Text of Plan #970
  WEEK 15  

  Monday  


Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

The Assassins Pursue Pinocchio

The assassins pursue Pinocchio; and having overtaken him hang him to a branch of the Big Oak.


A T this sight the puppet's courage failed him, and he was on the point of throwing himself on the ground and giving himself over for lost. Turning, however, his eyes in every direction, he saw at some distance, standing out amidst the dark green of the trees, a small house as white as snow.

"If I had only breath to reach that house," he said to himself, "perhaps I should be saved."


[Illustration]

"If I could only reach that house," he said.

And without delaying an instant, he recommenced running for his life through the wood, and the assassins after him.

At last, after a desperate race of nearly two hours, he arrived quite breathless at the door of the house, and knocked.

No one answered.

He knocked again with great violence, for he heard the sound of steps approaching him, and the heavy panting of his persecutors. The same silence.

Seeing that knocking was useless he began in desperation to kick and pommel the door with all his might. The window then opened and a beautiful Child appeared at it. She had blue hair and a face as white as a waxen image; her eyes were closed and her hands were crossed on her breast. Without moving her lips in the least, she said in a voice that seemed to come from the other world:

"In this house there is no one. They are all dead."

"Then at least open the door for me yourself," shouted Pinocchio, crying and imploring.

"I am dead also."

"Dead? then what are you doing there at the window?"

"I am waiting for the bier to come to carry me away."

Having said this she immediately disappeared, and the window was closed again without the slightest noise.

"Oh! beautiful Child with blue hair," cried Pinocchio, "open the door for pity's sake! Have compassion on a poor boy pursued by assas . . ."

But he could not finish the word, for he felt himself seized by the collar, and the same two horrible voices said to him threateningly:

"You shall not escape from us again!"

The puppet, seeing death staring him in the face, was taken with such a violent fit of trembling that the joints of his wooden legs began to creak, and the sovereigns hidden under his tongue to clink.

"Now then," demanded the assassins, "will you open your mouth, yes or no? Ah! no answer? . . . Leave it to us: this time we will force you to open it! . . ."

And drawing out two long horrid knives as sharp as razors, clash . . . they attempted to stab him twice.

But the puppet, luckily for him, was made of very hard wood; the knives therefore broke into a thousand pieces, and the assassins were left with the handles in their hands staring at each other.

"I see what we must do," said one of them. "He must be hung! let us hang him!"

"Let us hang him!" repeated the other.

Without loss of time they tied his arms behind him, passed a running noose round his throat, and then hung him to the branch of a tree called the Big Oak.

They then sat down on the grass and waited for his last struggle. But at the end of three hours the puppet's eyes were still open, his mouth closed, and he was kicking more than ever.

Losing patience they turned to Pinocchio and said in a bantering tone:

"Good-bye till to-morrow. Let us hope that when we return you will be polite enough to allow yourself to be found quite dead, and with your mouth wide open."

And they walked off.

In the meantime a tempestuous northerly wind began to blow and roar angrily, and it beat the poor puppet as he hung from side to side, making him swing violently like the clatter of a bell ringing for a wedding. And the swinging gave him atrocious spasms, and the running noose, becoming still tighter round his throat, took away his breath.

Little by little his eyes began to grow dim, but although he felt that death was near he still continued to hope that some charitable person would come to his assistance before it was too late. But when, after waiting and waiting, he found that no one came, absolutely no one, then he remembered his poor father, and thinking he was dying . . . he stammered out:

"Oh, papa! papa! if only you were here!"

His breath failed him and he could say no more. He shut his eyes, opened his mouth, stretched his legs, gave a long shudder, and hung stiff and insensible.


[Illustration]

 



Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

Eric the Red


[Illustration]

I T was a spring day many years after Ingolf died. All the freemen in the west of Iceland had come to a meeting. Here they made laws and punished men for having done wrong. The meeting was over now. Men were walking about the plain and talking. Everybody seemed much excited. Voices were loud, arms were swinging.

"It was an unjust decision," some one cried. "Eric killed the men in fair fight. The judges outlawed him because they were afraid. His foe Thorgest has many rich and powerful men to back him."

"No, no!" said another. "Eric is a bloody man. I am glad he is out of Iceland."

Just then a big man with bushy red hair and beard stalked through the crowd. He looked straight ahead and scowled.


[Illustration]

"He looked straight ahead of him and scowled."

"There he goes," people said, and turned to look after him.

"His hands are as red as his beard," some said, and frowned.

But others looked at him and smiled, saying:

"He walks like Thor the Fearless."

"His story would make a fine song," one said. "As strong and as brave and as red as Thor! Always in a quarrel. A man of many places—Norway, the north of Iceland, the west of Iceland, those little islands off the shore of Iceland. Outlawed from all of them on account of his quarrels. Where will he go now, I wonder?"

This Eric strode down to the shore with his men following.

"He is in a black temper," they said. "We should best not talk to him."

So they made ready the boat in silence. Eric got into the pilot's seat and they sailed off. Soon they pulled the ship up on their own shore. Eric strolled into his house and called for supper. When the drinking-horns had been filled and emptied, Eric pulled himself up and smiled and shouted out so that the great room was full of his big voice:

"There is no friend like mead. It always cheers a man's heart."

Then laughter and talking began in the hall because Eric's good temper had come back. After a while Eric said:

"Well, I must off somewhere. I have been driven about from place to place, like a seabird in a storm. And there is always a storm about me. It is my sword's fault. She is ever itching to break her peace-bands and be out and at the play. She has shut Norway to me and now Iceland. Where will you go next, old comrade?" and he pulled out his sword and looked at it and smiled as the fire flashed on it.

"There are some of us who will follow you wherever you go, Eric," called a man from across the fire.

"Is it so?" Eric cried, leaping up. "Oh! then we shall have some merry times yet. Who will go with me?"

More than half the men in the hall jumped to their feet and waved their drinking-horns and shouted:

"I! I!"


[Illustration]

"More than half the men in the hall jumped to their feet."

Eric sat down in his chair and laughed.

"O you bloody birds of battle!" he cried. "Ever hungry for new frolic! Our swords are sisters in blood, and we are brothers in adventure. Do you know what is in my heart to do?"

He jumped to his feet, and his face glowed. Then he laughed as he looked at his men.

"I see the answer flashing from your eyes," he said, "that you will do it even if it is to go down to Niflheim and drag up Hela, the pale queen of the stiff dead."

His men pounded on the tables and shouted:

"Yes! Yes! Anywhere behind Eric!"

"But it is not to Niflheim," Eric laughed. "Did you ever hear that story that Gunnbiorn told? He was sailing for Iceland, but the fog came down, and then the wind caught him and blew him far off. While he drifted about he saw a strange land that rose up white and shining out of a blue sea. Huge ships of ice sailed out from it and met him. I mean to sail to that land."

A great shout went up that shook the rafters. Then the men sat and talked over plans. While they sat, a stranger came into the hall.

"I have no time to drink," he said. "I have a message from your friend Eyjolf. He says that Thorgest with all his men means to come here and catch you tonight. Eyjolf bids you come to him, and he will hide you until you are ready to start; for he loves you."

"Hunted like a wolf from corner to corner of the world!" Eric cried angrily. "Will they not even let me finish one feast?"

Then he laughed.

"But if I take my sport like a wolf, I must be hunted like one. So we shall sleep to-night in the woods about Eyjolf's house, comrades, instead of in these good beds. Well, we have done it before."

"And it is no bad place," cried some of the men.

"I always liked the stars better than a smoky house fire," said one.

"Can no bad fortune spoil your good nature?" Eric laughed. "But now we are off. Let every man carry what he can."

So they quickly loaded themselves with clothes and gold and swords and spears and kettles of food. Eric led his wife Thorhild and his two young sons, Thorstein and Leif. All together they got into the boat and went to Eyjolf's farm. For a week or more they stayed in his woods, sometimes in a secret cave of his when they knew that Thorgest was about. And sometimes Eyjolf sent and said:

"Thorgest is off. Come to my house for a feast."

All this time they were making ready for the voyage, repairing the ship and filling it with stores. Word of what Eric meant to do got out, and men laughed and said:

"Is that not like Eric? What will he not do?"

Some men liked the sound of it, and they came to Eric and said:

"We will go with you to this strange land."

So all were ready and they pushed off with Eric's family aboard and those friends who had joined him. They took horses and cattle with them, and all kinds of tools and food.

"I do not well know where this land is," Eric said. "Gunnbiorn said only that he sailed east when he came home to Iceland. So I will steer straight west. We shall surely find something. I do not know, either, how long we must go."

So they sailed that strange ocean, never dreaming what might be ahead of them. They found no islands to rest on. They met heavy fogs.

One day as Eric sat in the pilot's seat, he said:

"I think that I see one of Gunnbiorn's ships of ice. Shall we sail up to her and see what kind of craft she is?"

"Yes," shouted his men.

So they went on toward it.

"It sends out a cold breath," said one of the men.

They all wrapped their cloaks about them.

"It is a bigger boat than I ever saw before," said Eric. "The white mast stands as high as a hill."


[Illustration]

"It is a bigger boat than I ever saw before."

"It must be giants that sail in it, frost giants," said another of the men.

But as they came nearer, Eric all at once laughed loudly and called out:

"By Thor, that Gunnbiorn was a foolish fellow. Why, look! It is only a piece of floating ice such as we sometimes see from Iceland. It is no ship, and there is no one on it."

His men laughed and one called to another and said:

"And you thought of frost giants!"

Then they sailed on for days and days. They met many of these icebergs. On one of them was a white bear.

"Yonder is a strange pilot," Eric laughed.

"I have seen bears come floating so to the north shore of Iceland," an old man said. "Perhaps they come from the land that we are going to find."

One day Eric said:

"I see afar off an iceberg larger than any one yet. Perhaps that is our white land."

But even as he said it he felt his boat swing under his hand as he held the tiller. He bore hard on the rudder, but he could not turn the ship.

"What is this?" he cried. "A strong river is running here. It is carrying our ship away from this land. I cannot make head against it. Out with the oars!"

So with oars and sail and rudder they fought against the current, but it took the boat along like a chip, and after a while they put up their oars and drifted.

"Luck has taken us into its own hands," Eric laughed. "But this is as good a way as another."

Sometimes they were near enough to see the land, then they were carried out into the sea and thought that they should never see any land again.

"Perhaps this river will carry us to a whirlpool and suck us under," the men said.

But at last Eric felt the current less strong under his hand.

"To the oars again!" he called.

So they fought with the current and sailed out of it and went on toward land. But when they reached the shore they found no place to go in. Steep black walls shot up from the sea. Nothing grew on them. When the men looked above the cliffs they saw a long line of white cutting the sky.

"It is a land of ice," they said.

They sailed on south, all the time looking for a place to go ashore.

"I am sick of this endless sea," Thorhild complained, "but this land is worse."

After a while they began to see small bays cut into the shore with little flat patches of green at their sides. They landed in these places and stretched and warmed themselves and ate.

"But these spots are only big enough for graves," the men said. "We can not live here."

So they went on again. All the time the weather was growing colder. Eric's people kept themselves wrapped in their cloaks and put scarfs around their heads.

"And it is still summer!" Thorhild said. "What will it be in winter?"

"We must find a place to build a house now before the winter comes on," said Eric. "We must not freeze here."

So they chose a little spot with hills about it to keep off the wind. They made a house out of stones; for there were many in that place. They lived there that winter. The sea for a long way out from shore froze so that it looked like white land. The men went out upon it to hunt white bear and seal. They ate the meat and wore the skins to keep them warm. The hardest thing was to get fuel for the fire. No trees grew there. The men found a little driftwood along the shore, but it was not enough. So they burned the bones and the fat of the animals they killed.

"It is a sickening smell," Thorhild said. "I have not been out of this mean house for weeks. I am tired of the darkness and the smoke and the cattle. And all the time I hear great noises, as though some giant were breaking this land into pieces."

"Ah, cheer up, good wife!" Eric laughed. "I smell better luck ahead."

Once Eric and his men climbed the cliffs and went back into the middle of the land. When they came home they had this to tell:

"It is a country of ice, shining white. Nothing grows on it but a few mosses. Far off it looks flat, but when you walk upon it, there are great holes and cracks. We could see nothing beyond. There seems to be only a fringe of land around the edge of an island of ice."

The winter nights were very long. Sometimes the sun showed for an hour, sometimes for only a few minutes, sometimes it did not show at all for a week. The men hunted by the bright shining of the moon or by the northern lights.

As it grew warmer the ice in the sea began to crack and move and melt and float away. Eric waited only until there was a clear passage in the water. Then he launched his boat, and they sailed southward again. At last they found a place that Eric liked.

"Here I will build my house," he said.

So they did and lived there that summer and pastured their cattle and cut hay for the winter and fished and hunted.

The next spring Eric said:

"The land stretches far north. I am hungry to know what is there."

Then they all got into the boat again and sailed north.

"We can leave no one here," Eric had said. "We cannot tell what might come between us. Perhaps giants or dragons or strange men might come out of this inland ice and kill our people. We must stay together."

Farther north they found only the same bare, frozen country. So after a while they sailed back to their home and lived there.

One spring after they had been in that land for four years, Eric said:

"My eyes are hungry for the sight of men and green fields again. My stomach is sick of seal and whale and bear. My throat is dry for mead. This is a bare and cold and hungry land. I will visit my friends in Iceland."

"And our swords are rusty with long resting," said his men. "Perhaps we can find play for them in Iceland."

"Now I have a plan," Eric suddenly said. "Would it not be pleasant to see other feast halls as we sail along the coast?"

"Oh! it would be a beautiful sight," his men said.

"Well," said Eric, "I am going to try to bring back some neighbors from Iceland. Now we must have a name for our land. How does Greenland sound?"

His men laughed and said:

"It is a very white Greenland, but men will like the sound of it. It is better than Iceland."

So Eric and all his people sailed back and spent the winter with his friends.

"Ah! Eric, it is good to hear your laugh again," they said.

Eric was at many feasts and saw many men, and he talked much of his Greenland.

"The sea is full of whale and seals and great fish," he said. "The land has bear and reindeer. There are no men there. Come back with me and choose your land."

Many men said that they would do it. Some men went because they thought it would be a great frolic to go to a new country. Some went because they were poor in Iceland and thought:

"I can be no worse off in Greenland, and perhaps I shall grow rich there."

And some went because they loved Eric and wanted to be his neighbors.

So the next summer thirty-five ships full of men and women and goods followed Eric for Greenland. But they met heavy storms, and some ships were wrecked, and the men drowned. Other men grew heartsick at the terrible storm and the long voyage and no sight of land, and they turned back to Iceland. So of those thirty-five ships only fifteen got to Greenland.

"Only the bravest and the luckiest men come here," Eric said. "We shall have good neighbors."

Soon other houses were built along the fiords.

"It is pleasant to sail along the coast now," said Eric. "I see smoke rising from houses and ships standing on the shore and friendly hands waving."

 



Robert Loveman

April Rain

It isn't raining rain to me,

It's raining daffodils;

In every dimpled drop I see

Wild flowers on the hills.

The clouds of gray engulf the day,

And overwhelm the town;

It isn't raining rain to me,

It's raining roses down.


It isn't raining rain to me,

But fields of clover bloom,

Where any buccaneering bee

May find a bed and room.

A health unto the happy,

A fig for him who frets—

It isn't raining rain to me,

It's raining violets.

 


  WEEK 15  

  Tuesday  


Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Sir Humphrey Gilbert

M ORE than three hundred years ago there lived in England a brave man whose name was Sir Hum-phrey Gil-bert. At that time there were no white people in this country of ours. The land was cov-ered with forests; and where there are now great cities and fine farms there were only trees and swamps among which roamed wild In-di-ans and wild beasts.

Sir Hum-phrey Gilbert was one of the first men who tried to make a set-tle-ment in A-mer-i-ca. Twice did he bring men and ships over the sea, and twice did he fail, and sail back for England. The second time, he was on a little ship called the "Squirrel." Another ship, called the "Golden Hind," was not far away. When they were three days from land, the wind failed, and the ships lay floating on the waves. Then at night the air grew very cold. A breeze sprang up from the east. Great white ice-bergs came drifting around them. In the morning the little ships were almost lost among the floating mountains of ice. The men on the "Hind" saw Sir Humphrey sitting on the deck of the "Squirrel" with an open book in his hand. He called to them and said,—

"Be brave, my friends! We are as near heaven on the sea as on the land."

Night came again. It was a stormy night, with mist and rain. All at once the men on the "Hind" saw the lights on board of the "Squirrel" go out. The little vessel, with brave Sir Humphrey and all his brave men, was swal-lowed up by the waves.

 



Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Don's Yellow Spring Flower

Nan said, "Don, last fall you visited goldenrod. What flower will you go to see this spring?"

"I shall try to visit a yellow flower, to-day," said Don.

Don went to the park to see his friend, Mr. Gray.

"Mr. Gray," he said, "have you any yellow spring flowers in the park?"

"We will go to the marsh and look," said Mr. Gray.

Don went with Mr. Gray to the marsh the other side of the pond. They found hundreds and hundreds of bright yellow flowers there.

The plants had their roots in the water. They held their stems up in the air.

The stems were hollow. Mr. Gray cut one stem to show Don.


[Illustration]

"You may take this to Nan," said Mr. Gray. "We will leave all the others in the marsh. Then the place will be lovely for people to see."

Don looked at the sky and he looked at the marsh.

He said, "The sky is gray. There is no sunshine. But the marsh seems sunny."

"Yes," said Mr. Gray, "the sky is dull to-day but the marsh is bright with yellow flowers."

"They look like big buttercups," said Don. "What is their name?"


[Illustration]

"These flowers have many names," said Mr. Gray. "But most people call them Marsh Marigolds.

"Buttercups and marsh marigolds belong to the same plant family."

 



Cecil Frances Alexander

All Things Bright and Beautiful

All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful,

The Lord God made them all.


Each little flower that opens,

Each little bird that sings,

He made their glowing colors,

He made their tiny wings.


The rich man in his castle,

The poor man at his gate,

God made them high or lowly,

And order'd their estate.


The purple-headed mountain,

The river running by,

The sunset and the morning,

That brightens up the sky;—


The cold wind in the winter,

The pleasant summer sun,

The ripe fruits in the garden,—

He made them every one;


The tall trees in the greenwood,

The meadows where we play,

The rushes by the water

We gather every day;—


He gave us eyes to see them,

And lips that we might tell,

How great is God Almighty,

Who has made all things well.

 


  WEEK 15  

  Wednesday  


The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Old Clothes and Old Houses

"I CAN'T stop to talk to you any longer now, Peter Rabbit," said Jenny Wren, "but if you will come over here bright and early to-morrow morning, while I am out to get my breakfast, I will tell you about Cresty the Flycatcher and why he wants the cast-off clothes of some of the Snake family. Perhaps I should say what  he wants of them instead of why  he wants them, for why any one should want anything to do with Snakes is more than I can understand."

With this Jenny Wren disappeared inside her house, and there was nothing for Peter to do but once more start for the dear Old Briar-patch. On his way he couldn't resist the temptation to run over to the Green Forest, which was just beyond the Old Orchard. He just had  to find out if there was anything new over there. Hardly had he reached it when he heard a plaintive voice crying, "Pee-wee! Pee-e! Pee-wee!" Peter chuckled happily. "I declare, there's Pee-wee," he cried. "He usually is one of the last of the Flycatcher family to arrive. I didn't expect to find him yet. I wonder what has brought him up so early."

It didn't take Peter long to find Pewee. He just followed the sound of that voice and presently saw Pewee fly out and make the same kind of a little circle as the other members of the family make when they are hunting flies. It ended just where it had started, on a dead twig of a tree in a shady, rather lonely part of the Green Forest. Almost at once he began to call his name in a rather sad, plaintive tone, "Pee-wee! Pee-wee! Pee-wee!" But he wasn't sad, as Peter well knew. It was his way of expressing how happy he felt. He was a little bigger than his cousin, Chebec, but looked very much like him. There was a little notch in the end of his tail. The upper half of his bill was black, but the lower half was light. Peter could see on each wing two whitish bars, and he noticed that Pewee's wings were longer than his tail, which wasn't the case with Chebec. But no one could ever mistake Pewee for any of his relatives, for the simple reason that he keeps repeating his own name over and over.

"Aren't you here early?" asked Peter.

Pewee nodded. "Yes," said he. "It has been unusually warm this spring, so I hurried a little and came up with my cousins, Scrapper and Cresty. That is something I don't often do."

"If you please," Peter inquired politely, "why do folks call you Wood Pewee?"

Pewee chuckled happily. "It must be," said he, "because I am so very fond of the Green Forest. It is so quiet and restful that I love it. Mrs. Pewee and I are very retiring. We do not like too many near neighbors."

"You won't mind if I come to see you once in a while, will you?" asked Peter as he prepared to start on again for the dear Old Briar-patch.

"Come as often as you like," replied Pewee. "The oftener the better."

Back in the Old Briar-patch Peter thought over all he had learned about the Flycatcher family, and as he recalled how they were forever catching all sorts of flying insects it suddenly struck him that they must be very useful little people in helping Old Mother Nature take care of her trees and other growing things which insects so dearly love to destroy.

But most of all Peter thought about that queer request of Cresty's, and a dozen times that day he found himself peeping under old logs in the hope of finding a cast-off coat of Mr. Black Snake. It was such a funny thing for Cresty to ask for that Peter's curiosity would allow him no peace, and the next morning he was up in the Old Orchard before jolly Mr. Sun had kicked his bedclothes off.

Jenny Wren was as good as her word. While she flitted and hopped about this way and that way in that fussy way of hers, getting her breakfast, she talked. Jenny couldn't keep her tongue still if she wanted to.

"Did you find any old clothes of the Snake family?" she demanded. Then as Peter shook his head her tongue ran on without waiting for him to reply. "Cresty and his wife always insist upon having a piece of Snake skin in their nest," said she. "Why they want it, goodness knows! But they do want it and never can seem to settle down to housekeeping unless they have it. Perhaps they think it will scare robbers away. As for me, I should have a cold chill every time I got into my nest if I had to sit on anything like that. I have to admit that Cresty and his wife are a handsome couple, and they certainly have good sense in choosing a house, more sense than any other member of their family to my way of thinking. But Snake skins! Ugh!"

"By the way, where does Cresty build?" asked Peter.

"In a hole in a tree, like the rest of us sensible people," retorted Jenny Wren promptly.

Peter looked quite as surprised as he felt. "Does Cresty make the hole?" he asked.

"Goodness gracious, no!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "Where are your eyes, Peter? Did you ever see a Flycatcher with a bill that looked as if it could cut wood?" She didn't wait for a reply, but rattled on. "It is a good thing for a lot of us that the Woodpecker family are so fond of new houses. Look! There is Downy the Woodpecker hard at work on a new house this very minute. That's good. I like to see that. It means that next year there will be one more house for some one here in the Old Orchard. For myself I prefer old houses. I've noticed there are a number of my neighbors who feel the same way about it. There is something settled about an old house. It doesn't attract attention the way a new one does. So long as it has got reasonably good walls, and the rain and the wind can't get in, the older it is the better it suits me. But the Woodpeckers seem to like new houses best, which, as I said before, is a very good thing for the rest of us."

"Who is there besides you and Cresty and Bully the English Sparrow who uses these old Woodpecker houses?" asked Peter.

"Winsome Bluebird, stupid!" snapped Jenny Wren.

Peter grinned and looked foolish. "Of course," said he. "I forgot all about Winsome."

"And Skimmer the Tree Swallow," added Jenny.

"That's so; I ought to have remembered him," exclaimed Peter. "I've noticed that he is very fond of the same house year after year. Is there anybody else?"

Again Jenny Wren nodded. "Yank-Yank the Nuthatch uses an old house, I'm told, but he usually goes up North for his nesting," said she. "Tommy Tit the Chickadee sometimes uses an old house. Then again he and Mrs. Chickadee get fussy and make a house for themselves. Yellow Wing the flicker, who really is a Woodpecker, often uses an old house, but quite often makes a new one. Then there are Killy the Sparrow Hawk and Spooky the Screech Owl."

Peter looked surprised. "I didn't suppose they nested in holes in trees!" he exclaimed.

"They certainly do, more's the pity!" snapped Jenny. "It would be a good thing for the rest of us if they didn't nest at all. But they do, and an old house of Yellow Wing the Flicker suits either of them. Killy always uses one that is high up, and comes back to it year after year. Spooky isn't particular so long as the house is big enough to be comfortable. He lives in it more or less the year around. Now I must get back to those eggs of mine. I've talked quite enough for one morning."

"Oh, Jenny," cried Peter, as a sudden thought struck him.

Jenny paused and jerked her tail impatiently. "Well, what is it now?" she demanded.

"Have you got two homes?" asked Peter.

"Goodness gracious, no!" exclaimed Jenny. "What do you suppose I want of two homes? One is all I can take care of."

"Then why," demanded Peter triumphantly, "does Mr. Wren work all day carrying sticks and straws into a hole in another tree? It seems to me that he has carried enough in there to build two or three nests."

Jenny Wren's eyes twinkled, and she laughed softly. "Mr. Wren just has to be busy about something, bless his heart," said she. "He hasn't a lazy feather on him. He's building that nest to take up his time and keep out of mischief. Besides, if he fills that hollow up nobody else will take it, and you know we might want to move some time. Good-by, Peter." With a final jerk of her tail Jenny Wren flew to the little round doorway of her house and popped inside.

 



The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Ass and His Driver

An Ass was being driven along a road leading down the mountain side, when he suddenly took it into his silly head to choose his own path. He could see his stall at the foot of the mountain, and to him the quickest way down seemed to be over the edge of the nearest cliff. Just as he was about to leap over, his master caught him by the tail and tried to pull him back, but the stubborn Ass would not yield and pulled with all his might.


[Illustration]

"Very well," said his master, "go your way, you willful beast, and see where it leads you." With that he let go, and the foolish Ass tumbled head over heels down the mountain side.

They who will not listen to reason but stubbornly go their own way against the friendly advice of those who are wiser than they, are on the road to misfortune.

 

 
  WEEK 15  

  Thursday  


The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

The Matchless Maiden Loses Her Golden Slipper


[Illustration]

Part 1 of 2


[Illustration]

H ERE, the maidens were walking in the King's garden, gathering roses of the white and red, and telling each other about this and that that was said at the ball, and about such and such that was worn; there, Maid-alone, seated by the ashy hearth, was eating her luncheon of scraps and listening to the Ratcatcher complain against the servants for saying that he was letting the rats eat up all the tallow that they had for candles; and yonder, in her lady's chamber, Dame Dale sat listening to what her daughters, Berry-bright and Buttercup, were saying about he strange maiden who was the last to come into the King's ball.

"She came late and she sped away before the end to start people talking about her," said Buttercup.

"And her slippers!" said Berry-bright. "Was it noticed, I wonder, that her slippers were bronze-colored? That one should come to the ball not wearing grass-green slippers was an affront to the Chamberlain who had arranged everything to bring out the gold on the ground."

"Nobody seemed to notice that she spoiled the whole ball. Everything was going very agreeably before she came in," said Buttercup. "And the King's son would have asked me to distribute the citrons and pomegranates; that is one thing I am sure of."

"You need not be so sure of that, sister," said Berry-bright. "I saw him look from the citrons and pomegranates to my white hands, and I know for a surety what was passing in his mind."

Outside the King's son was looking over the garden wall to see if the maiden who came last to the ball was with the others. And not seeing her there he sighed and rode away.

And at that very moment the Chamberlain had finished writing down the points of beauty of the maidens who were present, and all the points of beauty that the Maiden in the bronze dress had. She had no name that he knew of, but opposite her count he wrote: The Matchless Maiden.

Then the evening breeze came and shook the strings of the little bells of silver that were hung across the Solar Gallery; the little bells chimed and chimed, wakening the nine nightingales in their darkened cages. The nightingales all began to sing. The score of servants came in and lighted the thousand candles and scattered the rose-leaves on the cloth-of-gold carpet. Then the seven servitors took their places upon the great scarlet stairway, standing ten steps above each other, each holding a silver candle-stick of seven branches in his hand.

All in their gauzes and spangles and laces the maidens began to come up the grand stairway. They all wore in their hair the high combs that the king's mother had given them for presents, and each had a rose behind her ear. When the maidens had taken a turn in the Solar Gallery the King's son and the young Peers of the Realm came up the stairway, the King's son with the diadem on his head, and all the Peers with velvet cloaks, and the Dukes wearing diamond buckles in their shoes. Berry-bright and Buttercup did not go up the stairs with the rest of the maidens; when the others were in the Solar Gallery they came in; gracefully, as their mother had taught them, they curtsied to the right to the king's son and to the left to the Peers of the Realm.

That night there were more musicians than the seventeen fiddlers in the little gallery. They all tuned up their instruments and played the Laughter Tune, and if there were any there who were not gay before they were made gay now. The King's son took off his diadem and the Peers of the Realm took off their velvet cloaks, and the maidens in their robes of gauze and spangle, of silk and satin, walked round in the procession. The King's son and the Peers of the Realm held their hands high for the procession to pass under; the King's son took the hand of the last maiden, and the dance began.

The King's son and all the Dukes would have been looking over their shoulders to the entrance of the Gallery to watch for someone else, only there was a fiddler who played more enchanting music than the rest. The Chamberlain signaled him when the dance began and he stood forward and played a music so bewitching that no one could remember anything but the dance. The King's son danced with Buttercup and with Berry-bright and he smiled so kindly upon them that each thought she surely would be asked to distribute the citrons and pomegranates that were on the table.

But the music ceased and nothing was heard but the jingle of the little silver bells that were hung across the Gallery. The fiddlers had left down fiddle and bow; all the maidens and all the Peers of the Realm were looking towards the entrance of the Solar Gallery. The king's son looked, and the heart in his breast gave a leap when he saw that she had come.

 



Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Go A-Hunting

WEEKS and weeks passed before my castle was finished.

I did not work at it all the time. Almost, every day I went out with my gun to see what I could find.

The very first day I saw a flock of goats. How glad I was!

But they were very shy and very swift. As soon as they saw me they ran away in great fright.

After that, I saw them nearly every day. But it was hard to get near them.

One morning I saw an old goat feeding in the valley with a kid by her side. I crept along among the rocks in such a way that she did not see me.

When I was close enough, I raised my gun and fired. The mother goat fell, being killed at once by the shot.

It was a cruel deed, and I felt indeed sorry for the poor beast. But how else should I find food for myself in that lonely place?

The kid did not run away. It stood quite still by its mother's side. When I picked up the old goat and carried her to my castle, the little one followed me.


[Illustration]

I lifted it over the wall. I thought I would tame it, and keep it as a pet.

But it would not eat. I could do no better than kill it and use it for my own food.

The flesh of these two goats lasted me a long time; for I did not eat much meat, and I still had many of the biscuits that I had saved from the ship.

About a month later I shot at a young goat and lamed it. I caught it and carried it home, dressed its wounded leg, and fed it.

Its leg was soon as well and as strong as ever. The little animal became quite tame and followed me everywhere I went.

I thought how fine it would be if I could have a whole flock of such creatures. Then I would be sure of food when my powder and shot were gone.

 



William Shakespeare

Hark! Hark! The Lark!

Hark! hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings,

And Phoebus 'gins arise

His steeds to water at those springs

On chaliced flowers that lies;

And winking Mary-buds begin

To ope their golden eyes;

With everything that pretty is,

My lady sweet, arise;

Arise, arise!

 


  WEEK 15  

  Friday  


The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

Christians to the Lions

"Follow the Christ, the King;

Live pure, speak true, right wrong; follow the King."

—Tennyson.

N OW that an emperor of the Roman Empire had for the first time become a Christian, it will be interesting to note what had been happening with regard to the band of Christians in Rome since the days when St Paul and St Peter had suffered martyrdom more than two hundred years before.

Persecution had only served to spread the faith which the followers of Christ would sooner die than give up. Before long little bands of Christians were to be found in many of the cities under Rome. At Antioch, at Alexandria, at Carthage there were large numbers.

Let us see by the lives and deaths of a few of these, what firm root the new faith had taken. In the days of the Emperor Trajan, away in Antioch there lived a Christian bishop called Ignatius. When the emperor had won his victory over the Dacians he ordered that sacrifice should be offered to the gods in all the provinces of his vast empire. Ignatius and the Christians in Antioch refused. Trajan ordered that Ignatius should be brought before him, and reproved him for keeping the people from the temples of the gods.

"O Cæsar," answered Ignatius, "wert thou to offer me all the treasures of thy empire, yet would I not cease to adore the only true and living God."

When Trajan heard this he commanded that Ignatius's mouth should be stopped and that he be cast into a dungeon. At first he settled that the bishop should be put to death at once; then he ordered that he should be sent to Rome and reserved for the amphitheatre. Weeping and kissing his garments and his chains, the Christians of Antioch saw Ignatius depart in a ship bound for Rome. There he was led forth into the amphitheatre, where two furious lions were let loose upon him, tearing him to pieces, till nothing was left but a few bones.

Under Marcus Aurelius the persecutions of the Christians still went on, while under his successors it was yet more rigorously pursued.

Some fifty years before the rule of Diocletian there lived at Carthage a bishop called Cyprian, who was the most important Christian in the whole of North Africa. Carthage had been rebuilt since the old days, when the Roman conquerors had burnt the ships in the harbour so dear to the conquerors of the sea: it was now a beautiful city with white walls and houses shining by the blue waters of the Mediterranean, rich in temples, gardens, and palm trees. Here, then, Cyprian laboured and taught; here was a strong band of Christians under him, so strong indeed that one of the emperors ordered a wholesale persecution of them.

"Cyprian to the lions" cried the excited crowd of pagans in the city, anxious to please the severe emperor. But Cyprian felt he could serve his cause best by living yet a little, so he took refuge in flight.

Eight years later, he was to show that he was no coward, but ready and willing to die for the faith if need be. The eyes of North Africa were upon him. He knew that an order had gone forth for the execution of all Christian teachers. The Bishop of Carthage knew, too, that he would be among the first to die. He was in his garden when the officers came to take him before his Roman judge. They placed him between them in the chariot and drove to a private house in the town. A supper was prepared for him and his friends. The streets outside were filled with anxious crowds passing to and fro. The next morning found him before the judge. He was commanded to offer sacrifice to the Roman gods. He firmly refused. The sentence of death was pronounced. As it reached the listening crowds of Christians waiting outside, a general cry arose from the heart-broken throng.

"We will die with him," they cried in their zeal and affection.

He was led away by guards and soldiers to a level plain near the city, and there, surrounded by his faithful followers, Cyprian, Bishop of Carthage and leader of all the Christians in North Africa, suffered martyrdom.


[Illustration]

St. Cecilia before her judge.

Not only men but women too were persecuted for their faith in these early days of Christianity. The beautiful legend of St Cecilia, the musician, is one of the earliest handed down to us through the long ages. She was a noble Roman lady, who suffered martyrdom when Constantine was quite a little boy. Her parents, who secretly professed Christianity, brought her up in their own faith, and from her earliest childhood she was remarkable for her enthusiasm over it.

Night and day she carried a copy of the Gospel concealed among the folds of her robe. She loved music, and composed hymns which she sang to herself so sweetly that, says the old legend, angels descended from heaven to listen to her. She invented the organ, and she is usually represented in the old pictures with reeds of organ pipes in her hands. When she was sixteen her parents married her to a rich young pagan Roman, to whom she soon taught her own Christian faith. He was afterwards thrown into a dungeon and put to death for his belief.

At last Cecilia was sent for and ordered to sacrifice to the gods. Tall, young, and beautiful, she smiled scornfully at the idea, while those around her wept and entreated her to yield. So firm was her refusal that others became Christians on the spot, and declared themselves ready to die with her.

"What art thou, woman?" cried the judge, struck with terror.

"I am a Roman of noble race," she answered. "I ask of thy religion," he said.

"Thou blind one, thou art already answered," she replied.

Enraged at her cool determination, the judge ordered that she should be put to death, but the hand of the executioner trembled so that he could not kill her. He wounded her and went away. For three days she lived, singing to the end.

A beautiful and simple white marble statue of St Cecilia may be seen to-day in the church dedicated to her memory in Rome; while poets have ever since loved to sing of this early Christian martyr, who preferred to die rather than to give up the faith.

 



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

Romulus and Remus

R OMULUS and Remus were twin babies. Their mother died when they were very tiny. No one else loved them enough to care for them, so they were placed in a watertight basket and sent floating down the river Tiber.

The winds took care not to ripple the surface of the water, lest the basket tip. The sun shone on the babies and warmed them as they drifted slowly down the river. It was very much like being rocked in a mother's warm arms.

Although the Tiber could carry them gently on his breast, and the winds could watch over them, and the sun could keep them warm, there was one thing that still troubled the babies. They were hungry and had no milk.

Then the river Tiber called all the little streams which emptied their water into his. They poured into the Tiber until he overflowed his banks and the basket was carried high on the sand. Then the water drew back and left the babies on dry land.

A mother wolf came prowling beside the river, looking for food. When she saw the basket she trotted over. Romulus and Remus were crying and putting their fists in their mouths. Somehow they reminded the wolf of her own babies, although her own cubs were covered with fur and could stand on their feet.


[Illustration]

Romulus and Remus reminded the wolf of her own babies.

She licked the babies with her tongue, but never once thought of eating them. She rolled them out of the basket with her paw, and pushed them ever so gently over the sand and grass to her cave.

Dragging them inside, she put them in the nest where her little wolves were sleeping. They wakened as she stretched herself beside them, and crowded around her to get their milk. Romulus and Remus drank too, and went to sleep cuddled up close to their strange new mother.

For many weeks they lived in the cave and played with the little wolves, rolling over and over and wrestling with them. They grew strong and could walk long before other babies.


[Illustration]

For many weeks Romulus and Remus lived in the cave.

One day they crept to the opening of the cave and saw the blue sky and the sunshine. After that the mother wolf had a hard time keeping them inside. One day when she was away a shepherd came by and saw the two babies playing on the grass. He carried them home to his wife, who brought them up as her own children.

She taught them to drink from cups, and made them tunics to wear. They grew to love the shepherd and his wife, but they never forgot their wolf mother, and often ran back to the cave to see her and romp in the sunshine with her cubs.


[Illustration]

The twins often ran back to the cave.

They loved to play beside the river, and wade and swim in the warm water, or dig in the sand.

"When I am grown," said Romulus, "I shall build a house with wide porches and tall columns of marble beside the Tiber."


[Illustration]

"When I am grown," said Romulus, "I shall build a house beside the Tiber."

Little Remus did not live to grow up. But years after, Romulus built his house on the banks of the Tiber near the cave where the mother wolf had nursed him.

He had many friends who came and built their houses near by. In time a beautiful city grew up, and Romulus was so strong and wise that the people made him their ruler. That was the beginning of the great city of Rome, which still stands and grows beside the River Tiber.

 



Walter de la Mare

The Universe

I heard a little child beneath the stars

Talk as he ran along

To some sweet riddle in his mind that seemed

A-tiptoe into song.


In his dark eyes lay a wild universe,—

Wild forests, peaks, and crests;

Angels and fairies, giants, wolves and he

Were that world's only guests.


Elsewhere was home and mother, his warm bed:—

Now, only God alone

Could, armed with all His power and wisdom, make

Earths richer than his own.


O Man!—thy dreams, thy passions, hopes, desires!—

He in his pity keep

A homely bed where love may lull a child's

Fond Universe asleep!

 


  WEEK 15  

  Saturday  


Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

If You Don't Like Conversation, Skip This Chapter

Part 3 of 3

"But I could read something aloud," said Betsy, feeling very sorry for him. "At least I think I could. I never did, except at school."

"What shall we have, Mother?" asked Uncle Henry eagerly.

"Oh, I don't know. What have we got in this bookcase?" said Aunt Abigail. "It's pretty cold to go into the parlor to the other one." She leaned forward, ran her fat forefinger over the worn old volumes, and took out a battered, blue-covered book. "Scott?"

"Gosh, yes!" said Uncle Henry, his eyes shining. "The staggit eve!"

At least that was the way it sounded to Betsy, but when she took the book and looked where Aunt Abigail pointed she read it correctly, though in a timid, uncertain voice. She was proud to think she could please a grown-up so much as she was evidently pleasing Uncle Henry, but the idea of reading aloud for people to hear, not for a teacher to correct, was unheard-of.

The Stag at eve had drunk his fill

Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,

she began, and it was as though she had stepped into a boat and was swept off by a strong current. She did not know what all the words meant, and she could not pronounce a good many of the names, but nobody interrupted to correct her, and she read on and on, steadied by the strongly-marked rhythm, drawn forward swiftly from one clanging, sonorous rhyme to another. Uncle Henry nodded his head in time to the rise and fall of her voice and now and then stopped his work to look at her with bright, eager, old eyes. He knew some of the places by heart evidently, for once in a while his voice would join the little girl's for a couplet or two. They chanted together thus:

A moment listened to the cry

That thickened as the chase drew nigh,

Then, as the headmost foes appeared,

With one brave bound, the copse he cleared.

At the last line Uncle Henry flung his arm out wide, and the child felt as though the deer had made his great leap there, before her eyes.

"I've seen 'em jump just like that," broke in Uncle Henry. "A two-three-hundred-pound stag go up over a four-foot fence just like a piece of thistledown in the wind."

"Uncle Henry," asked Elizabeth Ann, "what is a copse?"

"I don't know," said Uncle Henry indifferently. "Something in the woods, must be. Underbrush most likely. You can always tell words you don't know by the sense of the whole thing. Go on."

And stretching forward, free and far,

The child's voice took up the chant again. She read faster and faster as it got more exciting. Uncle Henry joined in on

For, jaded now and spent with toil,

Embossed with foam and dark with soil,

While every gasp with sobs he drew,

The laboring stag strained full in view.

The little girl's heart beat fast. She fled along through the next lines, stumbling desperately over the hard words but seeing the headlong chase through them clearly as through tree-trunks in a forest. Uncle Henry broke in in a triumphant shout:

The wily quarry shunned the shock

And turned  him from the opposing rock;

Then dashing down a darksome glen,

Soon lost to hound and hunter's ken,

In the deep Trossach's wildest nook

His solitary refuge took.

"Oh, my!"  cried Elizabeth Ann, laying down the book. "He got away, didn't he? I was so afraid he wouldn't!"

"I can just hear those dogs yelping, can't you?" said Uncle Henry.

Yelled on the view the opening pack.

"Sometimes you hear 'em that way up on the slope of Hemlock Mountain back of us, when they get to running a deer."

"What say we have some pop-corn?" suggested Aunt Abigail. "Betsy, don't you want to pop us some?"

"I never did,"  said the little girl, but in a less doubtful tone than she had ever used with that phrase so familiar to her. A dim notion was growing up in her mind that the fact that she had never done a thing was no proof that she couldn't.

"I'll show you," said Uncle Henry. He reached down a couple of ears of corn from a big yellow cluster hanging on the wall, and he and Betsy shelled them into the popper, popped it full of snowy kernels, buttered it, salted it, and took it back to the table.

It was just as she was eating her first ambrosial mouthful that the door opened and a fur-capped head was thrust in. A man's voice said: "Evenin', folks. No, I can't stay. I was down at the village just now, and thought I'd ask for any mail down our way." He tossed a newspaper and a letter on the table and was gone.

The letter was addressed to Elizabeth Ann and it was from Aunt Frances. She read it to herself while Uncle Henry read the newspaper. Aunt Frances wrote that she had been perfectly horrified to learn that Cousin Molly had not kept Elizabeth Ann with her, and that she would never forgive her for that cruelty. And when she thought that her darling was at Putney Farm . . . ! Her blood ran cold. It positively did! It was too dreadful. But it couldn't be helped, for a time anyhow, because Aunt Harriet was really very  sick. Elizabeth Ann would have to be a dear, brave child and endure it as best she could. And as soon . . . oh, as soon as ever she could,  Aunt Frances would come and take her away from them. "Don't cry too  much, darling . . . it breaks my heart to think of you there! Try  to be cheerful, dearest! Try  to bear it for the sake of your distracted, loving Aunt Frances."

Elizabeth Ann looked up from this letter and across the table at Aunt Abigail's rosy, wrinkled old face, bent over her darning. Uncle Henry laid the paper down, took a big mouthful of pop-corn, and beat time silently with his hand. When he could speak he murmured:

An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong,

Clattered an hundred steeds along.

Old Shep woke up with a snort and Aunt Abigail fed him a handful of pop-corn. Little Eleanor stirred in her sleep, stretched, yawned, and nestled down into a ball again on the little girl's lap. Betsy could feel in her own body the rhythmic vibration of the kitten's contented purr.

Aunt Abigail looked up: "Finished your letter? I hope Harriet is no worse. What does Frances say?"

Elizabeth Ann blushed a deep red and crushed the letter together in her hand. She felt ashamed and she did not know why. "Aunt Frances says, . . . Aunt Frances says, . . ." she began, hesitating. "She says Aunt Harriet is still pretty sick." She stopped, drew a long breath, and went on, "And she sends her love to you."

Now Aunt Frances hadn't done anything of the kind, so this was a really whopping fib. But Elizabeth Ann didn't care if it was. It made her feel less ashamed, though she did not know why. She took another mouthful of pop-corn and stroked Eleanor's back.

Uncle Henry got up and stretched. "It's time to go to bed, folks," he said. As he wound the clock Betsy heard him murmuring:

But when the sun his beacon red . . . .

 



The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

Old Granny Fox Investigates

I N-VEST-I-GATE is a great big word, but its meaning is very simple. To in-vest-i-gate is to look into and try to find out all about something. That is what old Granny Fox started to do after Reddy had told her about the terrible fright he had had at the hill where Prickly Porky lives.

Now old Granny Fox is very sly and smart and clever, as you all know. Compared with her, Reddy Fox is almost stupid. He may be as sly and smart and clever some day, but he has got a lot to learn before then. Now if it had been Reddy who was going to investigate, he would have gone straight over to Prickly Porky's hill and looked around and asked sly questions, and everybody whom he met would have known that he was trying to find out something.

But old Granny Fox did nothing of the kind. Oh, my, no! She went about hunting her dinner just as usual and didn't appear to be paying the least attention to what was going on about her. With her nose to the ground she ran this way and ran that way as if hunting for a trail. She peered into old hollow logs and looked under little brush piles, and so, in course of time, she came to the hill where Prickly Porky lives.

Now Reddy had told Granny that the terrible creature that had so frightened him had rolled down the hill at him, for he was at the bottom. Granny had heard that the same thing had happened to Peter Rabbit and to Unc' Billy Possum. So instead of coming to the hill along the hollow at the bottom, she came to it from the other way. "If there is anything there, I'll be behind it instead of in front of it," she thought shrewdly.

As she drew near where Prickly Porky lives, she kept eyes and ears wide open, all the time pretending to pay attention to nothing but the hunt for her dinner. No one would ever have guessed that she was thinking of anything else. She ran this way and that way all over the hill, but nothing out of the usual did she see or hear excepting one thing: she did find some queer marks down the hill as if something might have rolled there. She followed these down to the bottom, but there they disappeared.

As she was trotting home along the Lone Little Path through the Green Forest, she met Unc' Billy Possum. No, she didn't exactly meet him, because he saw her before she saw him, and he promptly climbed a tree.

"Ah suppose yo'all heard of the terrible creature that scared Reddy almost out of his wits early this mo'ning," said Unc' Billy.

Granny stopped and looked up. "It doesn't take much to scare the young and innocent, Mr. Possum," she replied. "I don't believe all I hear. I've just been hunting all over the hill where Prickly Porky lives, and I couldn't find so much as a Wood Mouse for dinner. Do you believe such a foolish tale, Mr. Possum?"

Unc' Billy coughed behind one hand. "Yes, Mrs. Fox, Ah confess Ah done have to believe it," he replied. "Yo' see, Ah done see that thing mah own self, and Ah just naturally has to believe mah own eyes."

"Huh! I'd like to see it! Maybe I'd believe it then!" snapped Granny Fox.

"The only time to see it is just at sun-up," replied Unc' Billy. "Anybody that comes along through that hollow at the foot of Brer Porky's hill at sun-up is likely never to forget it. Ah wouldn't do it again. No, Sah, once is enough fo' your Unc' Billy."

"Huh!" snorted Granny and trotted on.

Unc' Billy watched her out of sight and grinned broadly. "As sho' as Brer Sun gets up to-morrow mo'ning, Ol' Granny Fox will be there," he chuckled. "Ah must get word to Brer Porky and Brer Skunk and Brer Rabbit."

 



Samuel Taylor Coleridge

Answer to a Child's Question

Do you ask what the birds say? The sparrow, the dove,

The linnet and the thrush say, "I love and I love!"

In winter they're silent—the wind is so strong;

What it says I don't know; but it sings a loud song.

But green leaves and blossoms, and sunny warm weather,

And singing and loving—all come back together.

But the lark is so brimful of gladness and love,

The green fields below him, the blue sky above,

That he sings, and he sings; and forever sings he—

"I love my Love, and my Love loves me!"

 


  WEEK 15  

  Sunday  


Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

Jephthah's Rash Promise and What Came from It

Judges viii: 33, to xi: 40.

dropcap image LTHOUGH Gideon had refused to become a king, even when all the tribes desired him, after his death, one of his sons, whose name was Abimelech, tried to make himself a king. He began by killing all his brothers, except one who escaped. But his rule was only over Shechem and a few places near it, and lasted only a few years; so that he was never named among the kings of Israel. Abimelech is sometimes called the sixth of the judges, though he did not deserve the title. After him came Tola, the seventh judge, and Jair, the eighth. Of these two judges very little is told.

After this the Israelites again began to worship the idols of the Canaanites, and again fell under the power of their enemies. The Ammonites came against them from the southeast and held rule over the tribes on the east of Jordan. This was the sixth of "the oppressions;" and the man who set Israel free was Jephthah. He called together the men of the tribes on the east of Jordan—Reuben, Gad, and the half-tribe of Manasseh—and fought against the Ammonites.

Before Jephthah went to battle he said to the Lord: "If thou wilt give me victory over the Ammonites, then when I come back from the battle, whatever comes out of the house to meet me shall be the Lord's, and I will offer it up as a burnt-offering."

This was not a wise promise, nor a right one; for God had told the Israelites long before what offerings were commanded, as oxen and sheep, and what were forbidden. But Jephthah had lived on the border near the desert, far from the house of God at Shiloh, and he knew very little about God's law.

Jephthah fought the Ammonites and won a victory, and drove the enemies out of the land. Then, as he was going back to his home, his daughter, who was his only child, came out to meet him, leading the young girls, her companions, dancing and making music, to welcome his return. When Jephthah saw her he cried out in sorrow, "Oh, my daughter, what trouble you bring with you! I have given a promise to the Lord, and now I must keep it!"


[Illustration]

Jephthah mourning for his daughter.

As soon as his daughter had learned what promise her father had made she met it bravely, as a true daughter of Israel. She said:

"My father, you have made a solemn promise to the Lord, and you shall keep it, for God has given to you victory over the enemies of your people. But let me live a little while and weep with my young friends over the death that I must suffer."


[Illustration]

Jephthah's daughter and her young friends.

For two months she stayed with the young girls upon the mountains, for perhaps she feared that if she was at home with her father he would fail to keep his promise. Then she gave herself up to death, and her father did with her as he had promised.


[Illustration]

Jephthah offers up his daughter.

In all the history of the Israelites this was the only time when a living man or woman was offered in sacrifice to the Lord. Among all the nations around Israel the people offered human lives, even those of their own children, to the idols which they worshipped.

But the people of Israel remembered what God had taught Abraham when he was about to offer up Isaac; and they never, except this once, laid a human offering upon God's altar. (See Story 10.) If Jephthah had lived near the Tabernacle at Shiloh, and had been taught God's law, he would not have given such a promise, for God did not desire it, and his daughter's life would have been saved. From all these stories it is easy to see how the Israelites lived during the three hundred years while the judges ruled. There was no strong power to which all gave obedience; but each family lived as it chose. Many people worshipped the Lord; but many more turned from the Lord to the idols, and then turned back to the Lord, after they had fallen under the hand of their enemies. In one part of the land they were free; in another part they were ruled by the foreign peoples.

 



The Sandman: His Ship Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Little Sol Story

O 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.

And in that little city was Captain Jacob's house, where he lived before he moved to Boston; but when he moved to Boston he didn't sell the house but he kept it, for he always hoped that he might live there again, some day. And all the things were left in the house, just the way they had been ever since he was married and Lois and he had got back from the far country in the brig Industry. The little tables inlaid with ebony and ivory were there, and the ugly idols carved out of ivory, and the procession of elephants; and the great teak-wood tables and every other thing but some of the china that had the house and the lake and the people painted on it in blue, and some of the delicate china that Lois used for tea. Lois took some of those things to Boston with her, for she had to use them. And she came down to Captain Jacob's house in the little city as often as she could, for she loved the little city.

Lois had come down to that house, and she had brought little Jacob and little Lois. And then Captain Jacob had come, and Lois had not expected him; but what he came for was to tell little Jacob that he could go to India in the Industry  if he wanted to. And little Jacob had decided that he would go, although he hated to leave his mother and little Lois for such a long time. And the Industry  had sailed away from the wharf in Boston, and Lois and little Lois and Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob were left behind, on the wharf; but little Jacob was leaning over the rail at the stern, so that he should see his mother and his little sister and his grandfather as long as he could, and he was trying hard not to cry. That was hard work, but he didn't cry, not a single tear, although he couldn't have spoken to save his life, there was such a big lump in his throat. And little Sol was beside him.

Before they had got as far as the islands, his mother and little Lois and his grandfather and his father had faded into a black dot on the wharf, for they were far away then, and he couldn't distinguish one from another nor see what they were doing. And in a little while longer the Industry  had gone behind one of the islands and little Jacob couldn't even see the black dot on the wharf. So he sighed,—a trembling little sigh,—and he swallowed hard two or three times, but he couldn't quite swallow the big lump that was in his throat. And little Sol spoke to him, and he wanted little Jacob to listen to the sailors, who were pulling on the ropes and singing as they pulled. So little Jacob turned away from the rail and from watching the shores and from seeing the water come boiling and bubbling up under the stern, and he smiled at little Sol, but he didn't say anything, for he couldn't speak yet. And he saw the sailors pulling on ropes and he heard the chanty-man begin a new chanty. And they had only been singing that chanty for a few years, because it had only been made up a few years before. Nobody knew who had made it up, but probably it was some chanty-man or other.

The chanty-man began, and all the sailors pulled when it was time to pull.

O, Louis was the king of France afore the Rev-olu-ti-on.

Then the sailors began to sing:

Away, haul away, boys, haul away toge-e-ther.

Then the sailors stopped singing and the chanty-man began again:

But Louis got his head cut off, which spoiled his constitu-ti-on.

Then the sailors sang again:

Away, haul away, boys; haul away, O!

And that song made little Jacob laugh, because it struck him as a funny song; and the sailors all pulled so jerky when they sang, and they made such a noise and seemed so merry. But, really, it wasn't funny for the poor king of France, for all that had just got through happening. So little Jacob forgot for a while that he felt so sorry to leave his mother and his little sister. And he was amused for a long time with watching the sailors, for they had to change the sails often while the ship was sailing out of the harbor, between the islands; and, before he knew it, it was supper time, and he felt a little bit better, and the lump was gone out of his throat. But when it came to be bed time, the lump was in his throat again, and poor little Jacob cried himself to sleep.

Little Sol didn't feel sorry, because his father was there. He wasn't seasick at all, which can't be explained; but some people never are seasick, and little Sol seemed to be that kind of a person. Little Jacob wasn't that kind. All the next day he was very seasick and too miserable to think about anything at all; but by the day after that, he was able to get up on deck, and, by night, he was very hungry indeed, so that he ate a lot of supper. And Captain Solomon joked with him about his appetite, and about being sick. And little Jacob didn't act like a sick boy, and he could smile and laugh naturally. For he was beginning not to be homesick.

And the Industry  sailed far out into the ocean, as she always did, and then she turned southward. And they had beautiful, bright days, and little Sol soon learned to climb where the sailors went, and in getting up to the crosstrees he didn't try to go through the lubber-holes, not once, but he went around over the edge, the right way. Little Jacob didn't like to watch him, climbing out, over nothing, that way, and he used to shut his eyes when little Sol got to the edge of the crosstrees. And Captain Solomon scolded little Sol and tried to look fierce when he talked to him about the places where he went; but he was really proud of him. And little Sol knew it, and, every day, he would climb to some new place; up the topmasts or out on the yards, or out on the bowsprit. He liked the place on the bowsprit the best of all, because from there he could see the ship sailing, just as if he was not on her, and he could see the wave she made at her bow. He never got tired of watching that wave. It was always the same, yet always different, too; and it was always tumbling over itself and being made over again.


[Illustration]

Little Sol soon learned to climb where the sailors went.

It wasn't as easy for little Jacob to do all those things as it seemed to be for little Sol to do them, and little Jacob didn't do them quite so soon as little Sol did them, and he didn't go to all the places where little Sol went. It seemed foolish to little Jacob for a little boy to go out on the foot-ropes of a yard, where the sailors stood when they furled the sails, and it was right over the water, away beyond the ship's side. He didn't want to go out there, and he knew that his father wouldn't want him to go there, either. But he climbed up into the crosstrees, and he didn't go through the lubber-hole, either; not even the first time, although it was hard not to.

When he got up to that part of the rigging he stopped for a few minutes, and then he drew a long breath and he held his breath, and he climbed carefully out, and he got over the edge of the crosstrees. But he didn't look down while he was going over, and his heart beat so hard that it almost choked him. And when he had got up in the crosstrees, he put one arm around the mast and held on to the rigging with the other hand, and gradually his heart got to beating naturally again. Really, he thought, going up to the crosstrees was nothing to be afraid of, and it seemed to be quite safe if you held on with both hands. And you could see such a lot up there,—it was beautiful, with the ship all stretched out below you and the sails glittering all about you in the sunshine. But little Jacob thought that the mast needn't jerk around so much.

And, at last, little Jacob had to go down again, and he didn't quite know how to begin. But he knew that he mustn't go through the lubber-hole, and he didn't want to seem afraid to go down the way he came up; so he stepped to the edge, and he took hold of the rigging that went up like a ladder from the edge of the crosstrees, and he felt about with his foot for the rope to put his foot upon, for he couldn't see it. And he found the rope, and he went down very carefully until he had got to the other part of the rigging where he could stand up straight, and then he was all right.

Captain Solomon had been watching him, and when he had got down, Captain Solomon was smiling a queer kind of a smile. "Well, Jacob," said Captain Solomon, "so you've been up to the main crosstrees."

"Yes, sir," said little Jacob.

"And what did you think of them?" asked Captain Solomon. "Did you get a good view?"

"Oh, yes, sir," said little Jacob, "the view was beautiful. And it is very pretty to have the sails shining all about, in the sun, and the ship looks little, stretched out below. But the mast jerks about awfully. I suppose it jerks worse when it is stormy and blowy."

"Yes," said Captain Solomon, "it does. You'd better not try the crosstrees in bad weather. But weren't you afraid?"

"Yes, sir," said little Jacob. "I was." For little Jacob had been brought up to tell the truth, and he would not say what was not true, even about being afraid.

Captain Solomon looked queer for a minute and he didn't say anything. "Jacob," he said then, "you're a brave boy."

And little Jacob was puzzled by his saying that, for he thought that a boy who was afraid wasn't brave. And he wondered about it a good deal.

"I think I'll go out on the bowsprit, now, sir," he said, "if you have no objection. Sol is there."

"You wait a minute," said Captain Solomon, "and I'll have one of the men fix an easy way for you."

"Thank you, sir," answered little Jacob. "But I think I'd rather go out the way Sol went, if you don't mind."

"All right," said Captain Solomon. "Go ahead."

So little Jacob went out on the bowsprit and sat down beside little Sol. There were some nettings made of rope that kept him from falling off, and the bowsprit was a great big log. And little Jacob and little Sol sat very still there and they watched the wave that the bow made in going through the water, and sometimes little Jacob looked off, under the sail, at the water and the far horizon. And he thought that it was all very beautiful,—like sailing through the air. Away off was another ship, so far that they could see no more of her than her upper sails, and she was going the same way the Industry  was going. But she sailed faster than the Industry. And little Jacob asked little Sol if he knew where that other ship was going.

"Father says," said little Sol, "that she is going to the coast of Africa, most likely, for slaves."

And little Jacob thought about that, but he knew that Captain Solomon couldn't do anything about it, and he knew that a little boy couldn't do anything about it if Captain Solomon couldn't. But he didn't think it was right to make slaves of people just because they couldn't help themselves. And he sat there, watching the waves and the far horizon, for a long time. And that other ship that he had seen, which little Sol said was a slave ship, had got far ahead of the Industry, and little Jacob thought that it was time to go inboard again. But little Sol wouldn't go, for he was having a beautiful time, watching the wave made by the bow, as it tumbled over itself. And the ship was pitching a little, gently rising and falling as the waves caught up with it, and every time it sank deeper it made the wave greater, and every time it rose higher it made the wave less, so that there was hardly any wave.

Then little Jacob went inboard, shinnying carefully along the bowsprit, with one leg on each side, until he got to the deck. But little Sol lay down out there and watched the clouds sailing in the blue sky; for there were a lot of little white clouds that looked like little white hills sailing along. And he watched the great sails of the ship and the tops of the masts going to and fro over the sky as the ship pitched gently, and he thought that it was just like a great enormous bird with white wings that was just behind him, but that never got any nearer. And little Sol lay there, and he heard the hissing sound and the splashing of the bow wave, and he watched the sails and the clouds, and he was very happy indeed; for he loved the ocean. And, perhaps, Captain Solomon had made a mistake in taking little Sol on that voyage, if he didn't want him to go to sea. Captain Solomon was beginning to think that, himself.

And so little Jacob and little Sol did, on all the days that the ship was sailing in the Trade Winds, for they had beautiful weather. But when they began to get out of the Trade Winds, the ship began to pitch and roll a little more. And on that day little Sol had gone up high on the foremast, and he had gone out on the yard of a sail that is very high up. And Captain Solomon saw him just as he had got out to the end of the yard, on the foot-ropes, and he yelled at him; for he was afraid that little Sol would fall, with the ship pitching and rolling so much.

And little Sol heard his father yelling at him, and he was startled and lost his hold, and his foot slipped from the rope, and he did fall, which was just what his father was afraid of. But he fell clear of everything, and he dropped into the water. For the ship was leaning enough so that he could. And when little Sol dropped into the ocean, little Jacob saw him and he was very much worried and he ran to the side, to see where he came up; for little Sol had disappeared entirely, falling all that way down. And Captain Solomon grabbed the first thing that came to his hand, which happened to be the door that opened on the steps that led to the cabin. And he tore the door off its hinges, and threw it overboard for little Sol to hold on to when he came up again. Then he gave orders in a loud voice that made the sailors jump around lively, and the sailors had the yards turned and the ship turning and a boat out almost before little Sol came to the top of the water.

Then little Sol came up, and he shook his head to get the water out of his eyes, just as a dog would do, and he looked about to see where the ship was, and he began to swim. For little Sol could swim very well indeed, and he was not very much frightened, for he knew that his father would stop the ship as soon as he could and come after him. But Captain Solomon yelled at him, and pointed to the door, and little Sol didn't know what he was yelling about, and he raised himself high up in the water to see. Then he saw the door, but he didn't swim to it. He only grinned and shook his head and began to swim again toward the ship, for he saw the boat that the sailors had lowered.


[Illustration]

And Captain Solomon jumped into the boat, and some sailors to row, and they rowed as hard as they could to meet little Sol. By that time, Captain Solomon wasn't frightened any more, but only angry. And they met little Sol, and Captain Solomon picked him out of the water by the collar of his jacket, and gave him a hard shake and set him down in the boat. And they picked up the door and came back to the ship, and hoisted up the boat to its place, and the sailors swung the yards around, and the Industry  turned off on her course again.

But Captain Solomon didn't let go of little Sol's jacket. "You come down into the cabin with me," he said.

When little Sol came up on deck again, he walked queerly, and there were tears in his eyes. Little Jacob never knew just what happened in the cabin, but he rather thought that little Sol got a thrashing. At any rate, little Sol didn't climb to such dangerous places again as long as that voyage lasted. And, when little Sol came up, the ship's carpenter was at work upon the cabin door.

And that's all.

 



James Whitcomb Riley

A Sudden Shower

Barefooted boys scud up the street

Or skurry under sheltering sheds;

And school-girl faces, pale and sweet,

Gleam from the shawls about their heads.


Doors bang; and mother-voices call

From alien homes; and rusty gates

Are slammed; and high above it all,

The thunder grim reverberates.


And then, abrupt—the rain! the rain!;

The earth lies gasping; and the eyes

Behind the streaming window-pane

Smile at the trouble of the skies.


The highway smokes; sharp echoes ring;

The cattle bawl and cow-bells clank;

And into town comes galloping

The farmer's horse, with steaming flank.


The swallow dips beneath the eaves

And flirts his plumes and folds his wings;

And under the Catawba leaves

The caterpillar curls and clings.


The bumblebee is pelted down

The wet stem of the hollyhock;

And sullenly, in spattered brown,

The cricket leaps the garden walk.


Within, the baby claps his hands

And crows with rapture strange and vague;

Without, beneath the rose-bush stands

A dripping rooster on one leg.