Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Is Found and Put to Bed

W HILST poor Pinocchio, suspended to a branch of the Big Oak, was apparently more dead than alive, the beautiful Child with blue hair came again to the window. When she saw the unhappy puppet hanging by his throat, and dancing up and down in the gusts of the north wind, she was moved by compassion. Striking her hands together she made three little claps.

At this signal there came a sound of the sweep of wings flying rapidly, and a large Falcon flew on to the window-sill.

"What are your orders, gracious Fairy?" he asked, inclining his beak in sign of reverence—for I must tell you that the Child with blue hair was no more and no less than a beautiful Fairy, who for more than a thousand years had lived in the wood.

"Do you see that puppet dangling from a branch of the Big Oak?"

"I see him."

"Very well. Fly there at once: with your strong beak break the knot that keeps him suspended in the air, and lay him gently on the grass at the foot of the tree."

The Falcon flew away, and after two minutes he returned, saying:

"I have done as you commanded."

"And how did you find him?"

"To see him he appeared dead, but he cannot really be quite dead, for I had no sooner loosened the running noose that tightened his throat than, giving a sigh, he muttered in a faint voice: "Now I feel better! . . ."

The Fairy then striking her hands together made two little claps, and a magnificent Poodle appeared, walking upright on his hind-legs exactly as if he had been a man.

He was in the full-dress livery of a coachman. On his head he had a three-cornered cap braided with gold, his curly white wig came down on to his shoulders, he had a chocolate-coloured waistcoat with diamond buttons, and two large pockets to contain the bones that his mistress gave him at dinner. He had besides a pair of short crimson velvet breeches, silk stockings, cut-down shoes, and hanging behind him a species of umbrella-case made of blue satin, to put his tail into when the weather was rainy.

"Be quick, Medoro, like a good dog!" said the Fairy to the Poodle. "Have the most beautiful carriage in my coach-house put to, and take the road to the wood. When you come to the Big Oak you will find a poor puppet stretched on the grass half dead. Pick him up gently, and lay him flat on the cushions of the carriage and bring him here to me. Have you understood?"

The Poodle, to show that he had understood, shook the case of blue satin that he had on three or four times, and ran off like a racehorse.

Shortly afterwards a beautiful little carriage came out of the coach-house. The cushions were stuffed with canary feathers, and it was lined in the inside with whipped cream, custard, and Savoy biscuits. The little carriage was drawn by a hundred pairs of white mice, and the Poodle, seated on the coach-box, cracked his whip from side to side like a driver when he is afraid that he is behind time.

A quarter of an hour had not passed when the carriage returned. The Fairy, who was waiting at the door of the house, took the poor puppet in her arms, and carried him into a little room that was wainscotted with mother-of-pearl, and sent at once to summon the most famous doctors in the neighbourhood.

The doctors came immediately one after the other: namely a Crow, an Owl, and a Talking-cricket.

The doctors came immediately . . . a Crow, an Owl, and a Talking-cricket.

"I wish to know from you gentlemen," said the Fairy, turning to the three doctors who were assembled round Pinocchio's bed—"I wish to know from you gentlemen, if this unfortunate puppet is alive or dead! . . ."

At this request the Crow, advancing first, felt Pinocchio's pulse; he then felt his nose, and then the little toe of his foot: and having done this carefully, he pronounced solemnly the following words:

"To my belief the puppet is already quite dead; but if unfortunately he should not be dead, then it would be a sign that he is still alive!"

"I regret," said the Owl, "to be obliged to contradict the Crow, my illustrious friend and colleague; but in my opinion the puppet is still alive: but if unfortunately he should not be alive, then it would be a sign that he is dead indeed!"

"And you—have you nothing to say?" asked the Fairy of the Talking-cricket.

"In my opinion the wisest thing a prudent doctor can do, when he does not know what he is talking about, is to be silent. For the rest, that puppet there has a face that is not new to me. I have known him for some time! . . ."

Pinocchio, who up to that moment had lain immovable, like a real piece of wood, was seized with a fit of convulsive trembling that shook the whole bed.

"That puppet there," continued the Talking-cricket, "is a confirmed rogue. . . ."

Pinocchio opened his eyes, but shut them again immediately.

"He is a ragamuffin, a do-nothing, a vagabond. . . ."

Pinocchio hid his face beneath the clothes.

"That puppet there is a disobedient son who will make his poor father die of a broken heart! . . ."

At that instant a suffocated sound of sobs and crying was heard in the room. Imagine everybody's astonishment when, having raised the sheets a little, it was discovered that the sounds came from Pinocchio.

"When the dead person cries, it is a sign that he is on the road to get well," said the Crow solemnly.

"I grieve to contradict my illustrious friend and colleague," added the Owl; "but for me, when the dead person cries, it is a sign that he is sorry to die."

 

Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

Leif and His New Land

N OW Eric had lived in Greenland for fifteen years. His sons Thorstein and Leif had grown up to be big, strong men. One spring Leif said to his father:

"I have never seen Norway, our mother land. I long to go there and meet the great men and see the places that skalds sing about."

Eric answered:

"It is right that you should go. No man has really lived until he has seen Norway."

So he helped Leif fit out a boat and sent him off. Leif sailed for months. He passed Iceland and the Faroes and the Shetlands. He stopped at all of these places and feasted his mind on the new things. And everywhere men received him gladly; for he was handsome and wise. But at last he came near Norway. Then he stood up before the pilot's seat and sang loudly:

"My eyes can see her at last, The mother of mighty men, The field of famous fights. In the sky above I see Fair Asgard's shining roofs, The flying hair of Thor, The wings of Odin's birds, The road that heroes tread. I am here in the land of the gods, The land of mighty men."

For a while he walked the land as though he were in a dream. He looked at this and that and everything and loved them all because it was Norway.

"I will go to the king," he said.

He had never seen a king. There were no kings in Iceland or in Greenland. So he went to the city where the king had his fine house. The king's name was Olaf. He was a great-grandson of Harald Hairfair; for Harald had been dead a hundred years.

Now the king was going to hold a feast at night, and Leif put on his most beautiful clothes to go to it. He put on long tights of blue wool and a short jacket of blue velvet. He belted his jacket with a gold girdle. He had shoes of scarlet with golden clasps. He threw around himself a cape of scarlet velvet lined with seal fur. His long sword stuck out from under his cloak. On his head he put a knitted cap of bright colors. Then he walked to the king's feast hall and went through the door. It was a great hall, and it was full of richly-dressed men. The fires shone on so many golden head-bands and bracelets and so many glittering swords and spears on the wall, and there was so much noise of talking and laughing, that at first Leif did not know what to do. But at last he went and sat on the very end seat of the bench near him.

As the feast went on, King Olaf sat in his high seat and looked about the hall and noticed this one and that one and spoke across the fire to many. He was keen-eyed and soon saw Leif in his far seat.

"Yonder is some man of mark," he said to himself. "He is surely worth knowing. His face is not the face of a fool. He carries his head like a lord of men."

He sent a thrall and asked Leif to come to him. So Leif walked down the long hall and stood before the king.

"I am glad to have you for a guest," the king said. "What are your name and country?"

"I am Leif Ericsson, and I have come all the way from Greenland to see you and old Norway."

"From Greenland!" said the king. "It is not often that I see a Greenlander. Many come to Norway to trade, but they seldom come to the king's hall. I shall be glad to hear about your land. Come up and speak with me."

So Leif went up the steps of the high seat and sat down by the king and talked with him. When the feast was over the king said:

"You shall live at my court this winter, Leif Ericsson. You are a welcome guest."

So Leif stayed there that winter. When he started back in the spring, the king gave him two thralls as a parting gift.

"Let this gift show my love, Leif Ericsson," he said. "For your sake I shall not forget Greenland."

Leif sailed back again and had good luck until he was past Iceland. Then great winds came out of the north and tossed his ship about so that the men could do nothing. They were blown south for days and days. They did not know where they were. Then they saw land, and Leif said:

"Surely luck has brought us also to a new country. We will go in and see what kind of a place it is."

So he steered for it. As they came near, the men said:

"See the great trees and the soft, green shore. Surely this is a better country than Greenland or than Iceland either."

When they landed they threw themselves upon the ground.

"I never lay on a bed so soft as this grass," one said.

"Taller trees do not grow in Norway," said another.

"There is no stone here as in Norway, but only good black dirt," Leif said. "I never saw so fertile a land before."

The men were hungry and set about building a fire.

"There is no lack of fuel here," they said.

They stayed many days in this country and walked about to see what was there. A German, named Tyrker, was with Leif. He was a little man with a high forehead and a short nose. His eyes were big and rolling. He had lived with Eric for many years, and had taken care of Leif when he was a little boy. So Leif loved him.

Now one day they had been wandering about and all came back to camp at night except Tyrker. When Leif looked around on his comrades, he said:

"Where is Tyrker?"

No one knew. Then Leif was angry.

"Is a man of so little value in this empty land that you would lose one?" he said. "Why did you not keep together? Did you not see that he was gone? Why did you not set out to look for him? Who knows what terrible thing may have happened to him in these great forests?"

Then he turned and started out to hunt for him. His men followed, silent and ashamed. They had not gone far when they saw Tyrker running toward them. He was laughing and talking to himself. Leif ran to him and put his arms around him with gladness at seeing him.

"Why are you so late?" he asked. "Where have you been?"

But Tyrker, still smiling and nodding his head, answered in German. He pointed to the woods and laughed and rolled his eyes. Again Leif asked his question and put his hand on Tyrker's shoulder as though he would shake him. Then Tyrker answered in the language of Iceland:

"He pointed to the woods and laughed and rolled his eyes."

"I have not been so very far, but I have found something wonderful."

"What is it?" cried the men.

"I have found grapes growing wild," answered Tyrker, and he laughed, and his eyes shone.

"It cannot be," Leif said.

Grapes do not grow in Greenland nor in Iceland nor even in Norway. So it seemed a wonderful thing to these Norsemen.

"Can I not tell grapes when I see them?" cried Tyrker. "Did I not grow up in Germany, where every hillside is covered with grapevines? Ah! it seems like my old home."

"It is wonderful," Leif said. "I have heard travelers tell of seeing grapes growing, but I myself never saw it. You shall take us to them early in the morning, Tyrker."

So in the morning they went back into the woods and saw the grapes. They ate of them.

"They are like food and drink," they cried.

That day Leif said:

"We spent most of the summer on the ocean. Winter will soon be coming on and the sea about Greenland will be frozen. We must start back. I mean to take some of the things of this land to show to our people at home. We will fill the rowboat with grapes and tow it behind us. The ship we will load with logs from these great trees. That will be a welcome shipload in Greenland, where we have neither trees nor vines. Now half of you shall gather grapes for the next few days, and the other half shall cut timber."

So they did, and after a week sailed off. The ship was full of lumber, and they towed the rowboat loaded with grapes. As they looked back at the shore, Leif said:

"I will call this country Wineland for the grapes that grow there."

One of the men leaped upon the gunwale and leaned out, clinging to the sail, and sang:

"Wineland the good, Wineland the warm, Wineland the green, the great, the fat. Our dragon fed and crawls away With belly stuffed and lazy feet. How long her purple, trailing tail! She fed and grew to twice her size."

Then all the men waved their hands to the shore and gave a great shout for that good land.

For all that voyage they had fair weather and sailed into Eric's harbor before the winter came. Eric saw the ship and ran down to the shore. He took Leif into his arms and said:

"Oh, my son, my old eyes ached to see you. I hunger to hear of all that you have seen and done."

"Luck has followed me all the way," said Leif. "See what I have brought home."

The Greenlanders looked.

"Lumber! lumber!" they cried. "Oh! it is better stuff than gold."

Then they saw the grapes and tasted them.

"Surely you must have plundered Asgard," they said, smacking their lips.

At the feast that night Eric said:

"Leif shall sit in the place of honor."

So Leif sat in the high seat opposite Eric. All men thought him a handsome and wise man. He told them of the storm and of Wineland.

"No man would ever need a cloak there. The soil is richer than the soil of Norway. Grain grows wild, and you yourselves saw the grapes that we got from there. The forests are without end. The sea is full of fish."

The Greenlanders listened with open mouths to all this. They turned and talked to Leif's ship-comrades who were scattered among them.

Leif noticed two strangers, an old man who sat at Eric's side and a young woman on the cross-bench. He turned to his brother Thorstein who sat next to him.

"Who are these strangers?" he asked.

"Thorbiorn and his daughter Gudrid," Thorstein answered. "They landed here this spring. I never saw our father more glad of anything than to see this Thorbiorn. They were friends before we left Iceland. When they saw each other again they could not talk enough of old times. In the spring Eric means to give him a farm up the fiord a way. It seems that this Thorbiorn comes of a good family that has been rich and great in Iceland for years. And Thorbiorn himself was rich when our father knew him, and was much honored by all men. But ill luck came, and he grew poor. This hurt his pride. 'I will not stay in Iceland and be a beggar,' he said to himself. 'I will not have men look at me and say, "He is not what his father was." I will go to my friend Eric the Red in Greenland.'

"Then he got ready a great feast and invited all his friends. It was such a feast as had not been in Iceland for years. Thorbiorn spent on it all the wealth that he had left. For he said to himself, 'I will not leave in shame. Men shall remember my last feast.' After that he set out and came to Greenland.

"Is not Gudrid beautiful? And she is wise. I mean to marry her, if her father will permit it."

Now Leif settled down in Greenland and became a great man there. He was so busy and he grew so rich that he did not think of going to Wineland again. But people could not forget his story. Many nights as men sat about the long fires they talked of that wonderful land and wished to see it.

 

Laura E. Richards

Prince Tatters

Little Prince Tatters has lost his cap! Over the hedge he threw it; Into the water it fell with a clap— Stupid old thing to do it! Now Mother may sigh and Nurse may fume For the gay little cap with its eagle plume. "One cannot be thinking all day of such matters! Trifles are trifles!" says little Prince Tatters. Little Prince Tatters has lost his coat! Playing he did not need it; "Left it right there, by the nanny-goat, And nobody ever see'd it!" Now Mother and Nurse may search till night For the new little coat with its buttons bright; But, "Coat-sleeves or shirt-sleeves, how little it matters! Trifles are trifles," says little Prince Tatters. Little Prince Tatters has LOST HIS BALL! Rolled away down the street! Somebody'll have to find it, that 's all, Before he can sleep or eat. Now raise the neighborhood, quickly, do And send for the crier and constable too! "Trifles are trifles; but serious matters They must be seen to," says little Prince Tatters.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Sir Walter Raleigh

T HERE once lived in England a brave and noble man whose name was Walter Ra-leigh. He was not only brave and noble, but he was also hand-some and polite; and for that reason the queen made him a knight, and called him Sir Walter Ra-leigh.

I will tell you about it.

When Raleigh was a young man, he was one day walking along a street in London. At that time the streets were not paved, and there were no sidewalks. Raleigh was dressed in very fine style, and he wore a beau-ti-ful scar-let cloak thrown over his shoulders.

As he passed along, he found it hard work to keep from stepping in the mud, and soiling his hand-some new shoes. Soon he came to a puddle of muddy water which reached from one side of the street to the other. He could not step across. Per-haps he could jump over it.

As he was thinking what he should do, he hap-pened to look up. Who was it coming down the street, on the other side of the puddle?

It was E-liz-a-beth, the Queen of England, with her train of gen-tle-wom-en and waiting maids. She saw the dirty puddle in the street. She saw the handsome young man with the scar-let cloak, standing by the side of it. How was she to get across?

Young Raleigh, when he saw who was coming, forgot about himself. He thought only of helping the queen. There was only one thing that he could do, and no other man would have thought of that.

He took off his scarlet cloak, and spread it across the puddle. The queen could step on it now, as on a beautiful carpet.

She walked across. She was safely over the ugly puddle, and her feet had not touched the mud. She paused a moment, and thanked the young man.

As she walked onward with her train, she asked one of the gen-tle-wom-en, "Who is that brave gen-tle-man who helped us so handsomely?"

"His name is Walter Raleigh," said the gentle-woman.

"He shall have his reward," said the queen.

Not long after that, she sent for Raleigh to come to her pal-ace.

The young man went, but he had no scarlet cloak to wear. Then, while all the great men and fine ladies of England stood around, the queen made him a knight. And from that time he was known as Sir Walter Raleigh, the queen's favorite.

Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Humphrey Gilbert, about whom I have already told you, were half-broth-ers.

When Sir Humphrey made his first voy-age to America, Sir Walter was with him. After that, Sir Walter tried sev-er-al times to send men to this country to make a set-tle-ment.

But those whom he sent found only great forests, and wild beasts, and sav-age In-di-ans. Some of them went back to England; some of them died for want of food; and some of them were lost in the woods. At last Sir Walter gave up trying to get people to come to America.

But he found two things in this country which the people of England knew very little about. One was the po-ta-to, the other was to-bac-co.

If you should ever go to Ireland, you may be shown the place where Sir Walter planted the few po-ta-toes which he carried over from America. He told his friends how the Indians used them for food; and he proved that they would grow in the Old World as well as in the New.

Sir Walter had seen the Indians smoking the leaves of the to-bac-co plant. He thought that he would do the same, and he carried some of the leaves to England. Englishmen had never used tobacco before that time; and all who saw Sir Walter puff-ing away at a roll of leaves thought that it was a strange sight.

One day as he was sitting in his chair and smok-ing, his servant came into the room. The man saw the smoke curling over his master's head, and he thought that he was on fire.

He ran out for some water. He found a pail that was quite full. He hurried back, and threw the water into Sir Walter's face. Of course the fire was all put out.

After that a great many men learned to smoke. And now tobacco is used in all countries of the world. It would have been well if Sir Walter Raleigh had let it alone.

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

White Feathers

Mr. and Mrs. Tree Swallow had dark shiny backs that looked blue or green in the sunshine. Their under feathers were white.

They came to the park and found a bird box. They saw a hole in the box and tried to go in.

Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird chased them away. The bluebirds had a nest in the box. So it was their own home.

Don and Nan saw the bluebirds chase the swallows. They told Uncle Tom about the birds.

Their uncle said, "Tree swallows like to make their nests in holes in trees. They like boxes, too.

"Tree swallows and bluebirds like the same kind of place for a nest."

"May we have a bird box for the swallows?" asked Nan.

Uncle Tom gave Don and Nan a good bird box. It was the right size and shape for tree swallows.

Mr. Gray put up the new box in a different part of the park. Don and Nan helped him choose the tree.

Mr. and Mrs. Tree Swallow found it. They went in and out of the hole. They both twittered with happy voices.

Mr. Gray gave Don and Nan some white hen feathers. He told them what to do with the feathers.

He said, "Tree swallows like white feathers for their nests.

"Put some of the feathers on the ground and bushes near you. Then stand still and watch the swallows."

Mr. and Mrs. Tree Swallow saw the white feathers. They came and picked them up. They took them all into the bird box.

Then Mr. Gray said, "Nan, hold a feather in your hand as high as you can. Keep very quiet."

Don and Mr. Gray watched while Nan held the white feather.

Mrs. Tree Swallow flew near Nan's hand but she did not take the feather the first time.

Nan waited. She did not move.

The swallow came near Nan again. This time she took the feather out of Nan's hand and went into the bird box with it.

"Now, Don, you try it!" said Nan.

Don held a feather and one of the swallows came and got it.

Then Mr. Gray took some feathers and threw them up into the air. The wind blew them away.

The swallows flew after the feathers and caught some of them and took them into their box.

 

Kate L. Brown

The Little Plant

In the heart of a seed, Buried deep, so deep! A dear little plant Lay fast asleep! "Wake!" said the sunshine, "And creep to the light!" "Wake!" said the voice Of the raindrops bright. The little plant heard And it rose to see What the wonderful Outside world might be!

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Longbill and Teeter

F ROM the decided way in which Jenny Wren had popped into the little round doorway of her home, Peter knew that to wait in the hope of more gossip with her would be a waste of time. He wasn't ready to go back home to the dear Old Briar-patch, yet there seemed nothing else to do, for everybody in the Old Orchard was too busy for idle gossip. Peter scratched a long ear with a long hind foot, trying to think of some place to go. Just then he heard the clear "peep, peep, peep" of the Hylas, the sweet singers of the Smiling Pool.

"That's where I'll go!" exclaimed Peter. "I haven't been to the Smiling Pool for some time. I'll just run over and pay my respects to Grandfather Frog, and to Redwing the Blackbird. Redwing was one of the first birds to arrive, and I've neglected him shamefully."

When Peter thinks of something to do he wastes no time. Off he started, lipperty-lipperty-lip, for the Smiling Pool. He kept close to the edge of the Green Forest until he reached the place where the Laughing Brook comes out of the Green Forest on its way to the Smiling Pool in the Green Meadows. Bushes and young trees grow along the banks of the Laughing Brook at this point. The ground was soft in places, quite muddy. Peter doesn't mind getting his feet damp, so he hopped along carelessly. From right under his very nose something shot up into the air with a whistling sound. It startled Peter so that he stopped short with his eyes popping out of his head. He had just a glimpse of a brown form disappearing over the tops of some tall bushes. Then Peter chuckled. "I declare," said he, "I had forgotten all about my old friend, Longbill the Woodcock. He scared me for a second."

"Then you are even," said a voice close at hand. "You scared him. I saw you coming, but Longbill didn't."

Peter turned quickly. There was Mrs. Woodcock peeping at him from behind a tussock of grass.

"I didn't mean to scare him," apologized Peter. "I really didn't mean to. Do you think he was really very much scared?"

"Not too scared to come back, anyway," said Longbill himself, dropping down just in front of Peter. "I recognized you just as I was disappearing over the tops of the bushes, so I came right back. I learned when I was very young that when startled it is best to fly first and find out afterwards whether or not there is real danger. I am glad it is no one but you, Peter, for I was having a splendid meal here, and I should have hated to leave it. You'll excuse me while I go on eating, I hope. We can talk between bites."

"Certainly I'll excuse you," replied Peter, staring around very hard to see what it could be Longbill was making such a good meal of. But Peter couldn't see a thing that looked good to eat. There wasn't even a bug or a worm crawling on the ground. Longbill took two or three steps in rather a stately fashion. Peter had to hide a smile, for Longbill had such an air of importance, yet at the same time was such an odd looking fellow. He was quite a little bigger than Welcome Robin, his tail was short, his legs were short, and his neck was short. But his bill was long enough to make up. His back was a mixture of gray, brown, black and buff, while his breast and under parts were a beautiful reddish-buff. It was his head that made him look queer. His eyes were very big and they were set so far back that Peter wondered if it wasn't easier for him to look behind him than in front of him.

LONGBILL THE WOODCOCK Look for him in damp, wooded places.

Suddenly Longbill plunged his bill into the ground. He plunged it in for the whole length. Then he pulled it out and Peter caught a glimpse of the tail end of a worm disappearing down Longbill's throat. Where that long bill had gone into the ground was a neat little round hole. For the first time Peter noticed that there were many such little round holes all about. "Did you make all those little round holes?" exclaimed Peter.

"Not at all," replied Longbill. "Mrs. Woodcock made some of them."

"And was there a worm in every one?" asked Peter, his eyes very wide with interest.

Longbill nodded. "Of course," said he. "You don't suppose we would take the trouble to bore one of them if we didn't know that we would get a worm at the end of it, do you?"

Peter remembered how he had watched Welcome Robin listen and then suddenly plunge his bill into the ground and pull out a worm. But the worms Welcome Robin got were always close to the surface, while these worms were so deep in the earth that Peter couldn't understand how it was possible for any one to know that they were there. Welcome Robin could see when he got hold of a worm, but Longbill couldn't. "Even if you know there is a worm down there in the ground, how do you know when you've reached him? And how is it possible for you to open your bill down there to take him in?" asked Peter.

Longbill chuckled. "That's easy," said he. "I've got the handiest bill that ever was. See here!" Longbill suddenly thrust his bill straight out in front of him and to Peter's astonishment he lifted the end of the upper half without opening the rest of his bill at all. "That's the way I get them," said he. "I can feel them when I reach them, and then I just open the tip of my bill and grab them. I think there is one right under my feet now; watch me get him." Longbill bored into the ground until his head was almost against it. When he pulled his bill out, sure enough, there was a worm. "Of course," explained Longbill, "it is only in soft ground that I can do this. That is why I have to fly away south as soon as the ground freezes at all."

"It's wonderful," sighed Peter. "I don't suppose any one else can find hidden worms that way."

"My cousin, Jack Snipe, can," replied Longbill promptly. "He feeds the same way I do, only he likes marshy meadows instead of brushy swamps. Perhaps you know him."

Peter nodded. "I do," said he. "Now you speak of it, there is a strong family resemblance, although I hadn't thought of him as a relative of yours before. Now I must be running along. I'm ever so glad to have seen you, and I'm coming over to call again the first chance I get."

So Peter said good-by and kept on down the Laughing Brook to the Smiling Pool. Right where the Laughing Brook entered the Smiling Pool there was a little pebbly beach. Running along the very edge of the water was a slim, trim little bird with fairly long legs, a long slender bill, brownish-gray back with black spots and markings, and a white waistcoat neatly spotted with black. Every few steps he would stop to pick up something, then stand for a second bobbing up and down in the funniest way, as if his body was so nicely balanced on his legs that it teetered back and forth like a seesaw. It was Teeter the Spotted Sandpiper, an old friend of Peter's. Peter greeted him joyously.

"Peet-weet! Peet-weet!" cried Teeter, turning towards Peter and bobbing and bowing as only Teeter can. Before Peter could say another word Teeter came running towards him, and it was plain to see that Teeter was very anxious about something. "Don't move, Peter Rabbit! Don't move!" he cried.

"Why not?" demanded Peter, for he could see no danger and could think of no reason why he shouldn't move. Just then Mrs. Teeter came hurrying up and squatted down in the sand right in front of Peter.

"Thank goodness!" exclaimed Teeter, still bobbing and bowing. "If you had taken another step, Peter Rabbit, you would have stepped right on our eggs. You gave me a dreadful start."

Peter was puzzled. He showed it as he stared down at Mrs. Teeter just in front of him. "I don't see any nest or eggs or anything," said he rather testily.

Mrs. Teeter stood up and stepped aside. Then Peter saw right in a little hollow in the sand, with just a few bits of grass for a lining, four white eggs with big dark blotches on them. They looked so much like the surrounding pebbles that he never would have seen them in the world but for Mrs. Teeter. Peter hastily backed away a few steps. Mrs. Teeter slipped back on the eggs and settled herself comfortably. It suddenly struck Peter that if he hadn't seen her do it, he wouldn't have known she was there. You see she looked so much like her surroundings that he never would have noticed her at all.

"My!" he exclaimed. "I certainly would have stepped on those eggs if you hadn't warned me," said he. "I'm so thankful I didn't. I don't see how you dare lay them in the open like this."

Mrs. Teeter chuckled softly. "It's the safest place in the world, Peter," said she. "They look so much like these pebbles around here that no one sees them. The only time they are in danger is when somebody comes along, as you did, and is likely to step on them without seeing them. But that doesn't happen often."

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Oxen and the Wheels

A pair of Oxen were drawing a heavily loaded wagon along a miry country road. They had to use all their strength to pull the wagon, but they did not complain. The Wheels of the wagon were of a different sort. Though the task they had to do was very light compared with that of the Oxen, they creaked and groaned at every turn. The poor Oxen, pulling with all their might to draw the wagon through the deep mud, had their ears filled with the loud complaining of the Wheels. And this, you may well know, made their work so much the harder to endure.

"Silence!" the Oxen cried at last, out of patience. "What have you Wheels to complain about so loudly? We are drawing all the weight. not you, and we are keeping still about it besides."

They complain most who suffer least.

 

The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

The Matchless Maiden Loses Her Golden Slipper

Part 2 of 2

It was she indeed, the Matchless Maiden. All in silver was she dressed, with a shimmering veil and glimmering shoes. Her dark hair fell down to her waist and her eyes were full of light. Slender was she as the barely noticed moon in the sky.

She curtsied to the right to the King's son and she curtsied to the left to the Peers of the Realm. She stood as if she were listening in delight to the chiming of the little silver bells that were hung across the gallery.

The King's son went to her, and after he had bowed, he said:

"Where have you come from, bright damsel?"

"From Lost-ember Moor," said she.

"And will you dance with me?" said he.

"When you rede aright where I've come from," said she.

The King's son drew back from her, not knowing what to say. Then the Duke who had the largest diamond in his shoe came forward and led her into the dance.

Dance after dance went on, and one Duke after the other asked the Matchless Maiden to be his partner. But when there was a lull in the music the king's son went to her and said:

"We beg of you to come to the table and distribute the citrons and pomegranates amongst the company."

The Matchless Maiden walked with him to the table, and those who were little looked over the others' shoulders to watch her pass. She took a citron in one hand and a pomegranate in the other, and gracefully and graciously she offered them to one of the maidens.

The King's son went to the gallery where the musicians were. Besides the fiddler who played enchanting music there was a harper there who played music still more enchanting. The King's son spoke to him, and he took up his silver harp and began to play.

The music he played was so enchanting that it seemed to all who were there that they lived only in his notes. They forgot what was before and what was behind them. The King's son was the most enchanted of all; he stood still and watched the Matchless Maiden, the citrons and pomegranates in her hands, giving them gracefully and graciously to this one and that one of the company.

Suddenly there came a loud and a heavy sound into the gallery. It was the Clock in the Tower striking twelve. No one heeded the strokes, and the Matchless Maiden, filled with that enchanting music, went on giving the citrons and pomegranates to this one and that one in the company. But suddenly she stopped and listened to the last strokes of the Clock. The citrons and pomegranates fell from her hands and went rolling across the floor. She ran to the wide doorway. Before anyone knew she was out of the Gallery she was past the seven servitors and down the scarlet stairway. They saw her in the hall. But when the King's son with the Peers of the Realm, the fiddlers and the harper, and the score of servants who had lighted the candles came into the hallway, the maiden in the silver dress, with the shimmering veil and the glimmering shoes, was nowhere to be seen.

But now there was no one in the Castle that wasn't concerned about her. Even the outlandish servants in the underground kitchens heard of the stranger-maiden who had made an appearance at the two Balls in the Solar Gallery, and they and the Ratcatcher talked for the length of a morning about her, forgetting the quarrel that they always had about the fewness of the rats taken, and the great quantity of tallow that was made away with.

The King's son called on the Chamberlain seven times in the course of the morning. And each time he informed him that if he did not do something to hold the Matchless Maiden after the Clock struck Twelve, he, the King's son, would have him sent out of the Kingdom when he came to the throne. The Chamberlain was all flurried and flustered. He went to this one and that one, asking what was to be done; no one could help him, and we verily believe he would have been driven to distraction if it hadn't happened that he met the King's Fool on the grand stairway. "How, in the name of all the King's horses, can we hold the matchless maiden who runs down this stairway when the Clock strikes twelve?" he asked the Fool. And the Fool put his hand to his mouth and whispered . . . But what it was the Fool whispered will have to be told you later.

Anyway the Chamberlain ran lightly down the stairs and sprang lightly up the stairs. He had the thousand candles lighted in the Solar Gallery. He had the seven servitors take their places on the grand stairway, with the silver candle-sticks of seven branches in their hands. Then the maidens came up the stairway, the little bright ear-rings gleaming in their ears. Buttercup and Berry-bright came in after all had assembled, so that they might have the opportunity of curtsying to the right to the King's son and to the left to the Peers of the Realm, with all the airs their mother had shown them.

The little silver bells strung across the Gallery chimed in the breeze; the nine nightingales began to sing in their darkened cages, and the Peers of the Realm and the maidens assembled indulged in most delightful conversation. Not so the King's son. He went from place to place and from company to company. It was on account of his restlessness that the dancing did not begin.

And even when the fiddlers tuned up their instruments and played the dancing tune, and when he was out on the floor with the partner he had chosen, the King's son was ever and always looking over his shoulder to the wide doorway that was the entrance of the Solar Gallery. Others, we must think, were looking towards that entrance, too. For, as if it were at a signal, the music stopped and the dancing, and all the company, the maidens and the Dukes they were dancing with, all stood gathered together as the matchless maiden came in.

The King's son saw her standing there in a dress of gold, with a shining veil and golden shoes. She walked more gracefully than the others danced; a smile of gentleness was on her lips, and the star on her forehead was plain to be seen.

The King's son went to her. "Where have you come from, brightest of maidens?" said he.

"From where a dog's tongue lapped water from my hands," said she.

"I cannot rede where that may be, but will you not dance with me?"

"I may not dance with you till you rede all I say," said she.

He drew away from her, and the best favored of the young Dukes came, and, bowing before her, claimed her for a dance. When the dance was over, and when the music was still, the King's son went to her and begged her to distribute amongst the company the citrons and pomegranates that were on the table. All the company stood in a double line to watch her pass; Buttercup and Berry-bright were standing opposite each other, and the bright little ear-rings fell out of their ears with the anger that came over them.

The matchless maiden took a citron in one hand and a pomegranate in the other, and gracefully and graciously she handed them to Berry-bright. And again she took a citron and a pomegranate, and gracefully and graciously she handed them to Buttercup. To no others in the company did she hand citrons and pomegranates. Suddenly a loud and a heavy sound was heard in the Gallery. It was the Clock in the Tower striking twelve. The citrons and the pomegranates that were in her hands fell and rolled upon the floor.

She sped towards the wide doorway. Past the musicians and towards the grand stairway the matchless maiden ran. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven steps of the scarlet stairway she ran down. And then something held her foot.

It was the pitch that held her, the pitch that the Chamberlain had put there immediately she had entered the Ball-room. That was what the Fool had whispered him to do when he met him on the grand stairway the time he was near distraction.

The pitch held her foot. The last strokes of the Clock were being struck. The company were running out of the Ball-room. The matchless maiden took her foot out of her golden shoe and went speeding down the rest of the stairway.

The last of the seven servitors saw her in the hall. But when the King's son with the fiddlers and the servants and all the young Peers of the Realm came down into the hallway the maiden in the dress of gold, with the shining veil and the one golden shoe, was not to be seen. But the Chamberlain was there, standing before the King's son, with a golden shoe in his hands.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Keep Myself Busy

AMONG the things that I brought from the ship there were several which I have not told you about. I will name them now.

First I got from the captain's desk some pens, ink, and paper. These were afterward a great comfort to me, as you shall learn.

There were some charts and compasses, and three or four books on navigation. These I threw in a corner, for I did not think I should ever need them.

Among my own things there were three very old Bibles, which I had bought in England and had packed with my clothing.

And I must not forget the dog and two cats that came to shore with me. I carried both the cats on my raft with my first cargo.

As for the dog, he jumped off the wreck and swam to the shore. He was my best friend for a long time. He followed me everywhere. He would run and fetch things to me as I bade him. I wanted him to talk to me, but this he could not do.

As for my pens, ink, and paper, I took the greatest care of them. As long as my ink lasted, I wrote down everything that happened to me.

But when that was gone, I could write no more for I did not know how to make ink.

I soon found that I needed many things to make me comfortable.

First, I wanted a chair and a table; for without them I must live like a savage.

So I set to work. I had never handled a tool in my life. But I had a saw, an ax, and several, hatchets; and I soon learned to use them all.

If I wanted a board, I had to chop down a tree. From the trunk of the tree I cut a log of the length that my board was to be. Then I split the log and hewed it flat till it was as thin as a board.

All this took time and much hard work. But I had nothing else to do.

I made the table and chair out of short pieces of board I had brought from the ship.

Of the large boards which I hewed from trees, I made some wide shelves along the side of my cave or kitchen.

On these shelves I laid my tools, nails, and other things.

I had a place for everything, and kept everything in its place.

My cave looked like some stores you have seen where a little of everything is kept for sale.

From time to time I made many useful things.

From a piece of hard wood that I cut in the forest I made a spade to dig with. The handle I shaped just like the handles you buy at the stores. But the shovel part was of wood and would not last long.

While I was digging my cave, I found it very hard work to carry the earth and small stones away. I needed a wheelbarrow very much.

I could make the frame part of this, but I did not know how to make the wheel. I worked four days at it, and then had to give it up.

At last I made me a kind of hod, like that which masons use. It was better than a basket and almost as good as a wheelbarrow.

 

Kate Greenaway

The Four Princesses

Four Princesses lived in a Green Tower— A bright green tower in the middle of the sea; And no one could think—oh, no one could think— Who the Four Princesses could be. One looked to the North, and one to the South, And one to the East, and one to the West; They were all so pretty, so very pretty, You could not tell which was the prettiest. Their curls were golden—their eyes were blue, And their voices were sweet as a silvery bell; And four white birds around them flew, But where they came from—who  could tell? Ah, who could tell? for no one knew, And not a word could you hear them say. But the sound of their singing, like church bells ringing, Would sweetly float as they passed away. For under the sun, and under the stars, They often sailed on the distant sea; There, in their Green Tower and Roses Bower— They lived again—a mystery.

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

A New Rome

"Till truer glory replaces all glory, As the torch grows blind at the dawn of day." —Mrs Browning.

O VER two thousand five hundred years ago a little fleet of galleys toiled painfully against the current up the long strait of the Hellespont, rowed across the Sea of Marmora, and anchored in the smooth waters of the first inlet which cuts into the European shore of the Bosphorus. Here a long crescent-shaped creek, which after ages were to call the Golden Horn, strikes inland for seven miles, forming a quiet backwater from the rapid stream running outside. On this headland a few colonists landed, and dragged their ships up on the beach.

These colonists were Greeks, and their colony, known as Byzantium, is now our Constantinople. The Black Sea, which washes its shores, had ever been regarded as a region of fable and mystery. Here was the realm of the Golden Fleece; here the old Argonauts had encountered the fierce north wind which had made them give this part the name of Inhospitable, until a later race renamed it Hospitable from its friendly port. It was in the same spirit that the seamen who ventured south, two thousand years later, turned the name of the "Cape of Storms" into that of the "Cape of Good Hope."

From the very first this colony of Byzantium was a success. One of the strongest fortresses in the Eastern world, it was here that the emperor of the East made his last stand against his brother-in-law Constantine, emperor of the West. Here Constantine besieged him till the city surrendered, and the Roman emperor stood a victor on the ramparts which were ever afterwards to bear his name. He knew the old city well, every inch of it; and he now determined to make it into a new Rome, a new capital for the great Empire over which he now ruled supreme—a new centre for Christianity. The limits of the new city were at once marked out. The emperor, says an old story, marched on foot, followed by all his court, and traced with his spear the line where the new forts were to be built. As he paced farther and farther westward along the shore of the Golden Horn, more than two miles from the old gates, his attendants grew more and more surprised at the vastness of his scheme. At last they spoke, and reminded him that the city was already large enough. But Constantine turned to rebuke them.

"I shall go on," he said, "until he, the Invisible Guide who marches before me, thinks fit to stop."

It was perhaps natural that Constantine should wish the new city to be built as much as possible on the lines of the old capital away on the river Tiber. It must have a forum, a circus, and baths. It was said that every rich city in the world was stripped bare to adorn the new capital, but all the efforts of Constantine failed to make of Constantinople a second Rome. The golden milestone marking the central point of the world was here; here was the Imperial palace; a lighthouse lit up ships in the Bosphorus at night,—all was as complete as human hands could make it.

There is an old story which tells how Constantine managed to attract some of the rich and powerful Romans to live in the new city. When he began to build, he sent twelve rich Romans on an embassy to Persia. At the end of sixteen months they returned to report to the emperor. He invited them to dine with him in his new capital. In the course of conversation he asked them when they intended returning to their palaces and families in Rome.

"Not for some weeks," they replied.

"You will find yourselves there this evening," said the Emperor.

Dinner over, each was conducted by an imperial servant to a palace built exactly like his own in Rome, and on entering each found his room filled with his own furniture, while his wife and family came forward to welcome him home.

The city was dedicated on May 11th, 330, celebrated after the Roman fashion by a great festival, with games which lasted forty days.

Seven years later Constantine the Great died in his capital.

His work was done. He had lived to see the heathen empire of Rome changed to the Christian empire of Constantinople through his own energy and power; he had changed the very seat of the world's government; he had made Christianity the state religion, and stopped the persecutions which had tarnished the reigns of his forerunners.

For the proud city on the river Tiber the sun was already setting. High had been the glory of her noon-day, dark was the shadow of her night.

"She sees, she hears, with soul unstirred, And lifts no hand and speaks no word."

 

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

Orpheus and Eurydice

O NCE on a spring morning, Orpheus sat on a hilltop high above the world, singing and playing his lute. He sang of the spring flowers and the south wind in the trees. He made rippling melodies that sounded like the waters of fountains and tiny streams. But above all these he sang of Eurydice and his love for her.

As he played, the tall treetops bowed their heads to listen, and daffodils raised their budded stems and opened wide to hear him.

Pan and all the satyrs came running and leaping through the woods. The centaurs, who were half man and half horse, smiled to hear the music. They thought such things as mortals do in spring time, although their four feet tingled with the happiness which horses feel when they gallop over the green grass in April.

The nymphs wakened in wooded bowers and, fastening their tunics on their shoulders, hurried out to listen.

Eurydice herself opened her eyes and thought sweetly, "It is Orpheus." She dressed, and twined a garland in her hair, then ran toward the hilltop where he sang.

From all sides came birds and nymphs, fauns and dryads, all hurrying toward Orpheus. Little spotted snakes crawled up from their homes in the ground and wriggled through the grass. The tiny orange-colored serpent, whose bite means death, rose also and lifted his head to listen.

Now Aristaeus, the keeper of bees, came running. His garden lay far away from the hill, but he had heard the faint echo of Orpheus' lute.

He saw Eurydice and called to her to wait for him, but she ran on. Aristaeus tried to overtake her, but Eurydice ran more rapidly than ever. She did not want to talk to Aristaeus, but cared only to find Orpheus and sit beside him as he played.

She turned back to look at Aristaeus as he followed. At that moment she set her foot on the poisonous serpent which wriggled across her path. A fiery tongue darted out and struck Eurydice's heel, and she fell to the grass.

As Aristaeus drew nearer, he saw the earth opened. He saw the river Styx, and heard the far-off barking of Cerberus. Charon, the hoary boatman, waited to row her across.

Eurydice floated away. Still looking back toward the hill where Orpheus played, she put her hand in Charon's and disappeared across the dark water into the realm of Erebus.

On the hilltop Orpheus sang and watched for Eurydice, wondering why she did not come. Every other nymph and dryad, and indeed all the living things of the forest, had gathered to listen, except Eurydice, his beloved. At length he saw Aristaeus come stumbling and weeping up the hillside.

"Eurydice is dead," said Aristaeus, "and gone with Charon across the river."

"Then I will follow," said Orpheus.

He touched his lute, and at the sound of his music sadness swept over the earth. The centaurs wept and walked away. The animals of the forest slunk back to their dens. The nymphs and dryads threw themselves on the grass and mourned. The rocks shed tears, and the earth, hearing the sad music, opened the same crevice through which Eurydice had passed and allowed Orpheus to follow.

Orpheus touched his lute, and sadness swept over the earth.

At the sound of his lute, Charon came ferrying back over the water and rowed Orpheus across to the land of the shades. Cerberus ceased his barking and lay down as Orpheus passed.

Through the long avenues under the earth and through the great caverns of Erebus he wandered, seeking Eurydice and playing on his lute. Never before had such sounds stolen through the quiet kingdom of Pluto. The shades forgot their drowsy sadness and came thronging to hear.

Through the long avenues under the earth wandered Orpheus.

Again they remembered the earth, and the sunshine and rain, and the sadness of loving.

Passing through crowds of ghosts, Orpheus came to the throne of Pluto and Proserpina, and sang of his sorrow:

"O gods of the underworld, to whom all who live must come, hear my words. I am Orpheus, son of Apollo, and I seek my beloved, Eurydice. Let me lead her to the earth, or I myself will remain here, for I cannot return alone."

As his fingers strayed over the lute strings, such sorrowful music spread through Erebus that the shades began to weep. The daughters of Danaus rested from their task of drawing water in a sieve. Tantalus, who was doomed to eternal thirst, for a moment forgot his misery and listened to the song of Orpheus. For the first time, the cheeks of the Furies were wet with tears.

Proserpina's heart was filled with pity, and Pluto himself could not resist Orpheus' prayer. They sent for Eurydice, who was in a distant cavern with the newly arrived shades.

Past the dark lakes and under arches of hanging crystals she came, trying to find her way toward the music which she heard from far off.

Past the dark lakes and under arches of crystals came Eurydice.

Orpheus was allowed to take her away with him, but Pluto warned him that he must not look at her or speak to her until they reached the upper air. So Orpheus went ahead, and Eurydice followed close behind him.

Orpheus was allowed to take Eurydice away, but he must not look at her or speak to her until they reached the upper air.

Through dark passages and by the shores of many lakes they hurried without a word, until they reached the banks of the river Styx. Here the aged boatman ferried them across. Now they ran more swiftly than before in their eagerness to reach the open air.

When they had come nearly to the entrance, Orpheus felt a terrible fear that Eurydice might not be following. Forgetting the warning of Pluto, he turned and saw her lovely face smiling at him. Then instantly, with a cry of farewell, Eurydice was borne away.

Their arms reached toward each other, but embraced only the empty air. Orpheus could hear the faint sweet call of her voice as she vanished forever into the depths of Erebus.

He would have turned back and followed her, but Charon would not row him across the Styx.

For seven whole days Orpheus waited, pleading with Charon, but the grim boatman still refused. Though Orpheus played on his lute, and moved oaks and mountains with the power of his music, he could not prevail upon the gods of Erebus again, nor could he enter the dark kingdom a second time.

The rest of his life he lived in sadness and loneliness, only waiting for the time when he might die and join Eurydice.

At last death came to Orpheus. Charon ferried him across the river Styx to where Eurydice awaited him. Nor were they ever separated again, but hand in hand roamed forever through the shadowy land of Erebus.

 

Walter de la Mare

Tom's Little Dog

Tom told his dog called Tim to beg, And up at once he sat, His two clear amber eyes fixed fast, His haunches on his mat.Tom poised a lump of sugar on His nose; then, "Trust!" says he; Stiff as a guardsman sat his Tim; Never a hair stirred he. "Paid for!" says Tom; and in a trice Up jerked that moist black nose; A snap of teeth, a crunch, a munch, And down the sugar goes!

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Elizabeth Ann Fails in an Examination

Part 1 of 3

I wonder if you can guess the name of a little girl who, about a month after this, was walking along through the melting snow in the woods with a big black dog running circles around her. Yes, all alone in the woods with a terrible great dog beside her, and yet not a bit afraid. You don't suppose it could be Elizabeth Ann? Well, whoever she was, she had something on her mind, for she walked more and more slowly and had only a very absent-minded pat for the dog's head when he thrust it up for a caress. When the wood road led into a clearing in which there was a rough little house of slabs, the child stopped altogether, and, looking down, began nervously to draw lines in the snow with her overshoe.

You see, something perfectly dreadful had happened in school that day. The Superintendent, the all-important, seldom-seen Superintendent, came to visit the school and the children were given some examinations so he could see how they were getting on.

Now, you know what an examination did to Elizabeth Ann. Or haven't I told you yet?

Well, if I haven't, it's because words fail me. If there is anything horrid that an examination didn't  do to Elizabeth Ann, I have yet to hear of it. It began years ago, before ever she went to school, when she heard Aunt Frances talking about how she  had dreaded examinations when she was a child, and how they dried up her mouth and made her ears ring and her head ache and her knees get all weak and her mind a perfect blank, so that she didn't know what two and two made. Of course Elizabeth Ann didn't feel all  those things right off at her first examination, but by the time she had had several and had rushed to tell Aunt Frances about how awful they were and the two of them had sympathized with one another and compared symptoms and then wept about her resulting low marks, why, she not only had all the symptoms Aunt Frances had ever had, but a good many more of her own invention.

Well, she had had them all and had them hard this afternoon, when the Superintendent was there. Her mouth had gone dry and her knees had shaken and her elbows had felt as though they had no more bones in them than so much jelly, and her eyes had smarted, and oh, what answers she had made! That dreadful tight panic had clutched at her throat whenever the Superintendent had looked at her, and she had disgraced herself ten times over. She went hot and cold to think of it, and felt quite sick with hurt vanity. She who did so well every day and was so much looked up to by her classmates, what must  they be thinking of her! To tell the truth, she had been crying as she walked along through the woods, because she was so sorry for herself. Her eyes were all red still, and her throat sore from the big lump in it.

And now she would live it all over again as she told the Putney cousins. For of course they must be told. She had always told Aunt Frances everything that had happened in school. It happened that Aunt Abigail had been taking a nap when she got home from school, and so she had come out to the sap-house, where Cousin Ann and Uncle Henry were making syrup, to have it over with as soon as possible. She went up to the little slab house now, dragging her feet and hanging her head, and opened the door.

Cousin Ann, in a very short old skirt and a man's coat and high rubber boots, was just poking some more wood into the big fire which blazed furiously under the broad, flat pan where the sap was boiling. The rough, brown hut was filled with white steam and that sweetest of all odors, hot maple syrup. Cousin Ann turned her head, her face very red with the heat of the fire, and nodded at the child.

"Hello, Betsy, you're just in time. I've saved out a cupful of hot syrup for you, all ready to wax."

Betsy hardly heard this, although she had been wild about waxed sugar on snow ever since her very first taste of it. "Cousin Ann," she said unhappily, "the Superintendent visited our school this afternoon."

"Did he?" said Cousin Ann, dipping a thermometer into the boiling syrup.

"Yes, and we had examinations!"  said Betsy.

"Did you?" said Cousin Ann, holding the thermometer up to the light and looking at it.

"And you know how perfectly awful examinations make you feel," said Betsy, very near to tears again.

"Why, no," said Cousin Ann, sorting over syrup tins. "They never made me feel awful. I thought they were sort of fun."

"Fun!"  cried Betsy, indignantly, staring through the beginnings of her tears.

"Why, yes. Like taking a dare, don't you know. Somebody stumps you to jump off the hitching-post, and you do it to show 'em. I always used to think examinations were like that. Somebody stumps you to spell 'pneumonia,' and you do it to show 'em. Here's your cup of syrup. You'd better go right out and wax it while it's hot."

Elizabeth Ann automatically took the cup in her hand, but she did not look at it. "But supposing you get so scared you can't spell 'pneumonia' or anything else!" she said feelingly. "That's what happened to me. You know how your mouth gets all dry and your knees . . . " She stopped. Cousin Ann had said she did not  know all about those things. "Well, anyhow, I got so scared I could hardly stand up!  And I made the most awful mistakes—things I know just as well!  I spelled 'doubt' without any b and 'separate' with an e, and I said Iowa was bounded on the north by Wisconsin,  and I . . . "

"Oh, well," said Cousin Ann, "it doesn't matter if you really know the right answers, does it? That's the important thing."

This was an idea which had never in all her life entered Betsy's brain and she did not take it in at all now. She only shook her head miserably and went on in a doleful tone. "And I said 13 and 8 are 22!  and I wrote March without any capital M, and I . . . "

"Look here, Betsy, do you want  to tell me all this?" Cousin Ann spoke in this quick, ringing voice she had once in a while which made everybody, from old Shep up, open his eyes and get his wits about him. Betsy gathered hers and thought hard; and she came to an unexpected conclusion. No, she didn't really want to tell Cousin Ann all about it. Why was she doing it? Because she thought that was the thing to do. "Because if you don't really want to," went on Cousin Ann, "I don't see that it's doing anybody any good. I guess Hemlock Mountain will stand right there just the same even if you did forget to put a b in 'doubt.' And your syrup will be too cool to wax right if you don't take it out pretty soon."

She turned back to stoke the fire, and Elizabeth Ann, in a daze, found herself walking out of the door. It fell shut after her, and there she was under the clear, pale-blue sky, with the sun just hovering over the rim of Hemlock Mountain. She looked up at the big mountains, all blue and silver with shadows and snow, and wondered what in the world Cousin Ann had meant. Of course Hemlock Mountain would stand there just the same. But what of it? What did that have to do with her arithmetic, with anything? She had failed in her examination, hadn't she?

 

The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

Old Granny Fox Loses Her Dignity

U NC' BILLY POSSUM had passed the word along to Jimmy Skunk, Peter Rabbit, and Prickly Porky that old Granny Fox would be on hand at sun-up to see for herself the strange creature which had frightened Reddy Fox at the foot of the hill where Prickly Porky lives. How did Unc' Billy know? Well, he just guessed. He is quite as shrewd and clever as Granny Fox herself, and when he told her that the only time the strange creature everybody was talking about was seen was at sun-up, he guessed by the very way she sniffed and pretended not to believe it at all that she would visit Prickly Porky's hill the next morning.

"The ol' lady suspects that there is some trick, and we-uns have got to be very careful," warned Unc' Billy, as he and his three friends put their heads together in the early evening. "She is done bound to come snooping around before sun-up," he continued, "and we-uns must be out of sight, all excepting Brer Porky. She'll come just the way she did this afternoon,—from back of the hill instead of along the holler."

Unc' Billy was quite right. Old Granny Fox felt very sure that some one was playing tricks, so she didn't wait until jolly, round, red Mr. Sun was out of bed. She was at the top of the hill where Prickly Porky lives a full hour before sun-up, and there she sat down to wait. She couldn't see or hear anything in the least suspicious. You see, Unc' Billy Possum was quite out of sight, as he sat in the thickest part of a hemlock-tree, and Peter Rabbit was sitting perfectly still in a hollow log, and Jimmy Skunk wasn't showing so much as the tip of his nose, as he lay just inside the doorway of an old house under the roots of a big stump. Only Prickly Porky was to be seen, and he seemed to be asleep in his favorite tree. Everything seemed to be just as old Granny Fox had seen it a hundred times before.

At last the Jolly Little Sunbeams began to dance through the Green Forest, chasing out the Black Shadows. Redeye the Vireo awoke and at once began to sing, as is his way, not even waiting to get a mouthful of breakfast. Prickly Porky yawned and grunted. Then he climbed down from the tree he had been sitting in, walked slowly over to another, started to climb it, changed his mind, and began to poke around in the dead leaves. Old Granny Fox arose and slowly stretched. She glanced at Prickly Porky contemptuously. She had seen him act in this stupid, uncertain way dozens of times before. Then slowly, watching out sharply on both sides of her, without appearing to do so, she walked down the hill to the hollow at the foot.

Now old Granny Fox can be very dignified when she wants to be, and she was now. She didn't hurry the least little bit. She carried her big, plumey tail just so. And she didn't once look behind her, for she felt sure that there was nothing out of the way there, and to have done so would have been quite undignified. She had reached the bottom of the hill and was walking along the hollow, smiling to herself to think how easily some people are frightened, when her sharp ears caught a sound on the hill behind her. She turned like a flash and then—well, for a minute old Granny Fox was too surprised to do anything but stare. There, rolling down the hill straight towards her, was the very thing Reddy had told her about.

At first Granny decided to stay right where she was and find out what this thing was, but the nearer it got, the stranger and more terrible it seemed. It was just a great ball all covered with dried leaves, and yet somehow Granny felt sure that it was alive, although she could see no head or tail or legs. The nearer it got, the stranger and more terrible it seemed. Then Granny forgot her dignity. Yes, Sir, she forgot her dignity. In fact, she quite lost it altogether. Granny Fox ran just as Reddy had run!

 

Emily Huntington Miller

The Bluebird

I know the song that the bluebird is singing, Up in the apple tree, where he is swinging. Brave little fellow! the skies may look dreary, Nothing cares he while his heart is so cheery. Hark! how the music leaps out from his throat! Hark! was there ever so merry a note? Listen awhile, and you'll hear what he's saying, Up in the apple tree, swinging and swaying. "Dear little blossoms, down under the snow, You must be weary of winter, I know; Hark! while I sing you a message of cheer, Summer is coming and springtime is here! "Little white snowdrop, I pray you arise; Bright yellow crocus, come, open your eyes; Sweet little violets hid from the cold, Put on your mantle of purple and gold; Daffodils, daffodils! Say, do you hear? Summer is coming, and springtime is here!"

 

In God's Garden  by Amy Steedman

Saint Catherine of Siena

As the years pass by Father Time makes many changes in the busy town and quiet country, but there are some places he seems to have forgotten or passed over so lightly that they look very much the same to-day as they did hundreds of years ago.

One of these places, which Time has dealt so gently with, is in the heart of Italy, built high upon a hill. It is a town whose towers and palaces and steep, narrow streets are little changed from what they were five hundred and more years ago, when Catherine, the saint of Siena, was born there.

To-day if you climb the steep winding road that leads up to the city, and make your way through the gates and along the steepest of the narrow streets, you will come to a house with a motto written over the door in golden letters—"Sposæ Christi Katharinæ domus," which means "The house of Katherine, the bride of Christ." And if you go in you will see the very room where Saint Catherine used to live, the bed of planks on which she slept, her little chapel, and the rooms which her brothers and sisters used.

It all looks just as it did when Benincasa, the dyer of Siena, lived there with his wife Lapa. They had more than twenty children, but each one was welcome, and when at last Catherine and a twin sister were born, there still did not seem one too many. The little sister lived only a few days, and perhaps that made the parents love Catherine all the more, and it was not only her own family who loved her. She was the favourite of all the neighbours, and however busy they were they would always find time to stop and talk to her as they passed. It was not that she was very beautiful, or even very clever, but she had a way of making every one feel happy when she was near them, and she had the sunniest smile that ever dimpled a baby's face. It was like a sunbeam, lighting up everything near it, and it shone in her eyes as well, so that ere long the people found a new name for her, and called her "Joy" instead of Catherine.

As soon as she could walk alone, Catherine would wander away, sure of a welcome at every house, and though at first when the other children cried, "The baby is lost again!" the mother would be anxious, she soon ceased to mind, and only said, "She is sure to be safe somewhere."

And safe she always was, for every one would stop work to look after her as she toddled along, and wherever she went Joy carried the sunshine with her.

It happened that one afternoon when Catherine was about six years old, her mother sent her and an elder brother, Stephen, to carry a message to a house some way off. It was a beautiful evening, and as the children went hand in hand down the steep street and up the hill towards the great church of Saint Dominic, Catherine stopped a moment to look at the sunset. She always loved beautiful colours, and to-night the little fleecy clouds were all touched with crimson and gold, like fairy islands in a pale green sea, more beautiful than anything she had ever seen.

Stephen did not care for sunsets. He was much more anxious to be home in time for supper, so he ran on alone, calling to Catherine to follow quickly.

Catherine did not seem to hear his voice or to notice that he was gone, but stood there with eyes fixed on the sunset, her face shining, and her hair like a halo of gold round her head.

It was not the evening sky she was looking at, but a vision of heavenly beauty. For there among the rose-pink clouds she saw the Madonna seated upon a throne and holding in her arms the infant Christ. It was no longer the poor Madonna of the stable, but the Queen of Heaven, her dazzling robe blue as the summer sky, and a jewelled crown upon her head. Only the same sweet mother-look was there as when she bent over the manger-bed. There are no words to tell of the beauty of the Christ-child's face. Catherine only knew that as He looked at her He smiled and held up His little hand as if in blessing, and that smile drew her heart to His feet.

Then suddenly Catherine's arm was roughly shaken and her brother asked her impatiently at what she was gazing.

"O Stephen," she cried, "did you not see it too? Look!"

But the vision had faded, and the grey twilight closed in upon the two little figures as they went slowly home, the boy vexed with his loitering sister, and she sobbing with disappointment to think that the window in heaven was shut, and that she might never again look within.

As Catherine grew older, she never forgot the vision she had seen, or how the hand of the Christ-child had been stretched out to bless her. And it made her think often how she could best please Him, so that some day He might smile on her again.

Catherine had heard a great deal about the good men who went to live in deserts to be alone with God,—how they lived in caves and had scarcely anything to eat, and how God would sometimes send the ravens to bring them food. Now she was always fond of wandering, and the idea of living in a desert seemed a beautiful way of serving Christ. She had never gone beyond the walls of the town, and all outside was a new world to her; so she was sure if only she could pass through the city gates, she would soon find her way to the desert, where there would certainly be a cave ready for her to live in.

So one day Catherine set out very early in the morning, carrying in her pocket a small loaf of bread, just in case the ravens should forget to come to a little girl-hermit.

In those days it was not safe to live outside the city walls, and there were no farms nor houses to be seen as Catherine slipped through the gates and began to find her way down the hillside, among tangled briars and over rough stones. Soon her feet grew very tired, and everything looked so forlorn and wild that she was sure this must be the desert at last, and there, too, was a little cave in the rocks waiting all ready for her.

It was very nice to creep in and out of the hot sunshine into the cool shade, and to rest until the sun went down. But as night came on and she knelt to say her evening prayer, she began to think of home, and the kind mother waiting there, and she knew she had done wrong to come away, even though she had meant to serve God.

Very quickly she left her cave, and as she ran home her feet seemed to fly over the ground. The desert had not been so very far away after all, and she reached the house before her mother had begun to grow anxious, but she never again wandered away to live a hermit's life.

As Catherine grew older she loved to listen to the stories of the saints, and there was one she was never tired of hearing. It was the life of Saint Catherine of Alexandria, the saint whose name she bore.

This young queen was said to be the wisest and noblest of all the saints, and when her courtiers wished her to marry, she said she would only marry a prince who was perfect in every way. Such a prince was of course impossible to find, but one night a poor old hermit had a vision in which the Madonna came to him and told him that our Blessed Lord, the only perfect Man, would accept the love of the young queen's heart and the service of her hands. And when the queen knew this her joy was great, and that very night the Virgin mother came to her in a cloud of glory surrounded by angels bearing crowns of lilies, and in her arms was the Holy Child, who smiled on the queen and placed a ring upon her finger, as a sign that she belonged to Him.

The more Catherine thought about this story the more she longed that Christ would accept her heart and service too. And one night in a dream He seemed to come to her, just as He had come to the other Catherine, placing a ring upon her finger and bidding her remember that now she had given her heart to Him.

Thus it was a great trouble to Catherine when she was told by her parents soon after this that she was old enough to begin to think of marriage. She said she did not wish to marry at all. But this only made her parents angry with her, especially when one day they found she had cut off all her beautiful golden hair, thinking to make herself so ugly that no one would want her for his wife.

"Very well," said her father, "if thou wilt not marry as I bid thee, then shalt thou do the housework and be our servant."

He expected this would be a great punishment, but Catherine was glad to have hard work to do, and did it so well and cheerfully that her father began to feel his anger melt away. Then it happened one day that in passing her room he looked in, and there he saw her kneeling with clasped hands and upturned face, and eyes in which the peace of heaven shone, while around her head was a bright light that took the form of a snow-white dove resting there.

From that moment he ceased to be angry with Catherine, and said all should be as she wished, for surely the dove was a sign that God accepted her prayers and approved of what she did.

So she was allowed to have a little room which she made into a chapel where she could be alone to think and to pray. She wanted to learn to conquer herself before she could serve Christ in the world, and for three years she lived almost entirely alone, praying in the little chapel, struggling to overcome her faults and to grow strong to resist temptation.

But in spite of all her struggles evil thoughts would come into her heart, and it seemed impossible to keep them out. It was easy to do right things, but so terribly difficult to think only pure and good thoughts. She knew that Satan sent the wicked thoughts into her heart, but the hardest trial of all was that Christ seemed to have left her to fight alone—He seemed so very far away.

At last one night, as she lay sobbing in despair, suddenly the evil thoughts left her, and instead she felt that Christ was near and that He bent tenderly over her.

"Why, oh why didst Thou leave me so long, dear Lord?" she cried.

"I never left thee," His voice said quietly.

"But where wert Thou, Lord, when all was so dark and evil?" she humbly asked.

"I was in thy heart," replied the voice; "didst thou not hate the evil thoughts? if I had not been there thou wouldst not have felt how black they were, but because I was in the midst they seemed to thee most evil, and thus I gave thee strength to cast them out."

So Catherine's heart was filled with peace, and she learned to love Christ more and more, and to deny herself in every way, sleeping on bare planks with a log for her pillow, and eating the things she cared for least.

It was not that she thought these things good in themselves, but she felt she must use every means to make her heart pure and fit to serve her Master.

And before very long Christ spoke to her again in the stillness of the night, and told her she had lived long enough alone, that it was time now to go out into the world and help other people to grow good too.

When Catherine thought of the busy, noisy life which other people led, compared to the quiet peacefulness of her little cell and chapel, she was very sad, and thought she had offended God that He was sending her away from Him to mix with the world again. But His voice sounded in her ears once more, and told her it was not to separate her from Himself that He sent her out, but that she should learn to help others.

"Thou knowest that love giveth two commandments—to love Me, and to love thy neighbour. I desire that thou shouldst walk not on one but two feet, and fly to heaven on two wings."

So Christ spoke to her, and Catherine with fearful heart prepared to obey, only praying that He would give her strength to do His will. And after that her life was spent in doing good to others.

The smile that used to lighten her face when she was a little child had still the power of bringing peace and gladness to all, as she went amongst the poor, nursing the sick, helping every one in trouble, and teaching people more by her life than her words to love God.

And as, when she was a baby, they called her Joy, so now again they found a new name for her, and she was known as "the child of the people." In every kind of trouble they came to her, even asking her to settle their quarrels, so that she was the peacemaker as well as the helper of the whole town.

There was one special reason why people loved Catherine, and that was because she always saw the best that was in them. She knew there was good in every one, no matter how it was dimmed or hidden by the evil that wrapped it round. Where other eyes saw only evil temper or wicked spite, she looked beyond until she found some good that she could love. Every day she prayed to God that He would help her to see the beauty in each soul, so that she might help it to get rid of the sin that dimmed its beauty. And so, because she looked for good in every one, all showed her what was best in themselves, and for very shame would strive to be all that she thought them.

Catherine had joined the Dominican sisterhood and wore the white robe and black veil, but she did not live in a convent as other sisters did. Every morning when the sun began to gild the towers and roofs of the city, passers-by would see her leave her home and walk up the steep street towards the church of Saint Dominic where she always went to early mass.

Strangers must have wondered when they saw the men uncover their heads as she passed, as if she had been a queen instead of a poor sister clad in a coarse white robe and black veil. But if they had caught sight of her face perhaps they would have understood, for her eyes seemed as if they were looking into heaven, and the holy peace that shone in her smile made men feel that she lived in the very presence of God.

One morning as she was going to church as usual in the first light of dawn, her thoughts far away and her lips moving in prayer, she was startled by the touch of a hand upon her robe and the sound of a voice asking for help. She turned to look and saw a poor man leaning against the wall, haggard and pale, and so weak that he could scarcely stand.

"What dost thou want of me?" asked Catherine pitifully.

"I only ask a little help for my journey," the poor man said; "my home is far from here, and the fever laid its hand upon me as I worked to provide bread for those I love. So I pray thee, lady, give me a little money that I may buy food to strengthen me before I start."

"I would gladly help thee," answered Catherine most sorrowfully, "but I am not a lady, only a poor sister, and I have no money of my own to give."

She turned as if to go on, but the eager hand still held her cloak and the man begged once more.

"For Christ's sake help me, for indeed I need thy help most sorely."

Then Catherine stood still. She felt she could not leave him so. There was nothing at home she could part with, for that very morning she had given away all the food that was in the house. Her father and mother were good and kind, but she must not give away the things they needed. Sorrowful and perplexed, her hand felt for the rosary which hung at her side, for in every trouble she ever turned in prayer to her dear Lord. Then as her fingers touched the beads, she suddenly remembered that here was at least one thing which was her very own—a small silver crucifix which she had had since she was a child, and which she had touched so often as she prayed that it was worn smooth and thin.

Still it was silver and would buy the sick man a meal, and she quickly unfastened it from the rosary and put it into his hand. The man's blessings followed her as she went, and though she had parted with the thing she loved best, she counted the blessings more precious than the gift.

And as she knelt in the dim church, after the mass was over, God sent a heavenly vision to reward His servant.

Catherine thought she stood in a great hall filled with things more beautiful than words can tell, and in the midst stood our Blessed Lord, holding in His hand the most beautiful thing of all—a cross of beaten gold, set with jewels of every hue sparkling so brightly that it almost dazzled Catherine's eyes as she looked.

"Dost thou see these shining gifts," He asked, "and wouldst thou know whence they came? They are the noble deeds which men have done for My sake."

And Catherine kneeling there with her empty hands could only bow her head and say: "Lord, I am only a poor sister, as Thou knowest, and have nought to give Thee. The service I can offer could not find a place among these glorious gifts."

Then it seemed as if Christ smiled upon her, and holding out the golden cross He asked: "Hast thou not seen this cross before, Catherine?"

"No, Lord," she answered, wondering, "never before have mine eyes beheld anything so lovely."

But as she gazed upon it, her heart was filled with a sudden gladness, for in the midst of the gold and jewels, in the heart of the glorious light, she saw the little worn silver crucifix which she had given to the poor man that morning for the love of Christ.

And as the vision faded there rang in her ears the words she knew so well: "Inasmuch as ye did it unto one of the least of these My brethren, ye did it unto Me."

As time went on the fame of Catherine spread to other towns, outside Siena, and when there were disputes between the great cities of Italy they would send for Catherine, and beg her to act as peacemaker, and she helped them all just as she did her own poor people of Siena. Even the Pope came to her for advice.

In the midst of all this busy life Catherine fell ill. Her love for Christ was so real, and her sorrow for His sufferings so great, that she prayed that she might bear the pain that He had borne. We do not know how our Lord granted her request, but in her hands and feet and side appeared the marks of nails and spear.

All her sufferings she bore most patiently, but her heart was glad when the end came.

The same vision that had smiled on her that summer evening when she was a child, appeared in the sunset sky again, this time never to fade away, as Catherine, the bride of Christ, was led by the white-robed angels up to the throne of our Lord.

 

The Sandman: His Ship Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Deserted Ship 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 the far country and she was bound for Boston; for Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob had moved their office to Boston, and their ships all sailed from Boston and they did not go to that little city at all. And the Industry  had sailed around the end of the country where the monkeys live and into another great ocean. And she had sailed up through that ocean and through the Doldrums, where it is apt to be calm and where it rains a great deal, and she had got into the Trade Winds. And on the Industry  were Captain Solomon and little Sol and little Jacob and a sailor named Ephraim and a sailor who had stowed away when the ship left the far country. But the stowaway had done so well and he had shown himself such a smart sailor that Captain Solomon liked him very much. And because Captain Solomon had treated him fairly and had given him a passage to Boston and had not punished him for stowing away, the stowaway was devoted to Captain Solomon and would do anything for him that he could do.

And, one morning when they were sailing along at a great rate, and had every sail set that the ship could set, suddenly the lookout in the crosstrees called out:

"Sail, O!" he cried.

"Well!" said Captain Solomon. "Where away?" And he grumbled a little, for the Industry  was sailing so well that he didn't want to stop or go out of his course for any ship.

"Couple of points on the weather bow," answered the sailor. "She's acting queer, sir. I can't make out what she's up to."

Captain Solomon kept on grumbling while he got out the glass and looked through it. And he could just see the upper sails of the ship, and they seemed to be flapping or blowing out in the wind, and the ship didn't keep on any course, but sailed this way and that, as though there was nobody steering her. But she was so far off that Captain Solomon couldn't make out what was the matter.

Captain Solomon sighed and grumbled more than ever, for he knew that he ought to see what was the matter. So he turned to the mate.

"Better bear up for her," he said. "It's hard luck, but we've got to see what's wrong."

So they changed the course of the Industry  until she was headed right for the ship, and the sailors hauled on the bowlines to make the sails catch the wind better, and they began to come nearer. And Captain Solomon kept looking through the long glass, and the mate got a shorter glass, and he looked through that, and all the sailors looked, as soon as they had finished hauling on the bowlines, and, altogether, there was a good deal of excitement. For, when a ship is sailing in the Trade Winds, there is very little for the sailors to do, and they can't always be swabbing down the decks or tarring the ropes, which was what the mate made them do, to keep them busy. So anything unusual is a diversion, and a cause of excitement.

So they changed the course of the Industry.

And, the nearer they came to the ship, the more puzzled Captain Solomon and the mate and all the sailors were. And after a time they were near enough to see the deck, and they couldn't see any men on her, but they could see that her topsails were all torn to ribbons and some other sails had been blown away and left a remnant or two fluttering from the yards. But her masts were standing, and all her yards and spars seemed to be all right. Captain Solomon knew well enough that she had been through a great storm, somewhere, and all the sailors knew it, too. But he didn't know where her crew could be.

So the Industry  was brought around to windward of the ship, and as close as Captain Solomon dared to go, and her yards were swung around so that she wouldn't go ahead. And Captain Solomon hailed the ship, but there wasn't any answer, and he didn't expect that there would be. And he got out a boat with sailors to row it and to board the ship, which was hard to do, because she sailed every which way, and she didn't stay put. But the mate managed to get on board of her at last, and the sailors that were with him fixed the yards so that she wouldn't go ahead, and one of the sailors went to the wheel. And the mate and some of the sailors went and looked in the cabin and in the forecastle and in the hold and everywhere there was, but they didn't find any of the crew nor any signs of them. And the ship's boats were gone, and so were the things the captain used for telling where they were, the sextant and the chronometer and the compass. And there wasn't anything fit to eat on the ship, only some old mouldy biscuit and some salt meat that was bad.

He got out a boat with sailors to row it.

So, when he had been everywhere there was, the mate came on deck again and had the sailors try the pumps. And he found that there was only a little water in the ship, just enough to keep her sweet, but the pumps were broken so that they wouldn't work very well. And the mate hailed Captain Solomon and told him what he had found out, and said that the ship had been deserted for a long time, so far as he could tell, and that the crew had taken to the boats and that they had evidently taken with them all the food they could carry and the sextant and the chronometer and the compass. And he hoped that they had been picked up long ago. But the ship was sound and sweet and her spars were all right, and he asked what he should do.

Then Captain Solomon thought he might as well take the ship home and come into Boston with two ships when he had sailed away with only one. So he sent another boat with all the spare sails the Industry  had, and he had the sailors draw lots to see who should go in the ship they had found and who should stay on the Industry. And the sailors who were going on the ship they had found, went off in another boat, and those who were to go on the Industry  stayed on board; but some of the sailors who had gone with the mate had to come back. And Captain Solomon left two boats with the mate, and he sent on board of the ship enough things to eat and enough water to last them until they got into Boston.

Little Sol wanted to go on the ship and little Jacob kind of wanted to go, too; but Captain Solomon wouldn't let them go. And the stowaway was going, and he had been chosen by the mate to act as mate of the ship; for the mate of the Industry  was to be the captain of that ship. And Ephraim was going on the ship, too.

By the time all these things were done it was dark night, and Captain Solomon had promised that he would lie by the ship until morning, and then that he would go under easy sail, so that the ship could keep up with the Industry. For the ship hadn't any sails to speak of, and the sailors would have to fit the spare sails from the Industry  to go on the yards as well as they could, but it wasn't likely that the sails would fit very well, for the ship was bigger than the Industry.

So the Industry  lay by until morning, and then she went under easy sail; but Captain Solomon found that the ship couldn't keep up with him, no matter how little sail he set. So he sent some more men on board the ship, and they were busy all of that day in fitting the sails to the ship; and when that was done, the men came back, and set the topsails on the Industry.

Then the two ships sailed along together. Sometimes Captain Solomon had to set more sails, to keep up, and sometimes he had to take in some sails, so as not to run away from the other vessel. And they had good weather until they were almost into Boston; but then it began to blow. And Captain Solomon kept on as long as he possibly could, and he had sighted land, but it blew so hard that he had to turn around and run for it; for the wind was out of the west, and he didn't dare to try to go into Boston with the wind blowing so hard from the west, for fear that he might wreck the Industry. And he thought that it would be a great pity to run the risk of doing that, right in Boston harbor, when she had been away off to India and got back safely. They didn't have tugboats then.

And the wind blew hard out of the west for two days, and Captain Solomon lost sight of the other ship, and he was driven over three hundred miles away in that two days. And when the wind was light enough, he turned around again, and at last he managed to sail into Boston harbor. But he hadn't seen the other ship in all that time, and he didn't know where it was or whether it had been wrecked or not.

And when the Industry  was sailing into the harbor little Jacob was looking out ahead to see if he could see their wharf and the people on it that he hadn't seen for such a long time. The people that he hoped to see were his mother and his little sister Lois and his grandfather and his father; and he knew perfectly well that there was no reason why they should be there, waiting for him, but still he couldn't help hoping. In those days, there was no way of knowing about a ship that was coming in until she was near enough for somebody to recognize her or her flags. And still little Jacob looked and hoped. And he saw the wharf, and he saw a ship there that had just come in. He knew that it had just come in, for the sailors were just finishing the tying of the ropes that held it to the wharf. Little Sol was beside him and little Jacob spoke to him.

"Say, Sol," said little Jacob, "what ship is that, tying up to our wharf?"

And little Sol looked. "It is," he cried. "It is the ship we found. I must tell father. My! Won't he be mad!"

And little Sol ran to tell Captain Solomon, and Captain Solomon was angry, as little Sol had thought he would be, because the ship had got in ahead of the Industry. But he was glad, too, for he knew that his sailors were all safe.

"Huh!" he growled. "That mate's a smart man, getting in ahead of me!"

And they came nearer to the wharf and little Jacob kept on watching. And pretty soon he saw Captain Jonathan come down on the wharf and then Captain Jacob came. And, by and by, just as they were almost in, there came Lois and little Lois and they were running, for they had been afraid that they might be too late. And they all saw little Jacob, and they waved to him, and they called out, but Lois couldn't call out, for she was crying. And little Jacob was crying, too.

And, at last, the Industry  was fast to the wharf, and the plank was out. And little Jacob would have gone down, but he couldn't for Lois came running up the plank, and behind her was Captain Jonathan with little Lois, and after him came Captain Jacob. And Lois couldn't speak, but she hugged little Jacob hard, and she kissed him over and over again. And then came little Lois, and she kissed little Jacob over and over again, and he kissed her. And Captain Jonathan kissed little Jacob, too, although he was a big boy and didn't generally like to be kissed. And Captain Jacob came, and he shook hands with little Jacob for a long time, and all the time he was smiling. Then Lois kissed little Sol, too, she was so glad. But little Sol didn't mind.

And, at last, Captain Jonathan said that they would all go home, and Captain Solomon could tell them about the voyage some other time. And he asked Captain Solomon to come up to the house and bring little Sol. But Captain Solomon smiled and said that he guessed he wouldn't come up right then.

So Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob and Lois and little Lois and little Jacob all went down the sloping plank, and those five happy people walked to the house in Portland Street. And Lois couldn't let go of little Jacob, but she had her arm around him all the way,

And that's all of this book.

 

Henry C. Bunner

One, Two, Three

It was an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy that was half-past three; And the way that they played together Was beautiful to see. She couldn't go running and jumping, And the boy, no more could he; For he was a thin little fellow, With a thin little twisted knee. They sat in the yellow sunlight, Out under the maple tree; And the game that was played I'll tell you, Just as it was told to me. It was Hide-and-Go-Seek they were playing, Though you'd never have known it to be— With an old, old, old, old lady, And a boy with a twisted knee. The boy would bend his face down On his little sound right knee, And he guessed where she was hiding, In guesses One, Two, Three! "You are in the china closet!" He would cry, and laugh with glee— It wasn't the china closet; But he still had Two and Three. "You are up in papa's big bedroom, In the chest with the queer old key!" And she said: "You are warm  and warmer; But you're not quite right," said she. "It can't be the little cupboard Where Mamma's things used to be— So it must be the clothespress, Gran'ma!" And he found her with his Three. Then she covered her face with her fingers, That were wrinkled and white and wee, And she guessed where the boy was hiding, With a One and a Two and a Three. And they never had stirred from their places, Right under the maple tree— This old, old, old, old lady, And the boy with the lame little knee— This dear, dear, dear old lady, And the boy who was half-past three.