," he cried, "why didn't you have a long tail too?"

"I did have once," she answered with a sheepish smile.

"Did it get broken?" he asked in a faint little voice. He was thinking how dreadful it would be if he should break his.

"Not exactly," said his mother. "I will tell you all about it. All little Lambs have long tails——"

"Not so long as mine, though," said he, interrupting.

"No, not so long as yours," she replied, "but so long that if they were left that way always they would make a great deal of trouble. As the wool grows on them, they would catch burrs and sharp, prickly things, which would pull the wool and sting the skin. The farmer knows this, so when the little Lambs are about as old as you are now, he and his men make their tails shorter."

"Oh!" cried the Lamb, curling his tail in as far between his legs as he could, "do you mean that they will shorten my tail, my beautiful long tail?"

"That is just what I mean," said his mother, "and you should be very glad of it. When that is done, you will be ready to go out into the field with me. A lot of trouble we should have if the men did not look after such things for us; but that is what men are for, they say,—to look after us Sheep."

"But won't they laugh at me when my tail is shorter?" asked her son.

"They would laugh at you if you wore it long. No Lamb who pretends to be anybody would be seen in the pasture with a dangling tail. Only wild Sheep wear them long, poor things!"

Now the little Lamb wished that he had not boasted so much. Now, when the others passed him, he did not put on airs. Now he wondered why they couldn't have short tails in the beginning. He asked his uncle, an old Wether Sheep, why this was and his uncle laughed. "Why, what would you have done all these days if things happened in that way? What would you have had to think about? What could you have talked about?" The little Lamb hung his head and asked no more questions.

"What do you think?" he called to a group of Lambs near by. "I'm going to have one of the men shorten my tail. It is such a bother unless one does have it done, and mine is so very long!"

 

Lydia Maria Child

The Little Maiden and the Little Bird

"Little bird! little bird! come to me! I have a green cage ready for thee— Beauty bright flowers I'll bring thee anew, And fresh, ripe cherries, all wet with dew." "Thanks, little maiden, for all thy care,— But I love dearly the clear, cool air, And my snug little nest in the old oak tree." "Little bird! little bird! stay with me!" "Nay, little damsel! away I'll fly To greener fields and warmer sky; When spring returns with pattering rain, You'll hear my merry song again." "Little bird! little bird! who'll guide thee Over the hills and over the sea? Foolish one! come in the house to stay, For I'm very sure you'll lose your way." "Ah, no, little maiden! God guides me Over the hills and over the sea; I will be free as the rushing air And sing of sunshine everywhere."

 

Fairy Tales Too Good To Miss—Around the Fire  by Lisa M. Ripperton

The Sheep and the Pig Who Set Up Housekeeping

O NCE on a time there was a sheep who stood in the pen to be fattened.

So he lived well and was stuffed and crammed with everything that was good, till one day the dairymaid came to give him still more food. Then she said, "Eat away, sheep, you won't be here much longer, we are going to kill you to-morrow."

The sheep thought over this for a while, and then he ate till he was ready to burst; and when he was crammed full, he butted out the door of the pen, and took his way to the neighboring farm. There he went to see a pig whom he had known out on the common, and with whom he had always been very friendly.

"Good-day," said the sheep, "do you know why it is you are so well off, and why it is they fatten you and take such pains with you?"

"No, I don't," said the pig.

"Well, I know; they are going to kill and eat you," said the sheep.

"Are they?" said the pig, "and what is there to be done about it?"

"If you will do as I do," said the sheep, "we'll go off to the wood, build us a house, and set up for ourselves."

Yes, the pig was willing enough. "Good company is such a comfort," he said, and so the two set off.

When they had gone a bit they met a goose.

"Good-day, good sirs, and whither away so fast to-day?" said the goose.

"Good-day, good-day," said the sheep, "we are going to set up for ourselves in the wood, for you know every man's house is his castle."

"Well," said the goose, "I should so much like a home of my own, too. May I go with you?"

"With gossip and gabble is built neither house nor stable," said the pig, "let us know what you can do."

"I can pluck moss and stuff it into the seams between the planks, and the house will be tight and warm."

Yes, they would give him leave, for, above all things, piggy wished to be warm and comfortable.

So, when they had gone a bit farther—the goose had hard work to walk so fast—they met a hare, who came frisking out of the wood.

"Good-day, good sirs," she said, "how far are you trotting to-day?"

"Good-day, good-day," said the sheep, "we're going to the wood to build us a house and set up for ourselves, for, you know, try all the world around, there's nothing like home."

"As for that," said the hare, "I have a house in every bush, but yet, I have often said in winter, 'If I only live till summer I'll build me a house,' and so I have half a mind to go with you and build one, after all."

"Yes," said the pig, "if we ever get into trouble we might use you to scare away the dogs, for I don't fancy you could help us in house-building."

"Don't make fun of me. I have teeth to gnaw pegs and paws to drive them into the wall, so I can very well set up to be carpenter," said the hare.

So he too got leave to go with them and help to build their house, and there was nothing more to be said about it.

When they had gone a bit farther they met a cock.

"Good-day, good sirs," said the cock, "whither are you going to-day, gentlemen?"

"Good-day, good-day," said the sheep, "we are going off to the wood to build a house and set up for ourselves, for you know, ' 'Tis good to travel east and west, but after all a home is best.' "

"Well," said the cock, "if I might have leave to join such a gallant company, I also would like to go to the wood and build a house."

"Ay, ay!" said the pig, "but how can you help us build a house?"

"Oh," said the cock, "what would you do without a cock? I am up early, and I wake every one."

"Very true," said the pig, "let him come with us. Sleep is the biggest thief," he said, "he thinks nothing of stealing half one's life."

So they all set off to the wood together, and built a house.

The pig hewed the timber, and the sheep drew it home; the hare was carpenter, and gnawed pegs and bolts and hammered them into the walls and roof; the goose plucked moss and stuffed it into the seams; the cock crew, and looked out that they did not oversleep themselves in the morning; and when the house was ready, and the roof lined with birch bark and thatched with turf, there they lived by themselves and were merry and well.

But you must know that a bit farther on in the wood was a wolf's den, and there lived two graylegs. When they saw that a new house had been built near by, they wanted to become acquainted with their neighbors. One of them made up an errand and went into the new house and asked for a light for his pipe. But as soon as he got inside the door the sheep gave him such a butt that he fell head foremost into the hearth. Then the pig began to bite him, and the goose to nip and peck him, and the cock upon the roost to crow and chatter, and as for the hare, he was so frightened that he ran about aloft and on the floor and scratched and scrambled in every corner of the house.

So after a time the wolf came out.

"Well," said the one who waited for him outside, "you must have been well received since you stayed so long. But what became of the light? You have neither pipe nor smoke."

"Yes, yes," said the other, "a pleasant company indeed. As soon as I got inside the door, the shoemaker began to beat me with his last, so that I fell head foremost into the open fire, and there sat two smiths who blew the bellows, and made the sparks fly, and struck and punched me with red-hot tongs and pincers. As for the hunter, he went scrambling about looking for his gun, and it was good luck he did not find it. And all the while there was another who sat up under the roof and slapped his arms and cried out, 'Drag him hither, drag him hither!' That was what he screamed, and if he had only got hold of me, I should never have come out alive."

The wolves never went calling on their neighbors any more.

 

Robert Louis Stevenson

Escape at Bedtime

The lights from the parlour and kitchen shone out Through the blinds and the windows and bars; And high overhead and all moving about, There were thousands of millions of stars. There ne'er were such thousands of leaves on a tree, Nor of people in church or the Park, As the crowds of the stars that looked down upon me, And that glittered and winked in the dark. The Dog, and the Plough, and the Hunter, and all, And the star of the sailor, and Mars, These shone in the sky, and the pail by the wall Would be half full of water and stars. They saw me at last, and they chased me with cries, And they soon had me packed into bed; But the glory kept shining and bright in my eyes, And the stars going round in my head.

 

On the Shores of the Great Sea  by M. B. Synge

Victory for the Greeks

"A king sat on the rocky brow Which looks o'er sea-born Salamis: And ships, by thousands, lay below, And men in nations:—all were his. He counted them at break of day— And when the sun set, where were they?" —Byron.

H AVING gained the pass, it was natural that Xerxes should lead his army on to Athens. The Spartans did not care, whether Athens fell into the hands of the Persians, or not. They wished to save Corinth, and so save South Greece, where lay their own land; for Greece was not a united country; each little state wanted what it could get for itself.

The men of Athens knew it was hopeless to try and defend their city alone, against the whole Persian army, so they resolved to abandon it. Very full of sorrow, men, women, and children left their homes and streamed down to the sea-shore, carrying what they could with them. There they found the Greek ships waiting to bear them away, and so when Xerxes and his mighty army reached Athens, they found it silent and deserted. Only a few poor and desperate men had refused to depart, and had posted themselves on the top of the Acropolis, the fortress of Athens. The Persians, disappointed of their prey, took their revenge. They stormed the Acropolis, slew the brave defenders, and set the town on fire.

Athens had fallen. There was but one hope now for the Greeks. They had their ships. Themistocles had been right after all. The ships were yet to save the country.

When Xerxes had advanced to Athens, his fleet had sailed along the coast, and was now anchored. The Greek fleet lay but a few miles off, close to the large island of Salamis, between Athens on the one side and Corinth on the other.

A council of Greeks was held. Themistocles rose to speak at once and to urge a naval battle without delay. The Corinthian general was very angry.

"O Themistocles," he cried, "those who stand up too soon in the games, are whipped."

"Yes," answered Themistocles, "but those who start late, are not crowned."

He saw that the Greeks must fight at once, or in their despair at the loss of Athens, they might not remain faithful. Still he could not get others to see things from his point of view, so he thought of a plan to bring on the battle quickly. He sent a trusty slave across the narrow strait to the Persian admiral, saying that the Greeks were panic-stricken and about to escape. The Persian admiral fell into the trap. In the dead of night, he moved his fleet noiselessly round and blocked up the narrow inlet of the strait, so that the Greeks could not escape.

Early next morning—it was still dark, and the commanders were sitting at council, when Themistocles was called out by a stranger. It was the exile Aristides. In the ruin and distress of Athens, he had come to serve those, who had banished him, and had made his way through the Persian fleet in the darkness, to tell the Greek commanders, that they had been surrounded.

"Themistocles," he urged, "let us still be rivals, but let our contest be, who best shall serve our country."

As the rising sun of the September morning cast its shadows across the blue Bay of Salamis, the Greek fleet put out from shore, to the accustomed notes of the war hymn to Apollo. The enemy's ships faced them all across the narrow strait, stretching far away to right and left, and cutting off all chance of escape. Behind the Persian ships the Persian army was drawn up along the shore, and a lofty throne was set in the midst, from which the great King Xerxes could survey the battle. The Persian fleet advanced, and the Greeks, seized with terror, began to back their oars towards the shore.

Soon the two fleets were engaged. The Greeks fought in good order and kept their ships in line, while the Persian fleet was soon in confusion, oars and helms were broken, ships lay helpless on the water. The old vessels had no rudders, but were steered with broad blades. Confusion soon became a panic. Vessel crashed against vessel. Persian ships were jammed together in the narrow space. Beaten and disabled, they disappeared under the very eyes of Xerxes the king. Some two hundred were thus destroyed, and the rest fled out of the narrow strait. By sunset the battle was over. The Greeks had won their victory and saved their country from the Persians.

And so the great conflict between Eastern tyranny and European freedom was over. Marathon, Thermopylæ, Salamis close one of the most important and thrilling chapters in the world's great history.

 

Robert Louis Stevenson

The Sun Travels

The sun is not a-bed, when I At night upon my pillow lie; Still round the earth his way he takes, And morning after morning makes. While here at home, in shining day, We round the sunny garden play, Each little Indian sleepy-head Is being kissed and put to bed. And when at eve I rise from tea, Day dawns beyond the Atlantic Sea; And all the children in the west Are getting up and being dressed.

 

The Irish Twins  by Lucy Fitch Perkins

The Secret

Mr. McQueen was a good farmer, but at the time he lived in Ireland, farmers could not own their farms.

The land was all owned by rich landlords, who did not do any work themselves. These landlords very often lived away in England or France, and did not know much about how the poor people lived at home, or how hard they had to work to get the money for the rent of their farms.

Sometimes, when they did know, they did n't care. What they wanted was all the money they could get, so they could live in fine houses and wear beautiful clothes, and go where they pleased, without doing any work.

When the landlords were away, they had agents to collect the rents for them. The business of these agents was to get all the rent money they could, and they made life very hard for the farmers.

Sometimes when the farmers could n't pay all the rent, the agent would turn them out of their houses. This was called "evicting" them. The farm that Mr. McQueen lived on, as well as the village and all the country roundabout, was owned by the Earl of Elsmore, who lived most of the year in great style in England. The agent who collected rents was Mr. Conroy. Nobody liked Mr. Conroy very much, but everybody was afraid of him, because he could do so much to injure them.

So one morning when Mr. McQueen came back very early from his potato-field, he was not glad to see Mr. Conroy's horse standing near his door, and Mr. Conroy himself, leaning on the farmyard fence looking at the fowls.

"How are you, McQueen?" said Mr. Conroy, when Mr. McQueen came up.

"Well enough, Mr. Conroy," said Mr. McQueen.

"And you 're doing well with the farm, too, it seems," said Mr. Conroy. "Those are good-looking fowls you have, and the pig is fine and fat. How many cows have you, now?"

"Two, and a heifer," said Mr. McQueen.

"You drained that field over by the bog this year, did n't you, and have it planted to turnips?" went on Mr. Conroy. "I 'm glad to see you so prosperous, McQueen. Of course, now, the farm is worth more than it was when you first took it, and so you 'll not be surprised that I 'm raising the rent on you."

"If the farm is worth more, 't is my work that has made it so," said Mr. McQueen, "and I should n't be punished for that. The house is none too good at all, and the place is not worth more. Last year was the drought and all manner of bad luck, and next year may be no better. Truly, Mr. Conroy, if you press me, I don't know how I can scrape more together than I 'm paying now."

"Well, then," said Mr. Conroy. "You must just find a way, for this is one of the best farms about here, and you should pay as much as any one."

"You can't get money by shaking a man with empty pockets," said Mr. McQueen.

But Mr. Conroy only laughed and said:

"You 'll have five pounds in yours when next rent day comes around, or 't will be the worse for you. You would n't like to be evicted, I 'm sure."

Then he mounted his horse and rode away.

Mr. McQueen went into the house with a heavy heart, and told his wife the bad news.

"Faith," said Mrs. McQueen, "I 'd not be in that man's shoes for all you could offer. It 's grinding down the faces of the poor he is, and that at the telling of some one else! Not even his badness is his own! He does as he 's bid."

"He gets fat on it," said Mr. McQueen.

"Faith, we 'll get along somehow," said Mrs. McQueen. 'We always have, though 't is true it 's been scant fare we 've had now and again."

Mr. McQueen did n't answer. He went back to his work in the fields. Mrs. McQueen got the Twins started off to school, with their lunch in a little tin bucket, and began her washing, but she did not sing at her work that day as she sometimes did.

Larry and Eileen knew that something was wrong, though their Father and Mother had not said anything to them about it.

They had seen Mr. Conroy talking with their Father in the yard. "And it 's never a sign of anything good to see Mr. Conroy," Eileen said.

Larry was thinking the same thing, for he said:—

"When I 'm a man, I 'm going to be rich, and then I 'll give you and Mother and Dada a fine house, and fine clothes, and things in plenty."

"However will you get the money?" asked Eileen.

"Oh! Giants or something," Larry answered, "or maybe being an Alderman."

"Blathers!" said Eileen. "I 've a better plan in my head. You know Dada and Mother said we could have Diddy for our very own, because we found her ourselves."

"I do," said Larry.

"Well, then," said Eileen, "I know it 's about the rent they are bothered, for it always is the rent that bothers them. Now, when the Fair-time comes we 'll coax Dada to let us take Diddy to the Fair. She 'll be nice and fat by that time, and we 'll sell her, and give the money to Dada for the rent!"

"Sure, it will be hard parting with Diddy, that 's been like one of our own family since the day we found her crying in the bog," said Larry.

"Indeed, and it will," said Eileen, "but we think more of our parents than of a pig, surely."

"But however will we get her to the Fair to sell her?" said Larry.

"We 'll get Dada to take her for us, but we'll never tell him we mean the money to go for the rent until we put it in his hands," Eileen answered, "and we won't tell any one else at all. It 's a Secret."

"I 'd like to be telling Dennis, maybe," said Larry."

"We can tell Dennis and Grannie Malone, but no one else at all," Eileen agreed.

 

Olive A. Wadsworth

Over in the Meadow

Over in the meadow, In the sand, in the sun, Lived an old mother-toad And her little toadie one, "Wink!" said the mother; "I wink," said the one: So she winked and she blinked, In the sand, in the sun. Over in the meadow, Where the stream runs blue; Lived an old mother-fish And her little fishes two. "Swim!" said the mother; "We swim," said the two: So they swam and they leaped, Where the stream runs blue. Over in the meadow, In a hole in a tree, Lived a mother-bluebird And her little bluebirds three. "Sing!" said the mother; "We sing," said the three: So they sang and were glad, In the hole in the tree. Over in the meadow, In the reeds on the shore; Lived a mother-muskrat And her little muskrats four. "Dive!" said the mother; "We dive," said the four: So they dived and they burrowed, In the reeds on the shore. Over in the meadow, In a snug beehive, Lived a mother-honeybee And her little honeys five. "Buzz!" said the mother; "We buzz," said the five: So they buzzed and they hummed, In the snug beehive. Over in the meadow In a nest built of sticks, Lived a black mother crow And her little crows six. "Caw!" said the mother; "We caw," said the six: So they cawed and they called, In their nest built of sticks. Over in the meadow, Where the grass is so even, Lived a gay mother-cricket And her little crickets seven. "Chirp!" said the mother; "We chirp," said the seven: So they chirped cheery notes In the grass soft and even. Over in the meadow By the old mossy gate, Lived a brown mother-lizard And her little lizards eight. "Bask!" said the mother; "We bask," said the eight: So they basked in the sun, On the old mossy gate, Over in the meadow, Where the clear pools shine, Lived a green mother-frog And her little froggies nine. "Croak!" said the mother; "We croak!" said the nine: So they croaked and they plashed, Where the clear pools shine. Over in the meadow, In a sly little den, Lived a gray mother-spider And her little spiders ten. "Spin!" said the mother; "We spin," said the ten: So they spun lace webs, In their sly little den. Over in the meadow, In the soft summer even, Lived a mother firefly And her little flies eleven. "Glow," said the mother; "We glow," said the eleven— So they glowed like stars In the soft summer even. Over in the meadow, Where the men dig and delve Lived a wise mother ant, And her little ants twelve. "Toil," said the mother; "We toil," said the twelve— So they toiled and were wise Where the men dig and delve.

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

The Night When a Nation Was Born

Exodus xi: 1, to xiii: 22.

HILE all these terrible plagues, of which we read in the last story, were falling upon the people of Egypt, the Israelites in the Land of Goshen were living in safety under God's care. The waters there were not made blood; nor did the flies or the locusts trouble them. While all was dark in the rest of Egypt, in the land of Goshen the sun was shining.

This made the Egyptians feel that the Lord God of the Israelites was watching over his own people. They brought gifts to the Israelites, of gold and silver, and jewels, and precious things of every kind, to win their favor, and to win the favor of their God. So the Israelites, from being very poor, began suddenly to be very rich.

Now Moses said to the people:

"In a few days you are to go out of Egypt, so gather together, get yourselves in order by your families, and your twelve tribes; and be ready to march out of Egypt."

And the people of Israel did as Moses bade them. Then said Moses:

"God will bring one plague more upon the Egyptians, and then they will let you go. And you must take care, and obey God's command exactly, or the last terrible plague will come upon your houses with the Egyptian houses. At midnight, the angel of the Lord will go through the land, and the oldest child in every house shall die. Pharaoh's son shall die, and every rich man's son, and every poor man's son, even the son of the beggar that has no home. But your families shall be safe if you do exactly as I command you."

Then Moses told them what to do. Every family was bidden to find a lamb and to kill it. They were to take some of the blood of the lamb and sprinkle it at the entrance of the house, on the door-frame overhead, and on each side. Then they were to roast the lamb, and with it to cook some vegetables, and to eat it standing around the table, with all their garments on, ready to march away as soon as the meal should be ended. And no one was to go out of his house that night, for God's angel would be abroad, and he might be killed if the angel should meet him.

The children of Israel did as Moses commanded them. They killed the lamb, and sprinkled the blood, and ate the supper in the night, as God had told them to do. And this supper was called "the Pass-over Supper," because when the angel saw the doors sprinkled with blood, he passed over  those houses, and did not enter them. And in memory of this great night, when God kept his people from death, the Israelites were commanded to eat just such a supper on that same night every year. This became a great feast of the Israelites, and was called "The Passover."

Does not that slain lamb, and his blood sprinkled to save the people from death, make you think of Jesus Christ, who was the Lamb of God, slain to save us all?

And that night a great cry went up from all the land of Egypt. In every house there was one, and that one the oldest son, who died. And Pharaoh the king of Egypt saw his own son lie dead, and knew that it was the hand of God. And all the people of Egypt were filled with terror, as they saw their children lying dead in their houses.

Pharaoh's own son lay dead.

The king now sent a messenger to Moses and Aaron, saying:

"Make haste; get out of the land; take everything that you have; leave nothing. And pray to your God to have mercy upon us, and to do us no more harm."

So suddenly at the last, early in the morning, the Israelites, after four hundred years in Egypt, went out of the land. They went out in order, like a great army, family by family, and tribe by tribe. They went out in such haste, that they had no time to bake bread to eat on the journey. They left the dough in the pans, all ready mixed for baking, but not yet risen as bread is before it is baked: and they set the bread-pans on their heads, as people do in that land when they carry loads. And as a memory of that day, when they took the bread without waiting for it to rise, the rule was made that for one week in every year, and that same time in the year when they went out of Egypt, all the people of Israel should eat bread that is "unleavened," that is bread made without yeast, and unrisen. And this rule is kept to this day by the Jews, who belong to the Israelite family.

And the Lord God went before the host of Israel, as they marched out of Egypt. In the day time there was a great cloud, like a pillar in front; and at night it became a pillar of fire. So both by day and night, as they saw the cloudy and fiery pillar going before, they could say, "Our Lord, the God of heaven and earth, goes before us."

When the pillar of cloud stopped, they knew that was a sign that they were to pause in their journey and rest. So they set up their tents, and waited until the cloud should rise up and go forward. When they looked, and saw that the pillar of cloud was higher up in the air, and as though moving forward, they took down their tents, and formed in order for the march. Thus the pillar was like a guide by day and a guard by night.

You remember that when Joseph died (see the end of Story Nineteen), he commanded the Israelites not to bury his body in Egypt, but to keep it in a stone coffin, unburied, as long as they should stay in the land. When they were going out of Egypt, the two tribes of Ephraim and Manasseh, who had sprung from Joseph, his descendants, as they are called,—took with them on their journey this stone coffin which held the body of Joseph their father. And thus the Israelites went out of Egypt, four hundred years after they had gone down to Egypt to live.

 

Christina Georgina Rossetti

Cherry-Tree

Mother shake the cherry-tree, Susan catch a cherry; Oh how funny that will be, Let's be merry! One for brother, one for sister, Two for mother more, Six for father, hot and tired, Knocking at the door.