Text of Plan #953
  WEEK 36  

  Monday  


The Wonderful Wizard of Oz  by L. Frank Baum

The Queen of the Field Mice

"WE cannot be far from the road of yellow brick, now," remarked the Scarecrow, as he stood beside the girl, "for we have come nearly as far as the river carried us away."

The Tin Woodman was about to reply when he heard a low growl, and turning his head (which worked beautifully on hinges) he saw a strange beast come bounding over the grass towards them. It was, indeed, a great, yellow wildcat, and the Woodman thought it must be chasing something, for its ears were lying close to its head and its mouth was wide open, showing two rows of ugly teeth, while its red eyes glowed like balls of fire. As it came nearer the Tin Woodman saw that running before the beast was a little gray field-mouse, and although he had no heart he knew it was wrong for the wildcat to try to kill such a pretty, harmless creature.

So the Woodman raised his axe, and as the wildcat ran by he gave it a quick blow that cut the beast's head clean off from its body, and it rolled over at his feet in two pieces.

The field-mouse, now that it was freed from its enemy, stopped short; and coming slowly up to the Woodman it said, in a squeaky little voice,

"Oh, thank you! Thank you ever so much for saving my life."

"Don't speak of it, I beg of you," replied the Woodman. "I have no heart, you know, so I am careful to help all those who may need a friend, even if it happens to be only a mouse."

"Only a mouse!" cried the little animal, indignantly; "why, I am a Queen—the Queen of all the field-mice!"

"Oh, indeed," said the Woodman, making a bow.

"Therefore you have done a great deed, as well as a brave one, in saving my life," added the Queen.

At that moment several mice were seen running up as fast as their little legs could carry them, and when they saw their Queen they exclaimed,

[Illustration: "_Permit me to introduce to you her Majesty, the Queen._"]

"Oh, your Majesty, we thought you would be killed! How did you manage to escape the great Wildcat?" and they all bowed so low to the little Queen that they almost stood upon their heads.

"This funny tin man," she answered, "killed the Wildcat and saved my life. So hereafter you must all serve him, and obey his slightest wish."

"We will!" cried all the mice, in a shrill chorus. And then they scampered in all directions, for Toto had awakened from his sleep, and seeing all these mice around him he gave one bark of delight and jumped right into the middle of the group. Toto had always loved to chase mice when he lived in Kansas, and he saw no harm in it.

But the Tin Woodman caught the dog in his arms and held him tight, while he called to the mice: "Come back! come back! Toto shall not hurt you."

At this the Queen of the Mice stuck her head out from a clump of grass and asked, in a timid voice,

"Are you sure he will not bite us?"

"I will not let him," said the Woodman; "so do not be afraid."

One by one the mice came creeping back, and Toto did not bark again, although he tried to get out of the Woodman's arms, and would have bitten him had he not known very well he was made of tin. Finally one of the biggest mice spoke.

"Is there anything we can do," it asked, "to repay you for saving the life of our Queen?"

"Nothing that I know of," answered the Woodman; but the Scarecrow, who had been trying to think, but could not because his head was stuffed with straw, said, quickly,

"Oh, yes; you can save our friend, the Cowardly Lion, who is asleep in the poppy bed."

"A Lion!" cried the little Queen; "why, he would eat us all up."

"Oh, no;" declared the Scarecrow; "this Lion is a coward."

"Really?" asked the Mouse.

"He says so himself," answered the Scarecrow, "and he would never hurt anyone who is our friend. If you will help us to save him I promise that he shall treat you all with kindness."

"Very well," said the Queen, "we will trust you. But what shall we do?"

"Are there many of these mice which call you Queen and are willing to obey you?"

"Oh, yes; there are thousands," she replied.

"Then send for them all to come here as soon as possible, and let each one bring a long piece of string."

The Queen turned to the mice that attended her and told them to go at once and get all her people. As soon as they heard her orders they ran away in every direction as fast as possible.

"Now," said the Scarecrow to the Tin Woodman, "you must go to those trees by the river-side and make a truck that will carry the Lion."

So the Woodman went at once to the trees and began to work; and he soon made a truck out of the limbs of trees, from which he chopped away all the leaves and branches. He fastened it together with wooden pegs and made the four wheels out of short pieces of a big tree-trunk. So fast and so well did he work that by the time the mice began to arrive the truck was all ready for them.

They came from all directions, and there were thousands of them: big mice and little mice and middle-sized mice; and each one brought a piece of string in his mouth. It was about this time that Dorothy woke from her long sleep and opened her eyes. She was greatly astonished to find herself lying upon the grass, with thousands of mice standing around and looking at her timidly. But the Scarecrow told her about everything, and turning to the dignified little Mouse, he said,

"Permit me to introduce to you her Majesty, the Queen."

Dorothy nodded gravely and the Queen made a courtesy, after which she became quite friendly with the little girl.

The Scarecrow and the Woodman now began to fasten the mice to the truck, using the strings they had brought. One end of a string was tied around the neck of each mouse and the other end to the truck. Of course the truck was a thousand times bigger than any of the mice who were to draw it; but when all the mice had been harnessed they were able to pull it quite easily. Even the Scarecrow and the Tin Woodman could sit on it, and were drawn swiftly by their queer little horses to the place where the Lion lay asleep.

After a great deal of hard work, for the Lion was heavy, they managed to get him up on the truck. Then the Queen hurriedly gave her people the order to start, for she feared if the mice stayed among the poppies too long they also would fall asleep.

At first the little creatures, many though they were, could hardly stir the heavily loaded truck; but the Woodman and the Scarecrow both pushed from behind, and they got along better. Soon they rolled the Lion out of the poppy bed to the green fields, where he could breathe the sweet, fresh air again, instead of the poisonous scent of the flowers.

Dorothy came to meet them and thanked the little mice warmly for saving her companion from death. She had grown so fond of the big Lion she was glad he had been rescued.

Then the mice were unharnessed from the truck and scampered away through the grass to their homes. The Queen of the Mice was the last to leave.

"If ever you need us again," she said, "come out into the field and call, and we shall hear you and come to your assistance. Good bye!"

"Good bye!" they all answered, and away the Queen ran, while Dorothy held Toto tightly lest he should run after her and frighten her.

After this they sat down beside the Lion until he should awaken; and the Scarecrow brought Dorothy some fruit from a tree near by, which she ate for her dinner.

 



Anonymous

Bow-Wow-Wow

Bow-wow-wow!

It's the great watch dog.

I know by his honest bark,

Bow-wow-wow!

Says the great watch dog,

When he hears a foot in the dark.


Not a breath can stir

But he's up with a whir

And a big bow-wow gives he,

And with tail on end,

He'll the house defend

Far better than lock or key.

 


  WEEK 36  

  Tuesday  


Stories of Great Americans for Little Americans  by Edward Eggleston

Some Boys Who Became Authors

W ILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT was the first great poet in this country. He was a small man. When he was a baby, his head was too big for his body. His father used to send the baby to be dipped in a cold spring every day. The father thought that putting his head into cold water would keep it from growing.

Bryant knew his letters before he was a year and a half old. He began to write rhymes when he was a very little fellow. He wanted to be a poet. He used to pray that he might be a poet. His father printed some verses of his when he was only ten years old.

Bryant wrote many fine poems. Here are some lines of his about the bird we call a bobolink:—

"Robert of Lincoln is gayly dressed,

Wearing a bright black wedding coat,

White are his shoulders and white his crest.

Hear him call in his merry note:

Bob-o'-link, bob-o'-link,

Spink, spank, spink;

Look, what a nice new coat is mine,

Sure there was never a bird so fine.

Chee, chee, chee."


[Illustration]

Hawthorne was one of our greatest writers of stories. He was a pretty boy with golden curls. He was fond of all the great poets, and he read Shakespeare and Milton and many other poets as soon as he was old enough to understand them.

Hawthorne grew up a very handsome young fellow. One day he was walking in the woods. He met an old gypsy woman. She had never seen anybody so fine-looking.

"Are you a man, or an angel?" she asked him.

Some of Hawthorne's best books are written for girls and boys. One of these is called "A Wonder Book." Another of his books for young people is "Tanglewood Tales."


Prescott wrote beautiful histories. When Prescott was a boy, a schoolmate threw a crust of bread at him. It hit him in the eye. He became almost blind.

He had to do his writing with a machine. This machine was made for the use of the blind. There were no typewriters in those days.

It was hard work to write history without good eyes. But Prescott did not give up. He had a man to read to him. It took him ten years to write his first book.

When Prescott had finished his book, he was afraid to print it. But his father said, "The man who writes a book, and is afraid to print it, is a coward."

Then Prescott printed his book. Everybody praised it. When you are older, you will like to read his histories."


Doctor Holmes, the poet, was a boy full of fancies. He lived in an old house. Soldiers had staid in the house at the time of the Revolution. The floor of one room was all battered by the butts of the soldiers' muskets.

Little Oliver Holmes used to think he could hear soldiers in the house. He thought he could hear their spurs rattling in the dark passages. Sometimes he thought he could hear their swords clanking.

The little boy was afraid of a sign that hung over the sidewalk. It was a great, big, wooden hand. It was the sign of a place where gloves were made. This big hand swung in the air. Little Oliver Holmes had to walk under it on his way to school.


[Illustration]

He thought the great fingers would grab him some day. Then he thought he would never get home again. He even thought that his other pair of shoes would be put away till his little brother grew big enough to wear them. But the big wooden hand never caught him.

Here are some verses that Doctor Holmes wrote about a very old man:—

"My grandmamma has said—

Poor old lady, she is dead

Long ago—

That he had a Roman nose,

And his cheek was like a rose

In the snow.


"But now his nose is thin,

And it rests upon his chin

Like a staff;

And a crook is in his back,

And a melancholy crack

In his laugh.


"I know it is a sin

For me to sit and grin

At him here;

But the old three-cornered hat,

And the breeches, and all that,

Are so queer!


"And if I should live to be

The last leaf upon the tree

In the spring,

Let them smile, as I do now,

At the old forsaken bough

Where I cling."


[Illustration]

 



A. A. Milne

The Invaders

In careless patches through the wood

The clumps of yellow primrose stood,

And sheets of white anemones,

Like driven snow against the trees,

Had covered up the violet,

But left the blue-bell bluer yet.


Along the narrow carpet ride,

With primroses on either side,

Between their shadows and the sun,

The cows came slowly, one by one,

Breathing the early morning air

And leaving it still sweeter there.

And, one by one, intent upon

Their purposes, they followed on

In ordered silence . . . and were gone.


But all the little wood was still,

As if it waited so, until

Some blackbird on an outpost yew,

Watching the slow procession through,

Lifted his yellow beak at last

To whistle that the line had passed. . . .

Then all the wood began to sing

Its morning anthem to the spring.

 


  WEEK 36  

  Wednesday  


Seed-Babies  by Margaret Warner Morley

Cradles

"W HY do  you suppose nuts and things have such dreadful coverings," Jack asked Ko one day, after he had spent half an hour scrubbing his hands with lemon and salt to get the walnut stains off, so he could go to town with mamma.

The barn floor was covered with butternuts and black walnuts and their "shucks," as the boys called the juicy outer covering.

They had made themselves each a flail such as farmers used to use to thresh out wheat and rye, and had been pounding away for a day or two to get the nuts out of their "shucks."

As threshing is generally done by machinery now, a good many boys and girls have never seen a flail. So I must tell you it is two strong sticks, the longest one as long as your arm, or longer. They are fastened together with a bit of rope or leather. You hold one end, and with the other pound the grain or whatever you wish to loosen from its husk.


[Illustration]

Those who have gathered butternuts and black walnuts know what a thick, juicy hull the nuts are covered with, and how the juice from these hulls has a very bad taste and stains the fingers a deep, rich brown, which stays a long time.


[Illustration]

It is very hard to remove even if one tries. Boys usually do not try,—they let it wear off.


[Illustration]

Jack and Ko generally did not trouble themselves much about it, but this time Jack had an invitation to go to the city with his mother to a birthday dinner with half a dozen cousins about his own age. That is, he could go if he could get his hands clean.

He knew there would be fun,—games, and stories, and plenty  of ice cream. So he was doing his best with a lemon and a saucer of salt, and Ko was helping him.

"I think," said Ko, "that I know why nuts are covered up this way. Ever since the almond scolded so when I said it was hard because it had to fall a good way, I've been thinking about it."

So you see it sometimes does children good to scold them.

"Well, out with it!" said Jack, who was much more interested just then in getting his hands clean than in hearing about nuts.

"Don't you remember," said Ko, "the almonds Uncle John sent us from California? those fresh ones? They had an outside covering a little like the butternuts, only not so much so. Well, you remember what the Madeira nut said about not coming out of its shell? It was so sweet it might get eaten. Now I believe that's why nuts have such a mean shuck."

"But hickory nuts don't, nor chestnuts," said Jack. "You pick them up as clean and shiny as you please. Ow!" he roared in the same breath, "don't rub all  the skin off my fingers!"

"I guess that hand is about as clean as I can get it, and leave any skin on," said Ko, surveying the very red little paw which he had been scrubbing. "I think brown hands look about as well as red ones, but mother doesn't seem to."

"I should say hickory nuts do  have bad-tasting shucks, until they get ripe and fall out," he went on, seizing Jack's other hand, and vigorously applying lemon and salt to the finger ends.

"Sometimes the shucks get dry and let the ripe nuts out, and sometimes they stay on the nuts and fall off with them."

"That's about it," said a walnut that had rolled across the barn floor, near where they were sitting. "You see our shells are quite soft at first, and our seeds, though not as sweet as when we are ripe, are still pretty good to eat. So we just cover the whole thing over with the bitterest, stingingest rind we can manage to make, and keep it until we are too hard for birds and most insects. Even then, we walnuts keep our hulls, but hickory nuts drop out of theirs, and so do chestnuts."

"Chestnut burrs don't need to taste very  bad," said Jack, laughing. "Nothing would want to bite one again after it had once got a few stickers in its mouth."


[Illustration]

"No indeed," said Ko; "come to think of it, all  nuts have some sort of horrid outside to them. Remember how sour the hazel burr is?"


[Illustration]

"The Madeira nut doesn't," said Jack.

"You can't say that," said Ko, "for you don't know how it grows. I shouldn't wonder if it has, for it is ever so much like a hickory nut."

"Well, Brazil nuts," persisted Jack.

"Goodness, boy! Don't you remember what they told you about the hard cups they grow in? That's for the same thing, only it is hard instead of tasting nasty."

"It's just this way," said the walnut, from its place in the corner. "All of us nuts have to be taken care of while we are growing. Now what do you keep your babies in?"

"In their mothers' arms," said Jack.

"I mean when they're asleep," said the nut.

"Cradles," answered Jack.

"Well, that's the way with us. These bad-tasting or hard husks are just the cradles to keep our babies safe until they are strong enough to help themselves a little."


[Illustration]

"Goodness!" said Jack.

"Yes," said the walnut, "that's the way it is."

"I believe all seeds have cradles, come to think of it," said Ko; "for the beans have their tough pods, and the peas, too. Even the pigs won't eat bean-pods."

"How about apples?" demanded Jack.

"They taste bad until they're 'most ripe," said Ko; "but then it seems just as if they asked to be eaten."

"Yes,—and cherries, and peaches, and plums, and oh, lots of things!" added Jack.


[Illustration]

"I can tell you about that," said the walnut, proud of being able to tell the boys so many things. "You see, almonds and plums are very much alike, only almonds have big, sweet seeds and not very hard shells. Now, they have bad-tasting husks to keep the seeds from being eaten. Well, plums have bitter seeds and very hard shells, so they have sweet and juicy hulls, which birds and people like to eat. But they throw away the seed, which may chance to fall in a place where it can grow. So with apples and pears,—the core is tough and keeps the seeds from being eaten.

"It is a good thing for the seeds to be carried away from the tree where they grow and thrown in a place where there is more room for them to live."

"There! don't you think that is done?" Jack demanded, pulling his hand away from Ko, and looking at it.

"Yes, I guess you'll do now," was the reply. "If they ask whether we took you for a lobster and tried to boil you, tell them it's scrubbing and not boiling that's made you so red."

"Good-by, Ko," said Jack; "I'll eat an extra plate of ice cream for you."

But Ko did not look very grateful for Jack's generous offer.

"I wish they'd invited me, too," he said.

"Oh, it's Tom's birthday soon, and he's your size, you know, and it will be your turn to go; then I'll have to stay home and think about it," said Jack, consolingly.

And off he went.


[Illustration]

 



Oliver Herford

Elf and Dormouse

Under a toadstool

Crept a wee Elf,

Out of the rain

To shelter himself.


Under the toadstool,

Sound asleep,

Sat a big Dormouse

All in a heap.


Trembled the wee Elf

Frightened, and yet

Fearing to fly away

Lest he get wet.


To the next shelter

Maybe a mile

Sudden the wee Elf

Smiled a wee smile.


Tugged till the toadstool

Toppled in two

Holding it over him

Gayly he flew.


Soon he was safe home,

Dry as could be.

Soon woke the Dormouse

"Good gracious me!


Where is my toadstool!"

Loud he lamented,

And that's how umbrellas

First were invented.

 


  WEEK 36  

  Thursday  


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

The Five Remarkable Brothers

A N old woman had five grown-up sons that looked just alike. The eldest could gulp up the ocean at a mouthful; the second was hard enough to nick steel; the third had extensible legs; the fourth was unaffected by fire; the fifth lived without breathing. They all concealed their peculiar traits, and their neighbours did not even guess that they were remarkable.

The eldest supported the family by fishing, going alone to the sea, and bringing back loads of spoil. The neighbours often besought him to teach their sons how to fish, and he at last let all their boys go with him, one day, to learn his art. On reaching the shore, he sucked the sea into his mouth, and directed the boys to the dry bottom, to collect the fish. When he was tired of holding the water, he beckoned to the boys to return, but they were playing amongst strange objects, and paid no heed to him. When he could contain the sea no longer, he had to let it flow back into its former basin, and all the boys were drowned.

As he went homeward, he passed the doors of the parents, who inquired how many fish their sons had caught, and how long they would be in coming back. He told them the facts, yet they would not excuse him, and they dragged him before the magistrate to account for the loss of their children. He defended himself by saying that he had not invited the boys to go with him, and had consented to their going only when the parents had repeatedly urged him; that, after the boys were on the ocean-bed, he had done his utmost to induce them to come ashore; that he had held the water as long as he could, and had then thrown it in the sea-basin solely because nothing else would contain it. Notwithstanding this defence, the judge decided that, since he took the boys away and did not bring them back, he was guilty of murder, and sentenced him to decapitation. He entreated leave to pay one visit to his aged mother before his execution, and this was granted. He went alone and told his brothers of his doom, and the second brother returned in his stead to the judge, thanked him for having given him permission to perform a duty required by filial piety, and said he was then ready to die. He knelt with bowed head, and the headsman brought the knife down across the back of his neck, but the knife was nicked and the neck was left unscathed. A second knife, and a third of finer steel, were brought and tried by headsmen who were accustomed to sever heads clean off at one stroke. Having spoiled their best blades without marring his neck, they took him back to prison and informed the judge that the sentence could not be executed.

The judge then decreed that he should be dropped into the sea which covered his victims. When he heard this decision, he said that he had taken leave of his mother supposing that his head was to be cut off, and that, if he was to be drowned, he must go to her and make known his fate, and get her blessing anew. Permission being given, he went and told his brothers what had happened, and the third brother took the place of the second, and presented himself before the judge as the criminal that was to be sunk in the sea. He was carried far from shore and thrown overboard, but he stretched his legs till his feet touched bottom and he stood with his head in the air. They hauled him aboard and took him farther from land, but still his extensible legs supported him above the waters. Then they sailed to mid-ocean, and cast him into its greatest depths, but his legs still lengthened so that he was not drowned. They brought him back to the judge, reported what had been done, and said that some other method of destroying him must be followed.

He was then condemned to death by being boiled in oil; and while the caldron was being heated, he begged and obtained leave to go and tell his mother of his late survival, and, of the manner in which he was soon to be taken off. His brothers having heard the latest judgment, the fourth one went to bear the penalty of the law, and was lowered into the kettle of boiling oil, where he disported himself as if in a tepid bath, and even asked the executioners to stir up the fire a little to increase the warmth. Finding that he could not be fried, he was remanded to prison.

Then the populace, the bereaved parents, and the magistrate joined in effort to invent a sure method of putting him to death. Water, fire and sword all having failed, they finally fixed upon smothering him in a vast cream-cake. The whole country round made contributions of flour for the tough pastry, sugar for the viscid filling, and bricks for a huge oven; and it was made and baked on a plain outside the city walls. Meanwhile the prisoner was allowed to go and bid his mother farewell, and the fifth brother secretly became his substitute. When the cake was done, a multitude of people, with oxen, horses, and ropes, dragged it to the execution ground, and within it the culprit was interred. As he was able to exist without air, he rested peacefully till the next midnight. Then he safely crawled forth, and returned to his home, where he dwelt happily for many years with his remarkable brothers.

 



Robert Louis Stevenson

Keepsake Mill

Over the borders, a sin without pardon,

Breaking the branches and crawling below,

Out through the breach in the wall of the garden,

Down by the banks of the river, we go.


Here is a mill with the humming of thunder,

Here is the weir with the wonder of foam,

Here is the sluice with the race running under—

Marvellous places, though handy to home!


Sounds of the village grow stiller and stiller,

Stiller the note of the birds on the hill;

Dusty and dim are the eyes of the miller,

Deaf are his ears with the moil of the mill.


Years may go by, and the wheel in the river

Wheel as it wheels for us, children, to-day,

Wheel and keep roaring and foaming for ever

Long after all of the boys are away.


Home from the Indies and home from the ocean,

Heroes and soldiers we all will come home;

Still we shall find the old mill wheel in motion,

Turning and churning that river to foam.


You with the bean that I gave when we quarrelled,

I with your marble of Saturday last,

Honoured and old and all gaily apparelled,

Here we shall meet and remember the past.

 


  WEEK 36  

  Friday  


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

Coriolanus

"O my mother, mother! O

You have won a happy victory to Rome:

But, for your son——"

—Shakspere.

H ERE is one more story of the old Roman days, before the true history of Rome begins. It is the story of a man, who became a traitor to his country, which was only saved by his mother's tears.

When Coriolanus was a boy he was called Caius Marcius. His mother brought him up in Rome, to be all that a boy ought to be, brave and honourable and true. He was also strong, and could run so fast, that none could compare with him. He first fought in the battle of Lake Regillus, said to have been won by the twin gods Castor and Pollux on their snow-white steeds. For his bravery he received a crown of oak-leaves, though only sixteen at the time.

There was a tribe of people living some way from Rome who had a quarrel with the Romans. They were known as Volscians. Against one of their towns, called Corioli, the Romans now marched, and among them was the young Caius Marcius. He fought so well, that it was mainly due to him, that the town was taken. Wherever the fight was thickest, there was the young Roman. At last he was badly wounded. The soldiers begged him to go to his tent that his wounds might be dressed, and rest.

"It is not for conquerors to be tired," he cried, and went on fighting.

The fighting over, and the town of Corioli taken, the Roman consul made a speech to the army, praising the gallant deeds of Caius Marcius.

"Of all the plunder we have gained we will give the tenth part to Caius Marcius," he said, "for he has well deserved it."

He then crowned him and gave him the surname of Coriolanus in honour of his victory. Coriolanus refused all reward; he only asked for the freedom of a friend who had been taken prisoner.

Soon after this, there was a great famine in Rome. During the wars, no one had tilled the land, and there was no corn, except what was brought from Sicily.

One day a large shipload of corn arrived from Sicily; Coriolanus stood up in the Senate and proposed withholding it from the people. The people were furious.

"Coriolanus would take from us this foreign corn, which is our only chance of getting bread for our children," they cried, "unless we give up our power of voting for laws. He will make us slaves or force us to die of hunger."

They tried to kill Coriolanus, and the Senate ordered that he should be tried. He was tried and condemned to exile. He must leave Rome and never return.

In vain he pleaded that he loved his country. The people were firm. He must go. Then the love of Coriolanus for Rome turned to hate, and with the fierce words, "There is a world elsewhere," he left them.

He went straight to the country of the Volscians, and entering the house of the warrior chief, he sat down by the fire and covered his face with his cloak. At last he spoke.

"I am Caius Marcius," he said, "the man who has done so much to harm you. The ungrateful people of Rome have driven me away from their city. I come to ask you to let me join you against the Romans."

The warrior was greatly surprised; but the Volscians were delighted to have Coriolanus, and very soon they led a large army against Rome.

When the Romans heard that the banished Coriolanus was in command of an army of the Volscians within five miles of Rome, they were very much alarmed. They sent friends of his—men he once loved—to plead with him for his native city; but Coriolanus told them unless they would give up a large piece of land to the Volscians he would fight.

Again the Romans sent messengers to plead with him. But in vain. He would not relent. He intended to have his revenge on Rome. At last the Romans thought of a last resource. They remembered the love that Coriolanus had always borne his mother, and they now begged her to go to him and beg him to spare Rome.

Taking one of her little grandsons by the hand, accompanied by her daughter-in-law leading the other, and followed by a band of Roman women, Volumnia stood, one day, before her exiled son Coriolanus. In pitiful terms she told him of Rome's unhappiness at his action; she spoke of her own misery at his fall and plan of revenge; she reminded him of his upright youth, his honour, and his old love for her. Kneeling at his feet, the two women and the children entreated him to spare Rome. The proud man was touched. What the other messengers could not do these Roman women had accomplished.

"Oh mother, mother! what have you done?" he cried, gently raising her up. "You have saved Rome, but lost your son. I go, conquered by you alone."


[Illustration]

"You have saved Rome, but lost your son."

The women carried the glad news back to Rome, and Coriolanus led his army back to the Volscians. But they were angry at his having made peace with their enemies, and they arose and killed him.

So Coriolanus died, and the Romans built a temple on the spot where Volumnia had knelt to him.

 



Jane Taylor

Thank You, Pretty Cow

Thank you, pretty cow, that made

Pleasant milk to soak my bread,

Every day and every night,

Warm, and fresh, and sweet, and white.


Do not chew the hemlock rank,

Growing on the reedy bank;

But the yellow cowslip eat,

That will make it very sweet.


Where the purple violet grows,

Where the bubbling water flows,

Where the grass is fresh and fine,

Pretty cow, go there and dine.

 


  WEEK 36  

  Saturday  


The Irish Twins  by Lucy Fitch Perkins

Twenty Years After

In the middle of one of the busiest crossings in Chicago, there stands a big man in a blue uniform. His eyes are blue, and there are wrinkles in the corners of them, the marks of many smiles.

On his head is a blue cap, and under the edge of the cap you catch a glimpse of dark hair. There are bands of gold braid on his sleeve, and on his breast is a large silver star.

He is King of the Crossing. When he blows his whistle, all the street-cars and automobiles and carriages—even if it were the carriage of the Mayor himself—stop stock-still. Then he waves his white-gloved hands and the stream of people pours across the street.

If there is a very small boy among them, the King of the Crossing sometimes lays a big hand on his shoulder and goes with him to the curb. And he has been known to carry a small girl across on his shoulder and set her safely down on the other side.

When the people are all across, he goes back to the middle of the street once more, and blows twice on his little whistle.

Then all the wheels that have been standing as still as if they had gone to sleep suddenly wake up, and go rolling down the street, while those that have just been turning stop and wait while the big man helps more people over the crossing the other way.

All day long the King of the Crossing stands there, blowing his whistle, waving his white-gloved hands, and turning the stream of people up first one street, then the other.

Everybody minds him. If everybody did n't, they might get run over and wake up in a hospital. Oh, he must be minded, the King of the Crossing, or nobody would be safe!

When the long day is over, he looks up the street and sees another big man coming. This man wears a blue uniform, too, and a silver star, and when the hands on the big clock at the corner point to five, he steps into the place of the King of the Crossing and reigns in his stead.

Then the King jumps on to the platform of a passing street-car, and by and by, when it has gone several miles, he jumps off again, and walks up the street to a little hoase that 's as neat as neat can be.

It stands back from the street in a little green yard. The house is painted white, and the front door is green. But he doesn't go to the front door. He goes round by the sidewalk to the kitchen door, and there he does n't even knock.

He opens the door and walks right in. Through the open door comes the smell of something good cooking, and he sees a plump woman with blue eyes that have smile wrinkles in the corners, just like his own, and crinkly dark hair, just like his own, too, bending over the stove. She is just tasting the something that smells so good, with a spoon.

When she sees the big man in the door she tastes so quickly that she burns her tongue! But she can use it just the same even if it is burned.

She runs to the big man and says, "And is that yourself, now, Larry darling? Sure, I 'm that glad to see you, I 've scalded myself with the soup!"

The big man has just time to say, "Sure, Eileen, you were always a great one for burning yourself. Do you remember that day at Grannie Malone's"—when out into the kitchen tumble a little Larry and a little E ileen, and a Baby. They have heard his voice, and they fall upon the King of the Crossing as if he were n't a King at all—but just a plain ordinary Uncle.

They take off his cap and rumple his hair. They get into his pockets and find some peppermints there. And the Baby even tries to get the silver star off his breast to put into her mouth.

"Look at that now," cries Uncle Larry. "Get along with you! Is it trying to take me off the Force, you are? Sure, that star was never intended by the City for you to cut your teeth on."

"She 'll poison herself with the things she 's always after putting in her mouth," cries the Mother. She seizes the Baby and sets her in a safe corner by herself, gives her a spoon and says, "There now—you can be cutting your teeth on that."

And when the children have quite worn Uncle Larry out, he sits upon the floor, where they have him by this time, and runs his fingers through his hair, which is standing straight up, and says to the Mother, "Sure, Eileen, when you and I were children on the old sod, we were never such spalpeens as the likes of these! They have me destroyed entirely, and me the biggest policeman on the Force! Is it American they are, or Irish, I want to know?"

"It 's Irish-American we are," shouts little Larry.

"And with the heft of both countries in your fists," groans big Larry.

And then the Mother, who has been laying the table, meanwhile, interferes. "Come off of your poor Uncle," she says, "and be eating your soup, like gentlemen and ladies. It 's getting cold on you waiting for you to finish your antics. Your poor Uncle Larry won't come near you at all, and you all the time punishing him like that."

And then the Baby, still sucking her spoon, is lifted into her high chair. A chair is placed for Uncle Larry, and they all eat their soup around the kitchen table, just as the very last rays of the summer sun make long streaks of light across the kitchen floor.

"Where 's Dennis?" says Uncle Larry, while the children are quiet for a moment.

"Oh, it 's Himself is so late that I feed the children and put them to bed before he gets home at all," says the Mother. "It 's little he sees of them except of a Sunday."

"It 's likely he 'll live the longer for that," says Uncle Larry. He looks reproachfully at the children and rubs his head.

And then—"Mother, tell us, what kind of a boy was Uncle Larry when you and he were Twins and lived in Ireland," says little Eileen.

"The best in the width of the world," says her Mother promptly. "Were n't you, Larry? Speak up and tell them now."

And Uncle Larry laughs and says, "Sure, I was too good entirely! It would n't be modest to tell you the truth about myself."

"Tell us about Mother, then," says little Eileen. "Was she the best in the width of the world, too?

"Sure, I 'll never be telling tales on my only twin sister," says Uncle Larry, "beyond telling you that there was many another in green old Ireland just like her, whatever kind she was. But I can't stay here wearing out my tongue! Look out the window! The chickens have gone to roost, and the sun is down. So get along with you to your beds."

When he had gone, and the children were in bed, and the house quiet, the Mother sat down by the light in the kitchen with a basket of mending beside her.

And while she darned and mended and waited for Himself to come home, she remembered and remembered about when she was little Eileen, herself, and the King of the Crossing was just her twin brother Larry.

And this book is what she remembered.


[Illustration]

 



Lenore M. Link

Holding Hands

Elephants walking

Along the trails


Are holding hands

By holding tails.


Trunks and tails

Are handy things


When elephants walk

In circus rings.


Elephants work

And elephants play


And elephants walk

And feel so gay.


And when they walk—

It never fails


They're holding hands

By holding tails.

 


  WEEK 36  

  Sunday  


Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

What Strong Drink Brought to Aaron's Sons

Leviticus x: 1, to 11.

dropcap image OON after the Tabernacle was set up in the middle of the camp of Israel, and the priests began the daily service of worship, a sad event took place, which gave great sorrow to Aaron the priest, to his family, and to all the people. The two older sons of Aaron, whose names were Nadab and Abihu, were one day in the Holy Place. It was a part of their work to take in a censer some burning coals from the great altar of burnt-offering in front of the Tabernacle, and with these coals to light the fire in the small golden altar of incense, which stood inside the Holy Place, near the vail.

These young men had been drinking wine, and their heads were not clear. They did not think of what they were doing; and instead of taking the fire from the altar of burnt-offering, they took some other fire, and with this went into the Holy Place to burn the incense upon the golden altar. God was angry with these young men for coming into his holy house in a drunken state, and for doing what he had forbidden them to do; for no fire except that from the great altar was allowed in the Holy Place.

While they were standing by the golden altar, fire came out from it, and they both fell down dead in the Holy Place. And when Moses heard of it, he said: "This is the sign that God's house is holy, and that God's worship is holy; and God will make people to fear him, because he is holy." And Moses would not allow Aaron, the father of these two men, to touch their dead bodies. He said, "You have on the robes of the high-priest, and you are leading in the service of worship. God's work must go on, and must not stop for your trouble, great as it is."

Then Aaron stood by the altar, and offered the sacrifice, though his heart was very sad. And the cousins of Aaron, by the command of Moses, went into the Holy Place and carried out the dead bodies of the two young men, dressed as they were in their priests' robes. And they buried these men outside the camp, in the desert.

And Moses said:

"After this, let no priest drink wine or strong drink before he enters the Tabernacle. Be sober, when you are leading the worship of the people, so that you will know the difference between the things that are holy and those that are common; and so that you may teach the people all the laws which the Lord has given them."

The rule that Moses gave to the priests to be kept when they were leading the worship of the people, not to drink wine or strong drink, is a good rule for every one to keep, not only when worshipping God, but at all times.

Besides these two sons of Aaron who had died, there were two other sons, named Eleazar and Ithamar. These young men took their older brothers' places in the services of the Tabernacle; and they were very careful to do exactly as the Lord had bidden them.


[Illustration]

The Brazen Altar

 



Christina Georgina Rossetti

Fly Away

Fly away, fly away over the sea,

Sun-loving swallow, for summer is done;

Come again, come again, come back to me,

Bringing the summer and bringing the sun.