Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

The Inn of the Red Craw-Fish

The inn of The Red Craw-fish

T HEY walked, and walked, and walked, until at last, towards evening, they arrived dead tired at the inn of The Red Craw-fish.

"Let us stop here a little," said the Fox, "that we may have something to eat and rest ourselves for an hour or two. We will start again at midnight, so as to arrive at the Field of miracles by dawn to-morrow morning."

Having gone into the inn they all three sat down to table: but none of them had any appetite.

The Cat, who was suffering from indigestion and feeling seriously indisposed, could only eat thirty-five mullet with tomato sauce, and four portions of tripe with Parmesan cheese; and because she thought the tripe was not seasoned enough, she asked three times for the butter and grated cheese!

The Fox would also willingly have picked a little, but as his doctor had ordered him a strict diet, he was forced to content himself simply with a hare dressed with a sweet and sour sauce, and garnished lightly with fat chickens and early pullets. After the hare he sent for a made dish of partridges, rabbits, frogs, lizards, and other delicacies; he could not touch anything else. He had such a disgust to food, he said, that he could put nothing to his lips.

The one who ate the least was Pinocchio. He asked for some walnuts and a hunch of bread, and left everything on his plate. The poor boy, whose thoughts were continually fixed on the Field of miracles, had got in anticipation an indigestion of gold pieces.

The poor boy . . . had got in anticipation an indigestion of gold pieces.

When they had supped, the Fox said to the host:

"Give us two good rooms, one for Mr. Pinocchio, and the other for me and my companion. We will snatch a little sleep before we leave. Remember, however, that at midnight we wish to be called to continue our journey."

"Yes, gentlemen," answered the host, and he winked at the Fox and the Cat, as much as to say: "I know what you are up to. We understand one another!"

No sooner had Pinocchio got into bed than he fell asleep at once and began to dream. And he dreamt that he was in the middle of a field, and the field was full of shrubs covered with clusters of gold sovereigns, and as they swung in the wind they went zin, zin, zin, almost as if they would say "Let who will, come and take us." But when Pinocchio was at the most interesting moment, that is, just as he was stretching out his hand to pick handfuls of those beautiful gold pieces and to put them in his pocket, he was suddenly wakened by three violent blows on the door of his room.

He dreamt . . . shrubs covered with clusters of gold sovereigns.

It was the host who had come to tell him that midnight had struck.

"Are my companions ready?" asked the puppet.

"Ready! Why, they left two hours ago."

"Why were they in such a hurry?"

"Because the Cat had received a message to say that her eldest kitten was ill with chilblains on his feet, and was in danger of death."

"Did they pay for the supper?"

"What are you thinking of? They are much too well educated to dream of offering such an insult to a gentleman like you."

"What a pity! It is an insult that would have given me so much pleasure!" said Pinocchio, scratching his head. He then asked:

"And where did my good friends say they would wait for me?"

"At the Field of miracles, to-morrow morning at daybreak."

Pinocchio paid a sovereign for his supper and that of his companions, and then left.

Outside the inn it was so pitch dark that he had almost to grope his way, for it was impossible to see a hand's breadth in front of him. In the adjacent country not a leaf moved. Only, some night-birds flying across the road from one hedge to the other brushed Pinocchio's nose with their wings as they passed, which caused him so much terror that, springing back, he shouted: "Who goes there?" and the echo in the surrounding hills repeated in the distance: "Who goes there? Who goes there? Who goes there?"

As he was walking along he saw a little insect shining dimly on the trunk of a tree, like a night-light in a lamp of transparent china.

"Who are you?" asked Pinocchio.

"I am the ghost of the Talking-cricket," answered the insect in a low voice, so weak and faint that it seemed to come from the other world.

"What do you want with me?" said the puppet.

"I want to give you some advice. Go back, and take the four sovereigns that you have left to your poor father, who is weeping and in despair because you have never returned to him."

"By to-morrow my papa will be a gentleman, for these four sovereigns will have become two thousand."

"Don't trust, my boy, to those who promise to make you rich in a day. Usually they are either mad or rogues! Give ear to me, and go back."

"On the contrary, I am determined to go on."

"The hour is late! . . ."

"I am determined to go on."

"The night is dark! . . ."

"I am determined to go on."

"The road is dangerous . . ."

"I am determined to go on."

"Remember that boys who are bent on following their caprices, and will have their own way, sooner or later repent it."

"Always the same stories. Good-night, Cricket."

"Good-night, Pinocchio, and may Heaven preserve you from dangers and from assassins."

No sooner had he said these words than the Talking-cricket vanished suddenly like a light that has been blown out, and the road became darker than ever.

 

Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

Homes in Iceland

Part 2 of 3

After that some men went fishing every day in the rowboat that they had. And Ingolf took others, and they sailed along the shore, seeing what kind of a land this was. But winter began to come on. Then Ingolf said:

"Remember what Floki said of the ice and the rough sea in winter. Soon we cannot sail any longer. Let us choose a place to stay and build a hut there and cut hay for our cattle."

So they did. Their hut was a little mean thing of stones and turf. They kept the cattle and hay in it. Sometimes they slept there, when it was very cold. But most of the time they ate and slept by a great bonfire out of doors where it was clean. Leif said:

"I like the cold air of the sea better than the bad-smelling air of a house, even though it is warm."

Now every day Ingolf and Leif and some of the men walked about the island. At night they all sat around the campfire and talked of what they had seen during the day.

"This is surely a wonderful land," Ingolf said once. "It is at the same time like Niflheim and like Asgard. Here is a spot green and soft, a sweet cradle for men. Next it is a mountain of ice where men would freeze to death. And next to that is a hill of rock that seems to have come out of some great fire. Yesterday I saw a cave on the seashore. The door of it was big enough for a giant. The waves broke at the doorstep. A terrible roaring came from the cave. I think it is the home of a giant. I think that giants of fire and giants of frost made this island. I have seen great basins in the rocks filled with warm water. They looked like giants' bath-tubs. I have seen boiling water shoot up out of the ground. I have walked, and have felt and heard a great rumbling under me as though some giant were sleeping there and turning over in his sleep. One day I stood on a mountain and looked inland. There was a wide desert of sand and black and red rock with nothing growing on it. The fierce wind blew dirt into my eyes, and the cold of it froze the marrow in my bones. When I have seen these things I have cursed the country, and have said: 'The gods hate Iceland. I will not stay here.' But then I have walked through beautiful warm valleys where the winds did not come. I saw in my mind the flowers that we found last summer. I saw our cattle feeding on the sweet grass. I thought of the sea full of good fish. I saw my house built among green fields, and my wife sitting in her home, and my children playing among the flowers and making up tales about the bright ice mountains. I saw the wide, rough seas between me and Harald and our foes. Then I thought to myself, 'It is the sweetest home on earth.' As for me, I am coming here to live. What do you say, comrades?"

"Have I not vowed to follow you, foster-brother?" said Leif. "And indeed I never saw a land that I liked better. I don't believe in your giants. My sword is my god, and my ship is my temple, and I like this land to set them up in."

They sat about the fire long that night making plans.

"You shall go home and get our women and our things, Ingolf," said Leif. "I will off to Ireland and have a frolic. There will be little play of swords in this empty land, and I want to have one last game before I hang up my battle-knife. Besides, I will come to you with a ship full of gold and clothes and house-hangings such as we cannot get here, and they will cost me nothing but the swing of a sword."

As they talked, Ingolf looked up at the sky. The northern lights were quivering there. They were like great flames of yellow and green and red.

"See," he said, and pointed. "We are not so far that the gods will forget us. There is the flash of the armor of the Valkyrias. A battle is on somewhere, and Odin has sent his maidens to choose the heroes for Valhalla."

Leif only laughed and lay down to sleep.

So in the spring they all went back to Norway. Leif got ready the boat again and merrily sailed for Ireland.

"Here I go to get riches for our new land," he said.

Ingolf set his men to cutting down pines in the forest and some to building a new ship. He had his thralls plant large crops of grain and grind flour and make new kegs and chests of wood. He himself worked much at the forge, making all kinds of tools—spades, axes, hammers, hunting-knives, cooking kettles. The women were busy weaving and sewing new clothes. Ingolf sold his house and land and everything that he could not take with him.

After about two years Leif came back. He had ten thralls that he had got in Ireland. He took Ingolf aboard his ship and raised the covers of great chests. Gold helmets, silver-trimmed drinking-horns, embroidered robes, and swords flashed out.

"Did I not say that I would come back with a full ship?" he laughed.

At last all things were ready for starting.

"To-day I will sacrifice to Thor and Odin," Ingolf said. "If the omens are good we will start to-morrow."

"Well, go, foster-brother," laughed Leif. "But I have better things to do. I will be putting the cattle into the ship and will have all ready."

So Ingolf and his men went into the forests a little way. There in a cleared space stood a large building. In front of this temple the men killed two horses for Odin. Ingolf caught some of the blood in a brass bowl. He raised it and looked up at the sky and said:

"All-wise and all-father Odin, and Thor who loves the thunder, I give these horses to you. Tell me whether it is your will that we go to Iceland."

As he said that, a raven flew over his head. Ingolf watched it.

"It is Odin's will that we go," he said. "He sent his raven to tell us. It is flying straight toward Iceland."

The men shouted with joy at that.

Now they hung some of the meat of the horses on a tree near the temple.

"For the ravens of Odin," they said.

Ingolf carried the bowl of blood into the temple. He went through the feast hall in front to a little room at the back. Here stood wooden statues of the gods in a semicircle. Before them was a stone altar. Ingolf took a little brush of twigs that lay on it and dipped it into the blood and sprinkled the statues.

"You shall taste of our sacrifice," he said. "Look kindly on us from your happy seats in Asgard."

Then they went into the feast hall. There thralls were boiling the horseflesh in pots over the fire. The tables were standing ready before the benches. Ingolf walked to the high seat. All the others took their places at the benches. When the horns came round, Ingolf made this vow:

"I vow that I will build my house wherever these pillars lead me."

He put his hand upon a tall post that stood beside the high seat. There was one at each side. They were the front posts of the chair. But they stood up high, almost to the roof. They were wonderfully carved and painted with men and dragons. On the top of each one was a little statue of Thor with his hammer.

At the end of the feast Ingolf had his thralls dig these pillars up. He had a little bronze chest filled with the earth that was under the altar.

"I will take the pillars of my high seat to Iceland," he said, "and I will set up my altar there upon the soil of Norway, the soil that all my ancestors have trod, the soil that Thor loves."

So they carried the pillars and the chest of earth and the statues of the gods, and put them into Ingolf's boat.

"It is a well-packed ship," the men said. 'There is no spot to spare."

Tools, and chests of food, and tubs of drink and chests of clothes, and fishing nets were stowed in the bows of both boats. In the bottom were laid some long, heavy, hewn logs.

"The trees in Iceland are little," Ingolf said. "We must take the great beams for our homes with us."

Standing on these logs were a few cattle and sheep and horses and pigs. The rowers' benches were along the sides. In the stern of each boat was a little cabin. Here the women and children were to sleep. But the men would sleep on the timbers in the middle of the boat and perhaps they would put up the awning sometimes.

At last everyone was aboard. Men loosed the rope that held the boats. The ships flashed down the rollers into the water, and Ingolf and Leif were off for Iceland. As they sailed away everyone looked back at the shore of old Norway. There were tears in the women's eyes. Helga, Leif's wife, sang:

"There was I born. There was I wed. There are my father's bones. There are the hills and fields, The streams and rocks that I love. There are houses and temples, Women and warriors and feasts, Ships and songs and fights— A crowded, joyous land. I go to an empty land."

There was the same long voyage with storm and fog. But at last the people saw again the white cloud and saw it growing into land and mountains. Then Ingolf took the pillars of his high seat and threw them overboard.

"Guide them to a good place, O Thor!" he cried.

The waves caught them up and rolled them about. Ingolf followed them with his ship. But soon a storm came up. The men had to take down the sails and masts, and they could do nothing with their oars. The two ships tossed about in the sea wherever the waves sent them. The pillars drifted away, and Ingolf could not see them.

"Remember your pillars, O Thor!" he cried.

Then he saw that Leif's ship was being driven far off.

"Then he saw Leif's ship was being driven afar off."

"Ah, my foster-brother," he thought, "shall I not have you to cheer me in this empty land? O Thor, let him not go down to the caves of Ran! He is too good a man for that."

On the next day the storm was not so hard, and Ingolf put in at a good harbor. A high rocky point stuck out into the sea. A broad bay with islands in the mouth was at the side. Behind the rocky point was a level green place with ice-mountains shining far back.

After a day or two Ingolf said:

"I will go look for my pillars."

So he and a few men got into the rowboat and went along the shore and into all the fiords, but they could not find the pillars. After a week they came back, and Ingolf said:

"I will build a house here to live in while I look for the posts. This way is uncomfortable for the women."

So he did. Then he set out again to look for the pillars, but he had no better luck and came back.

"I must stay at home and see to the making of hay and the drying of fish," he said. "Winter is coming on, and we must not be caught with nothing to eat."

So he stayed and worked and sent two of his thralls to look for the holy posts. They came back every week or two and always had to say that they had not found them. Midwinter was coming on.

"Ah!" said Ingolf's wife one day, "do you remember the gay feast that we had at Yule-time? All our friends were there. The house rang with song and laughter. Our tables bent with good things to eat. Walls were hung with gay draperies. The floor was clean with sweet-smelling pine-branches. Now look at this mean house; its dirt floor, its bare stone walls, its littleness, its darkness! Look at our long faces. No one here could make a song if he tried. Oh! I am sick for dear old Norway."

"It is Thor's fault," Ingolf cried. "He will not let me find his posts."

He strode our of the house and stood scowling at the gray sea.

"Ah, foster-brother!" he said. "It was never so gloomy when you were by my side. Where are you now? Shall I never hear your merry laugh again? That spot in my palm burns, and my heart aches to see you. That arch of sod keeps rising before my eyes. Our vows keep ringing in my ears."

At last the long, gloomy winter passed and spring came.

"Cheer up, good wife," Ingolf said. "Better days are coming now."

But that same day the thralls came back from looking for the posts.

"We have bad news," they said. "As we walked along the shore looking for the pillars we saw a man lying on the shore. We went up to him. He was dead. It was Leif. Two well-built houses stood near. We went to them. We knew from the carving on the door-posts that they were Leif's. We went in. The rooms were empty. Along the shore and in the wood back of the house we found all of his men, dead. There was no living thing about."

Ingolf said no word, but his face was white, and his mouth was set. He went into the house and got his spears and his shield and said to his men:

"Follow me."

They put provisions into the boat and pushed off and sailed until they saw Leif's houses on the shore of the harbor. There they saw Leif and the men who were his friends, dead. Their swords and spears were gone. Ingolf walked through the houses calling on Helga and on the thralls, but no one answered. The store house was empty. The rich hangings were gone from the walls of the houses. There was nothing in the stables. The boat was gone.

Ingolf went out and stood on a high point of land that jutted out into the water. Far along the coast he saw some little islands. He turned to his men and said:

"The thralls have done it. I think we shall find them on those islands."

Then he went back to Leif and stood looking at him.

"What a shame for so brave a man to fall by the hands of thralls! But I have found that such things always happen to men who do not sacrifice to the gods. Ah, Leif! I did not think when we made those vows of foster-brotherhood that this would ever happen. But do not fear. I remember my promise. I had thought that a man's blood is precious in this empty land, but my vow is more precious."

Now they laid all those men together and tied on their hell-shoes.

"I need my sword for your sake, foster-brother. I cannot give you that. But you shall have my spears and my drinking-horn," said Ingolf. "For surely Odin has chosen you for Valhalla, even though you did not sacrifice. You are too good a man to go to Niflheim. You would make times merry in Valhalla."

So Ingolf put his spears and his drinking-horn by Leif. Then the men raised a great mound over all the dead. After that they went aboard their boat and sailed for the islands that Ingolf had seen. It was evening when they reached them.

"I see smoke rising from that one," Ingolf said, pointing.

He steered for it. It was a steep rock like that one in the Faroes, but they found a harbor and landed and climbed the steep hill and came out on top. They saw the ten thralls sitting about a bonfire eating. Helga and the other women from Leif's house sat near, huddled together, white and frightened. One of the thralls gave a great laugh and shouted:

"This is better than pulling Leif's plow. To-morrow we will sail for Ireland with all his wealth."

"To-morrow you will be freezing in Niflheim," cried Ingolf, and he leaped among them swinging his sword, and all his men followed him, and they killed those thralls.

 

Robert Browning

Pippa's Song

The year's at the spring And day's at the morn; Morning's at seven; The hillside's dew-pearled; The lark's on the wing; The snail's on the thorn; God's in His heaven— All's right with the world!

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Sir Philip Sidney

A CRUEL battle was being fought. The ground was covered with dead and dying men. The air was hot and stifling. The sun shone down without pity on the wounded soldiers lying in the blood and dust.

One of these soldiers was a no-ble-man, whom everybody loved for his gen-tle-ness and kindness. Yet now he was no better off than the poorest man in the field. He had been wounded, and would die; and he was suf-fer-ing much with pain and thirst.

When the battle was over, his friends hurried to his aid. A soldier came running with a cup in his hand.

"Here, Sir Philip," he said, "I have brought you some clear, cool water from the brook. I will raise your head so that you can drink."

The cup was placed to Sir Philip's lips. How thank-ful-ly he looked at the man who had brought it! Then his eyes met those of a dying soldier who was lying on the ground close by. The wist-ful look in the poor man's face spoke plainer than words.

"Give the water to that man," said Sir Philip quickly; and then, pushing the cup toward him, he said, "Here, my comrade, take this. Thy need is greater than mine."

What a brave, noble man he was! The name of Sir Philip Sidney will never be for-got-ten; for it was the name of a Chris-tian gen-tle-man who always had the good of others in his mind. Was it any wonder that everybody wept when it was heard that he was dead?

It is said, that, on the day when he was carried to the grave, every eye in the land was filled with tears. Rich and poor, high and low, all felt that they had lost a friend; all mourned the death of the kindest, gentlest man that they had ever known.

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Holly Trees and Holly Bushes

Mr. Gray showed them a picture of a holly tree.

He said, "Holly trees grow best in places where there is not often much snow. Some grow near the sea in the North. But most of them grow in the South.

"The dark shiny leaves stay on the tree all winter. There are lovely red berries that stay, too.

"People like to see green leaves and red berries in winter."

"I wish I might see a holly," said Nan.

"There are some hollies growing in this park," said Mr. Gray.

"Real holly trees?" asked Don.

"No, real holly bushes!" said Mr. Gray. "They are near the pond."

Mr. Gray went with Don and Nan to the pond. Some bushes were growing in low wet ground.

"These bushes are one kind of holly," said Mr. Gray. "One name for them is Winterberry. They have red berries that stay on in winter. Hungry birds come to eat them. The leaves turn black in the fall and drop to the ground."

Mr. Gray told them about an evergreen holly bush that grows near the sea.

"So some kinds of trees and bushes with broad leaves are evergreens and some kinds are not," said Don.

 

Robert Louis Stevenson

Windy Nights

Whenever the moon and stars are set, Whenever the wind is high, All night long in the dark and wet, A man goes riding by. Late in the night when the fires are out, Why does he gallop and gallop about? Whenever the trees are crying aloud, And ships are tossed at sea, By, on the highway, low and loud, By at the gallop goes he. By at the gallop he goes, and then By he comes back at the gallop again.

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

An Old Friend in a New Home

E VERY day brought newcomers to the Old Orchard, and early in the morning there were so many voices to be heard that perhaps it is no wonder if for some time Peter Rabbit failed to miss that of one of his very good friends. Most unexpectedly he was reminded of this as very early one morning he scampered, lipperty-lipperty-lip, across a little bridge over the Laughing Brook.

"Dear me! Dear me! Dear me!" cried rather a plaintive voice. Peter stopped so suddenly that he all but fell heels over head. Sitting on the top of a tall, dead, mullein stalk was a very soberly dressed but rather trim little fellow, a very little larger than Bully the English Sparrow. Above, his coat was of a dull olive-brown, while underneath he was of a grayish-white, with faint tinges of yellow in places. His head was dark, and his bill black. The feathers on his head were lifted just enough to make the tiniest kind of crest. His wings and tail were dusky, little bars of white showing very faintly on his wings, while the outer edges of his tail were distinctly white. He sat with his tail hanging straight down, as if he hadn't strength enough to hold it up.

"Hello, Dear Me!" cried Peter joyously. "What are you doing way down here? I haven't seen you since you first arrived, just after Winsome Bluebird got here." Peter started to say that he had wondered what had become of Dear Me, but checked himself, for Peter is very honest and he realized now that in the excitement of greeting so many friends he hadn't missed Dear Me at all.

Dear Me the Phoebe did not reply at once, but darted out into the air, and Peter heard a sharp click of that little black bill. Making a short circle, Dear Me alighted on the mullein stalk again.

"Did you catch a fly then?" asked Peter.

"Dear me! Dear me! Of course I did," was the prompt reply. And with each word there was a jerk of that long hanging tail. Peter almost wondered if in some way Dear Me's tongue and tail were connected. "I suppose," said he, "that it is the habit of catching flies and bugs in the air that has given your family the name of Flycatchers."

Dear Me nodded and almost at once started into the air again. Once more Peter heard the click of that little black bill, then Dear Me was back on his perch. Peter asked again what he was doing down there.

"Mrs. Phoebe and I are living down here," replied Dear Me. "We've made our home down here and we like it very much."

Peter looked all around, this way, that way, every way, with the funniest expression on his face. He didn't see anything of Mrs. Phoebe and he didn't see any place in which he could imagine Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe building a nest. "What are you looking for?" asked Dear Me.

"For Mrs. Phoebe and your home, declared Peter quite frankly. "I didn't suppose you and Mrs. Phoebe ever built a nest on the ground, and I don't see any other place around here for one."

Dear Me chuckled. "I wouldn't tell any one but you, Peter," said he, "but I've known you so long that I'm going to let you into a little secret. Mrs. Phoebe and our home are under the very bridge you are sitting on."

"I don't believe it!" cried Peter.

But Dear Me knew from the way Peter said it that he really didn't mean that. "Look and see for yourself," said Dear Me.

So Peter lay flat on his stomach and tried to stretch his head over the edge of the bridge so as to see under it. But his neck wasn't long enough, or else he was afraid to lean over as far as he might have. Finally he gave up and at Mr. Phoebe's suggestion crept down the bank to the very edge of the Laughing Brook. Dear Me darted out to catch another fly, then flew right in under the bridge and alighted on a little ledge of stone just beneath the floor. There, sure enough, was a nest, and Peter could see Mrs. Phoebe's bill and the top of her head above the edge of it. It was a nest with a foundation of mud covered with moss and lined with feathers.

"That's perfectly splendid!" cried Peter, as Dear Me resumed his perch on the old mullein stalk. "How did you ever come to think of such a place? And why did you leave the shed up at Farmer Brown's where you have built your home for the last two or three years?"

"Oh," replied Dear Me, "we Phoebes always have been fond of building under bridges. You see a place like this is quite safe. Then, too, we like to be near water. Always there are many insects flying around where there is water, so it is an easy matter to get plenty to eat. I left the shed at Farmer Brown's because that pesky cat up there discovered our nest last year, and we had a dreadful time keeping our babies out of her clutches. She hasn't found us down here, and she wouldn't be able to trouble us if she should find us."

"I suppose," said Peter, "that as usual you were the first of your family to arrive."

"Certainly. Of course," replied Dear Me. "We always are the first. Mrs. Phoebe and I don't go as far south in winter as the other members of the family do. They go clear down into the Tropics, but we manage to pick up a pretty good living without going as far as that. So we get back here before the rest of them, and usually have begun housekeeping by the time they arrive. My cousin, Chebec the Least Flycatcher, should be here by this time. Haven't you heard anything of him up in the Old Orchard?"

"No," replied Peter, "but to tell the truth I haven't looked for him. I'm on my way to the Old Orchard now, and I certainly shall keep my ears and eyes open for Chebec. I'll tell you if I find him. Good-by."

"Dear me! Dear me! Good-by Peter. Dear me!" replied Mr. Phoebe as Peter started off for the Old Orchard.

Perhaps it was because Peter was thinking of him that almost the first voice he heard when he reached the Old Orchard was that of Chebec, repeating his own name over and over as if he loved the sound of it. It didn't take Peter long to find him. He was sitting out on the tip of one of the upper branches of an apple-tree where he could watch for flies and other winged insects. He looked so much like Mr. Phoebe, save that he was smaller, that any one would have know they were cousins. "Chebec! Chebec! Chebec!" he repeated over and over, and with every note jerked his tail. Now and then he would dart out into the air and snap up something so small that Peter, looking up from the ground, couldn't see it at all.

CHEBEC THE LEAST FLYCATCHER He will tell you his name. DEAR ME THE PHOEBE Look for him around an old bridge or shed.

"Hello, Chebec!" cried Peter. "I'm glad to see you back again. Are you going to build in the Old Orchard this year?"

"Of course I am," replied Chebec promptly. "Mrs. Chebec and I have built here for the last two or three years, and we wouldn't think of going anywhere else. Mrs. Chebec is looking for a place now. I suppose I ought to be helping her, but I learned a long time ago, Peter Rabbit, that in matters of this kind it is just as well not to have any opinion at all. When Mrs. Chebec has picked out just the place she wants, I'll help her build the nest. It certainly is good to be back here in the Old Orchard and planning a home once more. We've made a terribly long journey, and I for one am glad it's over."

"I just saw your cousins, Mr. and Mrs. Phoebe, and they already have a nest and eggs," said Peter.

"The Phoebes are a funny lot," replied Chebec. "They are the only members of the family that can stand cold weather. What pleasure they get out of it I don't understand. They are queer anyway, for they never build their nests in trees as the rest of us do."

"Are you the smallest in the family?" asked Peter, for it had suddenly struck him that Chebec was a very little fellow indeed.

Chebec nodded. "I'm the smallest," said he. "That's why they call me Least Flycatcher. I may be least in size, but I can tell you one thing, Peter Rabbit, and that is that I can catch just as many bugs and flies as any of them." Suiting action to the word, he darted out into the air. His little bill snapped and with a quick turn he was back on his former perch, jerking his tail and uttering his sharp little cry of, "Chebec! Chebec! Chebec!" until Peter began to wonder which he was the most fond of, catching flies, or the sound of his own voice.

Presently they both heard Mrs. Chebec calling from somewhere in the middle of the Old Orchard. "Excuse me, Peter," said Chebec, "I must go at once. Mrs. Chebec says she has found just the place for our nest, and now we've got a busy time ahead of us. We are very particular how we build a nest."

"Do you start it with mud the way Welcome Robin and your cousins, the Phoebes, do?" asked Peter.

"Mud!" cried Chebec scornfully. "Mud! I should say not! I would have you understand, Peter, that we are very particular about what we use in our nest. We use only the finest of rootlets, strips of soft bark, fibers of plants, the brown cotton that grows on ferns, and perhaps a little hair when we can find it. We make a dainty nest, if I do say it, and we fasten it securely in the fork made by two or three upright little branches. Now I must go because Mrs. Chebec is getting impatient. Come see me when I'm not so busy, Peter."

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Bundle of Sticks

A certain Father had a family of Sons, who were forever quarreling among themselves. No words he could say did the least good, so he cast about in his mind for some very striking example that should make them see that discord would lead them to misfortune.

One day when the quarreling had been much more violent than usual and each of the Sons was moping in a surly manner, he asked one of them to bring him a bundle of sticks. Then handing the bundle to each of his Sons in turn he told them to try to break it. But although each one tried his best, none was able to do so.

The Father then untied the bundle and gave the sticks to his Sons to break one by one. This they did very easily.

"My Sons," said the Father, "do you not see how certain it is that if you agree with each other and help each other, it will be impossible for your enemies to injure you? But if you are divided among yourselves, you will be no stronger than a single stick in that bundle."

In unity is strength.

 

The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes

HE saw no more of her white and grey goose-flock, no more of the green meadows they went marching through, no more of the great clouds that were above her when she stood in the marsh. She heard no more the nuthatches calling to each other in the bushes and the ash-trees around. Always she was going from one kitchen to the other, carrying her tub of ashes, and the outlandish servants who were there never spoke to her. And at night, when she sat by one of the fires, there wasn't a cat there to keep her company. There were crickets there to be sure, crickets a-plenty, but she didn't like them, for they got in her hair when she slept by the fire at night.

The Ratcatcher was the only one who spoke to her. Once he showed her a Salamander that lived in the fire, and he told her what to say when one sees a Salamander:

Little Lizard of the Fire, Will you stay and look at me? No, you will not; you will go Like a word that's said. Only Dust of Diamonds flung On your tail, Little Lizard that breathes flame, Makes you stay.

Often and often she looked into that fire, but she never saw the Salamander again.

Away down a long passage there was a draw-well that was covered over by a great stone. When all the outlandish servants had gone out of the great kitchens, Maid-alone would go down to the end of that passage, clear off the stone, and draw a pail of water from the depths. Maid-alone could not see to the water. But she would let a pail down and draw it up filled. Then she would wash herself clear of the soot and the ashes, and she would comb her hair with a comb she had made, bristles stuck in a piece of wood. Then for an hour she would be clean and fair, and the star upon her forehead was to be seen. But no one ever saw her at that hour.

Then a great stroke would go through all the Castle. It was the Tower clock striking one. The outlandish servants would troop in to make ready for the baking of the bread and the meats for the morning meal. Maid-alone would then have to clear the ashes from the seven hearths. Her Crow-feather Cloak would become grayer with the ashes, her hands and her face would be spotted with the soot from the chimneys, and the ashy crickets of the hearth would be in her hair.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Find a Great Store of Things

THE next day I went to the ship again. This I kept up for more than a week.

Every day I brought a load of things to the shore.

At last there was nothing left that one pair of hands could lift. But I do believe that if the fine days had held out, I would have brought away the whole ship.

You ask how I would have done that? I would have cut it into pieces and brought one piece at a time.

The last thing that I found was a secret drawer in the cabin. In that drawer there was some money.

A part of this money was in gold pieces—"pieces of eight," we called them. The rest was in silver.

I smiled to myself when I saw this money.

"O useless stuff!" I cried. '"What are you good for now? You are not worth picking up. This little old knife is worth much more. I have no manner of use for you. Lie there, where you are, and go to the bottom."

I was about to leave the cabin when I looked around again. The bright pieces were so pretty that I could not bear to leave them.

So I put them all in a strong bag and tied it around my waist like a belt.

"It will not do to throw good money away," I said.

When I went up on deck the wind was blowing hard. Dark clouds were beginning to cover the sky. The waves were rolling high. A storm was coming.

I saw that it was time for me to hurry back to the shore.

I let myself down into the water and began to swim. The sea was rough. The money was heavy. It was all I could do to reach the land.

I hastened home to my little tent. The storm had already begun.

 

Kate Greenaway

Margery Brown

"Margery Brown on the top of the hill, Why are you standing idle still?" "Oh, I 'm looking over to London town; Shall I see the horsemen if I go down?" "Margery Brown on the top of the hill, Why are you standing listening still?" "Oh, I hear the bells of London ring, And I hear the men and maidens sing." "Margery Brown on the top of the hill, Why are you standing, waiting still?" "Oh, a knight is there, but I can't go down, For the bells ring strangely in London town."

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

Marcus Aurelius

"The most beautiful figure in history." —Matthew Arnold.

F ROM time to time in the history of the world men have stood out, one by one, head and shoulders above their fellows,—men whose names can never perish, men whose acts will never die.

Such an one was Marcus Aurelius, emperor of the Roman Empire, but known to history as a great high-minded thinker, a pagan philosopher, true and firm and good in every action and every thought.

His life was not very full of incident: other men have done more and lived through stormier times than did Marcus Aurelius.

As a little boy he came under the notice of the Emperor Hadrian, who made the little Marcus a knight at the age of six. The "most true," he used to call the child, who even at this time was serious and thoughtful and noted for his truthfulness. Though delicate in health, his mother could not induce him to sleep on a bed spread with sheepskin, so Spartan was he in his ideas and so anxious to avoid being luxurious and indulgent. He was a Stoic—that is to say, he followed the teaching of a philosopher who lived long ago in Athens. This philosopher used to teach in a painted porch in that city, and stoa  being the Greek for porch, his followers got the name of Stoics.

At twelve years old he adopted the dress of plain woollen stuff worn by the Stoics. He loved history, he clung to old forms and customs. And so the boy grew up in the heart of Rome with his high standard of duty, his indifference to pleasure and pain, his love of virtue, his simple outlook on life.

Hadrian the emperor had adopted him as his successor.

Marcus Aurelius had already shown himself able and capable in affairs of state. He was made consul at the age of seventeen; he had prepared well for the day when the responsibilities of the great world-empire should be his.

"Modestly take, cheerfully resign." These words were among his sayings, given to the world fourteen hundred years after his death.

He accepted his great empire with modesty, insisting on sharing it with his adopted brother Verus. Insurrection breaking out in a distant part of the huge Roman possessions, Marcus Aurelius sent Verus to quell it. But the legions employed in this war brought back to Rome the germs of a terrible pestilence, which had followed them along their line of march. The plague that now broke out devastated vast districts of the mighty empire, and carried off thousands of victims in Rome itself. Following the plague came a fire, and following the fire came an earthquake. Then disturbances arose on the Danube, calling forth the strength of the empire to repress them. It required all the stoical patience that Marcus Aurelius could command to stand firmly at the helm and steer through these storms—storms which, though he knew it not, were the beginning of the decline and fall of his great empire.

But duty called him from Rome and from home to the long exile of the camp. He was no soldier, but the fate of Rome hung on his presence with the soldiers in the field, and his resolution was staunch. He hated war; but the empire must be defended, and he readily exposed himself to eight winter campaigns on the frozen banks of the Danube. Here, amid the harsh and uncongenial surroundings of war, the great philosopher-emperor wrote his wonderful Thoughts, or Meditations as they are called.

Very pathetic are these great thoughts, tinged with a sadness which came from the hopelessness of his pagan philosophy. Life's day had been toilsome, the evening-tide was very lonely. Wasted with disease from camp life, his spirit broken by the death of his wife and four sons, he waits for the retreat to sound—waits for that death which he knows to be "rest."

"Come quickly, death, for fear I too forget myself," he cries, as he grows weaker and more suffering.

"Live as on a mountain. Let men see, let them know a real man, who lives as he was meant to live."

He had indeed lived on a mountain, lived his simple good life with the eyes of the whole world looking on him, and he had shown how it was possible to lead a grand life in the midst of a corrupt age.

His end was as his life had been—deliberate, unflinching, resolute. The habit of duty struggled with his failing body. His friends gathered round him. "Why weep for me?" he says in a passionless farewell; "think of the army and its safety: I do but go on before. Farewell."

Away from home, at Vienna, on the 17th of March 180, Marcus Aurelius died. Rome forgot the emperor in the man.

"Marcus, my father! Marcus, my brother! Marcus, my son!" cried the bereaved citizens, while Romans whispered to one another, "He whom the gods lent us has rejoined the gods."

Stoically this man had lived, stoically he died. At a time when national virtue was dead he had stood firm and true; but it was impossible for one man to stem the tide of Roman decline. And the centuries still turn to him for wisdom, and the Thoughts will ever remain imperishable, "dignifying duty, shaming weakness, and rebuking discontent."

So he stands from out the ages of the past—"wise, just, self-governed, tender, thankful, blameless, yet with all this, agitated, stretching out his arms for Something beyond."

 

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

Perseus and Andromeda

A fisherman was tending his nets one morning on the coast of Seriphus when he noticed something floating far out on the water.

A fisherman was tending his nets on the coast of Seriphus.

He rowed out and found a great wooden chest, which he towed to shore. When the fisherman pried up the heavy cover, he found inside the chest a beautiful princess with a little baby clasped in her arms.

The fisherman found inside the chest a beautiful princess with a little baby clasped in her arms.

She had been shut in the chest for so many hours, floating over the sea, that she could not stand for weakness. So the fisherman lifted both baby and mother in his arms and carried them to the King.

Everyone in the palace was greatly surprised to see the strange princess and her baby. King Polydectes ordered food and wine for the mother, and the women of the palace bathed the baby and clothed him in fresh linen.

When the princess had eaten and felt refreshed, she told the King that her name was Danae and that her baby was Perseus, the little son of Jupiter. She told him that her father, King Acrisius of Argos, had shut them in the chest and set them afloat on the sea because he had heard from an oracle that some day the baby Perseus would grow up and cause his death.

Polydectes was delighted to have Danae stay in the palace, and for a long time he took care of her and her little son. But as Perseus grew up, Polydectes cared less for him, and finally began to wish that Perseus would go away.

So Polydectes sent him on a dangerous journey, to kill the gorgon Medusa, whose cavern was far away in the wilderness. Medusa's head was so terrible to see that no one could look at her without being turned into stone from sheer horror.

Medusa's head was terrible to see.

Perseus was glad to be sent on this adventure. He armed himself well and set out bravely toward the wilderness where Medusa dwelt.

Minerva, the goddess who watches over heroes, saw him depart, and feared that he could not succeed without the help of the gods. Perseus wore a sword and carried a shield and his sandals were light and strong, but Minerva knew that he would need weapons and armor more powerful than mortal sword or shield, and sandals swifter than his leathern ones.

Therefore she called upon Mercury, who brought his winged sandals of silver. Pluto, god of Erebus, lent his plumed helmet, which would make the wearer invisible. Minerva, herself, gave her shield, which nothing could pierce or shatter.

Mercury brought his winged sandals, Pluto lent his plumed helmet, and Minerva herself gave her shield.

When Perseus strapped the winged sandals on his feet he felt himself rise with a strange lightness. When the helmet touched his head, he became invisible. With the strong and beautiful shield in his hand he set out, as swiftly as Mercury himself, flying through the air over tree tops and temples, toward the cavern of the Graeae.

He knew that these three aged sisters, the Graeae, were exceedingly wise, as wise as they were old, and that if they wished they could tell him where to find Medusa.

As he drew near their cavern, he could hear them singing a mournful song, and, as he peered into the gloomy depths, he saw them rocking back and forth as they sang. They were bent and wrinkled and blind, except for one movable eye which they shared among them. They passed it back and forth as each took her turn at seeing. Their long white hair hung wild and loose on their shoulders. As Perseus watched, one of them plucked the eye from her forehead and passed it to the sister next to her. For a moment she groped, reaching out for her sister's hand. Instantly, when all the Graeae were in darkness, Perseus sprang into the cavern and snatched the eye as it passed between their fingers.

For a moment there was terrible confusion, for each sister thought one of the others was hiding it. Then Perseus spoke to them and they knew that a stranger had stolen their eye. They stumbled around the cavern, blindly holding out their hands to find him, wailing and pleading all the time.

Perseus was sorry for them, but he did not intend to return their eye until they told him where to find the Gorgon. The Graeae were willing to do anything to have their eye again, and so they agreed to give Perseus all the help they could. They told him exactly in which direction he must go, and just how to find the cavern of Medusa.

Perseus returned their eye and thanked them. Then, swiftly, he flew to the home of Medusa.

Perseus found the entrance to her cave exactly where the Graeae had told him. On every side stood figures of stone, their faces turned toward the cavern. They wore such an expression of terror that Perseus was careful to keep his face turned away from the cavern, lest he should see Medusa.

From inside the cave he could hear strange noises, as of some one walking about and complaining. He heard the whispering sound made by the hissing of the serpents which formed Medusa's hair.

Hiding himself behind one of the stone images he waited until nightfall, then stole up quietly and found the spot where Medusa slept. Although he kept his head turned aside, he could see her reflection in the brightness of his shield.

Bending over, Perseus cut off the Gorgon's head, and carrying it with him hurried to the entrance of the cave. He rose into the air, and flew over the sea and over Africa. As he passed, some drops of the Gorgon's blood fell on the sands of the African desert and immediately changed into poisonous serpents.

At length Perseus came to the realm of a king named Atlas. When he asked for food and rest, Atlas refused him and drove him from the palace doors.

Perseus uncovered the head of Medusa and raised it in front of Atlas. As soon as the King beheld it, he was turned to stone. As Perseus watched, Atlas grew larger and larger. His hips formed the slopes of a mighty mountain; his hair and beard became forests, and thrusting his head high among the stars, he was forced to receive the weight of the sky on his shoulders. Forever after he was doomed to bear that burden.

Perseus flew on until he came to the land of Ethiopia. Here he noticed a group of people on the shore, wringing their hands and weeping. Chained to a nearby rock he saw a maiden who kept her face turned toward the sea. She seemed to be expecting something to approach from across the water.

Perseus floated down and, as he came near her, he found that she was the loveliest maiden he had ever beheld. He took off his invisible helmet and spoke to her thus:

"O Virgin, undeserving of those chains, tell me, I beseech you, your name and the name of your country, and why you are thus bound."

Replying, the maiden told Perseus that she was Andromeda, Princess of Ethiopia. She was bound to the rock to await the coming of a sea-dragon which would devour her because the gods of the sea were angry with her mother.

Being beautiful and proud of her charms, the Queen of Ethiopia had boasted that she was lovelier than the sea nymphs. Neptune's daughters were angry at this boast, and as a punishment they sent a dreadful sea-dragon to carry off the fairest youths and maidens that lived in the land.

At last the King and Queen were warned by the gods that they must chain their own daughter to a rock so that the dragon might be given the loveliest maiden in all the kingdom. Then, said the oracle, the dragon would be satisfied and would return to the depths of the sea from which he had come.

Even as Andromeda was telling these things to Perseus they heard a roaring sound that came from the sea. As they looked up a huge green monster swam swiftly across the water, throwing great fountains of spray toward the heavens.

Perseus sprang into the air. As the dragon came near, he darted downward like an eagle and buried his sword in the serpent's shoulder. Such a fight followed that Andromeda covered her eyes in terror.

As the dragon came near, Perseus darted downward like an eagle.

The monster lashed his tail to the right and to the left, and in his fury split great rocks. Again and again Perseus rose into the air and swooped down upon him, wounding him until at last he lay still, partly in the water and partly on shore, his head and body stretched on the rocks and the sand, his tail floating far out on the sea.

Perseus unbound the Princess, and the King and Queen gave a great banquet in his honor. Then they allowed him to marry Andromeda and carry her back to his own land.

Perseus returned the helmet to Pluto, the shield to Minerva, and the winged sandals to Mercury, and forever after lived happily with Andromeda.

The oracle which declared that Perseus would cause the death of King Acrisius spoke truly. For one day, after Perseus had returned to his own land, he was playing with the discus and threw it in a course too curved. With a flash of light like that of a swinging sword, the sharp discus flew beyond the limits of the field and struck the King a mortal blow. Thus the words of the ancient oracle came true.

 

Walter de la Mare

Jim Jay

Do diddle di do, Poor Jim Jay Got stuck fast In Yesterday. Squinting he was, On cross-legs bent, Never heeding The wind was spent. Round veered the weathercock, The sun drew in— And stuck was Jim Like a rusty pin. . . . We pulled and we pulled From seven till twelve, Jim, too frightened To help himself. But all in vain. The clock struck one, And there was Jim A little bit gone. At half-past five You scarce could see A glimpse of his flapping Handkerchee. And when came noon, And we climbed sky-high, Jim was a speck Slip-slipping by. Come tomorrow, The neighbours say, He'll be past crying for; Poor Jim Jay.

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

If You Don't Like Conversation, Skip This Chapter

Part 1 of 3

Betsy opened the door and was greeted by her kitten, who ran to her, purring and arching her back to be stroked.

"Well," said Aunt Abigail, looking up from the pan of apples in her lap, "I suppose you're starved, aren't you! Get yourself a piece of bread and butter, why don't you? and have one of these apples."

As the little girl sat down by her, munching fast on this provender, she asked: "What desk did you get?"

Elizabeth Ann thought for a moment, cuddling Eleanor up to her face. "I think it is the third from the front in the second row." She wondered why Aunt Abigail cared. "Oh, I guess that's your Uncle Henry's desk. It's the one his father had, too. Are there a couple of H. P.'s carved on it?"

Betsy nodded.

"His father carved the H. P. on the lid, so Henry had to put his inside. I remember the winter he put it there. It was the first season Mother let me wear real hoop skirts. I sat in the first seat on the third row."

Betsy ate her apple more and more slowly, trying to take in what Aunt Abigail had said. Uncle Henry and his father—why Moses or Alexander the Great didn't seem any further back in the mists of time to Elizabeth Ann than did Uncle Henry's father!  And to think he had been a little boy, right there at that desk! She stopped chewing altogether for a moment and stared into space. Although she was only nine years old, she was feeling a little of the same rapt wonder, the same astonished sense of the reality of the people who have gone before, which make a first visit to the Roman Forum such a thrilling event for grown-ups. That very desk!

After a moment she came to herself, and finding some apple still in her mouth, went on chewing meditatively. "Aunt Abigail," she said, "how long ago was that?"

"Let's see," said the old woman, peeling apples with wonderful rapidity. "I was born in 1844. And I was six when I first went to school. That's sixty-six years ago."

Elizabeth Ann, like all little girls of nine, had very little notion how long sixty-six years might be. "Was George Washington alive then?" she asked.

The wrinkles around Aunt Abigail's eyes deepened mirthfully, but she did not laugh as she answered, "No, that was long after he died, but the schoolhouse was there when he was alive."

"It was!"  said Betsy, staring, with her teeth set deep in an apple.

"Yes, indeed. It was the first house in the valley built of sawed lumber. You know, when our folks came up here, they had to build all their houses of logs to begin with."

"They did!"  cried Betsy, with her mouth full of apple.

"Why, yes, child, what else did you suppose they had to make houses out of? They had to have something to live in, right off. The sawmills came later."

"I didn't know anything about it," said Betsy. "Tell me about it."

"Why you knew, didn't you—your Aunt Harriet must have told you—about how our folks came up here from Connecticut in 1763, on horseback? Connecticut was an old settled place then, compared to Vermont. There wasn't anything here but trees and bears and wood-pigeons. I've heard 'em say that the wood-pigeons were so thick you could go out after dark and club 'em out of the trees, just like hens roosting in a hen-house. There always was cold pigeon-pie in the pantry, just the way we have doughnuts. And they used bear-grease to grease their boots and their hair, bears were so plenty. It sounds like good eating, don't it! But of course that was just at first. It got quite settled up before long, and by the time of the Revolution, bears were getting pretty scarce, and soon the wood-pigeons were all gone."

"And the schoolhouse—that schoolhouse where I went today—was that built then?"  Elizabeth Ann found it hard to believe.

"Yes, it used to have a great big chimney and fireplace in it. It was built long before stoves were invented, you know."

"Why, I thought stoves were always  invented!" cried Elizabeth Ann. This was the most startling and interesting conversation she had ever taken part in.

Aunt Abigail laughed. "Mercy, no, child! Why, I  can remember when only folks that were pretty well off had stoves and real poor people still cooked over a hearth fire. I always thought it a pity they tore down the big chimney and fireplace out of the schoolhouse and put in that big, ugly stove. But folks are so daft over new-fangled things. Well, any how, they couldn't take away the sun-dial on the window-sill. You want to be sure to look at that. It's on the sill of the middle window on the right hand as you face the teacher's desk."

"Sun-dial," repeated Betsy. "What's that?"

"Why, to tell the time by, when—"

"Why didn't they have a clock?" asked the child.

Aunt Abigail laughed. "Good gracious, there was only one clock in the valley for years and years, and that belonged to the Wardons, the rich people in the village. Everybody had sun-dials cut in their window-sills. There's one on the window-sill of our pantry this minute. Come on, I'll show it to you." She got up heavily with her pan of apples, and trotted briskly, shaking the floor as she went, over to the stove. "But first just watch me put these on to cook so you'll know how." She set the pan on the stove, poured some water from the tea-kettle over the apples, and put on a cover. "Now come on into the pantry."

They entered a sweet-smelling, spicy little room, all white paint, and shelves which were loaded with dishes and boxes and bags and pans of milk and jars of preserves.

"There!" said Aunt Abigail, opening the window. "That's not so good as the one at school. This only tells when noon is."

Elizabeth Ann stared stupidly at the deep scratch on the window-sill.

"Don't you see?" said Aunt Abigail. "When the shadow got to that mark it was noon. And the rest of the time you guessed by how far it was from the mark. Let's see if I can come anywhere near it now." She looked at it hard and said: "I guess it's half-past four." She glanced back into the kitchen at the clock and said: "Oh, pshaw! It's ten minutes past five! Now my grandmother could have told that within five minutes, just by the place of the shadow. I declare! Sometimes it seems to me that every time a new piece of machinery comes into the door some of our wits fly out at the window! Now I couldn't any more live without matches than I could fly! And yet they all used to get along all right before they had matches. Makes me feel foolish to think I'm not smart enough to get along, if I wanted  to, without those little snips of pine and brimstone. Here, Betsy, take a cooky. It's against my principles to let a child leave the pantry without having a cooky. My! it does seem like living again to have a young one around to stuff!"

Betsy took the cooky, but went on with the conversation by exclaiming, "How  could anybody  get along without matches? You have  to have matches."

Aunt Abigail didn't answer at first. They were back in the kitchen now. She was looking at the clock again. "See here," she said; "it's time I began getting supper ready. We divide up on the work. Ann gets the dinner and I get the supper. And everybody gets his own breakfast. Which would you rather do, help Ann with the dinner, or me with the supper?"

Elizabeth Ann had not had the slightest idea of helping anybody with any meal, but, confronted unexpectedly with the alternative offered, she made up her mind so quickly that she didn't want to help Cousin Ann, and declared so loudly, "Oh, help you  with the supper!" that her promptness made her sound quite hearty and willing. "Well, that's fine," said Aunt Abigail. "We'll set the table now. But first you would better look at that apple sauce. I hear it walloping away as though it was boiling too fast. Maybe you'd better push it back where it won't cook so fast. There are the holders, on that hook."

Elizabeth Ann approached the stove with the holder in her hand and horror in her heart. Nobody had ever dreamed of asking her to handle hot things. She looked around dismally at Aunt Abigail, but the old woman was standing with her back turned, doing something at the kitchen table. Very gingerly the little girl took hold of the handle of the saucepan, and very gingerly she shoved it to the back of the stove. And then she stood still a moment to admire herself. She could do that as well as anybody!

"Why," said Aunt Abigail, as if remembering that Betsy had asked her a question, "Any man could strike a spark from his flint and steel that he had for his gun. And he'd keep striking it till it happened to fly out in the right direction, and you'd catch it in some fluff where it would start a smoulder, and you'd blow on it till you got a little flame, and drop tiny bits of shaved-up dry pine in it, and so, little by little, you'd build your fire up."

"But it must have taken forever  to do that!"

"Oh, you didn't have to do that more than once in ever so long," said Aunt Abigail, briskly. She interrupted her story to say: "Now you put the silver around, while I cream the potatoes. It's in that drawer—a knife, a fork, and two spoons for each place—and the plates and cups are up there behind the glass doors. We're going to have hot cocoa again tonight." And as the little girl, hypnotized by the other's casual, offhand way of issuing instructions, began to fumble with the knives and forks she went on: "Why, you'd start your fire that way, and then you'd never let it go out. Everybody that amounted to anything knew how to bank the hearth fire with ashes at night so it would be sure to last. And the first thing in the morning, you got down on your knees and poked the ashes away very carefully till you got to the hot coals. Then you'd blow with the bellows and drop in pieces of dry pine—don't forget the water-glasses—and you'd blow gently till they flared up and the shavings caught, and there your fire would be kindled again. The napkins are in the second drawer."

Betsy went on setting the table, deep in thought, reconstructing the old life. As she put the napkins around she said, "But sometimes  it must have gone out . . ."

"Yes," said Aunt Abigail, "sometimes it went out, and then one of the children was sent over to the nearest neighbor to borrow some fire. He'd take a covered iron pan fastened on to a long hickory stick, and go through the woods—everything was woods then—to the next house and wait till they had their fire going and could spare him a pan full of coals; and then—don't forget the salt and pepper—he would leg it home as fast as he could streak it, to get there before the coals went out. Say, Betsy, I think that apple sauce is ready to be sweetened. You do it, will you? I've got my hands in the biscuit dough. The sugar's in the left-hand drawer in the kitchen cabinet."

"Oh, my!"  cried Betsy, dismayed. "I  don't know how to cook!"

Aunt Abigail laughed and put back a strand of curly white hair with the back of her floury hand. "You know how to stir sugar into your cup of cocoa, don't you?"

"But how much  shall I put in?" asked Elizabeth Ann, clamoring for exact instruction so she wouldn't need to do any thinking for herself.

"Oh, till it tastes right," said Aunt Abigail, carelessly. "Fix it to suit yourself, and I guess the rest of us will like it. Take that big spoon to stir it with."

Elizabeth Ann took off the lid and began stirring in sugar, a teaspoonful at a time, but she soon saw that made no impression. She poured in a cupful, stirred it vigorously, and tasted it. Better, but not quite enough. She put in a tablespoonful more and tasted it, staring off into space under bended brows as she concentrated her attention on the taste. It was quite a responsibility to prepare the apple sauce for a family. It was ever so good, too. But maybe a little  more sugar. She put in a teaspoonful and decided it was just exactly right!

"Done?" asked Aunt Abigail. "Take it off, then, and pour it out in that big yellow bowl, and put it on the table in front of your place. You've made it; you ought to serve it."

"It isn't done, is it?" asked Betsy. "That isn't all  you do to make apple sauce!"

"What else could you do?" asked Aunt Abigail.

"Well . . . !" said Elizabeth Ann, very much surprised. "I didn't know it was so easy to cook!"

"Easiest thing in the world," said Aunt Abigail gravely, with the merry wrinkles around her merry old eyes all creased up with silent fun.

 

The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

Reddy Fox Is Very Miserable

W HEN Reddy Fox put his tail between his legs and started away from that terrible creature coming down the hill where Prickly Porky lives, he thought of nothing but of getting as far away as he could in the shortest time that he could, and so, with a little frightened yelp with every jump, he ran as he seldom had run before. He forgot all about Unc' Billy Possum watching from the safety of a big pine-tree. He didn't see Jimmy Skunk poking his head out from behind an old stump and laughing fit to kill himself. When he reached the edge of the Green Forest, he didn't even see Peter Rabbit jump out of his path and dodge into a hollow log.

When Reddy was safely past, Peter came out. He sat up very straight, with his ears pointing right up to the sky and his eyes wide open with surprise as he stared after Reddy. "Why! Why, my gracious, I do believe Reddy has had a fright!" exclaimed Peter. Then, being Peter, he right away began to wonder what could have frightened Reddy so, and in a minute he thought of the strange creature which had frightened him a few days before. "I do believe that was it!" he cried. "I do believe it was. Reddy is coming from the direction of Prickly Porky's, and that was where I got my fright. I—I—"

Peter hesitated. The truth is he was wondering if he dared go up there and see if that strange creature without head, tail, or legs really was around again. He knew it would be a foolish thing to do, for he might walk right into danger. He knew that little Mrs. Peter was waiting for him over in the dear Old Briar-patch and that she would worry, for he ought to be there this very blessed minute. But he was very curious to know what had frightened Reddy so, and his curiosity, which has led him into so many scrapes, grew greater with every passing minute.

"It won't do any harm to go part way up there," thought Peter. "Perhaps I will find out something without going way up there."

So, instead of starting for home as he should have done, he turned back through the Green Forest and, stopping every few hops to look and listen, made his way clear to the foot of the hill where Prickly Porky lives. There he hid under a little hemlock-tree and looked in every direction for the strange creature which had frightened him so the last time he was there. But nobody was to be seen but Prickly Porky, Jimmy Skunk, and Unc' Billy Possum rolling around in the leaves at the top of the hill and laughing fit to kill themselves.

"There's no danger here; that is sure," thought Peter shrewdly, "and I believe those fellows have been up to some trick."

With that he boldly hopped up the hill and joined them. "What's the joke?" he demanded.

"Did you meet Reddy Fox?" asked Jimmy Skunk, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Did I meet him? Why, he almost ran into me and didn't see me at all. I guess he's running yet. Now, what's the joke?" Peter demanded.

When the others could stop laughing long enough, they gathered around Peter and told him something that sent Peter off into such a fit of laughter that it made his sides ache, "That's a good one on Reddy, and it was just as good a one on me," he declared. "Now who else can we scare?"

All of which shows that there was something very like mischief being planned on the hill where Prickly Porky the Porcupine lives.

 

John Moultrie

Violets

Under the green hedges after the snow, There do the dear little violets grow, Hiding their modest and beautiful heads Under the hawthorn in soft mossy beds. Sweet as the roses, and blue as the sky, Down there do the dear little violets lie; Hiding their heads where they scarce may be seen, By the leaves you may know where the violet hath been.

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

Gideon and His Brave Three Hundred

Judges vi: 1, to viii: 28.

Part 1 of 2

GAIN the people of Israel did evil in the sight of the Lord in worshipping Baal; and the Lord left them again to suffer for their sins. This time it was the Midianites, living near the desert on the east of Israel, who came against the tribes in the middle of the country. The two tribes that suffered the hardest fate were Ephraim, and the part of Manasseh on the west of Jordan. For seven years the Midianites swept over their land every year, just at the time of harvest, and carried away all the crops of grain, until the Israelites had no food for themselves and none for their sheep and cattle. The Midianites brought also their own flocks, and camels without number, which ate all the grass of the field. These Midianites were the wild Arabs, living on the border of the desert, and from their land they made sudden and swift attacks upon the people of Israel.

The people of Israel were driven away from their villages and their farms; and were compelled to hide in the caves of the mountains. And if any Israelite could raise any grain, he buried it in pits covered with earth, or in empty wine-presses, where the Midianites could not find it.

One day a man named Gideon was threshing out wheat in a hidden place, when suddenly he saw an angel sitting under an oak-tree. The angel said to him, "You are a brave man, Gideon; and the Lord is with you. Go out boldly, and save your people from the power of the Midianites."

The angel speaking to Gideon on the threshing floor

Gideon answered the angel, "O Lord, how can I save Israel? Mine is a poor family in Manasseh, and I am the least of my father's house."

And the Lord said to him, "Surely I will be with you, and I will help you drive out the Midianites."

Gideon felt that it was the Lord who was talking with him, in the form of an angel. He brought an offering, and laid it on a rock before the angel. Then the angel touched the offering with his staff. At once a fire leaped up and burned the offering; and then the angel vanished from his sight. Gideon was afraid when he saw this; but the Lord said to him, "Peace be unto you, Gideon; do not fear, for I am with you."

The angel touched Gideon's offering

On the spot where the Lord appeared to Gideon, under an oak-tree near the village of Ophrah, in the tribe-land of Manasseh, Gideon built an altar, and called it by a name which means "The Lord is peace." This altar was standing long afterward in that place.

Then the Lord told Gideon that before setting his people free from the Midianites, he must first set them free from the service of Baal and Asherah, the two idols most worshipped among them. Near the house of Gideon's own father stood an altar to Baal, and the image of Asherah.

On that night Gideon went out with ten men, and threw down the image of Baal, and cut in pieces the wooden image of Asherah, and destroyed the altar before these idols. And in place he built an altar to the God of Israel, and on it laid the broken pieces of the idols for wood, and with them offered a young ox as a burnt-offering.

On the next morning, when the people of the village went out to worship their idols, they found them cut in pieces, the altar taken away; in its place stood an altar of the Lord, and on it the pieces of the Asherah were burning as wood under a sacrifice to the Lord. The people looked at the broken and burning idols, and they said, "Who has done this?"

Some one said, "Gideon, the son of Joash, did this last night." Then they came to Joash, Gideon's father, and said, "We are going to kill your son because he has destroyed the image of Baal, who is our god."

And Joash, Gideon's father, said, "If Baal is a god, he can take care of himself; and he will punish the man who has destroyed his image. Why should you help Baal? Let Baal help himself."

And when they saw that Baal could not harm the man who had broken down his altar and his image, the people turned from Baal back to their own Lord God.

Gideon sent men through all his own tribe of Manasseh and the other tribes in that part of the land, to say, "Come and help us drive out the Midianites." The men came, and gathered around Gideon. Very few of them had swords and spears, for the Israelites were not a fighting people, and were not trained for war. They met beside a great spring on Mount Gilboa, called "the fountain of Harod." Mount Gilboa is one of the three mountains on the east of the plain of Esdraelon, or the plain of Jezreel, of which we read in the last story. On the plain, stretching up the side of another of these mountains, called "the Hill of Moreh," was the camp of a vast Midianite army. For as soon as the Midianites heard that Gideon had undertaken to set his people free, they came against him with a mighty host. Just as Deborah and her little army had looked down from Mount Tabor on the great army of the Canaanites (see Story 44), so now, on Mount Gilboa, Gideon looked down on the host of the Midianites in their camp on the same plain.

Gideon was a man of faith. He wished to be sure that God was leading him; and he prayed to God, and said, "O Lord God, give me some sign that thou wilt save Israel through me. Here is a fleece of wool on this threshing-floor. If to-morrow morning the fleece is wet with dew, while the grass around it is dry, then I shall know that thou art with me, and that thou wilt give me victory over the Midianites."

Very early the next morning Gideon came to look at the fleece. He found it wringing wet with dew, while all around the grass was dry. But Gideon was not yet satisfied. He said to the Lord, "O Lord, be not angry with me; but give me just one more sign. To-morrow morning, let the fleece be dry, and let the dew fall all around it; and then I will doubt no more."

The next morning Gideon found the grass and the bushes and the trees wet with dew, while the fleece of wool was dry. And Gideon was now sure that God had called him, and that God would give him victory over the enemies of Israel.

The Lord said to Gideon, "Your army is too large. If Israel should win the victory, they would say, 'We won it by our own might.' Send home all those who are afraid to fight." For many of the people were frightened as they looked at the host of their enemies; and the Lord knew that these men in the battle would only hinder the rest.

So Gideon sent word through the camp, "Whoever is afraid of the enemy may go home," and twenty-two thousand people went away, leaving only ten thousand in Gideon's army. But the army was stronger though it was smaller, for the cowards had gone and only the brave men were left.

But the Lord said to Gideon, "The people are yet too many. You need only a few of the bravest and best men to fight in this battle. Bring the men down the mountain, beside the water, and I will show you there how to find the men whom you need."

 

The Sandman: His Ship Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Castaway 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.

Once, in the long ago, the brig Industry  had sailed from that wharf on a voyage around Cape Horn. And she had had a rough passage around the Cape, but a smooth passage everywhere else, and she had stopped at the last city that she would stop at for a very long time. For she had to sail many thousand miles through the South Seas before she would come to the far country where she was going. It was the same country that she generally went to, but she hadn't gone the usual way. The southern part of the Pacific Ocean is called the South Seas, and not many ships sailed there then, so that there weren't any very good maps of it. And there are many small islands in those seas and many coral reefs, and there the tide runs swiftly to and fro, so that it is very dangerous. Captain Solomon didn't know that ocean, for he had never sailed in it before, and he was rather anxious, though he didn't let the mates or the sailors know it. And he would be glad when they got to that far country and to the oceans that he knew.

It was hot in the part of the ocean where the Industry  sailed, so that the sailors didn't feel like doing much work. There wasn't much for them to do for a long time, for the wind was fair and it was steady; but Captain Solomon kept two men in the crosstrees, to look out, so that if the Industry  was coming near any of the islands or any of the coral reefs he would know it in time. For most of the coral reefs come pretty near the top of the ocean, so that the waves break over them, or the water has a different look from the rest of the ocean about.

So the Industry  sailed along, and the sailors didn't see anything but one or two islands, and those islands were so far away that you wouldn't have known that they were land at all if you hadn't been told, for they were far off on the horizon where the sky and the ocean seem to meet, and where it is all misty and indistinct. Then, one morning, just as the sun was getting up, one of the sailors in the crosstrees saw something.

"Land, O!" he called.

"Where away?" asked Captain Solomon.

"Dead ahead!" answered the sailor.

And Captain Solomon took the long glass and looked, and he could just see the tip of that island from the deck. So he changed the course of the ship a very little and the Industry  went on; and the island seemed to get bigger and bigger as they came nearer to it, until they could see the whole of it. It was pretty high,—just a high hill with a rounded top, and it was covered with trees. And, as they looked, they saw a smoke rise from the very top, and the smoke got thicker and thicker, so that neither Captain Solomon nor any of the mates or the sailors knew what to make of it.

Some of them thought that it was smoke from a volcano; for the whole island looked like a volcano. But Captain Solomon didn't think it was that. And some of the sailors thought that it was a fire built by cannibals; for cannibals lived in some of the islands in that part of the ocean. But Captain Solomon didn't think that was likely, either. And some thought that the smoke was made on purpose to attract the attention of the men on the Industry. For sailors might have got shipwrecked there, and if their boats had all been broken to pieces on the reefs, they couldn't get away. And Captain Solomon thought that perhaps it was that, and perhaps it wasn't; anyway, he would find out.

And he had some of the sails changed so that the ship wouldn't go ahead, but would just stay nearly in one place. And he told the mate to have out the long-boat, and ten men to man it, and to arm the sailors with cutlasses, which are little swords. For it might be that cannibals made the fire, after all, and Captain Solomon didn't mean that they should eat any of his crew. And the sailors got out the long-boat, which was kept tied up high over the deck, and the mate picked out ten men to go in it. Then they lowered the boat and the crew got in, and the mate got in after them. And they let go of the ropes that held them to the ship, and they rowed off.

Captain Solomon watched the sailors in the long-boat, and he saw them come near the shore, and he saw them go along in the water near the shore, looking for a place where they could land. For there was a great surf all along the shore, although it didn't look like much from the Industry. And at last they found a place where they could get through, and they landed in a little cove that was hidden from the ship so that Captain Solomon couldn't see them any more; and, because he couldn't see them, he was worried. But pretty soon the mate came out on the beach where Captain Solomon could see him, and he waved a coat that was tied to an oar. Then Captain Solomon knew that it was all right, and he wasn't worried any longer.

He waved a coat that was tied to an oar.

It was a long time before the long-boat came away from the island again, so that Captain Solomon had to make the Industry  sail back again; for she had drifted several miles away with her sails fixed the way they were and no anchor down. And Captain Solomon couldn't have anchored if he had wanted to, for the water was very deep indeed, even close to the island. And when the long-boat came away, he could see that it was as full of men as it would hold. So he waited for them, and the sailors that were left on the ship all stood leaning on the rail and watching them.

And the long-boat came near, and they saw that there were ten men in it that had not been on the Industry, and some of those ten men were dressed in old rags of clothes, and some of them didn't have any clothes to speak of; but that didn't matter, for the weather is always so warm at that island that they really didn't need any. And the sailors threw a rope to the men in the boat, and they caught it, and all the ten strangers climbed on board the ship, and five of their own men came, too. And the mate called up to Captain Solomon and said that the men were castaways who had been on the island a long time, and he had to go ashore again for six others and some things that they had to eat. For on the Industry  had been put enough for her crew to eat in all the long time that they would be in crossing that great ocean; but they would not have enough for nearly twice as many men. And the mate said that if Captain Solomon would have the empty water barrels put overboard, he would make a third trip, and would fill them. But he had better not empty out any of the water that they had left, for the water on the island was pretty strong of sulphur, and it wasn't very good.

And Captain Solomon said he would have the empty barrels over the side by the time the boat got back, and the mate went ashore again in the long-boat. And, in the course of half an hour, the sailors saw the long-boat starting out again, and although there were only twelve men in it, the boat was pretty low in the water, as if it was loaded with something heavy. Captain Solomon spoke of it to one of the men that had been rescued.

The man smiled. "Turtles," he said. And then Captain Solomon smiled, too, and so did any of the sailors that heard it. For the turtles that he meant were not the little kind that you know the best, but great sea turtles that were big enough to carry a man on their backs. These great turtles are very good to eat, especially if you have not had any fresh meat for a long time, as the sailors on the Industry  had not. That was the reason Captain Solomon and the sailors smiled.

Then the long-boat came alongside, and the five sailors from the ship got out of it, and when the other sailors had rigged a tackle to the end of one of the yards, they fastened the end of the rope to one of the turtles, and hoisted it up to the deck. A tackle is an arrangement of ropes and pulleys that makes it easier to hoist things. And, when they hoisted, the sailors put the rope over their shoulders and ran away with it, to a merry chanty.

What shall we do with a drunken sailor? What shall we do with a drunken sailor? What shall we do with a drunken sailor, So early in the morning? Way, hay, there she rises; Way, hay, there she rises; Way, hay, there she rises; So early in the morning.

It wasn't early in the morning, but it was about noon, and it was very hot. But the sailors were thinking of the good turtle-soup they would have, and they didn't mind the heat. And some of the men who had been cast away grabbed the turtle before it touched the deck and they turned it over upon its back with its legs waving around in the air. Those men had had more experience with turtles than the Industry  sailors, and they knew just what to do. And when a turtle is on its back, it can't reach anything with its feet and it is helpless.

So they hoisted up the rest of the turtles, and the long-boat went back, with some fresh sailors to row it, and the water barrels towing behind. And, in a while, the long-boat came back towing the water barrels, and with another load of turtles. And the sailors hoisted up those turtles, too, and the barrels filled with fresh water, and they hoisted up the long-boat, and Captain Solomon had the sails changed so that the ship would sail. And they sailed away from that island. And the castaways watched the island growing smaller, as they sailed away from it, until it was only a dim blue peak far off on the horizon. Then they turned away; and one of the men began to tell his story to Captain Solomon.

They were Englishmen, who had sailed in a great ship from Liverpool nearly two years before. And they had had much the same kind of weather as the Industry,—all pretty good weather except when they were coming past Cape Horn, and there it is almost always bad weather. And they had sailed through that beautiful, warm southern ocean for a long time without mishap, so that, he supposed, they began to get careless. Then, one night, the ship struck upon a coral reef that is all alone in the ocean. But the reef is hidden, and does not come quite to the top of the water. It was blowing rather hard at the time, so that the ship struck hard and they couldn't get it off the reef, although they tried every way there was. So, when they found that they couldn't get the ship off, they lowered two boats, and the sailors all got into them. Then they stayed about until it was daylight, for they didn't have much to eat in the boats, and they didn't have much water. And they hoped that they could go aboard the ship again in the morning and get some food and some more water, and some things that are used on ships to tell what part of the ocean the ship is in.

But, when daylight came, the great seas were breaking over the ship, and they saw that she had broken in two. So they had to give up the idea of going aboard of her, and they started off in the two boats with what they had. They drifted about and sailed for nearly two weeks, not knowing exactly where they were or where they were going. For they had none of the things to tell them where they were, and they could only tell the general direction they were sailing by the sun. After they had drifted about for nearly two weeks, a storm came up, and one of the two boats was upset and broken to pieces and the mate was drowned. And the sailors got into the boat that was left, and there were too many of them for one boat, so that it floated deep in the water.

Then the food was giving out and the water was giving out, so that they had to measure out the quantity for each man; and half a cracker every morning and half a cracker every evening aren't enough for a man, and the men got weaker every day. But it rained pretty often and they caught the rain in sails and poured it into the kegs and they had enough water if the men didn't get very thirsty. But if the men got very thirsty they had to stay thirsty, for the others wouldn't let them have more than their small share of the water. And at last the captain got sick and the carpenter got sick and after a while they died and the sailors buried them in the ocean.

After more days, they had eaten up all the food they had, and they didn't have any for nearly a week. But, one morning, they saw something that looked like land, and they steered for it, and they came to the island where Captain Solomon had found them. And they had been floating about for a whole month, There was a great surf all around the shore of the island, but they ran their boat into it, for they couldn't wait to hunt for a place where they could land safely. The boat was broken all to pieces, but the men managed to get ashore, although they were so weak that they kept falling down, and they had to take hold of each other's arms so that they could walk at all.

On the island they found some cocoanut palms and some banana plants growing and they ate the bananas and the cocoanuts, and they gradually got their strength back. Then they built themselves a hut, and lived in it. And they caught some sea birds which came there, and they caught a great many of the turtles which come there during a part of the year, to lay their eggs, and they took the turtle-eggs and ate them. And they ate as many of the turtles as they wanted and they put the rest of the turtles that they caught in a little pond of ocean water, so that they could have turtle in the part of the year when turtles do not lay eggs; for then the turtles would not come to the island.

And they got fire by rubbing two sticks together, which is a hard way, but there wasn't any other way to do. They hollowed out one stick with their knives, so that it was like a shallow cup, and they made another stick pointed. Then they put the pointed end into the shallow cup, and all about it they put dried leaves and anything they could find that would burn. And then one of the men kneeled down and put the blunt end of the stick against his breast, and the shallow cup upon the ground, and he twirled the stick as fast as he could between the palms of his hands. Often the first man would get tired out before the fire came, and then another man would take his place; and after a long time the shallow cup would begin to smoke, and the dried leaves and the dust of the wood that was ground out of the shallow cup would glow with creeping fire. And then the man would drop the stick, and would blow the creeping fire and nurse it until it burst into flame.

So they managed to live on that island for a whole year, and no ship came in sight. But at last, just as the sun rose one morning, they saw a ship which kept coming nearer and it seemed to be heading straight for the island. And all the men were very much excited, and they built a fire that would smoke, for they didn't have anything that they could hoist a flag up on, and they didn't have any flag, but they hoped that the people on the ship would see the smoke of their fire and send ashore to see what it was all about. And the ship that they saw was the Industry  and Captain Solomon did send ashore, as you know, which was lucky for them. And that was the whole of their story.

And when the man had finished, Captain Solomon said that he was very glad that he happened to come along, and he would take them all to India, if he had luck, and from India they could get a passage home to England in some English ship. And so they did.

And that's all.

 

Eugene Field

Little Blue Pigeon

Sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings— Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes; Sleep to the singing of mother-bird swinging— Swinging the nest where her little one lies. Away out yonder I see a star— Silvery star with a tinkling song; To the soft dew falling I hear it calling Calling and tinkling the night along. In through the window a moonbeam comes— Little gold moonbeam with misty wings; All silently creeping, it asks: "Is he sleeping— Sleeping and dreaming while mother sings?" Up from the sea there floats the sob Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, As though they were groaning in anguish, and moaning— Bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. But sleep, little pigeon, and fold your wings, Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes; Am I not singing??—see, I am swinging— Swinging the nest where my darling lies.