Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Is Taken In by the Fox and the Cat

T HE following day Fire-eater called Pinocchio on one side and asked him:

"What is your father's name?"

"Geppetto."

"And what trade does he follow?"

"He is a beggar."

"Does he gain much?"

"Gain much? Why, he has never a penny in his pocket. Only think, to buy a Spelling-book for me to go to school he was obliged to sell the only coat he had to wear—a coat that, between patches and darns, was not fit to be seen."

"Poor devil! I feel almost sorry for him! Here are five gold pieces. Go at once and take them to him with my compliments."

You can easily understand that Pinocchio thanked the showman a thousand times. He embraced all the puppets of the company one by one, even to the gendarmes, and beside himself with delight set out to return home.

But he had not gone far when he met on the road a Fox lame of one foot, and a Cat blind of both eyes, who were going along helping each other like good companions in misfortune. The Fox, who was lame, walked leaning on the Cat, and the Cat, who was blind, was guided by the Fox.

"Good day, Pinocchio," said the Fox, accosting him politely.

"How do you come to know my name?" asked the puppet.

"I know your father well."

"Where did you see him?"

"I saw him yesterday at the door of his house."

"And what was he doing?"

"He was in his shirt sleeves and shivering with cold."

"Poor papa! But that is over; for the future he shall shiver no more! . . ."

"Why?"

"Because I am become a gentleman."

"A gentleman—you!" said the Fox, and he began to laugh rudely and scornfully. The Cat also began to laugh, but to conceal it she combed her whiskers with her forepaws.

"There is little to laugh at," cried Pinocchio angrily. "I am really sorry to make your mouths water, but if you know anything about it, you can see that these here are five gold pieces."

And he pulled out the money that Fire-eater had made him a present of.

At the sympathetic ring of the money the Fox, with an involuntary movement, stretched out the paw that had seemed crippled, and the Cat opened wide two eyes that looked like two green lanterns. It is true that she shut them again, and so quickly that Pinocchio observed nothing.

"And now," asked the Fox, "what are you going to do with all that money?"

"First of all," answered the puppet, "I intend to buy a new coat for my papa, made of gold and silver, and with diamond buttons; and then I will buy a Spelling-book for myself."

"For yourself?"

"Yes indeed: for I wish to go to school to study in earnest."

"Look at me!" said the Fox. "Through my foolish passion for study I have lost a leg."

"Look at me!" said the Cat. "Through my foolish passion for study I have lost the sight of both my eyes."

At that moment a white Blackbird, that was perched on the hedge by the road, began his usual song, and said:

"Pinocchio, don't listen to the advice of bad companions: if you do you will repent it! . . ."

Don't listen to the advice of bad companions.

Poor Blackbird! If only he had not spoken! The Cat, with a great leap, sprang upon him, and without even giving him time to say Oh! ate him in a mouthful, feathers and all.

Having eaten him and cleaned her mouth she shut her eyes again and feigned blindness as before.

"Poor Blackbird!" said Pinocchio to the Cat, "why did you treat him so badly?"

"I did it to give him a lesson. He will learn another time not to meddle in other people's conversation."

They had gone almost half-way when the Fox, halting suddenly, said to the puppet:

"Would you like to double your money?"

"In what way?"

"Would you like to make out of your five miserable sovereigns, a hundred, a thousand, two thousand?"

"I should think so! but in what way?"

"The way is easy enough. Instead of returning home you must go with us."

"And where do you wish to take me?"

"To the land of the Owls."

Pinocchio reflected a moment, and then he said resolutely:

"No, I will not go. I am already close to the house, and I will return home to my papa who is waiting for me. Who can tell how often the poor old man must have sighed yesterday when I did not come back! I have indeed been a bad son, and the Talking-cricket was right when he said: 'Disobedient boys never come to any good in the world.' I have found it to my cost, for many misfortunes have happened to me. Even yesterday in Fire-eater's house I ran the risk. . . . Oh! it makes me shudder only to think of it!"

"Well, then," said the Fox, "you are quite decided to go home? Go, then, and so much the worse for you."

"So much the worse for you!" repeated the Cat.

"Think well of it, Pinocchio, for you are giving a kick to fortune."

"To fortune!" repeated the Cat.

"Between to-day and to-morrow your five sovereigns would have become two thousand."

"Two thousand!" repeated the Cat.

"But how is it possible that they could have become so many?" asked Pinocchio, remaining with his mouth open from astonishment.

"I will explain it to you at once," said the Fox. "You must know that in the land of the Owls there is a sacred field called by everybody the Field of miracles. In this field you must dig a little hole, and you put into it, we will say, one gold sovereign. You then cover up the hole with a little earth: you must water it with two pails of water from the fountain, then sprinkle it with two pinches of salt, and when night comes you can go quietly to bed. In the meanwhile, during the night, the gold piece will grow and flower, and in the morning when you get up and return to the field, what do you find? You find a beautiful tree laden with as many gold sovereigns as a fine ear of corn has grains in the month of June."

"So that," said Pinocchio, more and more bewildered, "supposing I buried my five sovereigns in that field, how many should I find there the following morning?"

"That is an exceedingly easy calculation," replied the Fox, "a calculation that you can make on the ends of your fingers. Put that every sovereign gives you an increase of five hundred: multiply five hundred by five, and the following morning will find you with two thousand five hundred shining gold pieces in your pocket."

"Oh! how delightful!" cried Pinocchio, dancing for joy. "As soon as ever I have obtained those sovereigns, I will keep two thousand for myself, and the other five hundred I will make a present of to you two."

"A present to us?" cried the Fox with indignation and appearing much offended. "What are you dreaming of?"

"What are you dreaming of?" repeated the Cat.

"We do not work," said the Fox, "for dirty interest: we work solely to enrich others."

"Others!" repeated the Cat.

"What good people!" thought Pinocchio to himself: and forgetting there and then his papa, the new coat, the Spelling-book, and all his good resolutions, he said to the Fox and the Cat:

"Let us be off at once. I will go with you."

 

Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

Homes in Iceland

Part 1 of 3

M EN had been feasting in Ingolf's house. But there was no laughing and no shouting of jokes. Ingolf sat in his high seat frowning and gloomy. His head hung on his breast. He was staring into the fire. Now he raised his head and looked about the hall.

"Comrades," he said, "what shall we do? Herstein and Holmstein died by our swords. Their kinsmen hunger to kill us. Besides, when Harald hears of our deed, there will not be a safe place in Norway for us. He will never let a man fight out an honest quarrel. Where shall we go?"

A man stood up from the bench.

"We have friends in the Shetlands," he said. "Let us find homes there."

Then Leif, in the high seat opposite Ingolf, stood up.

"No, not the Shetlands, my foster-brother. They are crowded already. Besides, Harald will not long keep his hands off them. Then they will be no better than Norway. England and Ireland and Scotland are old. My eyes ache for something new. What of that far island that Floki found? It is empty. We could choose our land from the whole country. There is good fishing. There are green valleys. And Butter Thorolf says that butter drops from every weed. There are mountains and deserts where we may find adventure. I say, let us steer for Iceland!"

When he stopped, many of the men shouted:

"Yes! Iceland!"

But an old man stood up.

"We have all laughed at that tale of Butter Thorolf's," he said. "But Floki himself said that the sea about the island is full of ice that pushes upon the land, that no ship can live in that water in the winter, that great mountains of ice cover the island. Did not all his cattle die there of hunger and cold, and did he not come back to Norway cursing Iceland?"

"Oh, Sighvat, you are old and fearful," called out Leif, and he laughed.

Then he stretched himself up and threw back his head.

"Are we afraid of ice? Have we not seen angry water before? I have been hungry, but I have never died of it. Surely if there are fish in the sea and grass in the valleys, we can live there. I should like to stand on a hill and look around on a wide land and think, 'This is all ours,' and out upon a rough sea and think, 'Far off there are our foes and they dare not come over to us.' Besides, we shall have no Shockhead Harald to lord it over us. We can come and go and feast and fight as we please. We shall be our own kings. And our ships will be always waiting to take us away, when we are weary of it. And we shall see things that other men have never seen. I am tired of the old things. Perhaps in after days men will make songs about 'those foster-brothers, Ingolf and Leif, who made a new country in a wonderful land, and whose sons and grandsons are mighty men in Iceland!' "

Ingolf leaped up from his chair.

"By the strong arm of Thor!" he cried, "I like the sound of it. Now I make my vow."

He raised his drinking-horn.

"I vow that I will find this Iceland and pass the winter there, and that if man can live upon it I will go back there and set up my home."

"And I vow that I will follow my foster-brother," cried Leif.

And many men vowed to go.

So on the next day they began to make ready a boat. They looked her over carefully and recalked every seam and freshly painted her and put into her their strongest oars and made her a new sail.

"This will be the longest voyage that she ever made," Ingolf said.

When the work was done, they put into her great stores, axes, hammers, fish-nets, cooking-kettles, kegs of ale, chests of hard bread, chests of smoked meat, brass kettles full of flour, skin bottles of water. They stowed these things away in the ends of the ship. When they were ready they put in four head of cattle.

"We shall need the milk and perhaps the meat," Ingolf said.

Many men wished to go, but Ingolf had said:

"There is little room to spare and little food and drink. I have planned for half a year. But perhaps we must be sailing longer than that. Our food may run short. We must not have extra mouths to feed. There are thirty oars in our boat. I will take only one man for every oar, and Leif and I will steer."

So they started off. Leif stood in the prow leaning forward and looking far ahead, and he sang:

"What does the swimming dragon smell? A stormy sea, an empty land, Hunger, darkness, giants, fire. Leif and his sword do laugh at that."

They sailed for days and saw no land. Sometimes they passed ships and always made sure to sail close enough to hail them.

"Where are you going?" Ingolf would call.

"To Norway," would come back the answer.

"For trade or fight?" Leif would shout.

Then would ring out a great laugh from that boat and this answer:

"A shut mouth is a good friend."

So the two ships sailed on, and the men were glad to have heard a greeting and to have called one.

But at last there were the Shetlands.

"We will go in here and rest," Ingolf said.

When they rowed to shore a certain Shetland man stood there. He watched them land and looked them all over. Then he walked up to Ingolf and said:

"You look like brave men. Welcome to Shetland. You shall come to my house and rest your legs from ship-going and fill your stomachs. I hunger for news of Norway."

So they went to his house and stayed there for three days. And good it seemed to be near a fire and in a quiet bed and before a steaming platter. When they went to the shore to start off again, the Shetland man had his thralls carry a keg of ale and a great kettle of cooked meat and put them into the ship.

"Think of me when you eat this," he said.

Then the Norsemen put to sea again and sailed for a long time.

One day a terrible storm came up; the sky was black; the wind howled through the ship. Great waves leaped in the sea.

"Down with the sail and out with the oars!" Ingolf shouted.

So the men furled the sail and took down the mast and laid it along the bottom of the boat. As they worked, one man was washed overboard and drowned. The men sat down to row, but the tumbling waves tossed the boat about and poured over her and broke three of the oars. But still the men held on. They were wet to the skin and were cold, and their arms and legs ached with the hard work, and they were hungry from the long waiting, but not one face was white with fear.

"Ran, in her caves under sea, wants us for company to-night," Ingolf laughed.

So they tossed about all night, but in the morning the wind died down. Great waves still rolled, and for days the sea was rough, but they could put up the sail. Then one day Leif, as he sat in the pilot's seat, jumped to his feet and sang:

"To eyes grown tired with looking far, All at once appeared an island, A stretching-place for sea-legs, A quiet bed for backs grown stiff On rowing-bench on rolling sea. A place to build a red fire And thaw the blood that sea-winds froze."

But when they came near they saw no place to land. The island was like a mountain of rock standing out of the water. The sides were steep and smooth. They sailed around it, but found no place to climb up.

"There are many other islands here," said Leif. "We will try another."

So he steered to another. It, too, was a steep rock, but one side sloped down to the water and was green with grass.

"Oh, I have not seen anything so good as that green grass since I looked into my mother's face," one man said.

There was a little harbor there. The men rowed in and quickly jumped out and put the rollers under the ship and pulled her upon shore. Then they threw themselves down on the grass and rolled and stretched their arms and shouted for joy. After that they built a fire and warmed themselves and cooked a meal and ate like wolves. They slept there that night.

In the morning before Ingolf's men started away they were standing high up on the hillside, looking about. They saw no houses on any of the islands, but they saw smoke rise from one hillside.

"Some other men, like us, weary of the sea and stopping to rest," said Ingolf.

They saw the island that they had sailed around the night before.

"There can surely be nothing but birds' nests on top of that," Sighvat said.

"Look!" cried another, pointing.

Men were standing on the flat top of that island. They were letting a boat down the steep side with ropes. When it struck the water, they made a rope fast to the rock and slid down it into the ship and sailed off.

"Some robber vikings from Scotland or Ireland," laughed Leif. "It is a good hiding place for treasure."

Soon Ingolf and his men got into their ship and were off. Old Sighvat grumbled.

"Is this land not new enough and empty enough and far enough? I am tired of sea, sea, sea, and nothing else."

"We started for Iceland," said Ingolf, "and I will not stop before I come there. I have a vow. Did you make none, Sighvat?"

Then they were on the water again for weeks with no sight of land.

"Oh! I would give my right hand to see a dragon pawing the water off there and to fling a word to its men," Sighvat said.

"No hope of that," replied Ingolf. "Only three dragons before ours have ever swept this water, and men are not sailing this way for pleasure or riches."

So only the desolate sea stretched around them. Sometimes it was smooth and shining under the sun. Often it was torn by winds, and a gray sky hung over it, and the men were drenched with rain. Once they ran into a fog. For three days and nights they could not see sun or stars to steer by. They forgot which way was north. When after three days the fog lifted, they found that they had been going in the wrong direction, and they had to turn around and sail all that weary way over again. But at last one afternoon they saw a white cloud resting on the water far off. As they sailed toward it, it grew into long stretches of black, hilly shore with a blue ice mountain rising from it. The sun was going down behind that mountain, and long lines of pink and of shining green, and great purple shadows streaked the blue.

"It is Iceland!" shouted the men.

"It is like Asgard the Shining," Ingolf said.

But it was still far off. Men can see a long way there because the air is so clear. So Ingolf and his people sailed on for hours and at last came into a harbor. A little green valley sloped up from it. On one side was the bright ice mountain. Back of it were bare black and red hills. In that valley Ingolf and his men drew up their boat and camped. At supper that night one of the men said:

"I almost think I never felt a fire before or had warm food in my mouth."

The men laughed.

"It is four months since we left Norway," Ingolf said. "Few men have ever been on the sea so long."

That night they put up the awning in the boat and slept under it.

 

Lucy Larcom

The Sing-Away Bird

Have you ever heard of the Sing-away bird, That sings where the Runaway River Runs down with its rills to the bald-headed hills That stand in the sunshine and shiver? "Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!" How the pines and the birches are stirred By the trill of the Sing-away bird! 'T was a white-throated sparrow, that sped a light arrow Of song from his musical quiver, And it pierced with its spell every valley and dell On the banks of the Runaway River. "Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!" The song of the wild singer had The sound of a soul that is glad. And the bald-headed hills, with their rocks and their rills, To the tune of rapture are ringing; And their faces grow young, all the gray mists among, While the forests break forth into singing! "Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!" And the river runs singing along; And the flying winds catch up the song. And, beneath the glad sun, every glad-hearted one Sets the world to the tune of his gladness: The swift rivers sing it, the wild breezes wing it, Till Earth loses thought of her sadness. "Oh, sing! sing-away! sing-away!" Oh, sing, happy soul, to joy's Giver, Sing on, by Time's Runaway River!

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

The Miller of the Dee

O NCE upon a time there lived on the banks of the River Dee a miller, who was the hap-pi-est man in England. He was always busy from morning till night, and he was always singing as merrily as any lark. He was so cheerful that he made everybody else cheerful; and people all over the land liked to talk about his pleasant ways. At last the king heard about him.

"I will go down and talk with this won-der-ful miller," he said. "Perhaps he can tell me how to be happy."

As soon as he stepped inside of the mill, he heard the miller singing:—

"I envy nobody—no, not I!— For I am as happy as I can be; And nobody envies me."

"You're wrong, my friend," said the king. "You're wrong as wrong can be. I envy you; and I would gladly change places with you, if I could only be as light-hearted as you are."

The miller smiled, and bowed to the king.

"I am sure I could not think of changing places with you, sir," he said.

"Now tell me," said the king, "what makes you so cheerful and glad here in your dusty mill, while I, who am king, am sad and in trouble every day."

The miller smiled again, and said, "I do not know why you are sad, but I can eas-i-ly tell why I am glad. I earn my own bread; I love my wife and my children; I love my friends, and they love me; and I owe not a penny to any man. Why should I not be happy? For here is the River Dee, and every day it turns my mill; and the mill grinds the corn that feeds my wife, my babes, and me."

"Say no more," said the king. "Stay where you are, and be happy still. But I envy you. Your dusty cap is worth more than my golden crown. Your mill does more for you than my kingdom can do for me. If there were more such men as you, what a good place this world would be! Good-by, my friend!"

The king turned about, and walked sadly away; and the miller went back to his work, singing:—

"Oh, I'm as happy as happy can be; For I live by the side of the River Dee!"

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Red Oak and Live Oak

"Yes," said Nan, "they changed from green to bright colors. And they fell to the ground."

"Shall we visit the big Red Oak?" asked Don. "Mr. Gray told us there would be new oak leaves late in May."

So Don and Nan went to the park to see the oak tree.

They found some fresh young oak leaves that were about half grown.

There were two kinds of flowers on the oak.

The flowers of one kind were near the ends of the branches where new leaves were growing.

They had no pollen of their own. They could grow into acorns if some pollen came to them from other red oak flowers.

The other oak flowers were on long slender parts that hung down in clusters.

These flowers had much pollen.

The wind moved the clusters and blew some of the pollen to the flowers that had no pollen.

Mr. Gray told Don and Nan about the two kinds of oak flowers.

He said, "The buds of the flowers and leaves were on the branches all winter. The snow did not harm the small winter buds."

"Are there any evergreen oak trees?" asked Don.

"There is an evergreen oak in the South," said Mr. Gray. "It grows in places too warm for heavy snows. Its name is Live Oak."

"How do the leaves of Live Oak trees look?" asked Nan.

Mr. Gray showed them a picture of Live Oak leaves. They did not look like the leaves of Red Oak.

 

Helen Gray Cone

Dandelions

Upon a showery night and still, Without a sound of warning, A trooper band surprised the hill, And held it in the morning. We were not waked by bugle notes, No cheer our dreams invaded, And yet, at dawn their yellow coats On the green slopes paraded. We careless folk the deed forgot; 'Till one day, idly walking, We marked upon the self-same spot A crowd of vet'rans talking. They shook their trembling heads and gray With pride and noiseless laughter; When, well-a-day! they blew away And ne'er were heard of after!

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Peter Learns Something He Hadn't Guessed

R UNNING over to the Old Orchard very early in the morning for a little gossip with Jenny Wren and his other friends there had become a regular thing with Peter Rabbit. He was learning a great many things, and some of them were most surprising.

Now two of Peter's oldest and best friends in the Old Orchard were Winsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin. Every spring they arrived pretty nearly together, though Winsome Bluebird usually was a few days ahead of Welcome Robin. This year Winsome had arrived while the snow still lingered in patches. He was, as he always is, the herald of sweet Mistress Spring. And when Peter had heard for the first time Winsome's soft, sweet whistle, which seemed to come from nowhere in particular and from everywhere in general, he had kicked up his long hind legs from pure joy. Then, when a few days later he had heard Welcome Robin's joyous message of "Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer-up! Cheer!" from the tiptop of a tall tree, he had known that Mistress Spring really had arrived.

Peter loves Winsome Bluebird and Welcome Robin, just as everybody else does, and he had known them so long and so well that he thought he knew all there was to know about them. He would have been very indignant had anybody told him he didn't.

"Those cousins don't look much alike, do they?" remarked Jenny Wren, as she poked her head out of her house to gossip with Peter.

"What cousins?" demanded Peter, staring very hard in the direction in which Jenny Wren was looking.

"Those two sitting on the fence over there. Where are your eyes, Peter?" replied Jenny rather sharply.

Peter stared harder than ever. On one post sat Winsome Bluebird, and on another post sat Welcome Robin. "I don't see anybody but Winsome and Welcome, and they are not even related," replied Peter with a little puzzled frown.

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut, Peter!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! Who told you any such nonsense as that? Of course they are related. They are cousins. I thought everybody knew that. They belong to the same family that Melody the Thrush and all the other Thrushes belong to. That makes them all cousins."

"What?" exclaimed Peter, looking as if he didn't believe a word of what Jenny Wren had said. Jenny repeated, and still Peter looked doubtful.

Then Jenny lost her temper, a thing she does very easily. "If you don't believe me, go ask one of them," she snapped, and disappeared inside her house, where Peter could hear her scolding away to herself.

The more he thought of it, the more this struck Peter as good advice. So he hopped over to the foot of the fence post on which Winsome Bluebird was sitting. "Jenny Wren says that you and Welcome Robin are cousins. She doesn't know what she is talking about, does she?" asked Peter.

Winsome chuckled. It was a soft, gentle chuckle. "Yes," said he, nodding his head, "we are. You can trust that little busybody to know what she is talking about, every time. I sometimes think she knows more about other people's affairs than about her own. Welcome and I may not look much alike, but we are cousins just the same. Don't you think Welcome is looking unusually fine this spring?"

"Not a bit finer than you are yourself, Winsome," replied Peter politely. "I just love that sky-blue coat of yours. What is the reason that Mrs. Bluebird doesn't wear as bright a coat as you do?"

"Go ask Jenny Wren," chuckled Winsome Bluebird, and before Peter could say another word he flew over to the roof of Farmer Brown's house.

Back scampered Peter to tell Jenny Wren that he was sorry he had doubted her and that he never would again. Then he begged Jenny to tell him why it was that Mrs. Bluebird was not as brightly dressed as was Winsome.

"Mrs. Bluebird, like most mothers, is altogether too busy to spend much time taking care of her clothes; and fine clothes need a lot of care," replied Jenny. "Besides, when Winsome is about he attracts all the attention and that gives her a chance to slip in and out of her nest without being noticed. I don't believe you know, Peter Rabbit, where Winsome's nest is."

Peter had to admit that he didn't, although he had tried his best to find out by watching Winsome. "I think it's over in that little house put up by Farmer Brown's boy," he ventured. "I saw both Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird go in it when they first came, and I've seen Winsome around it a great deal since, so I guess it is there."

"So you guess it is there!" mimicked Jenny Wren. "Well, your guess is quite wrong, Peter; quite wrong. As a matter of fact, it is in one of those old fence posts. But just which one I am not going to tell you. I will leave that for you to find out. Mrs. Bluebird certainly shows good sense. She knows a good house when she sees it. The hole in that post is one of the best holes anywhere around here. If I had arrived here early enough I would have taken it myself. But Mrs. Bluebird already had her nest built in it and four eggs there, so there was nothing for me to do but come here. Just between you and me, Peter, I think the Bluebirds show more sense in nest building than do their cousins the Robins. There is nothing like a house with stout walls and a doorway just big enough to get in and out of comfortably."

WELCOME ROBIN No other bird has a russet breast like his. WINSOME BLUEBIRD His blue back, wings, and tail leave no doubt as to who he is.

Peter nodded quite as if he understood all about the advantages of a house with walls. "That reminds me," said he. "The other day I saw Welcome Robin getting mud and carrying it away. Pretty soon he was joined by Mrs. Robin, and she did the same thing. They kept it up till I got tired of watching them. What were they doing with that mud?"

"Building their nest, of course, stupid," retorted Jenny. "Welcome Robin, with that black head, beautiful russet breast, black and white throat and yellow bill, not to mention the proud way in which he carries himself, certainly is a handsome fellow, and Mrs. Robin is only a little less handsome. How they can be content to build the kind of a home they do is more than I can understand. People think that Mr. Wren and I use a lot of trash in our nest. Perhaps we do, but I can tell you one thing, and that is it is clean trash. It is just sticks and clean straws, and before I lay my eggs I see to it that my nest is lined with feathers. More than this, there isn't any cleaner housekeeper than I am, if I do say it.

"Welcome Robin is a fine looker and a fine singer, and everybody loves him. But when it comes to housekeeping, he and Mrs. Robin are just plain dirty. They make the foundation of their nest of mud,—plain, common, ordinary mud. They cover this with dead grass, and sometimes there is mighty little of this over the inside walls of mud. I know because I've seen the inside of their nest often. Anybody with any eyes at all can find their nest. More than once I've known them to have their nest washed away in a heavy rain, or have it blown down in a high wind. Nothing like that ever happens to Winsome Bluebird or to me."

Jenny disappeared inside her house, and Peter waited for her to come out again. Welcome Robin flew down on the ground, ran a few steps, and then stood still with his head on one side as if listening. Then he reached down and tugged at something, and presently out of the ground came a long, wriggling angleworm. Welcome gulped it down and ran on a few steps, then once more paused to listen. This time he turned and ran three or four steps to the right, where he pulled another worm out of the ground.

"He acts as if he heard those worms in the ground," said Peter, speaking aloud without thinking.

"He does," said Jenny Wren, poking her head out of her doorway just as Peter spoke. "How do you suppose he would find them when they are in the ground if he didn't hear them?"

"Can you hear them?" asked Peter.

"I've never tried, and I don't intend to waste my time trying," retorted Jenny. "Welcome Robin may enjoy eating them, but for my part I want something smaller and daintier, young grasshoppers, tender young beetles, small caterpillars, bugs and spiders."

Peter had to turn his head aside to hide the wry face he just had to make at the mention of such things as food. "Is that all Welcome Robin eats?" he asked innocently.

"I should say not," laughed Jenny. "He eats a lot of other kinds of worms, and he just dearly loves fruit like strawberries and cherries and all sorts of small berries. Well, I can't stop here talking any longer. I'm going to tell you a secret, Peter, if you'll promise not to tell."

Of course Peter promised, and Jenny leaned so far down that Peter wondered how she could keep from falling as she whispered, "I've got seven eggs in my nest, so if you don't see much of me for the next week or more, you'll know why. I've just got to sit on those eggs and keep them warm."

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Fox and the Grapes

A Fox one day spied a beautiful bunch of ripe grapes hanging from a vine trained along the branches of a tree. The grapes seemed ready to burst with juice, and the Fox's mouth watered as he gazed longingly at them.

The bunch hung from a high branch, and the Fox had to jump for it, The first time he jumped he missed it by a long way. So he walked off a short distance and took a running leap at it, only to fall short once more. Again and again he tried, but in vain.

Now he sat down and looked at the grapes in disgust.

"What a fool I am," he said. "Here I am wearing myself out to get a bunch of sour grapes that are not worth gaping for."

And off he walked very, very scornfully.

There are many who pretend to despise and belittle that which is beyond their reach.

 

The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

How Maid-alone Ceased Being a Goose-herd

he next happening was that the Purveyor to the King's Castle took stock of the goose-flock.

He had to have geese of size for the feasts that were to be given in the Castle. He watched Maid-alone's flock coming home and he saw that they were as thin as corncrakes when they first come into our meadows. He notified the third under-stewardess of this and the third under-stewardess went and told the house dame. Thereupon the house dame said that she herself would go and speak to the goose-herd.

Maid-alone was standing before the table in the scullery, eating her supper of scraps, with the cold of the marsh still in her bones. The day before the goose-flock had not fed because she had shown herself in her dress of gold, with her shining veil and her golden shoes. This day she had worn her Crow-feather Cloak. But because two eagles had come into the ash-trees beside the marsh and had remained watching them all day, the geese had not fed. When they went home there was two days' hunger upon them and they had a thinness that might be measured.

Dame Dale came down to the scullery to speak to the goose-herd about it, and greatly surprised was she to see that the goose-herd was no other than Maid-alone who had herded her goats. She had on a high-coifed linen cap, and her face grew very red beneath it when she looked on Maid-alone. "So," she said, "you left my seven goats straying to come here to let the King's geese go starving. Wherever you are there are losses. But what you've done here is the worst of all, and if you were in any other King's dominions you would surely be tried for malfeasance; for to let the King's geese starve is a step towards over-throwing the royal realm."

The high cap on her head shook with anger. Maid-alone had never seen her so terrible. She towered up in her authority and Maid-alone thought she would order her to be thrown into a pit of serpents. She wished that Trouble-the-House was near to carry her from the Castle.

And then she saw that Dame Dale's eyes were fixed upon the star on her forehead. It was not smeared over. The look in Dame Dale's eyes frightened her so much that she felt sorry the star had ever been given her.

"I'll not let the geese go hungry again," she said.

"We'll see that you won't," said Dame Dale. "We'll get some one else to take them to the marsh. We can't have the King's geese go low in flesh and high in bone just because you want to disport yourself in the marsh or wherever else you take them to." She turned to the third under-stewardess, and she said, "I require you to get another herd for the King's geese by tomorrow morning."

"I'll go away," said Maid-alone, not knowing where in the world she could go.

"I forbid you to leave the King's Castle," said Dame Dale. "There's work here that has to be done. We have no one to clear out the ashes of the seven kitchens, and if you're good for nothing else you'll do for a cinder-wench. Go, on this instant, down to the lower kitchens and take the task of keeping the hearths clear of ashes."

And that is how it came that Maid-alone, instead of going to the marsh with the goose-flock, stayed in the under-ground kitchens of the King's Castle. There had been no cinder-wench for long, and the ashes were deep on the hearths of the seven kitchens. Maid alone had to gather the ashes and to draw them to the great ash-heap outside. Soon her Crow-feather Cloak was all grey with ashes. And the soot-drops from the chimneys fell on her hands and her face. She was black with the soot and grey with the ashes, and the servants in the Castle would not let her come to eat in the scullery. She had to take her dish and her porringer on her knee and sit and eat by one or the other of the great hearths. They would let her have no place to sleep near them, and she had to huddle herself by one of the hearths and go to sleep over the ashes.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Have a Strange Visitor

THE next morning, when the tide was at its lowest I swam out to the ship again.

There were still many things on board of it that might be useful to me in my island home. I wished to save all that I could.

I climbed up the ship's side just as I had done the day before.

Before looking for anything I made another raft, just like the first one, but smaller. It was not so easy to make, for I had used up all the best planks. It was neither so large nor so strong as the first raft.

In the carpenter's shop I found three bags of nails and a grindstone. I found also a box full of little hatchets and a small barrel of musket balls.

In the captain's room I found six or seven guns, which I had overlooked before, and another keg of powder.

All these things I loaded with much care upon my raft.

Then I gathered up as many clothes as I could find; also a spare sail, a hammock, and some bedding.

The raft was now quite full. The things were not heavy, but they made a large pile.

When the tide turned for the shore, I cut loose and was soon floating homeward.

I had found a good oar in the ship. This I used as a paddle, and I had no trouble in guiding the raft to the right landing place.

I looked to see if the goods were safe which I brought over the day before.

There, on one of my chests, I saw a strange animal sitting. She looked like a wild cat.

As I went toward her, she jumped down and ran a little way. Then she stood still.

I followed. She stood very firm and looked in my face. She looked as though she had a mind to get acquainted.

I pointed my gun at her, and shouted. But she did not care for that.

I had a bit of biscuit in my pocket. This I now tossed toward her. "Take this and begone," I shouted.

Biscuits were not so many that I could well spare any. But I spared the poor animal this little bit.

It rolled quite close to her nose. She smell of it and ate it. Then she looked up for more.

"Thank you, I have no more to give you," I said.

Whether she understood me, I do not know. But, with that, she turned and marched away.

I now set to work to get my second cargo on shore. It was no easy task, and I had to make many trips to and from the raft.

When everything was safely landed, I made me a little tent with the sail and some poles that I cut.

Then I put everything into the tent that needed to be kept dry. The empty boxes, I piled outside. They made a kind of wall around the tent, like the wall of a fort.

"This will keep the wild beasts out," I said.

By this time the day was nearly done. I spread one of the beds on the ground. I laid two loaded pistols near its head, and one of the guns by one side of it. Then I crept in and was soon fast asleep.

 

Anna B. Warner

Ready for Duty

Daffy-down-dilly came up in the cold, Through the brown mold. Although the March breezes blew keen on her face, Although the white snow lay on many a place. Daffy-down-dilly had heard under ground The sweet rushing sound Of the streams, as they burst off their white winter chains— Of the whistling spring winds and the pattering rains. "Now then," thought Daffy, deep down in her heart, "It's time I should start!" So she pushed her soft leaves through the hard frozen ground, Quite up to the surface, and then she looked round. There was snow all about her—gray clouds overhead, The trees all looked dead. Then how do you think Daffy-down-dilly felt, When the sun would not shine and the ice would not melt? "Cold weather!" thought Daffy, still working away "The earth's hard to-day! There's but a half inch of my leaves to be seen, And two-thirds of that is more yellow than green." "I can't do much yet—but I 'll do what I can. It 's well I began! For unless I can manage to lift up my head, The people will think that the Spring herself's dead." So, little by little, she brought her leaves out, All clustered about; And then her bright flowers began to unfold, Till Daffy stood robed in her spring green and gold. O Daffy-down-dilly! so brave and so true! I wish all were like you! So ready for duty in all sorts of weather, And holding forth courage and beauty together.

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

The Destruction of Pompeii

"Those streets which never, since the days of yore, By human footstep had been visited." —Southey.

I N the days of the Emperor Titus a catastrophe, among the most awful in ancient history, occurred under the still smoking mountain of Vesuvius. For suddenly, without note or warning, two entire cities—Pompeii and Herculaneum—were wiped from the face of the earth. They were buried alive, and the people perished as they were pursuing their daily work and pleasure, by the eruption of the volcano in their midst. "Day was turned into night and light into darkness: an inexpressible quantity of dust and ashes was poured out, deluging land, sea, air, and burying two entire cities, while the people were sitting in the theatre." So writes an old historian.

Pompeii was an old town near the sea-coast of southern Italy, in a beautiful region under the shadow of Mount Vesuvius. It had been a Greek colony in the old days, when the Greeks occupied most of this part. But at this time—79 A.D.—it had been a Roman colony for some twenty-four years, and was a favourite resort of the Romans. It was a miniature Rome, with its tiny palaces, its forum, its theatre, its circus; a miniature Rome, too, in its luxury, its indolence, its very corruption. Crowded in the glassy bay outside were ships of commerce, and gilded galleys for the pleasure of the rich citizens, while the tall masts of the Roman fleet under the command of Pliny could be seen afar off.

It was the 23rd of November, and the afternoon was wearing on, when from the top of Vesuvius rose a lofty column of black smoke which, after rising high into the air, spread itself out into a cloud in the shape of a giant pine-tree. As the afternoon advanced the cloud increased in size and density, while the mountain cast up ashes and red-hot stones.

Panic-stricken, the inhabitants fled from the city, knowing not which way to turn. By this time the earth was trembling beneath them, and shock after shock of earthquake rent the ground. Darkness now came on, and all through that long black night the terror-stricken people must have made their way towards the seashore and along the coast. The account of these days has come to us, vivid in detail, from the pen of Pliny, who was an eyewitness of the whole thing, and whose uncle, commanding the Roman fleet at the time, died, suffocated by the vapour and flames from the burning mountain.

"Though it was now morning," says Pliny, who was with his mother some fourteen miles from the doomed city of Pompeii, "the light was exceedingly faint and languid. The buildings all around us tottered, and there was a great risk of our being overwhelmed. Then at last we decided on leaving the town. The mass of the inhabitants followed us, terror-stricken, pressing on us and pushing us forwards with their crowded ranks. When we got beyond the buildings we stopped in the midst of a most dangerous and dreadful scene. The sea seemed to roll back upon itself as if driven from its banks by the quaking of the earth, while a black and dreadful cloud, broken by zig-zags of flame, darted out a long train of fire like flashes of lightning, only much larger. The ashes now began to fall upon us. I turned my head and observed behind us a thick smoke, which came rolling after us like a torrent.

"Meanwhile the cloud descended and covered land and sea with a black darkness.

" 'Save yourself,' now begged Pliny's mother, thinking this was the end. 'I am old and content to die, provided I am not the cause of your death too.'

" 'I will only be saved with you,' answered young Pliny, taking her hand and urging her onwards."

Another shower of ashes and a dense mist now closed them in, and soon night came on. They could hear the shrieks of the women, the children crying for help, and the shouts of the men through the darkness. Ashes and fire still rained down upon them, until at last the dreary night was over. Day dawned; the sun shone faintly through the murky atmosphere, showing the whole country lying under a thick coating of white ashes, as under deep snow.

Though a great number of people escaped, some two thousand were buried by the ashes that completely covered the whole town. For the next fifteen hundred years the buried cities lay wrapped in sleep, their very existence forgotten, their site undiscovered.

Then, in the sixteenth century, a great Italian engineer built an aqueduct right through the ruins of Pompeii. But it was not till two hundred years later that any real discovery took place. Then, by royal orders, men began to dig out the buried ruins of the old towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum. From that day to this digging has gone on at intervals, until now we know just what the old town was like. We can walk over the old streets along which the Romans walked before ever this terrible catastrophe came upon them.

Here, to-day, may be seen the old buildings, houses and villas with paintings on the walls. They are as fresh as if done but yesterday: here are their pavements of mosaic, their baths, their shops, their temples, and the eight gates by which the old city is entered. The streets are very narrow, and it is clear that only one chariot could pass at a time. Still may be seen the marks of the chariot-wheels, crossing and recrossing each other in the few broad streets, but worn into ruts in the narrow ones.

But perhaps most startling of all the strange things to be seen in this old city of the dead past are the very old Romans themselves. Overtaken suddenly in the midst of life, they were covered with the burning ashes, which hardened on them, encasing the human figure and preserving it through the long ages.

So we see them, lying in the museum which stands at the entrance to the town. Mostly they lie in attitudes of terror, some with a hand across their eyes as if to hide out the dreadful sight, some on the point of flight, having hastily taken off their outer clothing. One girl has yet a ring on her finger, while there is a dog still lying as he lay seventeen hundred years before. As a German poet has said—

"The earth with faithful watch has hoarded all."

The unearthing of Pompeii has revealed much of the ancient habits and customs of the Romans of old in their pleasure-loving days. It has taught us about their houses, their amusements, their clothes, their food. Here are their bake-houses, their loaves of bread, their money, their ornaments; and as we stand in the now deserted streets, looking up to the treacherous mountain above, and away to the blue bay on the other side, we can realise what the old Roman life must have been.

 

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

Jason and the Golden Fleece

T HERE was once a young prince named Jason. His parents ruled over Iolcus, in Thessaly. Their kingdom was filled with happiness and peace, for they were wise and good and noble.

But one day the King's brother, Pelias, came riding at the head of an army. He made war on Iolcus, and took the kingdom from Jason's father. Pelias had evil in his heart, and would have killed his brother and Prince Jason, but they fled and hid themselves among lowly people who loved them.

Now, there was at this time a strange and wonderful school in the mountains of Thessaly, a school where the princes of Greece were taught and made strong of body and brave of heart.

Chiron, the centaur, kept this school and reared the young princes. He taught them how to hunt and to fight and to sing, how to take care of their bodies and to bear themselves according to their birth.

Chiron the Centaur

So Jason, being still a little boy, was sent to this wonderful school. Here he grew up with the other Greek princes of his age.

At last came the time when Chiron told him the story of the evil King Pelias, who had stolen the kingdom of Iolcus and had driven Jason's father from his throne.

Jason was brown and strong and hardened by Chiron's training. He girded on his sword and set out to take the kingdom away from Pelias. It was early in spring, and as he journeyed he came to a swollen stream and saw an aged woman gazing in despair at the waters she could not cross.

Jason remembered his training as a prince, and offered to carry her across. He lifted her to his back and she gave him her staff for support. He stepped into the swift-running stream, which no one else had dared cross, and although he bent under the weight of his burden he fought bravely against the waters with all his strength.

At last he reached the opposite bank and set the old woman on the grass. Suddenly, in a flash of light, she was transformed into the glorious figure of Juno, queen of the gods. At her feet stood a peacock. Its purple and blue and green tail feathers swept over the grass and its shining head rested against her hand.

The goddess promised aid and protection to Jason forever after, and vanished as quickly as she had appeared. So in all his undertakings Jason was watched over and blessed by Juno in return for his kindness to her.

At last Jason reached Iolcus and demanded the throne from Pelias. That crafty and wicked old King did not refuse him at once. A banquet was prepared, and with every appearance of kindness, King Pelias did honor to young Jason. The King feasted him and seemed to welcome him to Iolcus, but in reality he planned his death.

While they ate, the bards gathered around the hall and sang of heroes and brave deeds, as bards were accustomed to sing at banquets of kings.

They sang of the story of Phrixus and Helle, the two Greek children who escaped from their wicked stepmother, riding on the back of Mercury's golden-fleeced ram. They sang of how Nephele, the real mother, weeping and heavy of heart, placed her little son and daughter on the ram's back and watched them as they sped away from Thessaly. The ram leapt into the air and flew through the clouds as if he had wings.

The ram leapt into the air and flew through the clouds as if he had wings.

They passed over the sea toward Colchis, the kingdom of their uncle, where they knew they would be safe.

The bards touched their lute strings sadly, and sang of how little Helle became frightened, as she looked down upon the tossing sea, and how she fell from the ram's back into the water, which ever after was called Hellespont.

But Phrixus clung fast and reached Colchis in safety. He offered the ram as a thank-offering to the gods, and hung the Golden Fleece high on an oak tree, setting a fearful dragon to guard it.

Here after all the years it still hung, waiting for some young hero to come and conquer and claim it.

The bards sang of the glory of the Fleece, of its glittering richness, and of the heroes who had died seeking it. Pelias noticed how Jason's eyes were shining. He knew that the song had moved him and rightly guessed that Jason longed to go in search of this Golden Fleece.

Pelias thought that this would be a good way to bring about Jason's death. The dragon had killed many other youths who had been rash enough to seek the Golden Fleece, and Pelias felt certain that Jason would perish also. So he leaned toward the young prince and urged him to set out on the adventure and bring back the Fleece which rightfully belonged to Thessaly.

Jason sprang from his seat and vowed that he would go.

First he visited Juno's temple and asked for help on his journey. She gave him the limb of a mighty and wonderful oak for the figurehead of his boat, which would speak to him in time of danger, and advise and warn him on his voyage.

Then Juno bade Minerva provide a swift-sailing vessel, made from the wood of pine trees which grew on Mount Pelion.

Jason called his vessel the Argo, and sent for the young princes of Chiron's school to come with him and help in the search for the Golden Fleece.

Hercules came and also Admetus, Theseus, Orpheus, Castor and Pollux, all the bravest and noblest heroes of Greece, anxious to take part in this adventure and to bring the Golden Fleece back to Thessaly.

Juno sped them on their way with favorable winds, and the Argo sailed swiftly toward Colchis.

Juno sped them on their way with favorable winds.

When danger threatened, the branch of the talking oak spoke wise words of help and counsel. It guided them safely between the clashing rocks of the Symplegades, and past the land of the cruel Harpies. So they came at last, after many adventures, to Colchis, the kingdom of Eetes.

Now the Fleece had hung for so long in his realm that King Eetes was unwilling to part with it. Like Pelias, he was crafty and full of wiles, and did not refuse Jason, but agreed to give him the Fleece on certain conditions.

First Jason must catch and harness two wild, fire-breathing bulls, then plough a stony field, sacred to Mars. After that he must sow the field with dragon's teeth and conquer the host of armed men which would grow from them. Last of all, he must overcome the dragon which coiled around the foot of the oak and guarded the Fleece.

Jason feared that these tasks were impossible for any mortal to fulfil without the help of the gods. So he hurried down to the vessel to speak with the branch of the talking oak. On his way he met Medea, the princess of Colchis. She was young and beautiful and skilled in all manner of enchantments and magic. Her heart was filled with kindness toward the brave young stranger and she wished to help him.

Medea was skilled in all manner of enchantments and magic.

She gave Jason her strongest charms and her wisest counsel. By the aid of Medea's magic he caught the fiery bulls as they came roaring from their pasture. He harnessed them and drove them over the stony field, and made them drag the heavy plough which turned the earth in dark furrows.

Jason and the Fiery Bulls

Eetes was amazed, for no one had ever yoked or harnessed these bulls before.

When the field was ready, Jason asked for the dragon's teeth, and Eetes gave them to him in a helmet. Up and down the long furrows he sowed them, and when the last one was in the ground, he ploughed the earth again, and covered them and waited.

Long rows of shining spears began to pierce the ground and to shoot up into the air. Then rose the plumed helmets of a thousand soldiers; then their shields, and their bodies.

They stood, full armed and fierce, looking over the field. When they beheld Jason, they ran toward him with waving spears and a clatter of shields.

All the soldiers stood full armed and fierce.

From his pocket Jason took a magic stone which Medea had given him. He threw it into the midst of the thousand soldiers; it fell among them like discord itself. Each soldier thought another had thrown it, and each man began to fight his neighbor. More and more furiously they fought. Soon the ploughed field was covered with fallen soldiers. They continued to kill one another until not one was left.

Then Medea led Jason to the sacred grove where the dragon watched beside the Fleece. The huge monster rose up, roaring terribly, as Jason approached. He breathed clouds of smoke and fire and lashed his tail against the oak tree.

Jason bravely advanced until he was so near that he could feel the heat of the flames that poured from the dragon's throat. Then he took a magic liquid, which Medea had given him, and threw it straight into the face of the dragon. In a moment the monster fell back to the earth, and coiling himself lazily on the grass, went to sleep.

The monster coiled himself lazily beneath the tree.

Jason climbed the tree and brought down the wonderful glittering Fleece, then hurried back to his ship.

Because she loved him, Medea left her father's land and sailed away in the Argo with Jason and his comrades. But, sad to relate, they did not live happily ever after, for Medea knew so much sorcery that she was forever practicing new magic and often she brought trouble on herself and Jason.

On the way back to Thessaly they passed through many dangers, but at last, with Juno's help, came safely home.

Jason and his comrades forced the evil King Pelias to give back the throne. Once more the people of Thessaly lived in happiness and peace under the rule of their own rightful king.

 

Walter de la Mare

Wanderers

Wide are the meadows of night, And daisies are shining there, Tossing their lovely dews, Lustrous and fair; And through these sweet fields go, Wanderers amid the stars— Venus, Mercury, Uranus, Neptune, Saturn, Jupiter, Mars. 'Tired in their silver, they move, And circling, whisper and say, Fair are the blossoming meads of delight Through which we stray.

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

What Grade Is Betsy?

Part 2 of 2

However, just then her class in arithmetic was called, so that she had no more time to be puzzled. She came forward with Ralph and Ellen again, very low in her mind. She hated arithmetic with all her might, and she really didn't understand a thing about it! By long experience she had learned to read her teachers' faces very accurately, and she guessed by their expression whether the answer she gave was the right one. And that was the only way she could tell. You never heard of any other child who did that, did you?

They had mental arithmetic, of course (Elizabeth Ann thought it just her luck!), and of course it was those hateful eights and sevens, and of course right away poor Betsy got the one she hated most, 7 x 8. She never knew that one! She said dispiritedly that it was 54, remembering vaguely that it was somewhere in the fifties. Ralph burst out scornfully, "56!" and the teacher, as if she wanted to take him down for showing off, pounced on him with 9 x 8. He answered, without drawing breath, 72. Elizabeth shuddered at his accuracy. Ellen, too, rose to the occasion when she got 6 x 7, which Elizabeth Ann could sometimes remember and sometimes not. And then, oh horrors! It was her turn again! Her turn had never before come more than twice during a mental arithmetic lesson. She was so startled by the swiftness with which the question went around that she balked on 6 x 6, which she knew perfectly. And before she could recover Ralph had answered and had rattled out a 108 in answer to 9 x 12; and then Ellen slapped down an 84 on top of 7 x 12. Good gracious! Who could have guessed, from the way they read, they could do their tables like this! She herself missed on 7 x 7 and was ready to cry. After this the teacher didn't call on her at all, but showered questions down on the other two, who sent the answers back with sickening speed.

After the lesson the teacher said, smiling, "Well, Betsy, you were right about your arithmetic. I guess you'd better recite with Eliza for a while. She's doing second-grade work. I shouldn't be surprised if, after a good review with her, you'd be able to go on with the third-grade work."

Elizabeth Ann fell back on the bench with her mouth open. She felt really dizzy. What crazy things the teacher said! She felt as though she was being pulled limb from limb.

"What's the matter?" asked the teacher, seeing her bewildered face.

"Why—why," said Elizabeth Ann, "I don't know what I am at all. If I'm second-grade arithmetic and seventh-grade reading and third grade spelling, what grade am  I?"

The teacher laughed at the turn of her phrase. "You  aren't any grade at all, no matter where you are in school. You're just yourself, aren't you? What difference does it make what grade you're in? And what's the use of your reading little baby things too easy for you just because you don't know your multiplication table?"

"Well for goodness' sakes!"  ejaculated Elizabeth Ann, feeling very much as though somebody had stood her suddenly on her head.

"Why, what's the matter?" asked the teacher again.

This time Elizabeth Ann didn't answer, because she herself didn't know what the matter was. But I do, and I'll tell you. The matter was that never before had she known what she was doing in school. She had always thought she was there to pass from one grade to another, and she was ever so startled to get a little glimpse of the fact that she was there to learn how to read and write and cipher and generally use her mind, so she could take care of herself when she came to be grown up. Of course, she didn't really know that till she did come to be grown up, but she had her first dim notion of it in that moment, and it made her feel the way you do when you're learning to skate and somebody pulls away the chair you've been leaning on and says, "Now, go it alone!"

The teacher waited a minute, and then, when Elizabeth Ann didn't say anything more, she rang a little bell. "Recess time," she said, and as the children marched out and began putting on their wraps she followed them into the cloak-room, pulled on a warm, red cap and a red sweater, and ran outdoors herself. "Who's on my side!" she called, and the children came darting out after her. Elizabeth Ann had dreaded the first recess time with the strange children, but she had no time to feel shy, for in a twinkling she was on one end of a long rope with a lot of her schoolmates, pulling with all her might against the teacher and two of the big boys. Nobody had looked at her curiously, nobody had said anything to her beyond a loud, "Come on, Betsy!" from Ralph, who was at the head on their side.

They pulled and they pulled, digging their feet into the ground and bracing themselves against the rocks which stuck up out of the playground. Sometimes the teacher's side yanked them along by quick jerks, and then they'd all set their feet hard when Ralph shouted out, "Now, all together!"  and they'd slowly drag the other side back. And all the time everybody was shouting and yelling together with the excitement. Betsy was screaming too, and when a wagon passing by stopped and a big, broad-shouldered farmer jumped down laughing, put the end of the rope over his shoulder, and just walked off with the whole lot of them till he had pulled them clear off their feet, Elizabeth Ann found herself rolling over and over with a breathless, squirming mass of children, her shrill laughter rising even above the shouts of merriment of the others. She laughed so she could hardly get up on her feet again, it was such an unexpected ending to the contest.

The big farmer was laughing too. "You ain't so smart as you think  you are, are you!" he jeered at them good-naturedly. Then he started, yelling "WHOA there!" to his horses, which had begun to walk on. He had to run after them with all his might, and just climbed into the back of the wagon and grabbed the reins the very moment they broke into a trot. The children laughed, and Ralph shouted after him, "Hi there, Uncle Nate! Who's not so smart as he thinks he is, now!"  He turned to the little girls near him. "They 'most got away from him that  time!" he said. "He's awful foolish about leaving them standing while he's funning or something. He thinks he's awful funny, anyhow. Some day they'll run away on him and then  where'll he be?"

Elizabeth Ann was thinking to herself that this was one of the queerest things that had happened to her even in this queer place. Never, why never once, had any grown-up, passing the playground of the big brick building, dreamed  of such a thing as stopping for a minute to play. They never even looked at the children, any more than if they were in another world. In fact she had felt the school was in another world.

"Ralph, it's your turn to get the water," said the teacher, handing him a pail. "Want to go along?" said Ralph gruffly to Ellen and Betsy. He led the way and the little girls walked after him. Now that she was out of a crowd Elizabeth Ann felt all her shyness come down on her like a black cloud, drying up her mouth and turning her hands and feet cold as ice. Into one of these cold hands she felt small, warm fingers slide. She looked down and there was little Molly trotting by her side, turning her blue eyes up trustfully. "Teacher says I can go with you if you'll take care of me," she said. "She never lets us first-graders go without somebody bigger to help us over the log."

As she spoke they came to a small, clear, swift brook, crossed by a big white-birch log. Elizabeth Ann was horribly afraid to set foot on it, but with little Molly's hand holding tightly to hers she was ashamed to say she was afraid. Ralph skipped across, swinging the pail to show how easy it was for him. Ellen followed more slowly, and then—oh, don't you wish Aunt Frances could have been there!—Betsy shut her teeth together hard, put Molly ahead of her, took her hand, and started across. As a matter of fact Molly went along as sure-footed as a little goat, having done it a hundred times, and it was she who steadied Elizabeth Ann. But nobody knew this, Molly least of all.

Betsy shut her teeth together hard and started across.

Ralph took a drink out of a tin cup standing on a stump near by, dipped the pail into a deep, clear pool, and started back to the school. Ellen took a drink and offered the cup to Betsy, very shyly, without looking up. After they had all three had a drink they stood there for a moment, much embarrassed. Then Ellen said, in a very small voice, "Do you like dolls with yellow hair the best?"

Now it happened that Elizabeth Ann had very positive convictions on this point which she had never spoken of, because Aunt Frances didn't really  care about dolls. She only pretended to, to be company for her little niece.

"No, I don't!"  answered the little girl emphatically. "I get just sick and tired of always seeing them with that old, bright-yellow hair! I like them to have brown hair, just the way most little girls really do!"

Ellen lifted her eyes and smiled radiantly. "Oh, so do I!" she said. "And that lovely old doll your folks have has got brown hair. Will you let me play with her some time?"

"My folks?" said Elizabeth Ann blankly.

"Why yes, your Aunt Abigail and your Uncle Henry."

"Have they got a doll?"  said Betsy, thinking this was the very climax of Putney queerness.

"Oh, my, yes!" said Molly eagerly. "She's the one Mrs. Putney had when she was a little girl. And she's got the loveliest clothes! She's in the hair-trunk under the eaves in the attic. They let me take her down once when I was there with Mother. And Mother said she guessed, now a little girl had come there to live, they'd let her have her down all the time. I'll bring mine over next Saturday, if you want me to. Mine's got yellow hair, but she's real pretty anyhow. If Father's going to mill that day, he can leave me there for the morning."

Elizabeth Ann had not understood more than one word in five of this, but just then the school-bell rang and they went back, little Molly helping Elizabeth Ann over the log and thinking she was being helped, as before.

They ran along to the little building, and there I'm going to leave them, because I think I've told enough about their school for one  while. It was only a poor, rough, little district school anyway, that no Superintendent of Schools would have looked at for a minute, except to sniff.

 

The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

What Reddy Fox Saw and Did

Who guards his tongue as he would keep A treasure rich and rare, Will keep himself from trouble free, And dodge both fear and care.

T HE trouble with a great many people is that they remember this too late. Reddy Fox is one of these. Reddy is smart and sly and clever in some ways, but he hasn't learned yet to guard his tongue, and half the trouble he gets into is because of that unruly member. You see it is a boastful tongue and an untruthful tongue and that is the worst combination for making trouble that I know of. It has landed him in all kinds of scrapes in the past, and here he was in another, all on account of that tongue.

Jolly, round, red Mr. Sun had kicked his rosy blankets off and was smiling down on the Great World as he began his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky. The Jolly Little Sunbeams were already dancing through the Green Forest, chasing out the Black Shadows, and Reddy knew that it was high time for him to be over by the hill where Prickly Porky the Porcupine lives. With lagging steps he sneaked along from tree to tree, peering out from behind each anxiously, afraid to go on, and still more afraid not to, for fear that he would be called a coward.

He had almost reached the foot of the hill without seeing anything out of the usual and without any signs of Unc' Billy Possum. He was just beginning to hope that Unc' Billy wasn't there, as he had said he would be, when a voice right over his head said:

"Ah cert'nly am glad to see that yo' are as good as your word, Brer Fox, fo' we need some one brave like yo' to find out what this strange creature is that has been chasing we-uns."

Reddy looked up with a sickly grin. There sat Unc' Billy Possum in a pine tree right over his head. He knew now that there was no backing out; he had got to go on. He tried to swagger and look very bold and brave.

"I told you I'm not afraid. If there's anything queer around here, I'll find out what it is," he once more boasted, but Unc' Billy noticed that his voice sounded just a wee bit trembly.

"Keep right on to the foot of the hill; that's where Ah saw it yesterday. My, Ah'm glad that we've got some one so truly brave!" replied Unc' Billy.

Reddy looked at him sharply, but there wasn't a trace of a smile on Unc' Billy's face, and Reddy couldn't tell whether Unc' Billy was making fun of him or not. So, there being nothing else to do, he went on. He reached the foot of the hill without seeing or hearing a thing out of the usual. The Green Forest seemed just as it always had seemed. Redeye the Vireo was pouring out his little song of gladness, quite as if everything was just as it should be. Reddy's courage began to come back. Nothing had happened, and nothing was going to happen. Of course not! It was all some of Peter Rabbit's foolishness. Some day he would catch Peter Rabbit and put an end to such silly tales.

"Ah! What was that?" Reddy's sharp ears had caught a sound up near the top of the hill. He stopped short and looked up. For just a little wee minute Reddy couldn't believe that his eyes saw right. Coming down the hill straight towards him was the strangest thing he ever had seen. He couldn't see any legs. He couldn't see any head. He couldn't see any tail. It was round like a ball, but it was the strangest looking ball that ever was. It was covered with old leaves. Reddy wouldn't have believed that it was alive but for the noises it was making.

Reddy wouldn't have believed that it was alive.

For just a wee minute he stared, and then, what do you think he did? Why, he gave a frightened yelp, put his tail between his legs, and ran just as fast as he could make his legs go. Yes, Sir, that's just what Reddy Fox did.

 

Lucy Larcom

March

March! March! March! They are coming In troops to the tune of the wind: Red-headed woodpeckers drumming, Gold-crested thrushes behind; Sparrows in brown jackets hopping Past every gateway and door; Finches with crimson caps stopping Just where they stopped years before. March! March! March! They will hurry Forth at the wild bugle-sound; Blossoms and birds in a flurry, Fluttering all over the ground. Hang out your flags, birch and willow! Shake out your red tassels, larch! Up, blades of grass, from your pillow! Hear who is calling you—March!

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

How a Woman Won a Great Victory

Judges iv: 1, to v: 31.

GAIN many of the people of Israel were drawn away from the worship of the Lord, and began to live like the people around them, praying to idols and doing wickedly. And again the Lord left them to suffer for their sins. A Canaanite king in the north, whose name was Jabin, sent his army down to conquer them under the command of his general, named Sisera. In Sisera's army were many chariots of iron, drawn by horses; while soldiers in the chariots shot arrows and threw spears at the Israelites. The men of Israel were not used to horses, and greatly feared these war-chariots.

All the northern tribes in the land of Israel fell under the power of King Jabin and his general, Sisera; and their rule was very harsh and severe. This was the fourth of these "oppressions," and it bore most heavily upon the people in the north. But it led those who suffered from it to turn from their idols, and to call upon the Lord God of Israel.

At that time a woman was ruling as judge over a large part of the land; the only woman among the fifteen judges who, one after another, ruled the Israelites. Her name was Deborah. She sat under a palm-tree north of Jerusalem, between the cities of Ramah and Bethel, and gave advice to all the people who sought her. So wise and good was Deborah that men came from all parts of the land with their difficulties and the questions that arose between them. She ruled over the land, not by the force of any army, or by any appointment, but because all men saw that God's Spirit was upon her.

Deborah heard of the troubles of the tribes in the north under the hard rule of the Canaanites. She knew that a brave man was living in the land of Naphtali, a man named Barak, and to him she sent this message:

"Barak, call out the tribes of Israel who live near you; raise an army, and lead the men who gather about you to Mount Tabor. The Lord has told me that he will give Sisera and the host of the Canaanites into your hands."

But Barak felt afraid to undertake alone this great work of setting his people free. He sent back to Deborah this answer:

"If you will go with me, I will go; but if you will not go with me, I will not go."

"I will go with you," said Deborah; "but because you did not trust God, and did not go when God called you, the honor of this war will not be yours, for God will deliver Sisera into the hands of a woman."

Deborah left her seat under the palm-tree and went up to Kedesh, where Barak lived. Together Deborah and Barak sent out a call for the men of the north, and ten thousand men met together with such arms as they could find. This little army, with a woman for its chief, encamped on Mount Tabor, which is one of three mountains standing in a row on the east of a great plain called "the plain of Esdraelon," "the plain of Jezreel," and "the plain of Meggido,"—for it bears all these three names. On this plain, both in Bible times and also in the times since the Bible, many great battles have been fought. Over this plain winds the brook Kishon, which at some seasons, after heavy rain, becomes a foaming, rushing river.

From their camp on the top of Mount Tabor the little army of Israel could look down on the great host of the Canaanites with their many tents, their horses and chariots, and their general, Sisera. But Deborah was not afraid. She said to Barak:

"March down the mountain with all your men, and fight the Canaanites. The Lord will go before you, and he will give Sisera and his host into your hand."

Then Barak blew a trumpet and called out his men. They ran down the side of Mount Tabor and rushed upon their enemies. The Canaanites were taken so suddenly that they had no time to draw out their chariots. They were frightened and ran away, trampling each other under foot, chariots and horses and men in a wild flight.

And the Lord helped the Israelites; for at that time the brook Kishon was swollen into a river, and the Canaanites crowded after each other into it. While many were killed in the battle, many were also drowned in the river.

Sisera, the general of the Canaanites, saw that the battle had gone against him and that all was lost. He leaped from his chariot and fled away on foot. On the edge of the plain he found a tent standing alone, and he ran to it for shelter and hiding.

It was the tent of a man named Heber, and Heber's wife, Jael, was in front of it. She knew Sisera, and said to him, "Come in, my lord; come into the tent; do not be afraid."

Sisera entered the tent, and Jael covered him with a rug, so that no enemy might find him. Sisera said to her, "I am very thirsty; can you give me a little water to drink?"

Instead of water she brought out a bottle of milk and gave him some: and then Sisera lay down to sleep, for he was very tired from the battle and from running. While he was in a deep sleep, Jael crept into the tent quietly with a tent-pin and a hammer in her hand. She placed the point of the pin upon the side of his head, near his ear, and with the hammer gave blow after blow, driving it into his brain and through his head until it went into the ground underneath. After a moment's struggle Sisera was dead, and she left his body upon the ground.

In a little time Jael saw Barak, the chief of the Israelite army, coming toward the tent. She went out to meet him, and said, "Come with me, and I will show you the man whom you are seeking."

She lifted the curtain of the tent, and led Barak within; and there he saw lying dead upon the ground the mighty Sisera, who only the day before had led the army of the Canaanites.

Barak sees the mighty Sisera.

That was a terrible deed which Jael did. We should call it treachery and murder; but such was the bitter hate between Israelite and Canaanite at that time that all the people gave great honor to Jael on account of it, for by that act she had set the people free from the king who had been oppressing Israel. After this the land had rest for many years.

Deborah, the judge, wrote a great song about this victory. Here are some verses from it:

"Because the elders took the lead in Israel, Because the people offered themselves willingly, Bless ye the Lord. Hear, O ye kings; give ear, O ye princes; I, even I will sing unto the Lord; I will sing praise to the Lord, the God of Israel.          .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . The kings came and fought. Then fought the kings of Canaan, In Taanach by the waters of Meggido. They took no gain of money. They fought from heaven, The stars in their courses fought against Sisera. The river Kishon swept them away, That ancient river, the river Kishon. O my soul, march on with strength;          .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . Blessed among women shall Jael be, The wife of Heber the Kenite, Blessed shall she be among women in the tent. He asked water, and she gave him milk, She brought him butter in a lordly dish.          .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . At her feet he bowed, he fell, he lay; At her feet he bowed, he fell. Where he bowed, there he fell down dead. Through the window a woman looked forth and cried, The mother of Sisera cried through the lattice, Why is his chariot so long in coming? Why tarry the wheels of his chariot?          .   .   .   .   .   .   .   . So let all thine enemies perish, O Lord; But let them that love him be as the sun, When he goeth forth in his might.

 

The Sandman: His Ship Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Cape Horn 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 to that wharf 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.

Once, in the long ago, when Captain Solomon was the captain of the Industry, she had got all loaded at that wharf, and the things to eat had been put aboard of her and the water that they would drink. And Captain Solomon had got his crew and the Industry  had sailed away from that wharf, down the wide river and out into the great ocean. She was not going the regular way that she generally took, around the end of the country where the monkeys lived, but she was going by a strange way, around Cape Horn. For Captain Jacob thought that there were cities on that way where the things that the Industry  carried could be sold for a great deal of money, and he thought that Captain Solomon was just the man to do it. So he had told him to stop at any cities where he thought there was a good chance for him, and then to sail on to the far country through the South Seas, and to come back by the regular way. And if Captain Solomon did that, by the time he had got home again, he would have sailed around the world. So he was glad, for he wanted to sail around the world.

And the Industry  sailed far out into the ocean, and then she turned southward. For the winds are almost always from the west at the place Captain Solomon started from, but when a ship gets far out into the ocean, the winds are always from the northeast. And they blow so steadily that they are called Trade Winds because they can be depended upon to blow a vessel like the Industry  on her course to far countries; and they are fair winds for ships, if the ships go in the right part of the ocean. So the Industry  got her sails set the right way for these winds, and then the sailors didn't have to touch a rope for many days, until they got to that part of the ocean where it is very apt to be calm and where it rains a great deal. This part of the ocean is called the Doldrums.

They were a long time in the Doldrums, but at last they got through them, and they set the sails the right way for the winds that blew, and they came to a very wide river, so wide that it looked like a great bay that reached up into the land for many, many miles. And here was a city on the shore, and Captain Solomon thought that he would see what he could do in the way of trade. So he told the sailors to let down the great anchor to the bottom of the river. And the sailors let down the anchor and took down the sails, and Captain Solomon went ashore in his rowboat, with two sailors rowing.

In that city Captain Solomon sold a part of the things that the Industry  had brought and he bought some other things; but not many, for he would have to carry the things that he bought a long way, and he thought he could get better things for his money in India. And the Industry  stayed there two days, getting out the things that Captain Solomon had sold and getting aboard the things he had bought. And, when the sailors had all the things stowed away in the hold of the ship, they got up the anchor again and hoisted the sails and they sailed away out of that river.

Then the Industry  turned southward again. And in a little while they came to another city, and Captain Solomon went ashore again and he sold a few more of the things that the Industry  had brought but he didn't buy anything, and when the sailors had got out the things that he had sold, they got up the anchor and they sailed away, southward. And Captain Solomon had made up his mind that he would stop at no more cities on that coast.

So the ship kept on sailing southward, and the winds kept getting stronger and more uncertain as they got farther south, and it kept getting colder, so that the sailors had to put on all the thickest clothes they had. And the clouds came up, thick and gray, and the sea was the color of lead, and the waves rose until the Industry  pitched and rolled a great deal. And the waves kept on getting higher, so that the vessel no longer pitched and rolled, for the seas were too long for that, but she rose to the oncoming wave as if she was going up to the sky; and when that wave was past, she went sliding down the other side as if she would go straight down to the bottom of the ocean. Anybody but a sailor would have been frightened. And, with the lead-colored clouds and the lead-colored ocean and the great waves that raced past and the bitter cold, it was as dismal as anything you can imagine. And then they turned toward the west, for they had come to Cape Horn.

It blew so hard that Captain Solomon had the sailors take in all the sails but two, and those two were reefed. Reefing a sail is tying up a part of it, so that it is smaller. And the wind was coming out of the west, which was just the way they wanted to go. And because the wind was dead ahead, they couldn't go the way they wanted to, and after they had tried it for a day, they had to give it up and go back again, to try it again when the wind was less. And it began to snow, and the ship began to be covered with ice, where the waves had splashed, and they were all very uncomfortable.

The ship began to be covered with ice.

At last the wind was less and they could try again to go past the Cape. And Captain Solomon told the sailors to hoist the topsails; but it was still snowing and the waves were still high and racing past, and the ocean was gray and dull, and the waves kept coming on to the ship, so that the decks were covered with the ice-cold water. And the sky was lead-colored and oily-looking and there were some sea-birds flying about the ship and screaming. So it was no wonder that the sailors, as they hoisted the topsails, sang that mournful chanty:

They call me Hanging Johnny, Away-i-o. They call me Hanging Johnny, So hang, boys, hang.

And Captain Solomon didn't stop them that time, for he felt mournful, too, because of the bad weather and because they still had the Cape to pass. And the wind kept getting less, but it was dead ahead, so that they were a long time in getting past the Cape. And, before they were quite past, it began to blow again, and it blew harder than it had before, and the waves were higher than they had been. And Captain Solomon was walking the quarter-deck and he was very angry, as he was apt to be when things didn't go to suit him.

"I won't go back now," he said to the mate. "We'll stick it out until we get by. Under reefed topsails, mind you. And tell the men to get out the oil bags and rig them."

So the sailors took in all the sails except the topsails, and they reefed the topsails. And some sailors went to a barrel of oil, and filled buckets from it. And other sailors were clinging to the bowsprit and tying canvas bags there. These bags were filled with pieces of old rope, and they each had a small hole in the bottom. And when they were tied firmly under the end of the bowsprit, the sailors poured the oil from the buckets into the bags, and got back on the deck as quickly as they could. They were all wet, from neck to heel; for they had dipped into the waves with every plunge of the ship.

And Captain Solomon watched the oil bags and he saw that the oil dripped from them in little bits of fine streams, and that, as soon as it touched the water, it spread out over the water, and that the waves did not break wherever the oil was on them, but all the little crests were smoothed off. So the ship sailed through a smooth sea because of that dripping oil, and no water came on the deck because the waves didn't break and splash. And that oil lasted until the Industry  was all past the Cape and had turned northward again. By that time the wind was beginning to be less.

So Captain Solomon was well pleased and he wasn't angry any more. And as the ship got further north, it got warmer, so that the sailors didn't need to wear the warmest clothes they had, but they put on the next warmest. And the wind died down, until it was no more than a good sailing breeze for the Industry  with all her sails up. So the sailors hoisted all the sails, but they didn't sing "Hanging Johnny" while they did it, for they all felt cheerful again. And the sun came out, and they wondered what sort of a city they would come to next.

And that's all.

 

Jean Ingelow

Seven Times One

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover, There's no rain left in heaven; I've said my "seven times" over and over, Seven times one are seven. I am old! so old I can write a letter; My birthday lessons are done; The lambs play always, they know no better; They are only one times one. O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing, And shining so round and low; You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing,— You are nothing now but a bow. You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven, That God has hidden your face? I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven, And shine again in your place. O velvet Bee, you're a dusty fellow, You've powdered your legs with gold! O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow! Give me your money to hold. O Columbine! open your folded wrapper, Where two twin turtle-doves dwell; O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper, That hangs in your clear, green bell! And show me your nest with the young ones in it— I will not steal them away; I am old! you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet— I am seven times one to-day.