Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio's Nose Grows

A S soon as the three doctors had left the room the Fairy approached Pinocchio, and having touched his forehead she perceived that he was in a high fever that was not to be trifled with.

She therefore dissolved a certain white powder in half a tumbler of water, and offering it to the puppet she said to him lovingly:

"Drink it, and in a few days you will be cured."

Pinocchio looked at the tumbler, made a wry face, and then asked in a plaintive voice:

"Is it sweet or bitter?"

"It is bitter, but it will do you good."

"If it is bitter, I will not take it."

"Listen to me: drink it."

"I don't like anything bitter."

"Drink it, and when you have drunk it I will give you a lump of sugar to take away the taste."

"Where is the lump of sugar?"

"Here it is," said the Fairy, taking a piece from a gold sugar-basin.

"Give me first the lump of sugar, and then I will drink that bad bitter water. . . ."

"Do you promise me?"

"Yes. . . ."

The Fairy gave him the sugar, and Pinocchio, having crunched it up and swallowed it in a second, said, licking his lips:

"It would be a fine thing if sugar was medicine! . . . I would take it every day."

"Now keep your promise and drink these few drops of water, which will restore you to health."

Pinocchio took the tumbler unwillingly in his hand and put the point of his nose to it: he then approached it to his lips: he then again put his nose to it, and at last said:

"It is too bitter! too bitter! I cannot drink it."

"How can you tell that, when you have not even tasted it?"

"I can imagine it! I know it from the smell. I want first another lump of sugar . . . and then I will drink it!."

The Fairy then, with all the patience of a good mamma, put another lump of sugar in his mouth, and then again presented the tumbler to him.

"I cannot drink it so!" said the puppet, making a thousand grimaces.

"Why?"

"Because that pillow that is down there on my feet bothers me."

The Fairy removed the pillow.

"It is useless. Even so I cannot drink it. . . ."

"What is the matter now?"

"The door of the room, which is half open, bothers me."

The Fairy went and closed the door.

"In short," cried Pinocchio, bursting into tears, "I will not drink that bitter water—no, no, no! . . ."

"My boy, you will repent it. . . ."

"I don't care. . . ."

"Your illness is serious. . . ."

"I don't care. . . ."

"The fever in a few hours will carry you into the other world. . . ."

"I don't care. . . ."

"Are you not afraid of death?"

"I am not in the least afraid! . . . I would rather die than drink that bitter medicine."

At that moment the door of the room flew open, and four rabbits as black as ink entered carrying on their shoulders a little bier.

"What do you want with me?" cried Pinocchio, sitting up in bed in a great fright.

"We are come to take you," said the biggest rabbit.

"To take me? . . . But I am not yet dead! . . ."

"No, not yet: but you have only a few minutes to live, as you have refused the medicine that would have cured you of the fever."

"Oh, Fairy, Fairy!" the puppet then began to scream, "give me the tumbler at once . . . be quick, for pity's sake, for I will not die—no . . . I will not die. . . ."

And taking the tumbler in both hands he emptied it at a draught.

"We must have patience!" said the rabbits; "this time we have made our journey in vain." And taking the little bier again on their shoulders they left the room, grumbling and murmuring between their teeth.

In fact, a few minutes afterwards Pinocchio jumped down from the bed quite well: because you must know that wooden puppets have the privilege of being seldom ill and of being cured very quickly.

The Fairy, seeing him running and rushing about the room as gay and as lively as a young cock, said to him:

"Then my medicine has really done you good?"

"Good, I should think so! It has restored me to life! . . ."

"Then why on earth did you require so much persuasion to take it?"

"Because you see that we boys are all like that! We are more afraid of medicine than of the illness."

"Disgraceful! Boys ought to know that a good remedy taken in time may save them from a serious illness, and perhaps even from death. . . ."

"Oh! but another time I shall not require so much persuasion. I shall remember those black rabbits with the bier on their shoulders . . . and then I shall immediately take the tumbler in my hand, and down it will go! . . ."

"Now come here to me, and tell me how it came about that you fell into the hands of those assassins."

"It came about that the showman Fire-eater gave me some gold pieces and said to me: 'Go, and take them to your father!' and instead I met on the road a Fox and a Cat, two very respectable persons, who said to me: 'Would you like those pieces of gold to become a thousand or two? Come with us and we will take you to the Field of miracles,' and I said: 'Let us go.' And they said: 'Let us stop at the inn of the Red Craw-fish,' and after midnight they left. And when I awoke I found that they were no longer there, because they had gone away. Then I began to travel by night, for you cannot imagine how dark it was; and on that account I met on the road two assassins in charcoal sacks who said to me: 'Out with your money,' and I said to them: 'I have got none,' because I had hidden the four gold pieces in my mouth, and one of the assassins tried to put his hand in my mouth, and I bit his hand off and spat it out, but instead of a hand I spat out a cat's paw. And the assassins ran after me, and I ran, and ran, until at last they caught me, and tied me by the neck to a tree in this wood, and said to me: 'To-morrow we shall return here, and then you will be dead with your mouth open, and we shall be able to carry off the pieces of gold that you have hidden under your tongue.' "

"And the four pieces—where have you put them?" asked the Fairy.

"I have lost them!" said Pinocchio; but he was telling a lie, for he had them in his pocket.

He had scarcely told the lie when his nose, which was already long, grew at once two fingers longer.

"And where did you lose them?"

"In the wood near here."

At this second lie his nose went on growing.

"If you have lost them in the wood near here," said the Fairy, "we will look for them, and we shall find them: because everything that is lost in that wood is always found."

"Ah! now I remember all about it," replied the puppet, getting quite confused; "I didn't lose the four gold pieces, I swallowed them inadvertently whilst I was drinking your medicine."

At this third lie his nose grew to such an extraordinary length that poor Pinocchio could not move in any direction. If he turned to one side he struck his nose against the bed or the window-panes, if he turned to the other he struck it against the walls or the door, if he raised his head a little he ran the risk of sticking it into one of the Fairy's eyes.

And the Fairy looked at him and laughed.

"What are you laughing at?" asked the puppet, very confused and anxious at finding his nose growing so prodigiously.

"I am laughing at the lie you have told."

"And how can you possibly know that I have told a lie?"

"Lies, my dear boy, are found out immediately, because they are of two sorts. There are lies that have short legs, and lies that have long noses. Your lie as it happens, is one of those that have a long nose."

Pinocchio, not knowing where to hide himself for shame, tried to run out of the room; but he did not succeed, for his nose had increased so much that it could no longer pass through the door.

His nose had increased so much.

 

Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

Wineland the Good

Part 1 of 2

O N an autumn, a year or two after Leif came home, Eric and his men saw two large ships come to land not far down the shore from the house.

"They look like trading ships," Eric said. "Let us go down to see them."

"I will go, too," Gudrid said. "Perhaps they will have rich cloth and jewelry. It is long since I had my eyes on a new dress."

So they all went down and found two large trading ships lying in the water. A great many men were on the shore making a fire.

"Welcome to Greenland!" called Eric. "What are your names and your country?"

Then a fine, big man walked out from among the men and went up to Eric.

"I am Thorfinn," he said, "a trader. I sailed this summer from Iceland with forty men and a shipload of goods. On the sea I met this other ship from Iceland. The master is Biarni. Come and look at my goods."

So he rowed Eric and Gudrid out and they went aboard his boat. Thorfinn opened his chests and showed Eric gleaming swords and bracelets and axes and farm tools. But before Gudrid he spread beautiful cloth and gold embroidery and golden necklaces. As they looked, he told of doings in Iceland and asked of Greenland.

"We never see such things as these in this bare land," Gudrid said, as she smoothed a beautiful dress of purple velvet. "I envy the women of Iceland their fair clothes."

"There is no need of that," Thorfinn said, "for this dress is yours and anything else from my chests that you like. Here is a necklace that I beg you to take. It did not have a fairer mistress in Greece where I got it."

"You are a very generous trader," Gudrid said.

Then Thorfinn gave Eric a great sword with a gold-studded scabbard. After a while he took them to Biarni's ship. He also gave them gifts. They all talked and laughed much while they were together.

"You are merry comrades," Eric said. "I ask you both and all your men to spend the winter at my house. You can put your goods into my store-houses."

"By my sword! a generous offer," said Thorfinn. "As for me, I am happy to come."

Biarni and all the rest said the same thing. Thorfinn walked to the house with Eric and Gudrid, while the other men sailed to the ship-sheds and pulled their boats under them.

Then Thorfinn saw to the unloading and storing of his goods.

"Is this Gudrid your daughter?" he asked of Eric one day.

"She is the widow of my son Thorstein," Eric said. "He died the same winter that they were married. Her father, too, died not long ago. So Gudrid lives with me."

Now all that winter until Yuletime Eric spread a good feast every night. There was laughter through his house all the time. Often at the feasts the men cast lots to see whether they might sit on the cross-bench with the women. Sometimes it was Thorfinn's luck to sit by Gudrid. Then they talked gaily and drank together.

At last Yule was coming near. Eric went about the house gloomy then. One day Thorfinn put his hand on Eric's shoulder and said:

"Something is troubling you, Eric. We have all noticed that you are not gay as you used to be. Tell me what is the matter."

"You have carried yourselves like noble men in my house," Eric answered. "I am proud to have you for guests. Now I am ashamed that you should not find a house worthy of you. I am ashamed that when you leave me you will have to say that you never spent a worse Yule than you did with Eric the Red in Greenland. For my cupboards are empty."

"Oh, that is easily mended," Thorfinn said. "No house could feed eighty men so long and not feel it. I never knew so generous a host before. But I have flour and grain and mead in my boat. You are welcome to all of it. You have only to open the doors of your own store-houses. It is a little gift."

So Eric used those things, and there was never a merrier Yule feast than in his house that winter.

When Yule was over, Thorfinn said to Eric:

"Gudrid is a beautiful and wise woman. I wish to have her for my wife."

"You seem to be a man worthy of her," Eric said.

So that winter Gudrid and Thorfinn were married and lived at Eric's house.

One day Thorfinn said to Eric:

"I have heard much of this wonderful Wineland since I have been here. It seems to me that it is worth while to go and see more of it."

"My son Thorstein and I tried it once," said Eric. "It was the year after Leif came back. We set out with a fair ship and with glad hearts, but we tossed about all summer on the sea and got nowhere. We were wet with storm, lean with hunger and illness, and heartsick at our bad luck."

"And yet," Thorfinn said, "another time we might have better weather. I have never seen so fair a land as this seems to be."

Then he went to Leif and talked long with him. Leif told him in what direction he had sailed to come home, and how the shores looked that he had passed.

"I think I could find my way," Thorfinn said. "My heart moves me to try this frolic."

He spoke to Gudrid about it.

"Oh, yes!" she cried. "Let us go. It is long since I felt a boat leaping under me. I am tired of sitting still. I want to feel the warm days and see the soft grass and the high trees and taste the grapes of this Wineland the Good."

Then he talked with his men and with Biarni.

"We are ready," they all said. "We are only waiting for a leader."

"Then let us go!" cried Thorfinn.

So in the spring they fitted up their two ships and put into them provisions and a few cattle. Some of Eric's men also got ready a boat, so that three ships set sail from Eric's harbor carrying one hundred and sixty men to Wineland. As they started, Gudrid stood on the deck and sang:

"I will feast my eyes on new things— On mighty trees and purple grapes, On beds of flowers and soft grass. I will sun myself in a warm land."

They sailed on and past those shores that Leif had spoken of. Whenever they saw any interesting place they sailed in and looked about and rested there.

They had gone far south, past many fair shores with woods on them, when Gudrid said one day:

"This is a beautiful bay with a smooth green field by it, and the great mountains far back. I should like to stay there for a little while."

So they sailed in and drew their ships up on shore. They put up the awnings in them.

"These shall be our houses," Thorfinn said.

They were strange-looking houses—shining dragons with gay backs lying on the yellow sand. Near them the Norsemen lighted fires and cooked their supper. That night they slept in the ships. In the morning Gudrid said:

"I long to see what is back of that mountain."

So they all climbed it. When they stood on the top they could see far over the country.

"There is a lake that we must see," Thorfinn said.

"I should like to sail around that bay," said Biarni, pointing.

"I am going to walk up that valley yonder," one of the men said.

And everyone saw some place where he would like to go. So for all that summer they camped in that spot and went about the country seeing new things. They hunted in the woods and caught rabbits and birds and sometimes bears and deer. Every day some men rowed out to sea and fished. There was an island in the bay where thousands of birds had their nests. The men gathered eggs here.

"We have more to eat than we had in Greenland or Iceland," Thorfinn said, "and need not work at all. It is all play."

Near the end of summer Thorfinn spoke to his comrades.

"Have we not seen everything here? Let us go to a new place. We have not yet found grapes."

Thorfinn and Biarni and all their men sailed south again. But some of Eric's men went off in their boat another way. Years afterward the Greenlanders heard that they were shipwrecked and made slaves in Ireland.

After Thorfinn and Biarni had sailed for many days they landed on a low, green place. There were hills around it. A little lake was there.

"What is growing on those hillsides?" Thorfinn said, shading his eyes with his hand.

He and some others ran up there. The people on shore heard them shout. Soon they came running back with their hands full of something.

"Grapes! Grapes!" they were shouting.

All those people sat down and ate the grapes and then went to the hillside and picked more.

"Now we are indeed in Wineland," they said. "It is as wonderful as Leif's stories. Surely we must stay here for a long time."

 

Celia Thaxter

The Robin

In the tall elm tree sat the Robin bright, Through the rainy April day, And he caroled clear with a pure delight, to the face of the sky so gray. And the silver rain through the blossoms dropped, And fell on the Robin's coat, And his brave red breast, but he never stopped Piping his cheerful note; For O, the fields were green and glad, And the blissful life that stirred In the earth's wide breast, was full and warm In the heart of the little bird. The rain cloud lifted, the sunset light Streamed wide over valley and hill, As the plains of heaven the land grew bright, And the warm south wind was still. Then loud and clear called the happy bird, And rapturously he sang, Till wood and meadow and river side With jubilant echoes rang. But the sun dropped down in the quiet west, And he hushed his song at last; All nature softly sank to rest And the April day had passed.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Pocahontas

T HERE was once a very brave man whose name was John Smith. He came to this country many years ago, when there were great woods everywhere, and many wild beasts and Indians. Many tales are told of his ad-ven-tures, some of them true and some of them untrue. Among the latter is the fol-low-ing story:—

One day when Smith was in the woods, some Indians came upon him, and made him their pris-on-er. They led him to their king, and in a short time they made ready to put him to death.

A large stone was brought in, and Smith was made to lie down with his head on it. Then two tall Indians with big clubs in their hands came for-ward. The king and all his great men stood around to see. The Indians raised their clubs. In another moment they would fall on Smith's head.

But just then a little Indian girl rushed in. She was the daugh-ter of the king, and her name was Po-ca-hon´tas. She ran and threw herself between Smith and the up-lift-ed clubs. She clasped Smith's head with her arms. She laid her own head upon his.

"O father!" she cried, "spare this man's life. I am sure he has done you no harm, and we ought to be his friends."

The men with the clubs could not strike, for they did not want to hurt the child. The king at first did not know what to do. Then he spoke to some of his war-riors, and they lifted Smith from the ground. They untied the cords from his wrists and feet, and set him free.

The next day the king sent Smith home; and several Indians went with him to protect him from harm.

After that, as long as she lived, Po-ca-hon-tas was the friend of the white men, and she did a great many things to help them.

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Nan's Blue Spring Flower

The side of a little hill in the park looked blue in May. It was covered with bluets.

The flowers were tiny. They grew close together.

Butterflies came to visit the bluets. They were thirsty and liked to drink nectar.

Little bees came to these flowers for nectar, too.

The insects put their mouths into the flowers to find the sweet juice.

Part of each bluet was shaped like a tiny tube. The nectar was in the lower end of the tube.

When a bee reached for the nectar she touched the pollen in the flower. Some of the pollen stuck to her long tongue.

So the bee took pollen from flower to flower.

There were two kinds of bluet flowers on the hill. Both kinds of flowers had pollen.

In the first kind of flower the pollen was high. It was near the top of the tube.

In the second kind of flower the pollen was low in the tube near the nectar.

The seeds in the first flowers could not grow with high pollen. They needed low pollen to make them live.

The seeds in the second flowers could not grow with low pollen. They needed the high pollen.

The baby bluet seeds could grow because the little insects took the high pollen and low pollen to them.

Uncle Tom told Nan about the two kinds of bluet flowers.

Nan said, "I am glad the bluets give nectar to bees and butterflies. And I am glad the insects carry pollen from flower to flower. The insects and flowers help each other."

 

Eugene Field

Over the Hills and Far Away

Over the hills and far away, A little boy steals from his morning play And under the blossoming apple-tree He lies and dreams of the things to be: Of battles fought and of victories won, Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done— Of the valor that he shall prove some day, Over the hills and far away— Over the hills and far away! Over the hills and far away It's, oh, for the toil of the livelong day! But it mattereth not to the soul aflame With a love for riches and power and fame! On, O man! while the sun is high— On to the certain joys that lie Yonder where blazeth the noon of day. Over the hills and far away— Over the hills and far away! Over the hills and far away, An old man lingers at close of day; Now that his journey is almost done, His battles fought and his victories won— The old-time honesty and truth, The trustfulness and the friends of youth, Home and mother—where are they? Over the hills and far away— Over the years and far away!

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Redwing and Yellow Wing

P ETER had come over to the Smiling Pool especially to pay his respects to Redwing the Blackbird, so as soon as he could, without being impolite, he left Mrs. Teeter sitting on her eggs, and Teeter himself bobbing and bowing in the friendliest way, and hurried over to where the bulrushes grow. In the very top of the Big Hickory-tree, a little farther along on the bank of the Smiling Pool, sat some one who at that distance appeared to be dressed all in black. He was singing as if there were nothing but joy in all the great world. "Quong-ka-reee! Quong-ka-reee! Quong-ka-reee!" he sang. Peter would have known from this song alone that it was Redwing the Blackbird, for there is no other song quite like it.

As soon as Peter appeared in sight Redwing left his high perch and flew down to light among the broken-down bulrushes. As he flew, Peter saw the beautiful red patch on the bend of each wing, from which Redwing gets his name. "No one could ever mistake him for anybody else," thought Peter, "For there isn't anybody else with such beautiful shoulder patches."

"What's the news, Peter Rabbit?" cried Redwing, coming over to sit very near Peter.

"There isn't much," replied Peter, "excepting that Teeter the Sandpiper has four eggs just a little way from here."

Redwing chuckled. "That is no news, Peter," said he. "Do you suppose that I live neighbor to Teeter and don't know where his nest is and all about his affairs? There isn't much going on around the Smiling Pool that I don't know, I can tell you that."

Peter looked a little disappointed, because there is nothing he likes better than to be the bearer of news. "I suppose," said he politely, "that you will be building a nest pretty soon yourself, Redwing."

Redwing chuckled softly. It was a happy, contented sort of chuckle. "No, Peter," said he. "I am not going to build a nest."

"What?" exclaimed Peter, and his two long ears stood straight up with astonishment.

"No," replied Redwing, still chuckling. "I'm not going to build a nest. You see, Mrs. Redwing and I already have a nest, and if you want to know a little secret, we have four as pretty eggs as ever were laid."

Peter fairly bubbled over with interest and curiosity. "How splendid!" he cried. "Where is your nest, Redwing? I would just love to see it. I suppose it is because she is sitting on those eggs that I haven't seen Mrs. Redwing. It was very stupid of me not to guess that folks who come as early as you do would be among the first to build a home. Where is it, Redwing? Do tell me."

Redwing's eyes twinkled.

"A secret which is known by three Full soon will not a secret be,"

said he. "It isn't that I don't trust you, Peter. I know that you wouldn't intentionally let my secret slip out. But you might do it by accident. What you don't know, you can't tell."

"That's right, Redwing. I am glad you have so much sense," said another voice, and Mrs. Redwing alighted very near to Redwing.

Peter couldn't help thinking that Old Mother Nature had been very unfair indeed in dressing Mrs. Redwing. She was, if anything, a little bit smaller than her handsome husband, and such a plain, not to say homely, little body that it was hard work to realize that she was a Blackbird at all. In the first place she wasn't black. She was dressed all over in grayish-brown with streaks of darker brown which in places were almost black. She wore no bright-colored shoulder patches. In fact, there wasn't a bright feather on her anywhere. Peter wanted to ask why it was that she was so plainly dressed, but he was too polite and decided to wait until he should see Jenny Wren. She would be sure to know. Instead, he exclaimed, "How do you do, Mrs. Redwing? I'm ever so glad to see you. I was wondering where you were. Where did you come from?"

REDWING THE BLACKBIRD His shoulders are brilliant red with a margin of yellow. SPECKLES THE STARLING He looks something like a Blackbird speckled with tiny light spots.

"Straight from my home," replied Mrs. Redwing demurely. "And if I do say it, it is the best home we've ever had."

Redwing chuckled. He was full of chuckles. You see, he had noticed how eagerly Peter was looking everywhere.

"This much I will tell you, Peter," said Redwing; "our nest is somewhere in these bulrushes, and if you can find it we won't say a word, even if you don't keep the secret."

Then Redwing chuckled again and Mrs. Redwing chuckled with him. You see, they knew that Peter doesn't like water, and that nest was hidden in a certain clump of brown, broken-down rushes, with water all around. Suddenly Redwing flew up in the air with a harsh cry. "Run, Peter! Run!" he screamed. "Here comes Reddy Fox!"

Peter didn't wait for a second warning. He knew by the sound of Redwing's voice that Redwing wasn't joking. There was just one place of safety, and that was an old hole of Grandfather Chuck's between the roots of the Big Hickory-tree. Peter didn't waste any time getting there, and he was none too soon, for Reddy was so close at his heels that he pulled some white hairs out of Peter's tail as Peter plunged headfirst down that hole. It was a lucky thing for Peter that that hole was too small for Reddy to follow and the roots prevented Reddy from digging it any bigger.

For a long time Peter sat in Grandfather Chuck's old house, wondering how soon it would be safe for him to come out. For a while he heard Mr. and Mrs. Redwing scolding sharply, and by this he knew that Reddy Fox was still about. By and by they stopped scolding, and a few minutes later he heard Redwing's happy song. "That means," thought Peter, "that Reddy Fox has gone away, but I think I'll sit here a while longer to make sure."

Now Peter was sitting right under the Big Hickory-tree. After a while he began to hear faint little sounds, little taps, and scratching sounds as of claws. They seemed to come from right over his head, but he knew that there was no one in that hole but himself. He couldn't understand it at all.

Finally Peter decided it would be safe to peek outside. Very carefully he poked his head out. Just as he did so, a little chip struck him right on the nose. Peter pulled his head back hurriedly and stared at the little chip which lay just in front of the hole. Then two or three more little chips fell. Peter knew that they must come from up in the Big Hickory-tree, and right away his curiosity was aroused. Redwing was singing so happily that Peter felt sure no danger was near, so he hopped outside and looked up to find out where those little chips had come from. Just a few feet above his head he saw a round hole in the trunk of the Big Hickory-tree. While he was looking at it, a head with a long stout bill was thrust out and in that bill were two or three little chips. Peter's heart gave a little jump of glad surprise.

"Yellow Wing!" he cried. "My goodness, how you startled me!"

The chips were dropped and the head was thrust farther out. The sides and throat were a soft reddish-tan and on each side at the beginning of the bill was a black patch. The top of the head was gray and just at the back was a little band of bright red. There was no mistaking that head. It belonged to Yellow Wing the Flicker beyond a doubt.

YELLOW WING THE FLICKER The bright yellow of the underside of each wing, the black crescent across his breast and his spotted underparts make him easy to identify.

"Hello, Peter!" exclaimed Yellow Wing, his eyes twinkling. "What are you doing here?"

"Nothing," replied Peter, "but I want to know what you are doing. What are all those chips?"

"I'm fixing up this old house of mine," replied Yellow Wing promptly. "It wasn't quite deep enough to suit me, so I am making it a little deeper. Mrs. Yellow Wing and I haven't been able to find another house to suit us, so we have decided to live here again this year." He came wholly out and flew down on the ground near Peter. When his wings were spread, Peter saw that on the under sides they were a beautiful golden-yellow, as were the under sides of his tail feathers. Around his throat was a broad, black collar. From this, clear to his tail, were black dots. When his wings were spread, the upper part of his body just above the tail was pure white.

"My," exclaimed Peter, "you are a handsome fellow! I never realized before how handsome you are."

Yellow Wing looked pleased. Perhaps he felt a little flattered. "I am glad you think so, Peter," said he. "I am rather proud of my suit, myself. I don't know of any member of my family with whom I would change coats."

A sudden thought struck Peter. "What family do you belong to?" he asked abruptly.

"The Woodpecker family," replied Yellow Wing proudly.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Lion and the Mouse

A Lion lay asleep in the forest, his great head resting on his paws. A timid little Mouse came upon him unexpectedly, and in her fright and haste to get away, ran across the Lion's nose. Roused from his nap, the Lion laid his huge paw angrily on the tiny creature to kill her.

"Spare me!" begged the poor Mouse. "Please let me go and some day I will surely repay you."

The Lion was much amused to think that a Mouse could ever help him. But he was generous and finally let the Mouse go.

Some days later, while stalking his prey in the forest, the Lion was caught in the toils of a hunter's net. Unable to free himself, he filled the forest with his angry roaring. The Mouse knew the voice and quickly found the Lion struggling in the net. Running to one of the great ropes that bound him, she gnawed it until it parted, and soon the Lion was free.

"You laughed when I said I would repay you," said the Mouse. "Now you see that even a Mouse can help a Lion."

A kindness is never wasted.

 

The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

The Wisest Woman Comes to the King's Castle

AVING the shoe was not the same as having the shoe-wearer; they searched and searched everywhere for the maiden with the dress of gold, with the shining veil and the one golden shoe, but not a trace of her could they find. The Chamberlain went to search on his own account: into every dwelling around, hall or cabin, he went, asking every maiden that might be there to fit the shoe to her foot. They were all glad to try, but on none would the golden shoe go; it was too small for the foot of every grown maiden.

When the Chamberlain came back to the Castle the King's son made a declaration that he would wed only the maiden whose foot the golden shoe fitted. Then the maidens who were still in the castle sat ring-around on the lawn with their little shapely feet bare. But not to the foot of any of them could the Chamberlain fit the shoe of the Matchless Maiden.

Their mother had given Berry-bright and Buttercup a salve to rub on their feet so that the shoe might be helped to fit. Buttercup rubbed on the salve; as she did her heel shrunk away; then with great pain and difficulty she got the shoe to go on. She stood up to walk to where the King's son was standing, but the pain in her foot was so afflicting that she had to sit down and cry to have the shoe taken off. Berry-bright rubbed on the salve, and her great toe shrunk away. With great pain and difficulty she put on the golden shoe. She stood up to walk to where the King's son was standing, but the pain in her foot was so great that she too had to sit down and cry to have the shoe taken off. And the end of it all was that

Berry-bright and Buttercup had to go limping to their mother.

What now was to be done to find the maiden whose foot the golden shoe fitted? This one and that one advised this and that thing. But the ancient foster-mother of the King's son went straight to the King himself, and this is what she said to him:

"Listen to the words of your gossip, King Daniel: only a woman's wit can help your son to find the matchless maiden that his heart is set upon winning. My own wits are not as sharp as they used to be or else I myself would help him. Now my advice to you is that you make proclamation asking to come to the Castle the woman who is the wisest in these parts. And that you may know she is the wisest she will have to come in this way: not naked, yet with no clothes on; not fed, and yet not fasting; in no one's company, yet not alone. The woman who can come in this way will be the wisest in these parts, and she, you may be sure, will help your son to find the maiden whose foot the golden shoe will fit."

The King took his gossip's advice; he made a proclamation asking that she come to the Castle, the woman who was the wisest in those parts. And that he might know she was the wisest she was to come, not naked, but with no clothes on; not fed, and yet not fasting; in no one's company, and yet not alone.

In the Castle and all around it every one talked of the King's proclamation. The Ratcatcher got so excited talking to the outlandish servants about it that he let the brown rats, the three biggest he had ever caught, bounce out of the cage and go running over Maid-alone who, that minute, was filling up her tub with the ashes of the third hearth.

The next day when he was walking in his private garden with his Councillors beside him a messenger came to the King to say that one was coming to see him in obedience to the proclamation he had caused to be made. The King sent for his son and for the Chamberlain, and he told the messenger that whoever was coming in obedience to his proclamation should be brought into his private garden. His son came with the Chamberlain and with all the bright-haired and brown-haired and dark-haired maidens who still stayed in the King's Castle.

The maidens whispered, "How can she come so as to be not naked, and yet with no clothes on; not fed, and yet not fasting; not in company, and yet not alone?" And the Councillors said to one another, "What a great age she must be, this woman who is the wisest in these parts!"

And then she came into the Garden. Not old at all was she, but young and slender. She was not naked, and yet she had no clothes on; she was not fed, and yet she was not fasting; she was in no one's company, and yet she was not alone.

All round her body a dark and heavy fishing net was wrapped; she had a little apple between her teeth the juice of which broke her fast; and on her shoulders there were two starlings that saved her from being alone. The King looked her over and over. "Maiden," he said, "as young as you are, I find that you are the wisest woman in these parts."

The King's son took three steps to her and stopped; took three more steps to her and stopped. And all the time he looked at her like a man who was falling into or wakening out of a trance.

"Can you help us to find the maiden whose foot this shoe will fit?" said the Chamberlain. He always carried the shoe about with him, and now he held it in his hand.

"It may be that I can, lord," said she. She held her own bare foot as if she wanted him to fit the shoe on it.

But now a whisper was going round that this was the Cinder-wench from the underground kitchens. "To think that she should imagine that the golden shoe that was tried on many a Princess would go on her foot," some of the maidens were saying. The Chamberlain did not heed. He was now so used to fitting the golden shoe to a foot that was held for it that he went down on his knees and brought Maid-alone's foot to the shoe.

Easily the foot fitted the shoe; easily the Chamberlain buckled it on. And there stood Maid-alone with one white bare foot and one golden-covered foot standing in the grass of the King's garden, while the two starlings on her shoulders sang aloud.

"By all the King's horses," said the Chamberlain, "this is no other than the matchless maiden!"

"No other than the matchless maiden!" they all said.

The Kings' son took three more steps to her, and now it looked as if he were awakening out of a trance.

"Will the King give me permission to leave, so that I may put proper clothing on myself?" said Maid-alone.

"By all means we will give you permission if you say you will come back to us," said the King.

"I will come back" said Maid-alone.

Then holding the golden shoe in her hand, Maid-alone ran through the grass of the King's garden and out through the gate. The maidens talked to each other, the King talked to his Councillors and the Councillors talked to the King, and the Chamberlain talked to everyone. But the King's son stood silent and apart, watching the gate that Maid-alone had gone through.

When they saw her again she had on a gleaming dress with a glittering veil and gleaming shoes. The King himself rose from his seat in delight at her appearance. The King's son went to her. But all she said to him was, "You can rede now where I have come from: from Ditch-land which is by Old Shoe Garden."

Again she got the King's permission to leave, and again she ran through the grass and out of the gate of the King's garden. The all talked and talked of her, saying that the King's son should be happy now that he had found indeed the Matchless Maiden. But the King's son stood leaning against a tree, with the red of shame coming and going in his face. He was thinking of the maiden who gathered berries in an old shoe for him, and how he rode his jennet against her, while her mouth trembled and her eyes looked steadily on him.

All watched the gate for the matchless maiden's return. She came in a dress of silver, with a shimmering veil and glimmering shoes. The King himself took a step towards her, and all the Councillors began to say how dark her hair was, and how full of light were her eyes.

The King's son went to her, but all she said to him was, "You can rede where I have come from: from Last-ember Moor."

She got permission to go from the garden once more. She went, and all went to the gate that they might be quick to welcome her coming back. But the King's son stood on shamefast feet; he thought of the time when he had let her go from the fire she had made into the darkness of the moor.

She came again into the King's Garden. All in gold was she now, with a shining veil, and two golden shoes on her feet. The King himself took her hands, and the maidens who were there praised her for the star she had on her forehead.

But the King's son stood before her with head held down. "You can rede now where I've come from," she said to him; "from where a dog's tongue lapped water from my hands."

Again she asked permission to leave the garden. "But she is so lovely that we want to do nothing else but look on her,' said the King. "But, please your Majesty," said the Chamberlain, "no one has seen the matchless maiden with her jewels on."

"No one has seen her with her jewels on," said the maidens.

The King gave her permission, and she went out of the garden, leaving all high in impatience for her return.

The King's son stood shamefast, thinking of the time when he rode his high-mettled horse with his bell-mouthed hound beside him; she had come to him, bringing water for him in her hands. And he had not praised her hands, but had turned her away, bidding her bring water in her hands for his hound to lap his tongue in.

The watched and watched for the matchless maiden's return. They would take her into the King's castle, and give a feast for her, and bestow gifts on her. But though they watched long and long she did not return. The Chamberlain went out to search for her. He went to this place and that place, and even down to the underground kitchens, but sign or token of Maid-alone who had come to be called the matchless maiden he did not find.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Have a Great Fright

THE very next day after my cave was finished a frightful thing happened. I came near losing everything and my own life as well.

I will tell you about it.

I was busy behind my tent when I heard a fearful noise above my head. Before I could look up, a great load of earth and stones came tumbling down.

It was a wonder that I was not buried alive. I was scared, for I thought the whole top of the cave was falling in.

I ran out and climbed over my wall. The great rock behind my castle seemed to be shaking. Stones and earth were rolling down its side.

"An earthquake! an earthquake!" I cried.

The ground shook. A tall rock that stood between me and the seashore toppled over and fell. The noise was the most frightful I ever heard.

There were three shocks about eight minutes apart. The strongest building you ever saw would have been overturned.

I was so frightened that I did not know what to do. I sat on the ground and could not move. I could only cry, over and over again, "Lord, have mercy on me!"

After the third shock was over I began to grow braver. But still I sat on the ground, wondering what would come next.

All at once the sky was overcast. Dark clouds rolled over the sea. The wind began to blow. A dreadful hurricane was at hand.

The sea was covered with foam. The waves were mountain high. On the shore, trees were torn up by the roots. If my tent had not been well sheltered behind the great rock, it would have been carried away.

The hurricane lasted fully three hours. Then the rain began to pour down.

All this time I sat on the ground outside, too much frightened to go back into my castle.

Toward night the rain slackened, and I ventured over my wall. The tent was half beaten down. So I crept through into the cave. I was half afraid that even it would tumble down on my head.

 

Robert Louis Stevenson

The Unseen Playmate

When children are playing alone on the green, In comes the playmate that never was seen. When children are happy and lonely and good, The Friend of the Children comes out of the wood. Nobody heard him and nobody saw, His is a picture you never could draw, But he's sure to be present, abroad or at home, When children are happy and playing alone. He lies in the laurels, he runs on the grass, He sings when you tinkle the musical glass; Whene'er you are happy and cannot tell why, The Friend of the Children is sure to be by! He loves to be little, he hates to be big, 'Tis he that inhabits the caves that you dig; 'Tis he when you play with your soldiers of tin That sides with the Frenchmen and never can win. 'Tis he, when at night you go off to your bed, Bids you go to sleep and not trouble your head; For whenever they're lying, in cupboard or shelf, 'T is he will take care of your playthings himself!

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

The Armies of the North

"See ye the banners blazoned to the day, Inwrought with emblems of barbaric pride?" —Shelley.

R OME was dying. But by her death other nations were to spring into existence and accomplish their part in the great history of the world. Outside the bounds of the world-empire were many countries still plunged in a shadow-land such as Greece and Rome had once been in the long ago days of which we have learnt.

Away on the far banks of the frozen Danube lived hordes of wild barbarians, known as the Goths. They were tall, fair, strong, and brave men. Living on the borders of the Roman Empire, too, they had learnt Roman ways. Some of their young men fought in the Roman army, some had become Christians; and a Gothic translation of the Gospels may still be seen in Sweden, their early home, written on purple vellum in silver letters.

But some thirteen years after the death of Constantine a great change took place in the position of the Goths.

Suddenly a horde of squalid savages appeared from the wild regions of Central Asia: each man was short and fierce looking, each rode a pony as ugly and unkempt as himself. They were the terrible Huns, who had fought their way over the high tablelands of Asia till they reached the Sea of Azov and found the land of the Goths. On rolled the flood of invaders, striking terror before them, conquering the lands of the Goths, pressing ever on and on toward the Danube, the great Roman boundary.

Dreading the fate that awaited them, the Goths looked across the broad Danube with its well-tilled plains beyond; and at last they crossed over. Day after day and night after night ships crossed and recrossed the Danube, till thousands of Gothic warriors with their wives and children stood on the soil of the Roman Empire, while the watchfires of the Huns blazed away behind them on the other side of the river.

They had made a compact with the Romans before they had taken the important move; but very soon that compact was broken, and a few years' time found the Goths and Romans at war.

Under their young king Alaric they prepared for battle, determined to cut themselves loose from the old and decaying empire, and to hew out new realms for themselves with their own trusty broadswords. A striking army they must have made, with their tall strong figures, their long curling hair and beards, their short girdled tunics with wide turn-down collars and short sleeves, the long trousers which contrasted strangely with the bare-legged Romans.

Leaving Constantinople on their left, the Goths overran the open country of Macedonia. There was no Alexander the Great to oppose them. They passed through the narrow defile of Thermopylæ, but there was no Leonidas and his Spartan Three Hundred to hold the pass against them. All over the sacred places of Grecian story—Corinth, Argos, Sparta—the tall barbarians swarmed. Athens alone escaped, because, says an old story, Alaric saw the goddess Athene going round about the towers of the Acropolis and Achilles the hero wrathfully guarding the walls.

His thoughts now turned westward. Constantinople was matchless in its strength, Rome was pitiable in her weakness.

"Alaric, delay not; thou shalt penetrate to the city," said an unknown voice ever in his ear.

In the year 400 he obeyed the mysterious summons and entered Italy. Slowly he crossed the snowy Alps, the women and children in Gothic waggons, the warriors on their war-horses, Alaric himself probably full of schemes for the future when he had "penetrated to the city."

But this time he was driven back, and he had to wait ten years before he could accomplish his cherished ideal.

His next march over the north of Italy was like a triumphal procession. He plundered city after city, till at last he came to the walls of Rome. He had already cut off the food-supply of the city by possessing himself of the Port of Rome, so that the great ships from Alexandria could no longer supply grain for the capital. He then waited till hunger and pestilence drove the senators to sue for peace. They begged for honourable terms, for they would rather die than yield.

"The thicker the grass, the easier it is to mow," was Alaric's heartless answer.

He must receive all the gold and silver within the walls, and all the foreign slaves, before he granted peace.

"What do you leave us then?" the senators asked.

"Your lives," replied the barbarian conqueror.

It was the 24th of August 410, when at last Alaric and his Gothic army passed through the gates of Rome. It was over eight hundred years since the wild Gauls had slain the old fathers in the Forum, eight hundred years since a foreign foe had set foot in the "Eternal City."

Terrible were the sufferings of the Romans during the six days that the Goths pillaged their once famous city. The news was carried to the feeble-minded emperor, who had long ago escaped from Rome and was keeping poultry in the country.

He had called his hens by names, and one was known as "Rome."

"Rome has perished," cried the messenger, hastening into the presence of the young emperor.

"That cannot be, for I have just fed her out of my hand," cried the distressed poultry-keeper.

Then the messenger explained that it was the city and not the hen, which seemed almost a relief to the emperor, as he murmured, "But I thought, my friend, that my bird 'Rome' had perished."

Such was the capture of Rome by barbarian hordes. By her fall other nations were to rise, for the civilisation she had taught was to spread through these very barbarians even to the ends of Europe.

 

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

The Golden Touch

T HERE was once a very rich king named Midas. The columns of his palace were inlaid with gold, and his treasure room was filled with jewels, yet he was not satisfied. He longed for greater wealth. He did not care for music or flowers, or indeed for anything else except his beautiful little daughter and his riches.

Midas wished to give his daughter, Marigold, the finest dresses ever made, the most beautiful beads and jeweled bands for her hair. This was one reason why he longed to have gold and riches. But Marigold loved to wear a short white frock, and to go barefoot over the grass with only a band of ribbon on her head.

Marigold, the Little Daughter of King Midas

She liked to feel the cool wind blow through her curls; she loved roses and violets much better than jewels. Sometimes she begged King Midas to leave his treasure room, where he liked to sit, to walk in the woods with her.

"The birds are singing," she would say, "and the very first anemones are in bloom."

But Midas would pat her head and tell her to run out and play—just as all busy fathers have told their little girls ever since.

One day, as Midas sat counting his riches, a stranger walked into the room and touched him on the shoulder. Vines twined around the visitor's head, and a leopard skin hung from his shoulders.

"Who are you?" cried Midas in alarm, "and how did you pass the guards?"

"I am Bacchus," said the stranger. "I have come to thank you. Not long ago you were kind to my old teacher, Silenus. The gods do not forget such things."

Then Midas remembered that one evening an aged man had stumbled into the palace. Midas had given him shelter and food and fresh clothing. In the morning the King had sent him on his way with a companion to guide him.

Midas rose to his feet—as even a royal mortal should stand in the presence of the gods—and bowed low to Bacchus, inviting him to be seated. Bacchus looked at the chair inlaid with gold. He saw the table strewn with jewels and coins and glittering bowls. He shuddered and moved farther away from Midas.

"I cannot stay in this room," said Bacchus. "There is no sunshine here, nor any sound of the wind in the vine leaves."

Midas looked at the god in amazement.

"You talk like my daughter, Marigold," said he. "True, there is no sunshine here, but look! See the golden lights on these bowls, and the red glow on the jewels!"

"Have you seen the colors of grapes when the sun shines through them, purple and red and amber?" asked Bacchus.

"No," said Midas, "I like grapes only when they are brought to me on a golden platter. There is nothing in the world so lovely as gold. I wish that everything I touch might be changed into that beautiful metal. Then I should be happy."

"You shall have your wish," said Bacchus, hurrying away out of the gloomy room to his vineyards on the sunny hills.

"I shall have my wish!" whispered Midas delightedly. "Can he really mean it?"

Just then the palace servants struck the big gong and called the King to dinner.

Midas locked the door of his treasury and walked toward the room where his dinner awaited him. He glanced down at the great key in his hand. It was gold! His sleeve, too, gleamed a dull yellow and felt stiff to his touch. His girdle was changed into the same metal. His sandals, everything he wore, was shining gold.

He touched a marble column as he passed, and it turned yellow. The curtains which he brushed in passing grew rigid and gleaming.

Marigold came dancing in from the woods, her hands full of white anemones. She sat down in her tall chair beside the King's.

"Why, Father," she said, "when did you buy that funny stiff robe? And your yellow sandals, where did you get them?"

Midas smiled delightedly as he sat down. "They are solid gold, my dear! The gods have given me the Golden Touch. You may have anything in the world that you wish."

"Look at your chair, Father!" cried Marigold.

"No doubt it also is gold," smiled Midas, turning to see. "It seems more comfortable than ever. I shall have every chair in the palace made over."

He took his white napkin in his hand and shook it out. It was wonderful to see the golden color spread over the snowy linen, almost as if a yellow flame ran up the folds.

Smiling more than ever, he reached for his spoon. "We shall have all the golden dishes we like," he said.

Then he raised a spoonful of the savory soup to his mouth. He tasted it, and it was very good. But oh, horrible! When he tried to swallow it the taste vanished and there was nothing in his mouth but a hard lump. He choked and sputtered and coughed.

He looked at his plate in surprise.

"Can there be a stone in my soup?" he wondered. Midas tried another spoonful, but the same thing happened. He broke a piece of white bread, and it turned to gold as he raised it to his lips. He touched an apple and a pear. They became hard and glittering.

"Oh!" shouted the king, "I do not want my food to become gold. Everything else, O great god Bacchus, but not my food!"

Bacchus did not hear. He was far away in his vineyards listening to Pan's music. Marigold climbed down from her tall chair, and ran to the King.

"O dear Father," she said, "what has happened?"

She put her arms around his neck and her cheek to his. At the same moment her skin grew dark and yellow. The pink and white of her cheek vanished. Only her hair remained its own color, for her curls had always been like spun gold.

Midas put his hand on her to caress her, then drew away in terror. For his little daughter was now cold and hard, a golden statue.

"O Bacchus, O great Bacchus!" cried Midas, leaping to his feet, "take away this dreadful gift. My daughter has become a golden image. Everything I touch grows hard and cold. Give me back my little girl, or let me die!"

"O great Bacchus," cried Midas, "take away this dreadful gift."

Bacchus heard at last, and came down from the hilltop and entered the palace.

"Well, Midas," he asked, "do you still care so much for gold?"

"No, no!" said the King. "Take away the Golden Touch and give me my Marigold."

Bacchus smiled wisely at the King.

"Perhaps now you will like the sunshine as much as gold," said the god, "and the glowing lights in grapes better than the glitter of stones. Perhaps now you will leave your treasure room sometimes and walk in the woods with Marigold."

"I will, I will!" promised Midas. "Only let her live again!"

"Then go to the river and wash," said Bacchus.

Midas ran as fast as he could out of the room and down the marble steps, which turned to gold as he passed. In the garden, the rose bushes which he brushed lost their green color and became tawny yellow. The gravel path changed, and the grass where he walked showed his footprints in yellow tracks.

Down the river bank Midas stumbled, and splashed into the water. His garments became soft and white. His girdle and sandals were of leather once more. But the river sands where he washed became golden, and remained so forever.

Midas splashed into the river.

He ran back to the palace and took the golden figure of little Marigold in his arms. At first she felt hard and cold to his touch, but in a moment Marigold's arms moved, her color returned, and she grew soft and warm.

"O Father," she said, "I had a strange dream. I dreamed that I could not speak, or move, or—"

"Never mind, my sweetheart," said the King, "that is all over."

"And I dreamed that your robe was made of gold—"

"But see, it is soft white linen now," said Midas. "Let us eat."

The servants brought more hot food, and Midas and his daughter finished their dinner. Never had soup tasted so good to him, nor fruit so juicy. His napkin seemed more beautiful in its snowy whiteness than any golden fabric he had ever seen.

When they rose from the table, Marigold showed him the white anemones.

"There are whole banks of them in the woods," she said. "And when the sun shines on them, and the wind blows, they look just like little dancing nymphs with yellow hair and white tunics. Won't you come with me and see them?"

"Indeed, yes," said Midas.

He put his hand in Marigold's and walked with her to the woods. There he found more happiness than he had ever known in his treasure room, and learned to love the white buds of flowers more than the largest pearls in his coffers.

 

Walter de la Mare

Nod

Softly along the road of evening, In a twilight dim with rose, Wrinkled with age, and drenched with dew, Old Nod, the shepherd, goes. His drowsy flock streams on before him, Their fleeces charged with gold, To where the sun's last beam leans low On Nod the shepherd's fold. The hedge is quick and green with brier, From their sand the conies creep; And all the birds that fly in heaven Flock singing home to sleep. His lambs outnumber a noon's roses, Yet, when night's shadows fall, His blind old sheep-dog, Slumber-soon, Misses not one of all. His are the quiet steeps of dreamland, The waters of no more pain, His ram's bell rings 'neath an arch of stars, "Rest, rest, and rest again."

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Elizabeth Ann Fails in an Examination

Part 2 of 3

She found a clean white snow-bank under a pine-tree, and, setting her cup of syrup down in a safe place, began to pat the snow down hard to make the right bed for the waxing of the syrup. The sun, very hot for that late March day, brought out strongly the tarry perfume of the big pine-tree. Near her the sap dripped musically into a bucket, already half full, hung on a maple-tree. A blue-jay rushed suddenly through the upper branches of the wood, his screaming and chattering voice sounding like noisy children at play.

Elizabeth Ann took up her cup and poured some of the thick, hot syrup out on the hard snow, making loops and curves as she poured. It stiffened and hardened at once, and she lifted up a great coil of it, threw her head back, and let it drop into her mouth. Concentrated sweetness of summer days was in that mouthful, part of it still hot and aromatic, part of it icy and wet with melting snow. She crunched it all together with her strong, child's teeth into a delicious, big lump and sucked on it dreamily, her eyes on the rim of Hemlock Mountain, high above her there, the snow on it bright golden in the sunlight. Uncle Henry had promised to take her up to the top as soon as the snow went off. She wondered what the top of a mountain would be like. Uncle Henry had said the main thing was that you could see so much of the world at once. He said it was too queer the way your own house and big barn and great fields looked like little toy things that weren't of any account. It was because you could see so much more than just the . . .

She heard an imploring whine, and a cold nose was thrust into her hand! Why, there was old Shep begging for his share of waxed sugar. He loved it, though it did stick to his teeth so! She poured out another lot and gave half of it to Shep. It immediately stuck his jaws together tight, and he began pawing at his mouth and shaking his head till Betsy had to laugh. Then he managed to pull his jaws apart and chewed loudly and visibly, tossing his head, opening his mouth wide till Betsy could see the sticky, brown candy draped in melting festoons all over his big white teeth and red gullet. Then with a gulp he had swallowed it all down and was whining for more, striking softly at the little girl's skirt with his forepaw. "Oh, you eat it too fast!" cried Betsy, but she shared her next lot with him too. The sun had gone down over Hemlock Mountain by this time, and the big slope above her was all deep blue shadow. The mountain looked much higher now as the dusk began to fall, and loomed up bigger and bigger as though it reached to the sky. It was no wonder houses looked small from its top. Betsy ate the last of her sugar, looking up at the quiet giant there, towering grandly above her. There was no lump in her throat now. And, although she still thought she did not know what in the world Cousin Ann meant by saying that about Hemlock Mountain and her examination, it's my opinion that she had made a very good beginning of an understanding.

She was just picking up her cup to take it back to the sap-house when Shep growled a little and stood with his ears and tail up, looking down the road. Something was coming down that road in the blue, clear twilight, something that was making a very queer noise. It sounded almost like somebody crying. It was  somebody crying! It was a child crying. It was a little, little girl . . . . Betsy could see her now . . . stumbling along and crying as though her heart would break. Why, it was little Molly, her own particular charge at school, whose reading lesson she heard every day. Betsy and Shep ran to meet her. "What's the matter, Molly? What's the matter?" Betsy knelt down and put her arms around the weeping child. "Did you fall down? Did you hurt you? What are you doing 'way off here? Did you lose your way?"

"What's the matter, Molly? What's the matter?"

"I don't want to go away! I don't want to go away!" said Molly over and over, clinging tightly to Betsy. It was a long time before Betsy could quiet her enough to find out what had happened. Then she made out between Molly's sobs that her mother had been taken suddenly sick and had to go away to a hospital, and that left nobody at home to take care of Molly, and she was to be sent away to some strange relatives in the city who didn't want her at all and who said so right out . . .

Oh, Elizabeth Ann knew all about that! and her heart swelled big with sympathy. For a moment she stood again out on the sidewalk in front of the Lathrop house with old Mrs. Lathrop's ungracious white head bobbing from a window, and knew again that ghastly feeling of being unwanted. Oh, she knew why little Molly was crying! And she shut her hands together hard and made up her mind that she would  help her out!

Do you know what she did, right off, without thinking about it? She didn't go and look up Aunt Abigail. She didn't wait till Uncle Henry came back from his round of emptying sap buckets into the big tub on his sled. As fast as her feet could carry her she flew back to Cousin Ann in the sap-house. I can't tell you (except again that Cousin Ann was Cousin Ann) why it was that Betsy ran so fast to her and was so sure that everything would be all right as soon as Cousin Ann knew about it; but whatever the reason was it was a good one, for, though Cousin Ann did not stop to kiss Molly or even to look at her more than one sharp first glance, she said after a moment's pause, during which she filled a syrup can and screwed the cover down very tight: "Well, if her folks will let her stay, how would you like to have Molly come and stay with us till her mother gets back from the hospital? Now you've got a room of your own, I guess if you wanted to you could have her sleep with you."

"Oh, Molly, Molly, Molly!"  shouted Betsy, jumping up and down, and then hugging the little girl with all her might. "Oh, it will be like having a little sister!"

Cousin Ann sounded a dry, warning note: "Don't be too sure her folks will let her. We don't know about them yet."

Betsy ran to her, and caught her hand, looking up at her with shining eyes. "Cousin Ann, if you  go to see them and ask them, they will!"

This made even Cousin Ann give a little abashed smile of pleasure, although she made her face grave again at once and said: "You'd better go along back to the house now, Betsy. It's time for you to help Mother with the supper."

The two children trotted back along the darkening wood road, Shep running before them, little Molly clinging fast to the older child's hand. "Aren't you ever afraid, Betsy, in the woods this way?" she asked admiringly, looking about her with timid eyes.

"Oh, no!" said Betsy, protectingly; "there's nothing to be afraid of, except getting off on the wrong fork of the road, near the Wolf Pit."

"Oh, ow!"  said Molly, scringing. "What's the Wolf Pit? What an awful name!"

Betsy laughed. She tried to make her laugh sound brave like Cousin Ann's, which always seemed so scornful of being afraid. As a matter of fact, she was beginning to fear that they had  made the wrong turn, and she was not quite sure that she could find the way home. But she put this out of her mind and walked along very fast, peering ahead into the dusk. "Oh, it hasn't anything to do with wolves," she said in answer to Molly's question; "anyhow, not now. It's just a big, deep hole in the ground where a brook had dug out a cave. . . . Uncle Henry told me all about it when he showed it to me . . . and then part of the roof caved in; sometimes there's ice in the corner of the covered part all the summer, Aunt Abigail says."

"Why do you call it the Wolf Pit?" asked Molly, walking very close to Betsy and holding very tightly to her hand.

"Oh, long, ever so long ago, when the first settlers came up here, they heard a wolf howling all night, and when it didn't stop in the morning, they came up here on the mountain and found a wolf had fallen in and couldn't get out."

"My! I hope they killed him!" said Molly.

"Oh, gracious! that was more than a hundred years ago," said Betsy. She was not thinking of what she was saying. She was thinking that if they were  on the right road they ought to be home by this time. She was thinking that the right road ran down hill to the house all the way, and that this certainly seemed to be going up a little. She was wondering what had become of Shep. "Stand here just a minute, Molly," she said. "I want . . . I just want to go ahead a little bit and see . . . and see . . ." She darted on around a curve of the road and stood still, her heart sinking. The road turned there and led straight up the mountain!

For just a moment the little girl felt a wild impulse to burst out in a shriek for Aunt Frances, and to run crazily away, anywhere so long as she was running. But the thought of Molly standing back there, trustfully waiting to be taken care of, shut Betsy's lips together hard before her scream of fright got out. She stood still, thinking. Now she mustn't get frightened. All they had to do was to walk back along the road till they came to the fork and then make the right turn. But what if they didn't get back to the turn till it was so dark they couldn't see it . . . ? Well, she mustn't think of that. She ran back, calling, "Come on, Molly," in a tone she tried to make as firm as Cousin Ann's. "I guess we have made the wrong turn after all. We'd better . . ."

But there was no Molly there. In the brief moment Betsy had stood thinking, Molly had disappeared. The long, shadowy wood road held not a trace of her.

 

The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

Granny Fox Catches Peter Rabbit

Now listen to this little tale That deals somewhat with folly, And shows how sometimes one may be A little bit too jolly.

N O sooner was old Granny Fox out of sight, running as if she thought that every jump might be her last, than Jimmy Skunk came out from the hole under a big stump where he had been hiding, Peter Rabbit came out of the hollow log from which he had been peeping, and Unc' Billy Possum dropped down from the hemlock-tree in which he had so carefully kept out of sight, and all three began to dance around Prickly Porky, laughing as if they were trying to split their sides.

"Ho, ho, ho!" shouted Jimmy Skunk. "I wonder what Reddy Fox would have said if he could have seen old Granny go down that hollow!"

"Ha, ha, ha!" shouted Peter Rabbit. "Did you see how her eyes popped out?"

"Hee, hee, hee!" squeaked Unc' Billy Possum in his funny cracked voice. "Ah reckons she am bound to have sore feet if she keeps on running the way she started."

Prickly Porky didn't say a word. He just smiled in a quiet sort of way as he slowly climbed up to the top of the hill.

Now old Granny Fox had been badly frightened. Who wouldn't have been at seeing a strange creature without head, tail, or legs rolling down hill straight towards them? But Granny was too old and wise to run very far without cause. She was hardly out of sight of the four little scamps who had been watching her when she stopped to see if that strange creature were following her. It didn't take her long to decide that it wasn't. Then she did some quick thinking.

"I said beforehand that there was some trick, and now I'm sure of it," she muttered. "I have an idea that that good-for-nothing old Billy Possum knows something about it, and I'm just going back to find out."

She wasted no time thinking about it, but began to steal back the way she had come. Now, no one is lighter of foot than old Granny Fox, and no one knows better how to keep out of sight. From tree to tree she crawled, sometimes flat on her stomach, until at last she reached the foot of the hill where she had just had such a fright. There was nothing to be seen there, but up at the top of the hill she saw something that made a fierce, angry gleam come into her yellow eyes. Then she smiled grimly. "The last laugh always is the best laugh, and this time I guess it is going to be mine," she said to herself. Very slowly and carefully, so as not to so much as rustle a leaf, she began to crawl around so as to come up on the back side of the hill.

Now what old Granny Fox had seen was Peter Rabbit and Jimmy Skunk and Unc' Billy Possum rolling over and over in the dried leaves, turning somersaults, and shouting and laughing, while Prickly Porky sat looking on and smiling. Granny knew well enough what was tickling them so, and she knew too that they didn't dream but that she was still running away in fright. At last they were so tired with their good time that they just had to stop for a rest.

"Oh, dear, I'm all out of breath," panted Peter, as he threw himself flat on the ground. "That was the funniest thing I ever saw. I wonder who we—"

Peter didn't finish. No, Sir, Peter didn't finish. Instead, he gave a frightened shriek as something red flashed out from under a low-growing hemlock-tree close behind him, and two black paws pinned him down, and sharp teeth caught him by the back of the neck. Old Granny Fox had caught Peter Rabbit at last!

 

Sir Walter Scott

Hie Away

Hie away, hie away! Over bank and over brae, Where the copsewood is the greenest, Where the fountains glisten sheenest, Where the lady fern grows strongest, Where the morning dew lies longest, Where the blackcock sweetest sips it, Where the fairy latest trips it: Hie to haunts right seldom seen, Lovely, lonesome, cool, and green, Over bank and over brae, Hie away, hie away!

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

The Strong Man: How He Lived and How He Died

Judges xiii: 1, to xvi: 31.

FTER Jephthah three judges ruled in turn, named Ibzan, Elon, and Abdon. None of these were men of war, and in their days the land was quiet.

But the people of Israel again began to worship idols; and as a punishment God allowed them once more to pass under the power of their enemies. The seventh oppression, which now fell upon Israel, was by far the hardest, the longest, and the most widely spread of any, for it was over all the tribes. It came from the Philistines, a strong and warlike people, who lived on the west of Israel upon the plain beside the Great Sea. They worshipped an idol called Dagon, which was made in the form of a fish's head on a man's body.

These people, the Philistines, sent their armies up from the plain beside the sea to the mountains of Israel, and overran all the land.

They took away from the Israelites all their swords and spears, so that they could not fight; and they robbed their land of all the crops, so that the people suffered for want of food. And as before, the Israelites in their trouble cried to the Lord, and the Lord heard their prayer.

In the tribe land of Dan, which was next to the country of the Philistines, there was living a man named Manoah. One day an angel came to his wife, and said, "You shall have a son; and when he grows up he will begin to save Israel from the hand of the Philistines. But your son must never drink any wine or strong drink as long as he lives. And his hair must be allowed to grow long, and must never be cut, for he shall be a Nazarite under a vow to the Lord."

When a child was given especially to God, or when a man gave himself to some work for God, he was forbidden to drink wine, and as a sign, his hair was left to grow long while the vow or promise to God was upon him. Such a person as this was called a Nazarite, a word which means "one who has a vow," and Manoah's child was to be a Nazarite, and under a vow, as long as he lived.

The child was born, and was named Samson. He grew up to become the strongest man of whom the Bible tells. Samson was no general, like Gideon or Jephthah, to call out his people and lead them in war. He did much to set his people free; but all that he did was by his own strength, without any help from other men.

When Samson became a young man he went down to Timnath, in the land of the Philistines. There he saw a young Philistine woman whom he loved, and wished to have as his wife. His father and mother were not pleased that he should marry among the enemies of his own people. They did not know that God would make this marriage the means of bringing harm upon the Philistines, and of helping the Israelites.

As Samson was going down to Timnath, to see this young woman, a hungry young lion came out of the mountain, growling and roaring. Samson seized the lion, and tore him in pieces as easily as another man would have killed a little kid of the goats; and then went on his way. He made his visit, and came home, but said nothing to any one about the lion.

Young Samson slays the lion.

After a time Samson went again to Timnath, for his marriage with the Philistine woman. On his way he stopped to look at the dead lion; and in its body he found a swarm of bees, and honey which they had made. He took some of the honey, and ate it as he walked; but told no one of it.

At the wedding-feast, which lasted a whole week, there were many Philistine young men; and they amused each other with questions and riddles.

"I will give you a riddle," said Samson. "If you answer it during the feast, I will give you thirty suits of clothing. And if you cannot answer it, then you must give me thirty suits of clothing."

"Let us hear your riddle," they said. And this was Samson's riddle for the young men of the Philistines to answer:

"Out of the eater came forth meat. And out of the strong came forth sweetness."

They could not find the answer, though they tried to find it, all that day, and the two days that followed. And at last they came to Samson's wife, and said to her, "Coax your husband to tell you the answer. If you do not find it out, we will set your house on fire, and burn you and all your people."

And Samson's wife urged him to tell her the answer. She cried and pleaded with him, and said, "If you really love me, you would not keep this a secret from me."

At last Samson yielded, and told his wife how he had killed the lion and afterward found the honey in its body. She told her people, and just before the end of the feast they came to Samson with the answer. They said, "What is sweeter than honey? And what is stronger than a lion?"

And Samson said to them, "If you had not plowed with my heifer, you had not found out my riddle."

By his "heifer"—which is a young cow—of course Samson meant his wife. Then Samson was required to give them thirty suits of clothing. He went out among the Philistines, killed the first thirty men whom he found, took off their clothes, and gave them to the guests at the feast. But all this made Samson very angry. He left his new wife and went home to his father's house. Then the parents of his wife gave her to another man.

But after a time Samson's anger passed away, and he went again to Timnath to see his wife. But her father said to him, "You went away angry, and I supposed that you cared nothing for her. I gave her to another man, and now she is his wife. But here is her younger sister; you can take her for your wife instead."

But Samson would not take his wife's sister. He went out very angry, determined to do harm to the Philistines, because they had cheated him. He caught all the wild foxes that he could find, until he had three hundred of them. Then he tied them together in pairs, by their tails; and between each pair of foxes he tied to their tails a piece of dry wood which he set on fire. These foxes with firebrands on their tails he turned loose among the fields of the Philistines when the grain was ripe. They ran wildly over the fields, set the grain on fire, and burned it; and with the grain the olive-trees in the fields.

When the Philistines saw their harvests destroyed, they said, "Who has done this?"

And people said, "Samson did this, because his wife was given by her father to another man."

The Philistines looked on Samson's father-in-law as the cause of their loss; and they came, and set his house on fire, and burned the man and his daughter whom Samson had married. Then Samson came down again, and alone fought a company of Philistines, and killed them all, as a punishment for burning his wife.

After this Samson went to live in a hollow place in a split rock, called the rock of Etam. The Philistines came up in a great army, and overran the fields in the tribe-land of Judah.

"Why do you come against us?" asked the men of Judah. "What do you want from us?" "We have come," they said, "to bind Samson, and to deal with him as he has dealt with our people."

The men of Judah said to Samson, "Do you not know that the Philistines are ruling over us? Why do you make them angry by killing their people? You see that we suffer through your pranks. Now we must bind you, and give you to the Philistines; or they will ruin us all."

And Samson said, "I will let you bind me, if you will promise not to kill me yourselves; but only to give me safely into the hands of the Philistines."

They made the promise; and Samson gave himself up to them, and allowed them to tie him up fast with new ropes. The Philistines shouted for joy as they saw their enemy brought to them, led in bonds by his own people. Little did they know what was to happen. For as soon as Samson came among them he burst the bonds as though they had been light strings; and picked up from the ground the jawbone of an ass, and struck right and left with it as with a sword. He killed almost a thousand of the Philistines with this strange weapon. Afterward he sang a song about it, thus:

"With the jawbone of an ass, heaps upon heaps, With the jawbone of an ass, have I slain a thousand men."

After this Samson went down to the chief city of the Philistines, which was named Gaza. It was a large city; and like all large cities was surrounded with a high wall. When the men of Gaza found Samson in their city, they shut the gates, thinking that they could now hold him as a prisoner. But in the night, Samson rose up, went to the gates, pulled their posts out of the ground, and put the gates with their posts upon his shoulder. He carried them twenty miles away, and left them on the top of a hill not far from the city of Hebron.

After this Samson saw another woman among the Philistines, and he loved her. The name of this woman was Delilah. The rulers of the Philistines came to Delilah, and said to her:

"Find out, if you can, what it is that makes Samson so strong; and tell us. If you help us to get control of him, so that we can have him in our power, we will give you a great sum of money."

And Delilah coaxed and pleaded with Samson to tell her what it was that made him so strong. Samson said to her, "If they will tie me with seven green twigs from a tree, then I shall not be strong any more."

They brought her seven green twigs, like those of a willow-tree; and she bound Samson with them while he was asleep. Then she called out to him, "Wake up, Samson, the Philistines are coming against you!"

And Samson rose up, and broke the twigs as easily as if they had been charred in the fire, and went away with ease.

And Delilah tried again to find his secret. She said, "You are only making fun of me. Now tell me truly how you can be bound."

Delilah tries to learn from Samson the secret of his strength.

And Samson said, "Let them bind me with new ropes, that have never been used before; and then I cannot get away."

While Samson was asleep again, Delilah bound him with new ropes. Then she called out as before, "Get up, Samson, for the Philistines are coming!" And when Samson rose up, the ropes broke as if they were thread. And Delilah again urged him to tell her; and he said:

"You notice that my long hair is in seven locks. Weave it together in the loom, just as if it were the threads in a piece of cloth."

Then, while he was asleep, she wove his hair in the loom, and fastened it with a large pin to the weaving frame. But when he awoke, he rose up, and carried away the pin and the beam of the weaving-frame, for he was as strong as before.

And Delilah said, "Why do you tell me that you love me, as long as you deceive me, and keep from me your secret!" And she pleaded with him day after day, until at last he yielded to her, and told her the real secret of his strength. He said:

"I am a Nazarite, under a vow to the Lord not to drink wine, and not to allow my hair to be cut. If I should let my hair be cut short, then the Lord would forsake me, and my strength would go from me, and I would be like other men."

Then Delilah knew that she had found the truth at last. She sent for the rulers of the Philistines, saying, "Come up this once, and you shall have your enemy; for I am sure now that he has told me all that is in his heart."

Then, while the Philistines were watching outside, Delilah let Samson go to sleep, with his head upon her knees. While he was sound asleep, they took a razor and shaved off all his hair. Then she called out as at other times, "Rise up, Samson; the Philistines are upon you."

He awoke, and rose up, expecting to find himself strong as before; for he did not at first know that his long hair had been cut off. But he had broken his vow to the Lord, and the Lord had left him. He was now as weak as other men, and helpless in the hands of his enemies. The Philistines easily made him their prisoner; and that he might never do them more harm, they put out his eyes. Then they chained him with fetters, and sent him to prison at Gaza. And in the prison they made Samson turn a heavy millstone to grind grain, just as though he were a beast of burden.

But while Samson was in prison his hair grew long again; and with his hair his strength came back to him, for Samson renewed his vow to the Lord.

One day a great feast was held by the Philistines in the temple of their fish-god Dagon. For they said, "Our god has given Samson our enemy into our hands. Let us be glad together and praise Dagon."

And the temple was thronged with people, and the roof over it was also crowded with more than three thousand men and women. They sent for Samson, to rejoice over him; and Samson was led into the court of the temple, before all the people, to amuse them. After a time, Samson said to the boy who was leading him:

"Take me up to the front of the temple, so that I may stand by one of the pillars, and lean against it."

And while Samson stood between two of the pillars, he prayed to the Lord God of Israel, and said, "O Lord God, remember me, I pray thee, and give me strength only this once, O God; and help me, that I may obtain vengeance upon the Philistines for my two eyes!"

Then he placed one arm around the pillar on one side, and the other arm around the pillar on the other side; and he said, "Let me die with the Philistines."

And he bowed forward with all his might, and pulled the pillars over with him, bringing down the roof and all upon it upon those that were under it. Samson himself was among the dead; but in his death he killed more of the Philistines than he had killed during his life.

Samson pulling down the temple.

Then in the terror which came upon the Philistines the men of Samson's tribe came down and found his dead body, and buried it in their own land. After that it was years before the Philistines tried again to rule over the Israelites.

Samson did much to set his people free, but he might have done much more, if he had led his people, instead of trusting alone to his own strength; and if he had lived more earnestly, and not done his deeds as though he was playing pranks and making jokes upon his enemies. There were deep faults in Samson, but at the end he sought God's help and found it; and God used Samson to begin to set his people free.

The tribe to which Samson belonged was the tribe of Dan, a people who lived on the edge of the mountain country, between the mountains and the plains by the sea-coast, which was the home of the Philistines. The tribe-land of Dan was northwest of Judah, southwest of Ephraim, and west of Benjamin. Samson ruled over his own tribe, but not much over the other tribes. Yet his deeds of courage and strength kept the Philistines, during his lifetime, from getting control over the lands of Judah and Benjamin; so that Samson helped to save Israel from its enemies.

 

The Boxcar Children  by Gertrude Chandler Warner

The Flight

A BOUT seven o'clock one hot summer evening a strange family moved into the little village of Middlesex. Nobody knew where they came from, or who they were. But the neighbors soon made up their minds what they thought of the strangers, for the father was very drunk. He could hardly walk up the rickety front steps of the old tumble-down house, and his thirteen-year-old son had to help him. Toward eight o'clock a pretty, capable-looking girl of twelve came out of the house and bought a loaf of bread at the baker's. And that was all the villagers learned about the newcomers that night.

"There are four children," said the bakeshop woman to her husband the next day, "and their mother is dead. They must have some money, for the girl paid for the bread with a dollar bill."

"Make them pay for everything they get," growled the baker, who was a hard man. "The father is nearly dead with drink now, and soon they will be only beggars."

This happened sooner than he thought. The next day the oldest boy and girl came to ask the bakeshop woman to come over. Their father was dead.

She went over willingly enough, for someone had to go. But it was clear that she did not expect to be bothered with four strange children, with the bakery on her hands and two children of her own.

"Haven't you any other folks?" she asked the children.

"We have a grandfather in Greenfield," spoke up the youngest child before his sister could clap her hand over his mouth.

"Hush, Benny," she said anxiously.

This made the bakeshop woman suspicious. "What's the matter with your grandfather?" she asked.

"He doesn't like us," replied the oldest boy reluctantly. "He didn't want my father to marry my mother, and if he found us he would treat us cruelly."

"Did you ever see him?"

"Jess has. Once she saw him."

"Well, did he treat you cruelly?" asked the woman, turning upon Jess.

"Oh, he didn't see me," replied Jess. "He was just passing through our—where we used to live—and my father pointed him out to me."

"Where did you use to live?" went on the questioner. But none of the children could be made to tell.

"We will get along all right alone, won't we, Henry?" declared Jess.

"Indeed we will!" said Henry.

"I will stay in the house with you tonight," said the woman at last, "and tomorrow we will see what can be done."

The four children went to bed in the kitchen, and gave the visitor the only other bed in the house. They knew that she did not at once go to bed, but sat by the window in the dark. Suddenly they heard her talking to her husband through the open window.

"They must go to their grandfather, that's certain," Jess heard her say.

"Of course," agreed her husband. "Tomorrow we will make them tell us what his name is."

Soon after that Jess and Henry heard her snoring heavily. They sat up in the dark.

"Mustn't we surely run away?" whispered Jess in Henry's ear.

"Yes!" whispered Henry. "Take only what we need most. We must be far off before morning, or they will catch us."

Jess sat still for a moment, thinking, for every motion she made must count.

"I will take both loaves of bread," she thought, "and Violet's little workbag. Henry has his knife. And all Father's money is in my pocket." She drew it out and counted it in the dark, squinting her eyes in the faint light of the moon. It amounted to nearly four dollars.

"You'll have to carry Benny until he gets waked up," whispered Jess. "If we wake him up here, he might cry."

She touched Violet as she spoke.

"Sh! Violet! Come! We're going to run away," she whispered.

The little girl made no sound. She sat up obediently and tried to make out the dim shadow of her sister.

"What shall I do?" she said, light as a breath.

"Carry this," said Jess, handing her the workbag and a box of matches.

Jess tiptoed over to the tin box on the table, drew out the two loaves of bread, and slipped them into the laundry bag. She peered around the room for the last time, and then dropped two small clean towels and a cake of soap into the bag.

"All right. Pick him up," she said to Henry.

Henry bent over the sleeping child and lifted him carefully. Jess took the laundry bag, turned the doorknob ever so softly, opened the door ever so slowly, and they tiptoed out in a ghostly procession.

Jess shut the door with as much care as she had opened it, listened to the bakeshop woman's heavy snoring for a moment, and then they turned and picked their way without a sound to the country road.

Jess shut the door with as much care as she had opened it

"She may wake up before morning, you know," whispered Henry. "We must do our fastest walking before then. If we can only get to another town before they find out we're gone, they won't know which way to go."

Jess agreed, and they all walked briskly along in the faint moonlight.

"How far can you carry Benny?" asked Violet.

"Oh, at least a mile," said Henry confidently, although his arms were beginning to ache. Benny was five years old, and he was a fat, healthy boy as well.

"I  think we could all walk faster if we woke him up," said Jess decidedly. "We could each take his hand and almost carry him along."

Henry knelt by the roadside and set the little fellow against his knee.

"Come, Benny, you must wake up now and walk!" said Jess coaxingly.

"Go away!" Benny mumbled with his eyes shut, trying to lie down again.

"Let me try," Violet offered softly.

"Say, Benny, you know little Cinnamon Bear ran away to find a nice warm bed for the winter? Now, you play you're Cinnamon, and Henry and Jess will help you along, and we'll find a bed."

Violet's little plan worked. Benny was never too cross to listen to the wonderful stories his sister Violet could tell about Cinnamon Bear. He stood up bravely and marched along, yawning, while his big brother and sister almost swung him between them.

Not a soul passed them on the country road. All the houses they saw were dark and still. And when the first faint streaks of morning light showed in the sky, all four children were almost staggering with sleep.

"I must  go to sleep, Henry," murmured Jess at last. Little Benny was asleep already, and Henry was carrying him again.

"The first place we come to, then," panted Henry.

Violet said nothing, but she kept her eyes open.

Finally she caught Henry's sleeve. "Couldn't we make that haystack do?" she asked, pointing across a newly mown field.

"Indeed we could," said Henry thankfully. "What a big, enormous one it is! I was too sleepy to see it, I guess."

"And see how far away from the farmhouse and barn it is, too!" echoed Jess.

The sight gave them new courage. They climbed over two stone walls, got across a brook somehow with the heavy child, and arrived at the haystack.

Henry laid his brother down and stretched his aching arms, while Jess began to burrow into the haystack. Violet, after a moment of watching her, did the same.

"Here's his nest," said Jess sleepily, taking her head out of the deep round hole she had made. Henry lifted the child into the opening and was pleased to see that he curled up instantly, smiling in his sleep.

Jess pulled wisps of hay over the opening so that it was absolutely invisible, and then proceeded to dig out a similar burrow for herself.

"We can stay here just—as long—as we like, can't we, Henry?" she murmured, digging with her eyes shut.

"We sure can," replied Henry. "You're an old brick, Jess. Get in, and I'll pull the hay over the hole."

Violet was already curled up in her nest, which was hidden so completely that Henry spoke to her to see if she were there. Then he wriggled himself backward into the haycock without stopping to hollow it out, pulled a handful of hay over his head, and laid his head on his arm.

Just as he did so he heard a heavy voice say, "Now, then, lass, git along!" Then he heard the rumble of a milk wagon coming down a near-by lane, and he realized thankfully that they had hidden themselves just before the first farmer in the neighborhood had set off toward Middlesex with his milk cans.

"He will say he didn't meet us coming this way," thought Henry, "so they will hunt for us the other way. And that will give us time to cover a lot more ground."

He dropped asleep just as the roosters all over the valley began to answer each other.

 

Daniel Clement Colesworthy

Don't Kill the Birds

Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds, That sing about your door, Soon as the joyous spring has come, And chilling storms are o'er. The little birds, how sweet they sing! Oh! let them joyous live; And never seek to take the life That you can never give. Don't kill the birds, the pretty birds, That play among the trees; 'Twould make the earth a cheerless place, Should we dispense with these. The little birds, how fond they play! Do not disturb their sport; But let them warble forth their songs, Till winter cuts them short. Don't kill the birds, the happy birds, That bless the field and grove; So innocent to look upon, They claim our warmest love. The happy birds, the tuneful birds, How pleasant 'tis to see! No spot can be a cheerless place Where'er their presence be.