Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

The Puppets Recognize Their Brother Pinocchio

W HEN Pinocchio came into the little puppet theatre, an incident occurred that almost produced a revolution.

I must tell you that the curtain was drawn up, and the play had already begun.

On the stage Harlequin and Punchinello were as usual quarrelling with each other, and threatening every moment to come to blows.

The audience, all attention, laughed till they were ill as they listened to the bickerings of these two puppets, who gesticulated and abused each other so naturally that they might have been two reasonable beings, and two persons of the world.

All at once Harlequin stopped short, and turning to the public he pointed with his hand to some one far down in the pit, and exclaimed in a dramatic tone:

"Gods of the firmament! do I dream, or am I awake? But surely that is Pinocchio! . . ."

"It is indeed Pinocchio!" cried Punchinello.

"It is indeed himself!" screamed Miss Rose, peeping from behind the scenes.

"It is Pinocchio! it is Pinocchio!" shouted all the puppets in chorus, leaping from all sides on to the stage. "It is Pinocchio! It is our brother Pinocchio! Long live Pinocchio! . . ."

"Pinocchio, come up here to me," cried Harlequin, "and throw yourself into the arms of your wooden brothers!"

At this affectionate invitation Pinocchio made a leap from the end of the pit into the reserved seats; another leap landed him on the head of the leader of the orchestra, and he then sprang upon the stage.

The embraces, the hugs, the friendly pinches, and the demonstrations of warm brotherly affection that Pinocchio received from the excited crowd of actors and actresses of the puppet dramatic company beat description.

The demonstration of warm brotherly affection that Pinocchio received.

The sight was doubtless a moving one, but the public in the pit, finding that the play was stopped, became impatient, and began to shout: "We will have the play—go on with the play!"

It was all breath thrown away. The puppets, instead of continuing the recital, redoubled their noise and outcries, and putting Pinocchio on their shoulders they carried him in triumph before the footlights.

Carried him in triumph before the footlights.

At that moment out came the showman. He was very big, and so ugly that the sight of him was enough to frighten anyone. His beard was as black as ink, and so long that it reached from his chin to the ground. I need only say that he trod upon it when he walked. His mouth was as big as an oven, and his eyes were like two lanterns of red glass with lights burning inside them. He carried a large whip made of snakes and foxes' tails twisted together, which he cracked constantly. At his unexpected appearance there was a profound silence: no one dared to breathe. A fly might have been heard in the stillness. The poor puppets of both sexes trembled like so many leaves.

"Why have you come to raise a disturbance in my theatre?" asked the showman of Pinocchio, in the gruff voice of a hob-goblin suffering from a severe cold in the head.

"Believe me, honoured sir, that it was not my fault! . . ."

"That is enough! To-night we will settle our accounts."

As soon as the play was over the showman went into the kitchen where a fine sheep, preparing for his supper, was turning slowly on the spit in front of the fire. As there was not enough wood to finish roasting and browning it, he called Harlequin and Punchinello, and said to them:

"Bring that puppet here: you will find him hanging on a nail. It seems to me that he is made of very dry wood, and I am sure that if he was thrown on the fire he would make a beautiful blaze for the roast."

At first Harlequin and Punchinello hesitated; but, appalled by a severe glance from their master, they obeyed. In a short time they returned to the kitchen carrying poor Pinocchio, who was wriggling like an eel taken out of water, and screaming desperately: "Papa! papa! save me! I will not die, I will not die! . . ."

 

Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

King Harald's Wedding

I T had taken King Harald ten years to fight so many battles. And all that time he had not cut his hair or combed it. Now he was feasting one day at an earl's house. Many people were there.

"How is it, friends?" Harald said. "Have I kept my vow?"

His friends answered:

"You have kept your vow. There is no king but you in all Norway."

"Then I think I will cut my hair," the king laughed.

So he went and bathed and put on fresh clothes. Then the earl cut his hair and beard and combed them and put a gold band about his head. Then he looked at him and said:

"It is beautiful, smooth, and yellow."

And all people wondered at the beauty of the king's hair.

"I will give you a new name," the earl said. "You shall no longer be called Shockhead. You shall be called Harald Hairfair."

"It is a good name," everybody cried.

Then Harald said:

"But I have another thing to do now. Guthorm, you shall take the same message to Gyda that you gave ten years ago."

So Guthorm went and brought back this answer from Gyda:

"I will marry the king of all Norway."

So when the wedding time came, Harald rode across the country to the home of Gyda's father, Eric. Many men followed him. They were all richly dressed in velvet and gold.

For three nights they feasted at Eric's house. On the next night Gyda sat on the cross-bench with her women. A long veil of white linen covered her face and head and hung down to the ground. After the mead-horns had been brought in, Eric stood up from his high seat and went down and stood before King Harald.

"Will you marry Gyda now?" he asked.

Harald jumped to his feet and laughed.

"Yes," he said. "I have waited long enough."

Then he stepped down from his high seat and stood by Eric. They walked about the hall. Before them walked thralls carrying candles. Behind them walked many of King Harald's great earls. Three times they walked around the hall. The third time they stopped before the cross-bench. King Harald and Eric stepped upon the platform, where the cross-bench was.

Eric gave a holy hammer to Harald, and it was like the hammer of Thor. Harald put it upon Gyda's lap, saying:

"With this holy hammer of Thor's, I, Harald, King of Norway, take you, Gyda, for my wife."

"I, Harald, King of Norway, take you, Gyda, for my wife."

Then he took a bunch of keys and tied it to Gyda's girdle saying:

"This is the sign that you are mistress of my house."

After that, Eric called out loudly:

"Now are Harald, King of Norway, and Gyda, daughter of Eric, man and wife."

Then thralls brought meat and drink in golden dishes. They were about to serve it to Gyda for the bride's feast, but Harald took the dish from them and said:

"No, I will serve my bride."

So he knelt and held the platter. When he did that his men shouted. Then they talked among themselves, saying:

"Surely Harald never knelt before. It is always other people who kneel to him."

When the bride had tasted the food and touched the mead-horn to her lips she stood up and walked from the hall. All her women followed her, but the men stayed and feasted long.

On the next morning at breakfast Gyda sat by Harald's side. Soon the king rose and said:

"Father-in-law, our horses stand ready in the yard. Work is waiting for me at home and on the sea. Lead out the bride."

So Eric took Gyda by the hand and led her out of the hall. Harald followed close. When they passed through the door Eric said:

"With this hand I lead my daughter out of my house and give her to you, Harald, son of Halfdan, to be your wife. May all the gods make you happy!"

Harald led his bride to the horse and lifted her up and set her behind his saddle and said:

"Now this Gyda is my wife."

Then they drank the stirrup-horn and rode off.

"Everything comes to King Harald," his men said; "wife and land and crown and victory in battle. He is a lucky man."

 

Anonymous

The Sea Princess

In a palace of pearl and seaweed, Set around with shining shells, Under the deeps of the ocean, The little sea princess dwells. Sometimes she sees the shadow Of a great whale passing by, Or a white-winged vessel sailing Between the sea and sky. And when through the waves she rises, Beyond the breakers' roar She hears the shouts of the children At play on the sandy shore; And sees the ships' sides tower Above like a wet black wall; Or shouts to the roaring breakers, And answers the sea gull's call. But down in the quiet waters Better she loves to play, Making a seaweed garden, Purple and green and gray; Stringing with pearls a necklace, Or learning curious spells From the water witch, gray and ancient, And hearing the tales she tells. Out in the stable her sea horse Champs in his crystal stall, And fishes with scales that glisten Come leaping forth at her call. So the little princess Is busy and happy all day Just as the human children Are busy and happy at play. And when the darkness gathers Over the lonely deep, On a bed of velvet seaweed The princess is rocked to sleep.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Three Men of Gotham

T HERE is a town in England called Go-tham, and many merry stories are told of the queer people who used to live there.

One day two men of Go-tham met on a bridge. Hodge was coming from the market, and Peter was going to the market.

"Where are you going?" said Hodge.

"I am going to the market to buy sheep," said Peter.

"Buy sheep?" said Hodge. "And which way will you bring them home?"

"I shall bring them over this bridge," said Peter.

"No, you shall not," said Hodge.

"Yes, but I will," said Peter.

"You shall not," said Hodge.

"I will," said Peter.

Then they beat with their sticks on the ground as though there had been a hundred sheep between them.

"Take care!" cried Peter. "Look out that my sheep don't jump on the bridge."

"I care not where they jump," said Hodge; "but they shall not go over it."

"But they shall," said Peter.

"Have a care," said Hodge; "for if you say too much, I will put my fingers in your mouth."

"Will you?" said Peter.

Just then another man of Gotham came from the market with a sack of meal on his horse. He heard his neigh-bors quar-rel-ing about sheep; but he could see no sheep between them, and so he stopped and spoke to them.

"Ah, you foolish fellows!" he cried. "It is strange that you will never learn wisdom.—Come here, Peter, and help me lay my sack on my shoul-der. "

Peter did so, and the man carried his meal to the side of the bridge.

"Now look at me," he said, "and learn a lesson." And he opened the mouth of the sack, and poured all the meal into the river.

"Now, neighbors," he said, "can you tell how much meal is in my sack?"

"How much meal is in my sack?"

"There is none at all!" cried Hodge and Peter together.

"You are right," said the man; "and you that stand here and quarrel about nothing, have no more sense in your heads than I have meal in my sack!"

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

A Bluebird's Song

"A bluebird's song," said Mother. "It is a sweet and gentle song. It belongs to spring time for spring is full of sweet and gentle things.

"Buds on bushes and trees open into leaves and flowers.

"There are fresh colors to see and pleasant scents to smell.

"The bluebird's song makes me think of what is new and sweet.

"And so I have a name for it. I like to call it my Song of Lovely Beginnings."

One cool spring morning Don and Nan walked in the park on the way to school.

They came to the tree with a bird box on it. It was a box that Uncle Tom gave to Don and Nan. Mr. Gray put it up in the park for them the spring before.

Now, a little bird was looking in at the hole in the box. She had a blue back. Her under feathers were dull red near her head and white near her legs.

Another little bird was sitting on a branch not far from the box. He had a blue back, too. A very, very bright blue back!

The bird on the branch sang to the bird at the box. His song was soft and gentle.

Nan and her brother felt happy while they listened.

Don whispered, "I think his song is about beginning a new nest."

 

Dinah Maria Mulock

Violets

Violets, violets, sweet March violets, Sure as March comes, they'll come too, First the white and then the blue— Pretty violets! White, with just a pinky dye, Blue as little baby's eye,— So like violets. Though the rough wind shakes the house, Knocks about the budding boughs, There are violets. Though the passing snow-storms come, And the frozen birds sit dumb, Up spring violets. One by one among the grass, Saying "Pluck me!" as we pass, Scented violets. By and by there'll be so many, We'll pluck dozens nor miss any: Sweet, sweet violets! Children, when you go to play, Look beneath the hedge to-day: Mamma likes violets.

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Jenny Has a Good Word for Some Sparrows

T HE morning after the fight between Jenny and Mr. Wren and Bully the English Sparrow found Peter Rabbit in the Old Orchard again. He was so curious to know what Jenny Wren would do for a house that nothing but some very great danger could have kept him away from there. Truth to tell, Peter was afraid that not being able to have their old house, Jenny and Mr. Wren would decide to leave the Old Orchard altogether. So it was with a great deal of relief that as he hopped over a low place in the old stone wall he heard Mr. Wren singing with all his might.

The song was coming from quite the other side of the Old Orchard from where Bully and Mrs. Bully had set up housekeeping. Peter hurried over. He found Mr. Wren right away, but at first saw nothing of Jenny. He was just about to ask after her when he caught sight of her with a tiny stick in her bill. She snapped her sharp little eyes at him, but for once her tongue was still. You see, she couldn't talk and carry that stick at the same time. Peter watched her and saw her disappear in a little hole in a big branch of one of the old apple-trees. Hardly had she popped in than she popped out again. This time her mouth was free, and so was her tongue.

"You'd better stop singing and help me," she said to Mr. Wren sharply. Mr. Wren obediently stopped singing and began to hunt for a tiny little twig such as Jenny had taken into that hole.

"Well!" exclaimed Peter. "It didn't take you long to find a new house, did it?"

"Certainly not," snapped Jenny "We can't afford to sit around wasting time like some folks I know."

Peter grinned and looked a little foolish, but he didn't resent it. You see he was quite used to that sort of thing. "Aren't you afraid that Bully will try to drive you out of that house?" he ventured.

Jenny Wren's sharp little eyes snapped more than ever. "I'd like to see him try!" said she. "That doorway's too small for him to get more than his head in. And if he tries putting his head in while I'm inside, I'll peck his eyes out! She said this so fiercely that Peter laughed right out.

"I really believe you would," said he.

"I certainly would," she retorted. "Now I can't stop to talk to you, Peter Rabbit, because I'm too busy. Mr. Wren, you ought to know that that stick is too big." Jenny snatched it out of Mr. Wren's mouth and dropped it on the ground, while Mr. Wren meekly went to hunt for another. Jenny joined him, and as Peter watched them he understood why Jenny is so often spoken of as a feathered busybody.

For some time Peter Rabbit watched Jenny and Mr. Wren carry sticks and straws into that little hole until it seemed to him they were trying to fill the whole inside of the tree. Just watching them made Peter positively tired. Mr. Wren would stop every now and then to sing, but Jenny didn't waste a minute. In spite of that she managed to talk just the same.

"I suppose Little Friend the Song Sparrow got here some time ago," said she.

SWEET VOICE THE VESPER SPARROW You can tell him from other Sparrows by the white outer feathers in his tail. LITTLE FRIEND THE SONG SPARROW His tinkling, happy song can never be mistaken.

Peter nodded. "Yes," said he. "I saw him only a day or two ago over by the Laughing Brook, and although he wouldn't say so, I'm sure that he has a nest and eggs already."

Jenny Wren jerked her tail and nodded her head vigorously. "I suppose so," said she. "He doesn't have to make as long a journey as we do, so he gets here sooner. Did you ever in your life see such a difference as there is between Little Friend and his cousin, Bully? Everybody loves Little Friend."

Once more Peter nodded. "That's right," said he. "Everybody does love Little Friend. It makes me feel sort of all glad inside just to hear him sing. I guess it makes everybody feel that way. I wonder why we so seldom see him up here in the Old Orchard."

"Because he likes damp places with plenty of bushes better," replied Jenny Wren. "It wouldn't do for everybody to like the same kind of a place. He isn't a tree bird, anyway. He likes to be on or near the ground. You will never find his nest much above the ground, not more than a foot or two. Quite often it is on the ground. Of course I prefer Mr. Wren's song, but I must admit that Little Friend has one of the happiest songs of any one I know. Then, too, he is so modest, just like us Wrens."

Peter turned his head aside to hide a smile, for if there is anybody who delights in being both seen and heard it is Jenny Wren, while Little Friend the Song Sparrow is shy and retiring, content to make all the world glad with his song, but preferring to keep out of sight as much as possible.

Jenny chattered on as she hunted for some more material for her nest. "I suppose you've noticed," said she, "that he and his wife dress very much alike. They don't go in for bright colors any more than we Wrens do. They show good taste. I like the little brown caps they wear, and the way their breasts and sides are streaked with brown. Then, too, they are such useful folks. It is a pity that that nuisance of a Bully doesn't learn something from them. I suppose they stay rather later than we do in the fall."

"Yes," replied Peter. "They don't go until Jack Frost makes them. I don't know of any one that we miss more than we do them."

"Speaking of the sparrow family, did you see anything of Whitethroat?" asked Jenny Wren, as she rested for a moment in the doorway of her new house and looked down at Peter Rabbit.

Peter's face brightened. "I should say I did!" he exclaimed. "He stopped for a few days on his way north. I only wish he would stay here all the time. But he seems to think there is no place like the Great Woods of the North. I could listen all day to his song. Do you know what he always seems to be saying?"

"What?" demanded Jenny.

"I live happ-i-ly, happ-i-ly, happ-i-ly," replied Peter. "I guess he must too, because he makes other people so happy."

Jenny nodded in her usual emphatic way. "I don't know him as well as I do some of the others," said she, "but when I have seen him down in the South he always has appeared to me to be a perfect gentleman. He is social, too; he likes to travel with others."

"I've noticed that," said Peter. "He almost always has company when he passes through here. Some of those Sparrows are so much alike that it is hard for me to tell them apart, but I can always tell Whitethroat because he is one of the largest of the tribe and has such a lovely white throat. He really is handsome with his black and white cap and that bright yellow spot before each eye. I am told that he is very dearly loved up in the North where he makes his home. They say he sings all the time."

"I suppose Scratcher the Fox Sparrow has been along too," said Jenny. "He also started some time before we did."

"Yes," replied Peter. "He spent one night in the dear Old Briar-patch. He is fine looking too, the biggest of all the Sparrow tribe, and how  he can sing. The only thing I've got against him is the color of his coat. It always reminds me of Reddy Fox, and I don't like anything that reminds me of that fellow. When he visited us I discovered something about Scratcher which I don't believe you know."

"What?" demanded Jenny rather sharply.

"That when he scratches among the leaves he uses both feet at once," cried Peter triumphantly. "It's funny to watch him."

"Pooh! I knew that," retorted Jenny Wren. "What do you suppose my eyes are made for? I thought you were going to tell me something I didn't know."

Peter looked disappointed.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Kid and the Wolf

A frisky young Kid had been left by the herdsman on the thatched roof of a sheep shelter to keep him out of harm's way. The Kid was browsing near the edge of the roof, when he spied a Wolf and began to jeer at him, making faces and abusing him to his heart's content.

"I hear you," said the Wolf, "and I haven't the least grudge against you for what you say or do. When you are up there it is the roof that's talking, not you."

Do not say anything at any time that you would not say at all times.

 

The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

What the Geese Talked Of

n the morning of the next day Maid-alone went into the goose-shelter, and the two-score geese when they saw her amongst them stretched up their necks, shook out their wings, and set up their goose-gabble. She had the rod of the goose-herd in her hand and she drove them out, setting the ganders marching at the heads of their companies.

She took them to the marsh, and she waited till they had all settled down to feed, leaving a gander to watch and ward for them. Then she hurried from the marsh and went to the hollow tree where her dresses were hidden; she took off her Crow-feather Cloak and she put on the first of her fine dresses, the glittering dress of bronze, with the gleaming shoes and the glittering veil.

She hung up the Crow-feather Cloak on the peg that the first of her fine dresses had been on. Then she went back to the swamp where the geese were feeding. The watcher and the warder for the flock saw her coming and he set up his cry. The other geese looked up and saw her. They stretched up their necks and they shook out their wings, and they cackled and clamoured and crowded around her. And whether she sat down on the stump of a tree or walked about in the sunlight, the geese crowded round or followed her.

No goose fed, and no gander kept watch or ward. Their necks were stretched up all the time she was there in her gleaming dress, with her glittering veil and gleaming shoes. And one goose kept saying that she was like a beautiful poplar tree, and another that she was like a shining water-lily. And an old goose kept saying that she was like Helen of Greece and her grandmother had told her about, Helen of Greece who was born out of a Swan's egg.

So the geese kept on talking with their neck stretched up. They neither fed nor kept watch from the time she came amongst them in her bronze dress. And when it was near sunset, Maid-alone turned to go to the hollow tree to leave back the first of her fine dresses and put on the Crow-feather Cloak. The geese followed her. She ran ahead of the flock, and she had the bronze dress off and the Crow-feather Cloak on before they came to where she was standing at the hollow tree. She drove them back to the goose-shelter, and they went on with their heads held high, telling of the wondrous maiden they had seen in the marsh. And one kept saying that she was like a beautiful poplar tree, and another kept saying that she was like a shining water-lily. But the oldest of the geese kept saying that she was like Helen of Greece that her grandmother had told her about, Helen of Greece who was born out of a Swan's egg.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Carry Some Things Ashore

IT was now past noon, and the tide was coming in. I could not stop to rest.

"I have food, I have clothing, I have tools," I said to myself. "What do I need next?"

Then I thought of the wild animals and wild men that I might meet on the shore. "How shall I protect myself from them?" I said.

In the captain's room I found two good guns with a bag of shot and a powderhorn. There were also two old swords, very rusty and dull, and a pair of big pistols.

By looking around, I found also three small kegs of powder. Two of these were dry, but the other was wet and good for nothing.

It took more than an hour to get all these safely placed on my raft. I now had quite a heavy load, and I began to wonder how I should take it to the shore.

I had no oars nor any sail for my raft. But the water was smooth, the tide was flowing in, and a gentle wind was blowing toward the land.

I loosed the rope that held the raft to the ship, and soon began my little voyage.

The tide was now so high that the dry land was much farther away than when I came out. But the raft floated smoothly along, and drew nearer and nearer to the shore.

Just as I thought myself safe, I found that I was entering a strong current which carried me into a narrow bay far from my first landing place.

There the raft stuck fast on an ugly sand bar, and was like to be tipped over. It was all I could do to keep the heavy boxes from slipping off into the water.

But the tide was still rising. Soon the raft floated free and glided slowly along again with the current.

In a short time I found that I was being carried up into a little river with high banks on each side.

With a piece of plank for an oar I pushed the raft toward the shore on my right. The water was now so shallow that I could reach the bottom.

The raft floated slowly onward until it reached a little cove into which I pushed it. The water there was quite still.

I looked around for a place to land. But the banks were steep, and if I ran one end of my raft upon the shore, the other end might sink so low as to slide all my goods into the water.

The best I could do was to wait till the tide was at its highest. Then I might push a little farther inland where the bank was somewhat lower.

This I did.

The tide rose higher and higher. At last, to my joy, the water reached the top of the bank. It covered a level spot of ground beyond.

I waited a little longer. The water on the level space was a foot deep. The tide was beginning to flow out.

With all my might I pushed the raft into this shallow place. The tide ebbed fast. Soon the raft was left high and dry on the land.

It was easy now to unload the goods and carry them to a safe place.

 

William Makepeace Thackeray

Little Billee

There were three sailors of Bristol city Who took a boat and went to sea. But first with beef and captain's biscuits And pickled pork they loaded she. There was gorging Jack and guzzling Jimmy, And the youngest he was little Billee. Now when they got so far as the Equator They'd nothing left but one split pea. Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "I am extremely hungaree." To gorging Jack says guzzling Jimmy, "We've nothing left, us must eat we." Says gorging Jack to guzzling Jimmy, "With one another, we shouldn't agree! There's little Bill, he's young and tender, We're old and tough, so let's eat he." "Oh! Billy, we're going to kill and eat you, So undo the button of your chemie." When Bill received this information He used his pocket-handkerchie. "First let me say my catechism, Which my poor mammy taught to me." "Make haste, make haste," says guzzling Jimmy While Jack pulled out his snickersnee. So Billy went up to the main-topgallant mast, And down he fell on his bended knee. He scarce had come to the Twelfth Commandment When up he jumps, "There's land I see. "Jerusalem and Madagascar, And North and South Amerikee: There's the British flag a-riding at anchor, With Admiral Napier, K.C.B." So when they got aboard of the Admiral's He hanged fat Jack and flogged Jimmee; But as for little Bill, he made him The Captain of a Seventy-three.

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

The Tragedy of Nero

"Butchered to make a Roman holiday." —Byron.

M ANY changes had taken place in Rome since the days of Tiberius Cæsar, who died four years after the crucifixion of Christ. The last of the Cæsars was now reigning in the person of one Nero. So far his youth had not been uneventful. When he was nine years old the Romans kept the great festival of the foundation of Rome. For eight and a half centuries their city had been growing in strength and importance. The last great deed had been the conquest of Britain, after which the emperor had named his little son, Britannicus.

Nero and Britannicus.

An account of this festival has come down to us. In the great amphitheatre African lions, leopards, and tigers were hunted by Roman officers; gladiators contended with lions, and bulls fought; but one of the chief objects of interest was the appearance of the two little Cæsars, Nero and Britannicus, dressed in military uniforms richly gilt. Britannicus was but six, while Nero was nine, but the two little fellows took part in a sham fight between the Greeks and the defenders of Troy. The Romans took a great fancy to the boy Nero; and his mother, Agrippina, a very powerful lady, determined that he should be emperor.

When Nero was fourteen another great triumph took place in Rome. The emperor and his wife, Agrippina, sat on two thrones to watch, with the rest of Rome, the captives from Britain led through the streets.

The story about Caractacus, the warrior British chieftain, is well known. He stood before the Roman emperor. It was the custom at a triumph to kill the captives. The other prisoners had pleaded for their lives, but the island chief was proud. Standing before the imperial throne, he spoke fearlessly to the great Cæsar.

"If to my high birth and distinguished rank I had added the virtues of moderation, Rome had beheld me rather as a friend than a captive. I had arms and men and horses, I possessed extraordinary riches: can it be any wonder that I was unwilling to lose them? Because you Romans aim at extending your rule over all mankind, must all men cheerfully submit to your yoke? I am now in your power: if you take my life, all is forgotten; spare me, and as long as I live I shall praise your forgiveness."

"He ceased; from all around upsprung A murmur of applause, For well had truth and freedom's tongue Maintained their holy cause. The conqueror was the captive then;— He bade the slave be free again."

So ends the story: the chains that bound Caractacus were removed, and he passed away from the staring throng of Romans, repeating his gratitude for the emperor's generosity.

When Nero was seventeen he became emperor of the Roman Empire, now larger than it had ever been before, while his mother Agrippina was made regent. For the first few years of his reign all went well. He was a joyous boy, enjoying his life to the full. Chariot-driving was his delight. Even when a child he had a little ivory chariot with horses, as a toy to drive along on the polished surface of the marble table.

But soon he became cruel and revengeful. When he was eighteen he determined on the death of Britannicus, lest he should try to win the empire for himself. The story says that he had poison mixed under his own eyes, and made trial of it first on a pig; then he poisoned Britannicus. The boy died at once.

Wanting to marry a wife to whom Agrippina strongly objected, he determined that his mother must die. A ship was built that would suddenly open in the middle and plunge her, unawares, into the sea. This ship he presented to her himself. It was a splendid-looking galley, with sails of silk. Kissing her passionately, Nero handed her on board. The night was warm and dark, though the sky was thick with stars, and the ship glided silently through the waters; till suddenly a signal rang out, and crash went the roof of the cabin, which was weighted with lead.

Agrippina found herself in the water; she struck out for the shore and was picked up by some fishermen. When Nero heard what had happened he was wild with rage, and by his orders she was stabbed to death. Then he married a wife who thought more of keeping good her complexion by bathing daily in asses' milk, than of helping her headstrong husband in the management of his vast empire. Luxury, cruelty, and banqueting were the order of the day, and Nero the emperor was the main actor in the coming tragedy.

 

A Child's Book of Myths and Enchantment Tales  by Margaret Evans Price

Atalanta and Hippomenes

A TALANTA was a Greek maiden who could run faster than any one on earth. She could outrun the winds, Boreas and Zephyr. Only Mercury, with his winged sandals, ran more swiftly.

Besides being so fleet-footed, Atalanta was very beautiful, and many Greek youths from every part of the kingdom wished to marry her. But Atalanta did not wish to marry any one and turned them all away, saying, "I shall be the bride only of him who shall outrun me in the race, but death must be the penalty of all who try and fail."

In spite of this hard condition there still were a few brave suitors willing to risk their lives for a chance of winning Atalanta.

For one of the races the runners chose the youth Hippomenes for judge.

Hippomenes

Hippomenes felt both pity and scorn for the runners. He thought they were foolish to risk their lives, and bade them go home. He reminded them that the land was full of lovely maidens who were kinder and more gentle than Atalanta.

"But you have not yet seen Atalanta," said one of the suitors to Hippomenes. "You do not know all her beauty and loveliness. See, she comes!"

Hippomenes looked, and saw Atalanta as she drew near. She laid aside her cloak and made ready for the race. For a moment she stood poised like a graceful white bird about to fly.

The suitors who stood beside her trembled with fear and eagerness.

At a word from Hippomenes the runners were off, but at the first step Atalanta flew ahead. Her tunic fluttered behind her like a banner. Her hair, loosened from its ribbon, blew about her shoulders in bright waves.

As she ran, Hippomenes thought her very beautiful and became envious of the runner who might win her. He shouted praises when she reached the goal far ahead of her poor suitors.

Hippomenes forgot that the penalty of failure was death. He did not remember the advice he had given the other runners to go home and forget the loveliness of Atalanta. He knew only that he loved her and must himself race with her.

Raising his head toward Mount Olympus, he prayed to Venus, the goddess of love, and asked her to help him.

As he stood beside Atalanta, waiting the signal for the race to start, Venus appeared to him and slipped three golden apples into his hands.

"Throw them one by one in Atalanta's path," whispered Venus.

The goddess was invisible to everyone but Hippomenes. No one saw her as she gave him the apples, nor heard her as she told him what to do with them.

Atalanta looked pityingly at the handsome youth as he stood ready to run. She was sorry for him, and for a moment she hesitated and almost wished that he might win the race.

The signal was given, and Atalanta and Hippomenes flew swiftly over the sand. Atalanta was soon ahead, but Hippomenes, sending up a prayer to Venus, tossed one of his golden apples so that it fell directly in front of Atalanta.

Astonished at the beautiful apple which seemed to fall from nowhere, she stooped to pick it up.

Atalanta stooped to pick up the golden apple.

That instant Hippomenes passed her, but Atalanta, holding the apple firmly in her hand, at once darted ahead. Again she outdistanced Hippomenes. Then he threw the second apple.

Atalanta could not pass without picking it up, and then, because of the apple in her other hand, paused a moment longer. When she looked up, Hippomenes was far ahead.

But gaining, she overtook and passed him. Then, just before she reached the goal, he threw the third apple.

"I can win easily," thought Atalanta, "even though I stoop for this other apple." As she was already holding an apple in each hand, she paused just for an instant as she wondered how to grasp the third.

That moment Hippomenes shot past, reaching the goal before Atalanta.

Amid the wild shouts of those who watched, he wrapped the maiden's cloak around her shoulders and led her away. Hippomenes was so happy that he forgot to thank the goddess Venus, who followed them to the marriage feast.

Invisible, she moved among the wedding guests. She saw Atalanta place the golden apples in a bowl of ivory and admire their beauty, but Hippomenes, in his delight, thought no more of the apples or of the goddess who had given them to him.

Venus was angry with Hippomenes for being so thoughtless, and instead of blessing the lovers she caused them to be changed into a lion and a lioness, doomed forever to draw the chariot of Cybele, the mother of Jupiter, through the heavens and over the earth.

 

Walter de la Mare

Up and Down

Down the Hill of Ludgate, Up the Hill of Fleet, To and fro and East and West With people flows the street; Even the King of England On Temple Bar must beat For leave to ride to Ludgate Down the Hill of Fleet.

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Betsy Goes to School

Part 2 of 2

As Elizabeth Ann continued sitting perfectly still, frozen with alarm, Cousin Ann jumped up briskly, got the little coat and cap, helped her up, and began inserting the child's arms into the sleeves. She pulled the cap well down over Elizabeth Ann's ears, felt in the pocket and pulled out the mittens. "There," she said, holding them out, "you'd better put them on before you go out, for it's a real cold day." As she led the stupefied little girl along toward the door Aunt Abigail came after them and put a big sugar-cookie into the child's hand. "Maybe you'll like to eat that for your recess time," she said. "I always did when I went to school."

Elizabeth Ann's hand closed automatically about the cookie, but she scarcely heard what was said. She felt herself to be in a bad dream. Aunt Frances had never, no never,  let her go to school alone, and on the first day of the year always took her to the new teacher and introduced her and told the teacher how sensitive she was and how hard to understand; and then she stayed there for an hour or two till Elizabeth Ann got used to things! She could not face a whole new school all alone—oh, she couldn't, she wouldn't! She couldn't! Horrors! Here she was in the front hall—she was on the porch! Cousin Ann was saying: "Now run along, child. Straight down the road till the first turn to the left, and there in the cross-roads, there you are." And now the front door closed behind her, the path stretched before her to the road, and the road led down the hill the way Cousin Ann had pointed. Elizabeth Ann's feet began to move forward and carried her down the path, although she was still crying out to herself, "I can't! I won't! I can't!"

Are you wondering why Elizabeth Ann didn't turn right around, open the front door, walk in, and say, "I can't! I won't! I can't!" to Cousin Ann?

The answer to that question is that she didn't do it because Cousin Ann was Cousin Ann. And there's more in that than you think! In fact, there is a mystery in it that nobody has ever solved, not even the greatest scientists and philosophers, although, like all scientists and philosophers, they think they have gone a long way toward explaining something they don't understand by calling it a long name. The long name is "personality," and what it means nobody knows, but it is perhaps the very most important thing in the world for all that. And yet we know only one or two things about it. We know that anybody's personality is made up of the sum total of all the actions and thoughts and desires of his life. And we know that though there aren't any words or any figures in any language to set down that sum total accurately, still it is one of the first things that everybody knows about anybody else. And that is really all we know!

So I can't tell you why Elizabeth Ann did not go back and cry and sob and say she couldn't and she wouldn't and she couldn't, as she would certainly have done at Aunt Harriet's. You remember that I could not even tell you why it was that, as the little fatherless and motherless girl lay in bed looking at Aunt Abigail's old face, she should feel so comforted and protected that she must needs break out crying. No, all I can say is that it was because Aunt Abigail was Aunt Abigail. But perhaps it may occur to you that it's rather a good idea to keep a sharp eye on your "personality," whatever that is! It might be very handy, you know, to have a personality like Cousin Ann's which sent Elizabeth Ann's feet down the path; or perhaps you would prefer one like Aunt Abigail's. Well, take your choice.

You must not, of course, think for a moment that Elizabeth Ann had the slightest intention  of obeying Cousin Ann. No indeed! Nothing was farther from her mind as her feet carried her along the path and into the road. In her mind was nothing but rebellion and fear and anger and oh, such hurt feelings! She turned sick at the very thought of facing all the staring, curious faces in the playground turned on the new scholar as she had seen them at home! She would never, never do it! She would walk around all the afternoon, and then go back and tell Cousin Ann that she couldn't! She would explain  to her how Aunt Frances never let her go out of doors without a loving hand to cling to. She would explain  to her how Aunt Frances always took care of her! . . . it was easier to think about what she would say and do and explain, away from Cousin Ann, than it was to say and do it before those black eyes. Aunt Frances's eyes were soft, light blue.

Oh, how she wanted Aunt Frances to take care of her! Nobody cared a thing about her! Nobody understood  her but Aunt Frances! She wouldn't go back at all to Putney Farm. She would just walk on and on till she was lost, and the night would come and she would lie down and freeze to death, and then wouldn't Cousin Ann feel . . . Someone called to her, "Isn't this Betsy?"

She looked up astonished. A young girl in a gingham dress and a white apron like those at Putney Farm stood in front of a tiny, square building, like a toy house. "Isn't this Betsy?" asked the young girl again. "Your Cousin Ann said you were coming to school today and I've been looking out for you. But I saw you going right by, and I ran out to stop you."

"Why, where is  the school?" asked Betsy, staring around for a big brick, four-story building.

The young girl laughed and held out her hand. "This is the school," she said, "and I am the teacher, and you'd better come right in, for it's time to begin."

She led Betsy into a low-ceilinged room with geraniums at the windows, where about a dozen children of different ages sat behind their desks. At the first sight of them Betsy blushed crimson with fright and shyness, and hung down her head; but, looking out the corners of her eyes, she saw that they, too, were all very red-faced and scared-looking and hung down their heads, looking at her shyly out of the corners of their eyes. She was so surprised by this that she forgot all about herself and looked inquiringly at the teacher.

"They don't see many strangers," the teacher explained, "and they feel very shy and scared when a new scholar comes, especially one from the city."

"Is this my grade?" asked Elizabeth, thinking it the very smallest grade she had ever seen.

"This is the whole school," said the teacher. "There are only two or three in each class. You'll probably have three in yours. Miss Ann said you were in the third grade. There, that's your seat."

Elizabeth sat down before a very old desk, much battered and hacked up with knife marks. There was a big H. P. carved just over the inkwell and many other initials scattered all over the top.

The teacher stepped back to her desk and took up a violin that lay there. "Now, children, we'll begin the afternoon session by singing 'America,' " she said. She played the air over a little very sweetly and stirringly, and then as the children stood up she came down close to them, standing just in front of Betsy. She drew the bow across the strings in a big chord, and said, "Now,"  and Betsy burst into song with the others. The sun came in the windows brightly, the teacher, too, sang as she played, and all the children, even the littlest ones, opened their mouths wide and sang lustily.

 

The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

Unc' Billy Possum Tells Jimmy Skunk a Secret

Be sure before you drop a friend That you've done nothing to offend.

A FRIEND is always worth keeping. Unc' Billy Possum says so, and he knows. He ought to, for he has made a lot of them in the Green Forest and on the Green Meadows, in spite of the pranks he has cut up and the tricks he has played. And when Unc' Billy makes a friend, he keeps him. He says that it is easier and a lot better to keep a friend than to make a new one. And this is the way he goes about it: Whenever he finds that a friend is angry with him, he refuses to be angry himself. Instead, he goes to that friend, finds out what the trouble is, explains it all away, and then does something nice.

Jimmy Skunk and Unc' Billy had been friends from the time that Unc' Billy came up from ol' Virginny to live in the Green Forest. In fact, they had been partners in stealing eggs from the hen-house of Farmer Brown's boy. So when Jimmy Skunk, who had made a special call on Prickly Porky to find out if he had seen the strange creature without head, tail, or legs, told everybody that Prickly Porky had seen nothing of such a creature, he was very much put out and quite offended to hear that Unc' Billy was telling how Prickly Porky had said that Peter might really have some reason for his queer story. It seemed to him that either Prickly Porky had told an untruth or that Unc' Billy was telling an untruth. It made him very angry.

The afternoon of the day when Unc' Billy had dared Reddy Fox to go at sun-up the next morning to the hill where Prickly Porky lives he met Jimmy Skunk coming down the Crooked Little Path. Jimmy scowled and was going to pass without so much as speaking. Unc' Billy's shrewd little eyes twinkled, and he grinned as only Unc' Billy can grin. "Howdy, Brer Skunk," said he.

Jimmy just frowned harder than ever and tried to pass.

"Howdy, Brer Skunk," repeated Unc' Billy Possum. "Yo' must have something on your mind."

Jimmy Skunk stopped. "I have!" he snapped. "I want to know whether it is you or Prickly Porky who has been telling an untruth. He told me that he hadn't seen anything like what Peter Rabbit said chased him, and you've been telling around how he told you that Peter may have had good grounds for that foolish story. If Peter saw that thing, Prickly Porky would know it, for he hasn't been away from home this summer. Why would he tell me that he hasn't seen it if he has?"

"Don' be hasty, Brer Skunk. Don' be hasty," replied Unc' Billy soothingly. "Ah haven't said that Brer Porky told me that he had seen  the thing that Peter says chased him. He told the truth when he told you that he hadn't seen any stranger around his hill. What he told me was that—" Here Unc' Billy whispered.

Jimmy Skunk's face cleared. "That's different," said he.

"Of course it is," replied Unc' Billy. "Yo' see Peter did  see something strange, even if Brer Porky didn't. Ah have seen it mahself, and now Ah invites yo' to be over at the foot of Brer Porky's hill at sun-up to-morrow mo'ning and see what happens when Brer Fox tries to show how brave he is. Only don' forget that it's a secret."

Jimmy was chuckling by this time. "I won't forget, and I'll be there," he promised. "I'm glad to know that nobody has been telling untruths, and I beg your pardon, Unc' Billy, for thinking you might have been."

"Don' mention it, Brer Skunk, don' mention it. Ah'll be looking fo' yo' to-morrow mo'ning," replied Unc' Billy, with a sly wink that made Jimmy laugh aloud.

 

Celia Thaxter

March

I wonder what spendthrift chose to spill Such bright gold under my window-sill! Is it fairy gold? Does it glitter still? Bless me! it is but a daffodil! And look at the crocus keeping tryst With the daffodil by the sunshine kissed. Like beautiful bubbles of amethyst They seem, blown out of the earth's snow-mist. And snowdrops' delicate fairy bells With a pale green tint like the ocean swells; And the hyacinths wearing their perfumed spells! The ground is a rainbow of asphodels! Who said that March was a scold and a shrew? Who said she had nothing on earth to do But tempest of fairies and rags to brew? Why, look at the wealth she has lavished on you! O March that blusters and March that blows, What color under your footsteps glows! Beauty you summon from winter snows, And you are the pathway that leads to the rose.

 

Our Island Saints  by Amy Steedman

Saint Patrick

Part 1 of 2

It was a dark night of storm and wind, but the people in the little farm on the western coast of Scotland were accustomed to stormy winds and the sound of breakers dashing upon the rocky shore, and they paid little heed to the wintry weather. They were all tired out with their day's work, and thankful, when the darkness closed in, to bar the doors and shut out the wild night as they gathered round the fire within. A rough set of people they looked in the light of the great peat fire that burned on the hearth. Only one, a boy of sixteen, seemed different to the rest, and had a gentler, more civilised look, while he held himself as if accustomed to command.

This boy was Patrick, son of the master Calponius, who belonged to the Roman colony at Dumbarton, and he had been brought up with care and taught all that a young Roman citizen should know. His gentle mother, niece of the holy Saint Martin of Tours, had brought with her many a cherished memory of courtly manners from the sunny land of her birth, and she had taught the boy to be courteous and knightly in his bearing. So it was that Patrick learned many things which were as yet unknown in the savage northern land where he dwelt, but chiefest among all was the faith of Christ, taught to him by his father and mother, who were both Christians.

But all these lessons seemed very dull and uninteresting to the restless boy. It was such a waste of the golden hours to sit indoors and learn those endless psalms. Prayers, too, took such a weary time, when he might be out on the hillside, as free as the happy birds and all the wild creatures that lived under the open sky. Sometimes in his heart he almost wondered whether it might not be pleasanter to be a heathen rather than a Christian. The heathen had no psalms to learn and could do just as they pleased.

"Some day thou wilt grow wiser," said his mother, "and what is but a dull lesson to thee now will be like apples of gold in pictures of silver."

But Patrick could not understand what she meant, and he was only too glad when lesson-time was over and he was allowed to go off to the little farm close to the sea, where he could work with his hands and not with his head. How he loved the rough free life there; the days spent in the fields and woods, the evenings when the peat was heaped high on the glowing hearth, and he listened to the stories of brave deeds and wild adventures which were told or sung in the flickering firelight! What cared he for shrieking winds and the roar of the breakers outside? It was fitting music to echo around the splendid tales that made his heart beat like a drum and his eyes glow like the fire.

"It is a wild night," said one of the men, "and black as the pit. We must needs have a wild song to match the night and chase away the blackness."

So the rude chant of savage deeds and wild adventures was taken up one by one, until the roar of the storm was drowned in their ears and the wail of the wind became part of the mournful music.

But outside in the blackness the wind had sterner work to do than to act as chorus to idle tales. What were those mysterious long black boats that fought their way so stubbornly through the angry waves? They seemed like phantoms of the night, so silently they moved, showing never a glimmer of light from stem to stern. In vain the icy wind swept down upon them and strove to beat them back. Slowly but surely they crept on until they reached a sheltered bay where sand was smooth and it was safe to land.

Black and silent as their boats the pirate crew landed one by one, and, like the ghosts of sea-monsters, crawled stealthily over the rocks and up the hill towards the farm that nestled in a hollow there. The light from the peat fire shone through the little window; a burst of wild song came floating out into the dark night: there was no thought of lurking danger or surprise.

Closer and closer crept the black figures until they too could listen to the story that was chanted by the fireside, and they laughed aloud to hear such brave words coming from the lips of men who sat safe and warm within, little dreaming of the real danger that beset them without.

"Hark!" cried one of the singers suddenly, "surely the wind hath a strange voice to-night. To me it soundeth like the laughter of demons."

With one accord the company started to their feet, for the sound they heard was no voice of the storm. The door was burst inwards with a tremendous crash, and well might the little company think for a moment that demons were abroad. Fearlessly and bravely they fought, but one by one they were overpowered, and either killed outright or bound hand and foot. The captain stood and looked at the row of sullen captives.

"Away with them to the boats," he cried. Then, pointing to Patrick, he added, "See that ye handle that one carefully, for he is a strong lad and will fetch a good price when we land on the other side."

There was nothing to be done, no rescue to hope for, and resistance only made matters worse. Patrick lay stunned and despairing in the bottom of the boat which was to carry him away from his home and his friends. It was all like a bad dream, the tossing of that stormy sea, the long dark night, the landing in a strange country, and the knowledge that he was now a slave to be sold to the highest bidder.

So Patrick came to Ireland, and was sold to a man whom they called Michu, and sent out into the fields to feed his master's swine.

Strong and hardy as the boy was, the life which he had now to lead taxed his endurance to the uttermost. There was little rest or leisure, for a slave's work is never finished, and he was often so hungry and so bitterly cold that he felt half stunned with misery. Even when the snow was on the ground he had to drive out his herd of pigs to find food for them, and often he was out all night upon the hillside, sheltering in some rocky corner as best he could from the biting wind that swept over the mountains.

In those long dark nights there was plenty of time for thinking, and the boy's thoughts were always of the far-off home and all that he had lost. Strangely enough it was not of the happy careless hours that he dreamed, but rather of the times that had once seemed so tiresome and so long. He loved to think of his mother, and those dull lessons which had once made him so impatient. Little by little all that he had learned came back to him, but instead of being only tiresome lessons, the psalms and prayers held a curious comforting message, as if a friend were speaking to him. Then their meaning became clearer and clearer until he realised that they were indeed a message from a real Friend. Though he was alone, homeless and utterly friendless, God was still there.

"Our Father," said the boy to himself, and the very words seemed to change everything around. God was here in this terrible unknown country, and God was his Father. To be a slave lost half its bitterness when he could stand upright and know himself to be God's servant as well.

For six long years Patrick served his master, Michu, diligently and well, for all this time he was learning also to serve God. With that love in his heart, he learned to care for all helpless things, and to see what was beautiful in common things around. Years afterwards, when he was a great teacher and the heathen priests scoffed at his teaching, and asked how he could explain the Trinity "Three Persons in One God," Patrick stooped down and plucked a leaf of the little green shamrock, which had taught him one of his lessons on the lonely hillside, and, showing its three leaves in one, gave a simple illustration of the great Mystery.

It was at the end of his sixth year of slavery, that one night Patrick drove his pigs to a distant hill overlooking his master's farm, and there, under the stars, in the shelter of a rock, he lay down to rest. It was not long before he fell asleep; but in his sleep he heard a voice close at hand speaking to him.

"Thy fasting is well," said the voice; "thou shalt soon return to thy country. Behold a ship is ready for thee, but thou must journey many miles."

Patrick started up, never doubting for a moment but that this was the message of an angel. He had lived so close to God that he was ever ready to receive His commands. In the story of his life, which he has written himself, he says, "I went in the power of the Lord, who directed my way for good, and I feared nothing until I arrived at that ship."

Weary, footsore, and worn after the long journey on foot, Patrick presented himself before the ship's captain, and prayed that he might be taken aboard and carried over to Britain. It was perhaps small wonder that the captain looked with suspicion at the wild figure of the runaway slave, and bade him angrily begone.

It was a bitter ending to Patrick's hopes, and he turned very sorrowfully away. The journey had been so long, and he had felt so sure that all would be well at the end. Then, as ever, his first thought was to turn to his One Friend, and so he knelt down on the shore and prayed for help and guidance. The answer came even as he prayed, and he heard a shout from one of the sailors, who had followed him.

"Come along," he cried, "they are asking for thee."

Back went Patrick in all haste, and found that meanwhile the captain had changed his mind.

"Come, we will take thee on trust," he said, meaning that Patrick should work out his own passage, or repay him when they landed. "We are about to sail, and hope to reach land in three days."

Those were three days of great happiness to Patrick, as he saw Ireland growing fainter and fainter in the distance, and knew that before him lay freedom and home, and all that he had lost.

But although the ship reached land in three days, it was not the land he knew, and he was still far off from home. The crew of the ship landed somewhere on the coast of Brittany, and tried to find their way to some town, having to travel across a strange, desolate country where there were no inhabitants and nothing to guide them. Day by day their store of food grew less, until they had nothing left to eat, and it seemed as if they must die of starvation.

Now the captain had found that Patrick was to be trusted, and had watched him often at his prayers, and came to think there must be some truth in a religion that made a man so honest and ready to do his duty. So now he called Patrick to him to ask his advice.

"Christian," he said, "thy God is powerful; pray for us, for we are starving."

"I will pray," answered Patrick, "but thou too must have faith in the Lord."

So just as a hungry child turns to his father and asks for bread, Patrick knelt and prayed to God, and suddenly there was a sound of rushing and tearing through the wood, and a herd of wild boars came sweeping along. The men gave chase, and soon captured and killed enough to provide food for many days.

After many adventures Patrick at last reached home, and for a while forgot all the hardships he had endured in the joy and happiness of that wonderful home-coming.

But the careless happy days of boyhood were over now, and a man's work was waiting for him.

"Only let the work be here," prayed his mother. "O my son, promise that thou wilt never leave us again, now that we have so wonderfully found thee."

For a while that too was Patrick's only wish, never to leave the dear home and those he loved so well.

But, as he lay asleep one night, the heavenly messenger came once more to him and pointed out the path which God would have him tread. It seemed to Patrick that the angel held in his hand a bundle of letters, and on one was written "the voice of the Irish." This he gave to Patrick, who, as he read, seemed to hear the call of many voices echoing from the land where he had been a slave. Even the voices of little children rang in his ears, and all of them were calling to him and saying, "We entreat thee, come and walk still in the midst of us."

The thought of those poor untaught people who had never heard of God had often made him long to help them, and this call decided him. He would enter God's service as a priest, and then go back to the country of his captivity to carry the torch of God's love in his hand, and spread abroad the glorious light in every corner of the dark land.

After a long time of preparation and study, Patrick was at last consecrated bishop, and then set out at once to return to the country where he had suffered so much.

It was a very different coming this time to the arrival of the boy-slave many years before. With his train of clergy and helpers, the bishop, pastoral staff in hand, landed on the sandy shore of Strangford Lough, and he bore himself as a conqueror marching to victory.

Strangely enough, the first person to greet the band of strangers was a swineherd guarding his pigs, just as Patrick had done in those long years of slavery. The lad was terrified when he saw these strange men, and although Patrick spoke kindly to him in his own tongue, the swineherd fled away to the woods. With all haste he returned to his master, Dichu, and told his news.

"There are pirates landing at the bay," he cried, "strange men who come to rob and kill."

Dichu in alarm immediately armed himself and his followers and set out to meet the enemy. But instead of the savage pirates he expected, he found a band of peaceful unarmed men, with one at their head whom it was easy to see was no robber.

Patrick came forward then to meet the chief, and the two men talked a while earnestly together.

"Put up your weapons," cried Dichu, turning to his followers, "these men are friends and not enemies."

As friends, then, Dichu led them to his house and made them welcome. The fearless bravery of Patrick and his strong kind face had won the chieftain's heart, and he prepared to entertain him royally. But Patrick could neither rest nor eat until his message was delivered, and as Dichu listened to his burning words, they seemed to seize him with a strange power and made him long to hear more. Gladly would he have kept Patrick with him, but there was much work to be done, and the bishop wished first of all to seek out his old master Michu, and pay the money due to him as the price of the runaway slave.

How well he knew every step of the way to the old farm! It seemed as if he must be walking in a dream, that he must be still the barefooted, hungry, ill-clad boy of long ago. There were the woods through which he had so often driven his pigs, the banks where he had found the first spring flowers, the rocks which had so often sheltered him, the little green friendly shamrock which he had loved so dearly. Up the steep hillside he climbed, and at the top he paused and knelt in prayer, remembering the vision he had seen there and the message of the angel. Then, rising up, he looked eagerly towards the spot where his master's farm nestled in the hollow beneath.

Alas! he had come too late; nothing but a thin grey curl of smoke marked the place where the smouldering ashes of the farm lay, and, saddest of all, his master too had perished in the fire.

So there was naught to do but turn back and carry the message to others. But Patrick's heart was sad for his old master.

 

The Sandman: His Ship Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Pirate Story

NCE upon a time there was a wide river that ran into the ocean, and beside it was a little city. And in that city was a wharf where great ships came from far countries. And a narrow road led down a very steep hill to that wharf, and anybody that wanted to go to the wharf had to go down the steep hill on the narrow road, for there wasn't any other way. And because ships had come there for a great many years, and all the sailors and all the captains and all the men who had business with the ships had to go on that narrow road, the flagstones that made the sidewalks were much worn. That was a great many years ago.

The river and the ocean are there yet, as they always have been and always will be; and the city is there, but it is a different kind of a city from what it used to be. And the wharf is slowly falling down, for it is not used now; and the narrow road down the steep hill is all grown up with weeds and grass.

One day, in the long ago, the brig Industry  lay at that wharf, and she was all loaded and ready for another voyage to the far country. She had made one voyage, and had been refitted as much as she needed to be, and she had some new sails and new rigging; but Captain Solomon had not got his crew yet, and he hadn't put aboard the things to eat and the water that they would drink. For the sailors all go away when a ship has finished a voyage and got in to the wharf, so that there isn't any crew; and when the ship is ready to sail again, the owners of the ship have to find some more sailors for that voyage, and the sailors all have to sign a paper agreeing to help sail the ship until she gets in again.

And so it happened that Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob had advertised that the Industry  would soon sail for the far country, and that they wanted sailors for her; and they did that by posting printed notices about that part of the city where the sailors live. But some of the sailors were men who lived at their homes when they were ashore, and they liked to sail in the Industry  and had watched her being loaded, so that they knew when the time came for signing the crew. And the mates had been picked out before that time came.

So, one morning, there was a great crowd of men in the office of Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob. Captain Jonathan was there, and Captain Jacob, and Captain Solomon, who would command the ship; and the mates were there, both the first mate and the second mate. And, besides these, there were all the men who wanted to be the sailors. And Captain Solomon remembered all the men who had sailed with him before, and he engaged those men first, and they signed the papers. And then he picked out, from among all the other men, those who seemed the biggest and the strongest and those who looked as if they drank the least; for sailors are very apt to get drunk when they have the chance. They don't have the chance when they are on the ship, but whenever they go ashore they have the chance, and those sailors who get drunk can't work very well for a day or two after.

So Captain Solomon got his crew, and the other men, that he didn't want, he sent away. And he told the crew to get their things and come the next day, because the Industry  would sail very early on the morning after, at high tide.

Then he had all the things that they would eat put in the ship, and the water they would drink. And they put two little cannon aboard and the ammunition for the cannon. And they put a lot of guns aboard and the ammunition for the guns. But Captain Solomon had all the guns put in his cabin, with the ammunition, for he didn't want them to be where the sailors could get them, until he was ready to give them to the sailors. And the cannon he put in the hold until he should be ready to have them brought on deck.

The reason that the cannon and the guns were put on the ship was that Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob had told Captain Solomon that they wanted him to stop at a certain place on his way to the far country; and, to stop there, he would have to go past the parts of a small ocean where pirates lived. Many of the people of that country made their living by being pirates, and some great nations paid those people money every year to let their vessels alone. But, when the pirates found a vessel sailing all by herself, they were very apt to think that it would never be known how she was lost if none of the crew came back home again. And they would capture that ship, if they could, and kill all the sailors or sell them to be slaves. So Captain Solomon asked Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob for the cannon and the guns.

And the crew of the Industry  came the next day, as they had been told to. And, the morning after, at high tide, the ship sailed away from that wharf and out into the great ocean. But Captain Jonathan was not there, to see her go, nor Captain Jacob nor Lois; for it was much too early to be convenient for them. And the wind blew, and it was a fair wind for many days, and not a great wind. And the Industry  set all her sails and sailed away over the great ocean for many days; but she did not get to the part of the ocean where it is calm, for she turned in towards Gibraltar.

And when she was a day's sailing from Gibraltar Captain Solomon had the cannon brought up from the hold, and he had them mounted on the deck, one of them in the fore part of the ship, and one of them in the after part. And he had the ammunition for the cannon brought up, and stowed where it would be easy to get at it. Then he had the guns brought out of his cabin, and the ammunition for them. And he looked over the guns very carefully, to see that they were all right, and he had the guns put where the crew could get them. Then he called the crew together and told them about the pirates. And the sailors were a little excited, but not as much as you would have expected, and they hoped, in their hearts, that the pirates would come.

Captain Solomon kept two sailors up in the crosstrees, one on the mainmast and one on the foremast, to look out over the water and see any vessel that was coming. And they kept a sharp lookout, but they didn't see anything. Captain Solomon kept those men there, looking out over the ocean, only two hours, and then he told them to come down and he sent two others up in their places. For he didn't want them to get sleepy, because they had to stay up there too long with nothing to do but to look out and see the ocean and the waves tossing. And they kept a lookout all that night and didn't see anything; but, very early in the morning, when it was just beginning to be light enough to see about them, the sailor in the main crosstrees called out:

"Ahoy! The deck!"

And as soon as he had called, the sailor in the fore crosstrees called out, too.

And the first mate answered and said, "In the crosstrees." For Captain Solomon had stayed up all night, and he had gone into his cabin to get a little nap.

"Sail on the weather bow!" said the sailor in the main crosstrees. "Hull down. Can you see it from the deck, sir?"

And the mate looked where the sailor had said, and he saw just the peak of a sail that looked as if it was sticking up out of the water. If you live near the water in the summer, and that water is wide enough, you can see just the tops of the sails of vessels when you can't see any of the lower part of them, and you will know how it looked.

"Yes," answered the mate; "but I can't make it out. What rig is it?"

"Looks like a lateen, sir."

"I'll come up," said the mate. So he told one of the sailors to go down and call the captain, and he took the long glass under his arm and climbed up the rigging. The long glass made things that are far away look bigger to anyone that looked through it, and it pulled out until it was about four feet long.

And when the mate had got into the crosstrees, he looked through the long glass and he saw the sail plainly, and saw that it was a lateen rig, but he couldn't see any of the hull of the vessel, because that was down behind the roundness of the world. A lateen rig is a queer kind of rig that was used by the people that were pirates. And the mate looked a long time, and then he shut up the glass again.

"Them's um," he said, and he was smiling as he said it. "Call all hands!"

But it wasn't necessary to call all hands, because all of the sailors had crowded up on deck as soon as they heard of the strange sail. One of the sailors that was on watch had stuck his head down into the forecastle where the sailors sleep, and had shouted out the news. And Captain Solomon had run up the cabin steps, three steps at a time, and he was already half-way up to the crosstrees.

And Captain Solomon looked through the long glass and he saw that the strange sail was the kind that the pirates use. So he went down to the deck again, and the mate followed him. But he left the sailor in the crosstrees, to watch the vessel. And Captain Solomon told the mate to get the men together, and to tell off certain ones of them to man the forward cannon, and certain others to man the after cannon; and he was to see that the guns were given out, and ammunition for them. And the mate did all that, and the men who manned the cannon got out the powder and the shot for them, and piled it on the deck near the cannon.

Then Captain Solomon told the ship's cook to stir up his fire, and to go to work heating water, as much as he could get in all his great soup kettles. And the cook did that, and before long he had five great kettles of water boiling over the fire, and there was a great steam coming out of the galley.

And Captain Solomon had the sailors shoulder their guns, and walk back and forth on the side of the ship that was nearest the pirates, and he had the sailors who manned the cannon stand in plain sight; and he had the course of the ship changed so that she headed almost directly for the pirates. The pirates had got pretty near by that time, and they were not more than two miles away. And two miles, on the water, is not very far.

When the pirates saw the Industry  change her course and head directly for them, they did not know what to make of it; for they had expected her to try to run away. They thought that perhaps she was a warship, for she was painted like one, with a white stripe around her, and black squares on the white stripe, as if the black squares were places where the cannon were. So they hesitated for a few moments, and then they changed their course, to try to get around her and see more of her. And Captain Solomon let them get around a little, so that they could see the black squares all around, on the white stripe, and so they could see the sailors walking back and forth, with their guns, and the sailors who manned the cannon.

And the pirates saw all those men and their guns, and they couldn't make up their minds what kind of a ship that was. A great many ships were painted like that, to look like warships, but not many ships had so many men with guns and not many ships had cannon. So they changed their course again, and presently the Industry  changed her course, too, so that, if the two vessels kept on, they would sail past each other, and very near. And that was just what the pirates wanted. For, if they thought it was safe to do so, they could suddenly put their vessel alongside the Industry, and they had a lot of men lying down where they couldn't be seen by Captain Solomon or any of his sailors, and those men were all ready to jump up and get aboard the Industry, with knives and pistols. And, if they decided that wasn't safe, they could sail past. For the pirates' boat was much faster than the Industry.

But Captain Solomon was up to all their tricks, and that was the very thing that he had told the cook to heat the water for; for the sides of the Industry  were high, while the pirates' boat was low, and the pirates would have nothing to hold on to, in climbing up the steep sides. And he could have the sailors empty the kettles of boiling water on their heads while they were climbing up.

And the pirates came near and hailed the Industry, and asked if Captain Solomon didn't want a pilot. And Captain Solomon didn't understand, and made them say it over three or four times, and the course of the Industry  was changed again, so that she was almost directly astern of the pirates' boat, and with her side toward it. Captain Solomon hoped that the pirates wouldn't make him change his course any more, for he couldn't very well, with the wind the way it was. And the pirates kept asking Captain Solomon if he didn't want a pilot, and at last he understood. He gave a great laugh, and had the sailors all aim their guns at the pirates.

That was a sign that the pirates needn't try any more of their tricks, and they decided that it wasn't very safe to try to get aboard and they guessed they wouldn't. So they began to sail away. But, as soon as they thought they were far enough off, they took the cover off of a cannon and fired a shot at the Industry. And this shot went a little too high, and it went through one of the sails and cut away some ropes, but it didn't hit anybody and didn't do much damage. But it made Captain Solomon very angry.

"Let 'em have it, boys!" he cried.

And the sailors that manned the two cannon were eager for the chance, and this was just what they had been waiting for. As soon as Captain Solomon had spoken, they fired the two cannon, almost at the same time, so that no one could tell which was fired first. And the two shots flew and the sailors watched them go. They both struck the pirates' boat, and one of them went through the side, so that the water came in very fast; and the other struck one of the masts, and cut it in two pieces, so that the top, with the sail and the great yard, fell over into the water.

They both struck the pirates' boat.

Then the sailors of the Industry  raised a great yell and would have liked to go near the pirates' boat and fire at it some more. But Captain Solomon wouldn't. He was afraid that he might have to rescue the pirates if their boat sank, and he didn't want a lot of rescued pirates on the Industry.

So he bore off for Gibraltar again. And the sailors looked back, and they saw the pirates, how some of them were busy in clearing away the wreckage of the mast and the sail while others tried to empty out the water as fast as it came in. And whether they succeeded in doing that or not, they never knew; for they were soon out of sight, and that was the last that they saw of those pirates.

And that's all.

 

William Blake

The Lamb

Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee, Gave thee life, and bid thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little lamb, I'll tell thee; Little lamb, I'll tell thee: He is called by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb. He is meek, and He is mild, He became a little child. I a child, and thou a lamb, We are called by His name. Little lamb, God bless thee! Little lamb, God bless thee!