Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Meets the Fox and the Cat Again

T HE Fairy, as you can imagine, allowed the puppet to cry and to roar for a good half-hour over his nose, which could no longer pass through the door of the room. This she did to give him a severe lesson, and to correct him of the disgraceful fault of telling lies—the most disgraceful fault that a boy can have. But when she saw him quite disfigured, and his eyes swollen out of his head from weeping, she felt full of compassion for him. She therefore beat her hands together, and at that signal a thousand large birds called Woodpeckers flew in at the window. They immediately perched on Pinocchio's nose, and began to peck at it with such zeal that in a few minutes his enormous and ridiculous nose was reduced to its usual dimensions.

They immediately perched on Pinocchio's nose and began to peck at it.

"What a good Fairy you are," said the puppet, drying his eyes, "and how much I love you!"

"I love you also," answered the Fairy; "and if you will remain with me, you shall be my little brother and I will be your good little sister. . . ."

"I would remain willingly . . . but my poor papa?"

"I have thought of everything. I have already let your father know, and he will be here to-night."

"Really?" shouted Pinocchio, jumping for joy. "Then, little Fairy, if you consent, I should like to go and meet him. I am so anxious to give a kiss to that poor old man, who has suffered so much on my account, that I am counting the minutes."

"Go, then, but be careful not to lose yourself. Take the road through the wood and I am sure that you will meet him."

Pinocchio set out and as soon as he was in the wood he began to run like a kid. But when he had reached a certain spot, almost in front of the Big Oak, he stopped, because he thought that he heard people amongst the bushes. In fact, two persons came out on to the road. Can you guess who they were? . . . His two travelling companions, the Fox and the Cat, with whom he had supped at the inn of the Red Craw-fish.

"Why, here is our dear Pinocchio!" cried the Fox, kissing and embracing him. "How come you to be here?"

"Why, here is our dear Pinocchio!" cried the Fox.

"How come you to be here?" repeated the Cat.

"It is a long story," answered the puppet, "which I will tell you when I have time. But do you know that the other night, when you left me alone at the inn, I met with assassins on the road. . . ."

"Assassins! . . . Oh, poor Pinocchio! And what did they want?"

"They wanted to rob me of my gold pieces."

"Villains! . . ." said the Fox.

"Infamous villains!" repeated the Cat.

"But I ran away from them," continued the puppet, "and they followed me: and at last they overtook me and hung me to a branch of that oak-tree. . . ."

And Pinocchio pointed to the Big Oak, which was two steps from them.

"Is it possible to hear of anything more dreadful?" said the Fox. "In what a world we are condemned to live! Where can respectable people like us find a safe refuge?"

Whilst they were thus talking Pinocchio observed that the Cat was lame of her front right leg, for in fact she had lost her paw with all its claws. He therefore asked her:

"What have you done with your paw?"

The Cat tried to answer but became confused. Therefore the Fox said immediately:

"My friend is too modest, and that is why she doesn't speak. I will answer for her. I must tell you that an hour ago we met an old wolf on the road, almost fainting from want of food, who asked alms of us. Not having so much as a fish-bone to give him, what did my friend, who has really the heart of a Cæsar, do? She bit off one of her fore paws, and threw it to that poor beast that he might appease his hunger."

And the Fox, in relating this, dried a tear.

Pinocchio was also touched, and approaching the Cat he whispered into her ear:

"If all cats resembled you, how fortunate the mice would be!"

"And now, what are you doing here?" asked the Fox of the puppet.

"I am waiting for my papa, whom I expect to arrive every moment."

"And your gold pieces?"

"I have got them in my pocket, all but one that I spent at the inn of the Red Craw-fish."

"And to think that, instead of four pieces, by to-morrow they might become one or two thousand! Why do you not listen to my advice? why will you not go and bury them in the Field of miracles?"

"To-day it is impossible: I will go another day."

"Another day it will be too late! . . ." said the Fox.

"Why?"

"Because the field has been bought by a gentleman, and after to-morrow no one will be allowed to bury money there."

"How far off is the Field of miracles?"

"Not two miles. Will you come with us? In half an hour you will be there. You can bury your money at once, and in a few minutes you will collect two thousand, and this evening you will return with your pockets full. Will you come with us?"

Pinocchio thought of the good Fairy, old Geppetto, and the warnings of the Talking-cricket, and he hesitated a little before answering. He ended, however, by doing as all boys do who have not a grain of sense and who have no heart—he ended by giving his head a little shake, and saying to the Fox and the Cat:

"Let us go: I will come with you."

And they went.

After having walked half the day they reached a town that was called "Trap for blockheads." As soon as Pinocchio entered this town, he saw that the streets were crowded with dogs who had lost their coats and who were yawning from hunger, shorn sheep trembling with cold, cocks without combs or crests who were begging for a grain of Indian corn, large butterflies who could no longer fly because they had sold their beautiful coloured wings, peacocks who had no tails and were ashamed to be seen, and pheasants who went scratching about in a subdued fashion, mourning for their brilliant gold and silver feathers gone for ever.

In the midst of this crowd of beggars and shame-faced creatures, some lordly carriage passed from time to time containing a Fox, or a thieving Magpie, or some other ravenous bird of prey.

"And where is the Field of miracles?" asked Pinocchio.

"It is here, not two steps from us."

They crossed the town, and having gone beyond the walls they came to a solitary field which to look at resembled all other fields.

"We are arrived," said the Fox to the puppet. "Now stoop down and dig with your hands a little hole in the ground and put your gold pieces into it."

Pinocchio obeyed. He dug a hole, put into it the four gold pieces that he had left, and then filled up the hole with a little earth.

"Now then," said the Fox, go to that canal close to us, fetch a can of water, and water the ground where you have sowed them."

Pinocchio went to the canal, and as he had no can he took off one of his old shoes, and filling it with water he watered the ground over the hole.

He then asked:

"Is there anything else to be done?"

"Nothing else," answered the Fox. "We can now go away. You can return in about twenty minutes, and you will find a shrub already pushing through the ground, with its branches quite loaded with money."

The poor puppet, beside himself with joy, thanked the Fox and the Cat a thousand times, and promised them a beautiful present.

"We wish for no presents," answered the two rascals. "It is enough for us to have taught you the way to enrich yourself without undergoing hard work, and we are as happy as folk out for a holiday."

Thus saying they took leave of Pinocchio, and, wishing him a good harvest, went about their business.

 

Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

Wineland the Good

Part 2 of 2

The very next day they went into the woods and began to cut out lumber. The huts that they built were little things. They had no windows, and in the doorways the men hung their cloaks instead of doors.

"We can be out in the air so much in this warm country," said Gudrid, "that we do not need fine houses."

The huts were scattered all about, some on the side of the lake, some at the shore of the harbor, some on the hillside. Gudrid had said:

"I want to live by the lake where I can look into the green woods and hear sweet bird-noises."

So Thorfinn built his hut there.

As they sat about the campfire one night, Biarni said:

"It is strange that so good a land should be empty. I suppose that these are the first houses that were ever built in Wineland. It is wonderful to think that we are alone here in this great land."

All that winter no snow fell. The cattle pastured on the grass.

"To think of the cold, frozen winters in Greenland!" Gudrid said. "Oh! this is the sun's own land."

In the beginning of that winter a little son was born to Gudrid and Thorfinn.

"A health to the first Winelander!" the men shouted and drank down their wine; for they had made some from Wineland grapes.

"Will he be the father of a great country, as Ingolf was?" Biarni mused.

Gudrid looked at her baby and smiled.

"You will be as sunny as this good land, I hope," she said.

They named him Snorri. He grew fast and soon crept along the yellow sand, and toddled among the grapevines, and climbed into the boats and learned to talk. The men called him the "Wineland king."

"I never knew a baby before," one of the men said.

"No," said another. "Swords are jealous. But when they are in their scabbards, we can do other things, even play with babies."

"I wonder whether I have forgotten how to swing my sword in this quiet land," another man said.

One spring morning when the men got up and went out from their huts to the fires to cook they saw a great many canoes in the harbor. Men were in them paddling toward shore.

"What is this?" cried the Norsemen to one another. "Where did they come from? Are they foes? Who ever saw such boats before? The men's faces are brown."

"Let every man have his sword ready," cried Thorfinn. "But do not draw until I command. Let us go to meet them."

So they went and stood on the shore. Soon the men from the canoes landed and stood looking at the Norsemen. The strangers' skin was brown. Their faces were broad. Their hair was black. Their bodies were short. They wore leather clothes. One man among them seemed to be chief. He spread out his open hands to the Norsemen.

"He is showing us that he has no weapons," Biarni said. "He comes in peace."

Then Thorfinn showed his empty hands and asked:

"What do you want?"

The stranger said something, but the Norsemen could not understand. It was some new language. Then the chief pointed to one of the huts and walked toward it. He and his men walked all around and felt of the timber and went into it and looked at all the things there—spades and cloaks and drinking-horns. As they looked they talked together. They went to all the other huts and looked at everything there. One of them found a red cloak. He spread it out and showed it to the others. They all stood about it and looked at it and felt of it and talked fast.

"They seem to like my cloak," Biarni said.

One of the strangers went down to their canoes and soon came back with an armload of furs—fox-skins, otter-skins, beaver-skins. The chief took some and held them out to Thorfinn and hugged the cloak to him.

"The chief held them out to Thorfinn and hugged the cloak to him."

"He wants to trade," Thorfinn said. "Will you do it, Biarni?"

"Yes," Biarni answered, and took the furs.

"If they want red stuff, I have a whole roll of red cloth that I will trade," one of the other men said.

He went and got it. When the strangers saw it they quickly held out more furs and seemed eager to trade. So Thorfinn cut the cloth into pieces and sold every scrap. When the strangers got it they tied it about their heads and seemed much pleased.

While this trading was going on and everybody was good-natured, a bull of Thorfinn's ran out of the woods bellowing and came towards the crowd. When the strangers heard it and saw it they threw down whatever was in their hands and ran to their canoes and paddled off as fast as they could.

The Norsemen laughed.

"We have lost our customers," Biarni said.

"Did they never see a bull before?" laughed one of the men.

Now after three weeks the Norsemen saw canoes in the bay again. This time it was black with them, there were so many. The people in them were all making a horrible shout.

"It is a war-cry," Thorfinn said, and he raised a red shield. "They are surely twenty to our one, but we must fight. Stand in close line and give them a taste of your swords."

Even as he spoke a great shower of stones fell upon them. Some of the Norsemen were hit on the head and knocked down. Biarni got a broken arm. Still the storm came fast. The strangers had landed and were running toward the Norsemen. They threw their stones with sling-shots, and they yelled all the time.

"Oh, this is no kind of fighting for brave men!" Thorfinn cried angrily.

The Norsemen's swords swung fast, and many of the strangers died under them, but still others came on, throwing stones and swinging stone axes. The horrible yelling and the strange things that the savages did frightened the Norsemen.

"These are not men," some one cried. Then those Norsemen who had never been afraid of anything turned and ran. But when they came to the top of a rough hill Thorfinn cried:

"What are we doing? Shall we die here in this empty land with no one to bury us? We are leaving our women."

Then one of the women ran out of the hut where they were hiding.

"Give me a sword!" she cried. "I can drive them back. Are Norsemen not better than these savages?"

Then those warriors stopped, ashamed, and stood up before the wild men and fought so fiercely that the strangers turned and fled down to their canoes and paddled away.

"Oh, I am glad they are gone!" Thorfinn said. "It was an ugly fight."

"Thor would not have loved that battle," one said.

"It was no battle," another replied. "It was like fighting against an army of poisonous flies."

The Norsemen were all worn and bleeding and sore. They went to their huts and dressed their wounds, and the women helped them. At supper that night they talked about the fight for a long time.

"I will not stay here," Gudrid said. "Perhaps these wild men have gone away to get more people and will come back and kill us. Oh! they are ugly."

"Perhaps brown faces are looking at us now from behind the trees in the woods back there," said Biarni.

It was the wish of all to go home. So after a few days they sailed back to Greenland with good weather all the way. The people at Eric's house were very glad to see them.

"We were afraid you had died," they said.

"And I thought once that we should never leave Wineland alive," Thorfinn answered.

Then they told all the story.

"I wonder why I had no such bad luck," Leif said. "But you have a better shipload than I got."

He was looking at the bundles of furs and the kegs of wine.

"Yes," said Thorfinn, "we have come back richer than when we left. But I will never go again for all the skins in the woods."

The next summer Thorfinn took Gudrid and Snorri and all his people and sailed back to Iceland, his home. There he lived until he died. People looked at him in wonder.

"That is the man who went to Wineland and fought with wild men," they said. "Snorri is his son. He is the first and last Winelander, for no one will ever go there again. It will be an empty and forgotten land."

And so it was for a long time. Some wise men wrote down the story of those voyages and of that land, and people read the tale and liked it, but no one remembered where the place was. It all seemed like a fairy tale. Long afterwards, however, men began to read those stories with wide-open eyes and to wonder. They guessed and talked together, and studied this and that land, and read the story over and over. At last they have learned that Wineland was in America, on the eastern shore of the United States, and they have called Snorri the first American, and have put up statues of Leif Ericsson, the first comer to America.

 

Anonymous

A Bird's Experience

I lived first in a little house And lived there very well; The world to me was small and round, And made of pale blue shell. I lived next in a little nest, Nor needed any other; I thought the world was made of straw, And brooded by my mother. One day I fluttered from my home To see what I could find; I said, "The world is made of leaves, I have been very blind." At last I flew beyond the nest Quite fit for grown-up labors; I don't know how the world is made, And neither do my neighbors.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

George Washington and His Hatchet

W HEN George Wash-ing-ton was quite a little boy, his father gave him a hatchet. It was bright and new, and George took great delight in going about and chopping things with it.

He ran into the garden, and there he saw a tree which seemed to say to him, "Come and cut me down!"

George had often seen his father's men chop down the great trees in the forest, and he thought that it would be fine sport to see this tree fall with a crash to the ground. So he set to work with his little hatchet, and, as the tree was a very small one it did not take long to lay it low.

Soon after that, his father came home.

"Who has been cutting my fine young cherry tree?" he cried. "It was the only tree of its kind in this country, and it cost me a great deal of money."

He was very angry when he came into the house.

"If I only knew who killed that cherry tree," he cried, "I would—yes, I would"—

"Father!" cried little George. "I will tell you the truth about it. I chopped the tree down with my hatchet."

His father forgot his anger.

"George," he said, and he took the little fellow in his arms, "George, I am glad that you told me about it. I would rather lose a dozen cherry trees than that you should tell one false-hood."

 

Seaside and Wayside, Book One  by Julia McNair Wright

Mr. and Mrs. Crab

Mr. Crab

T HIS is a picture of Mr. Crab. He lives in the sand by the seaside.

Mr. Crab has a smooth, flat shell on his back. He has eight legs and two hands.

One hand is large; the other hand is small. He fights with the big hand, and takes his food with the little hand, or with both hands.

Mr. Crab digs out his house in the sand. He makes a place for a hall, a bed-room, and a pantry.

Do you see the round hole? It is the doorway of his house.

Mrs. Crab

Mrs. Crab does not dig. Both her hands are small and weak. She gets food to put into the pantry.

She never fights. If she is in any trouble she runs home, or to a hole in a rock.

See what queer eyes! They are set on pegs; some call them stalks. The crab can push out the eye-pegs and pull them in.

Would you not look odd if you could make your eyes stand out six inches?

When crabs go into their houses, they draw down their eyes and tuck in their feet.

Crabs are of many colors. They are red, brown, green, yellow, and blue. The claws are often of a very bright color.

The color on the shell is less bright than on the claws; it is in small dots. The color on some kinds of crabs is in lines.

No crab is clear, bright red when it is alive. When it is boiled it takes a fine, red hue. Why this is no one can tell.

 

William Shakespeare

Ariel's Song from The Tempest

Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry: On the bat's back I do fly, After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily, shall I live now, Under the blossom that hangs on the bough!

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Drummers and Carpenters

P ETER RABBIT was so full of questions that he hardly knew which one to ask first. But Yellow Wing the Flicker didn't give him a chance to ask any. From the edge of the Green forest there came a clear, loud call of, "Pe-ok! Pe-ok! Pe-ok!"

"Excuse me, Peter, there's Mrs. Yellow Wing calling me," exclaimed Yellow Wing, and away he went. Peter noticed that as he flew he went up and down. It seemed very much as if he bounded through the air just as Peter bounds over the ground. "I would know him by the way he flies just as far as I could see him," thought Peter, as he started for home in the dear Old Briar-patch. "Somehow he doesn't seem like a Woodpecker because he is on the ground so much. I must ask Jenny Wren about him."

It was two or three days before Peter had a chance for a bit of gossip with Jenny Wren. When he did the first thing he asked was if Yellow Wing is a true Woodpecker.

"Certainly he is," replied Jenny Wren. "Of course he is. Why under the sun should you think he isn't?"

"Because it seems to me he is on the ground more than he's in the trees," retorted Peter. "I don't know any other Woodpeckers who come down on the ground at all."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut!" scolded Jenny. "Think a minute, Peter! Think a minute! Haven't you ever seen Redhead on the ground?"

Peter blinked his eyes. "Ye-e-s," he said slowly. "Come to think of it, I have. I've seen him picking up beechnuts in the fall. The Woodpeckers are a funny family. I don't understand them."

Just then a long, rolling rat-a-tat-tat rang out just over their heads. "There's another one of them," chuckled Jenny. "That's Downy, the smallest of the whole family. He certainly makes an awful racket for such a little fellow. He is a splendid drummer and he's just as good a carpenter. He made the very house I am occupying now."

Peter was sitting with his head tipped back trying to see Downy. At first he couldn't make him out. Then he caught a little movement on top of a dead limb. It was Downy's head flying back and forth as he beat his long roll. He was dressed all in black and white. On the back of his head was a little scarlet patch. He was making a tremendous racket for such a little chap, only a little bigger than one of the Sparrow family.

REDHEAD THE WOODPECKER You will know him instantly by his all‑red head. DOWNY THE WOODPECKER His smaller size and the black bars on the white outer feathers of his tail distinguish him.

"Is he making a hole for a nest up there?" asked Peter eagerly.

"Gracious, Peter, what a question! What a perfectly silly question!" exclaimed Jenny Wren scornfully. "Do give us birds credit for a little common sense. If he were cutting a hole for a nest, everybody within hearing would know just where to look for it. Downy has too much sense in that little head of his to do such a silly thing as that. When he cuts a hole for a nest he doesn't make any more noise than is absolutely necessary. You don't see any chips flying, do you?"

"No-o," replied Peter slowly. "Now you speak of it, I don't. Is—is he hunting for worms in the wood?"

Jenny laughed right out. "Hardly, Peter, hardly," said she. "He's just drumming, that's all. That hollow limb makes the best kind of a drum and Downy is making the most of it. Just listen to that! There isn't a better drummer anywhere."

But Peter wasn't satisfied. Finally he ventured another question. "What's he doing it for?"

"Good land, Peter!" cried Jenny. "What do you run and jump for in the spring? What is Mr. Wren singing for over there? Downy is drumming for precisely the same reason—happiness. He can't run and jump and he can't sing, but he can drum. By the way, do you know that Downy is one of the most useful birds in the Old Orchard?"

Just then Downy flew away, but hardly had he disappeared when another drummer took his place. At first Peter thought Downy had returned until he noticed that the newcomer was just a bit bigger than Downy. Jenny Wren's sharp eyes spied him at once.

"Hello!" she exclaimed. "There's Hairy. Did you ever see two cousins look more alike? If it were not that Hairy is bigger than Downy it would be hard work to tell them apart. Do you see any other difference, Peter?"

Peter stared and blinked and stared again, then slowly shook his head. "No," he confessed, "I don't."

"That shows you haven't learned to use your eyes, Peter," said Jenny rather sharply. "Look at the outside feathers of his tail; they are all white. Downy's outside tail feathers have little bars of black. Hairy is just as good a carpenter as is Downy, but for that matter I don't know of a member of the Woodpecker family who isn't a good carpenter. Where did you say Yellow Wing the Flicker is making his home this year?"

"Over in the Big Hickory-tree by the Smiling Pool," replied Peter. "I don't understand yet why Yellow Wing spends so much time on the ground."

"Ants," replied Jenny Wren. "Just ants. He's as fond of ants as is Old Mr. Toad, and that is saying a great deal. If Yellow Wing keeps on he'll become a ground bird instead of a tree bird. He gets more than half his living on the ground now. Speaking of drumming, did you ever hear Yellow Wing drum on a tin roof?"

Peter shook his head.

"Well, if there's a tin roof anywhere around, and Yellow Wing can find it, he will be perfectly happy. He certainly does love to make a noise, and tin makes the finest kind of a drum."

Just then Jenny was interrupted by the arrival, on the trunk of the very next tree to the one on which she was sitting, of a bird about the size of Sammy Jay. His whole head and neck were a beautiful, deep red. His breast was pure white, and his back was black to nearly the beginning of his tail, where it was white.

"Hello, Redhead!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "How did you know we were talking about your family?"

"Hello, chatterbox," retorted Redhead with a twinkle in his eyes. "I didn't know you were talking about my family, but I could have guessed that you were talking about some one's family. Does your tongue ever stop, Jenny?"

Jenny Wren started to become indignant and scold, then thought better of it. "I was talking for Peter's benefit," said she, trying to look dignified, a thing quite impossible for any member of the Wren family to do. "Peter has always had the idea that true Woodpeckers never go down on the ground. I was explaining to him that Yellow Wing is a true Woodpecker, yet spends half his time on the ground."

Redhead nodded. "It's all on account of ants," said he. "I don't know of any one quite so fond of ants unless it is Old Mr. Toad. I like a few of them myself, but Yellow Wing just about lives on them when he can. You may have noticed that I go down on the ground myself once in a while. I am rather fond of beetles, and an occasional grasshopper tastes very good to me. I like a variety. Yes, sir, I certainly do like a variety—cherries, blackberries, raspberries, strawberries, grapes. In fact most kinds of fruit taste good to me, not to mention beechnuts and acorns when there is no fruit."

Jenny Wren tossed her head. "You didn't mention the eggs of some of your neighbors," said she sharply.

Redhead did his best to look innocent, but Peter noticed that he gave a guilty start and very abruptly changed the subject, and a moment later flew away.

"Is it true," asked Peter, "that Redhead does such a dreadful thing?"

Jenny bobbed her head rapidly and jerked her tail. "So I am told," said she. "I've never seen him do it, but I know others who have. They say he is no better than Sammy Jay or Blacky the Crow. But gracious, goodness! I can't sit here gossiping forever." Jenny twitched her funny little tail, snapped her bright eyes at Peter, and disappeared in her house.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Shepherd Boy and the Wolf

A Shepherd Boy tended his master's Sheep near a dark forest not far from the village. Soon he found life in the pasture very dull. All he could do to amuse himself was to talk to his dog or play on his shepherd's pipe.

One day as he sat watching the Sheep and the quiet forest, and thinking what he would do should he see a Wolf, he thought of a plan to amuse himself.

His Master had told him to call for help should a Wolf attack the flock, and the Villagers would drive it away. So now, though he had not seen anything that even looked like a Wolf, he ran toward the village shouting at the top of his voice, "Wolf! Wolf!"

As he expected, the Villagers who heard the cry dropped their work and ran in great excitement to the pasture. But when they got there they found the Boy doubled up with laughter at the trick he had played on them.

A few days later the Shepherd Boy again shouted, "Wolf! Wolf!" Again the Villagers ran to help him, only to be laughed at again. Then one evening as the sun was setting behind the forest and the shadows were creeping out over the pasture, a Wolf really did spring from the underbrush and fall upon the Sheep.

In terror the Boy ran toward the village shouting "Wolf! Wolf!" But though the Villagers heard the cry, they did not run to help him as they had before. "He cannot fool us again," they said.

The Wolf killed a great many of the Boy's sheep and then slipped away into the forest.

Liars are not believed even when they speak the truth.

 

The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

The Clock Strikes and Maid-alone Stays

ays that made a year went by; the maidens went away from the Castle, and Dame Dale married her two limping daughters, Berry-bright and Buttercup, to the kennel-master and the stable-master. But still the King's son went searching for the matchless maiden.

He made many journeys and he brought certain quests to an end; but no Maid-alone did he find at the end of the quest or the end of the journey. Often the falconers saw him standing at the edge of the marsh, where, her bare feet in the marsh water, he had seen Maid-alone with the white and grey goose-flock around her.

It was his Muime who told him about the two starlings that used to fly beside him when he rode abroad and come back with him from his journeys. They had their shelter beside her dormer window, and that is how she had come to notice them. Well, the next time he rode out he watched for the starlings and he followed where they flew. Down winding laneways they brought him where only elder-bushes and briers grew. On he rode after them till he came to a small black house deep-sunken in the ground.

He went to the door and looked into the house. There, sitting by the fire and spinning grey threads on an old spindle he saw a woman in a Cloak of Crow Feathers. He left his horse standing and stepped into the house. The old woman looked at him and said, "Tell me what you have come to seek."

"The maiden who once wore the cloak you wear," said he.

"Where did that maiden come to you from?" said she.

"She came from Ditch-land, by Old Shoe Garden," said he, "and from Last-ember Moor, and from where a dog lapped water out of her hands."

"And have you betaken yourself to all these places?" said the old woman in the Cloak of Crow Feathers.

"I have. Many days did I spend searching for the shoe that was thrown down there. I found it. And on Last-ember Moor I spent days looking for the pot that was brought there. I fought with a Giant and did not come off scatheless. But I found and I have the pot. Then I sat by the well from which one brought water for a dog to lap his tongue in. Many days I was there, and I brought water to all the dogs that went past."

The Woman of a Thousand Years rose up and brought the King's son to the garden that was behind her little house. And there he saw Maid-alone standing in a little stream and gathering cresses.

Not the bronze dress, nor the silver dress, nor the gold dress had she on now. She was dressed in brown wincey, and her feet were bare. But more than ever in the King's son's eyes did she look the matchless maiden.

Just as he laid his eyes on her one burst through the hedge and came to her. It was the Chamberlain from the Castle. He cried out, "I have found you at last. Come with me to the King's Castle, and to one who is dying for love of you."

She said, "Who is there that remembers me?"

"I, I, I!" cried the King's son.

Maid-alone came again to the King's Castle: she looked on its stables and its kennels; its mews for the hawks and its meres for the herons; its ponds for the swans and parades for the peacocks; she looked on the little door that the third under-stewardess had opened to her on the morning she first came. By that little door she entered now. She went softly past the scullery where she used to eat her meal of scraps before she was banished to the ashy hearths, and she went past the Ratcatcher who was standing by his cage of brown rats, telling the outlandish servants that tallow was the one thing in the Castle that rats would not eat. She came to where the crooked passages and the winding stairways led up to the main hallway. Before her was the great, sweeping, scarlet staircase. All alone she went up it, and there were no servitors standing there in their velvets, with branched silver candle-sticks in their hands. And all alone she entered the Solar Gallery, and she found a cushioned seat before a fire of peat, and she sat down on it.

And into the Solar Gallery, closing the door behind him, came another. It was the King's son. Citrons and pomegranates were on the table, and he brought them to her, taking a place on a cushioned seat beside her. Then into the gallery came a loud and a heavy sound. It was the Clock in the Tower striking twelve. Maid-alone let the citrons and the pomegranates fall. But they did not roll far. Nor did she stand up to run away, for she remembered that she and the King's son were wed, and that two starlings had sung at their wedding, and that they had leave to be together even though the clock struck twelve.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Explore My Island

IT rained all that night. But in the cave everything was warm and dry, and little by little I lost my fear.

The earthquake and the hurricane had done great damage to my castle. I had to work hard for many days to put things to rights again.

I had now been on the island about ten months. In all that time I had seen only a small part of it .

One morning I set out with my gun on my shoulder for a long walk.

I went up the little river where I had first landed with my rafts. I found that it was a very short river. After about two miles, the tide did not flow any higher; and above that, the stream was only a little brook of fresh water.

Along the brook there were pleasant meadows, covered with high grass.

In the dryer parts of these meadows I found tobacco growing wild.

I looked for the roots of a plant which the Indians use instead of bread, but could find none.

In one place, however, I saw many tall sugar canes and some fair-looking plants of a kind that was strange to me.

As I went back to my castle I wondered how I could learn something useful about the many objects I had seen. But I had never taken much thought about such things, and now I had but little chance to learn.

The next day I went up the same way, but much farther.

Beyond the meadows I came to some beautiful woods.

Here I found several different kinds of fruits. There were grapevines covering the trees, and huge clusters of ripe grapes were hanging from them.

I was very glad of this. I made up my mind to come another day and gather some of this fruit. I would dry the grapes in the sun, and have some raisins.

Night came on while I was still in the woods, and I could not do better than stay there till morning. So I climbed into a tree and slept there quite well.

It was the first night that I had spent away from home.

The next day I went on through the woods for nearly four miles.

At last I came to an open space where the land sloped to the west. The country was so fresh and green that it looked like a big garden.

I went down into a pleasant valley where there were many beautiful trees. There I found oranges, lemons, limes, and citrons, besides many grapes.

I loaded myself with fruit and started homeward. "I must come again and bring a sack," I said.

It was three days before I reached my castle. By that time the fruit had lost all its flavor.

The next day I went back to the same valley. I carried two small sacks to bring home my harvest.

But I found many of the grapevines torn down. The fruit was scattered on the ground. Some had been eaten. Some had been trodden to pieces.

A wild animal had been there. Perhaps it was a goat, perhaps it was a larger beast. Perhaps several animals had done the mischief.

 

Rose Fyleman

The Fairies Have Never a Penny to Spend

The fairies have never a penny to spend, They haven't a thing put by, But theirs is the dower of bird and flower And theirs is the earth and sky. And though you should live in a palace of gold Or sleep in a dried up ditch, You could never be as poor as the fairies are, And never be as rich. Since ever and ever the world began They danced like a ribbon of flame, They have sung their song through the centuries long, And yet it is never the same. And though you be foolish or though you be wise, With hair of silver or gold, You can never be as young as the fairies are, And never be as old.

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

The Dark Ages

"The old order changeth, yielding place to new." —Tennyson.

T HE next few hundred years are known to history as the Dark Ages. It seemed as if the world were falling into chaos. The Western Empire had fallen, the Eastern stood on no too sure foundation. Europe had lost her guide and her rudder: the central power was gone.

No firm decrees now went forth from the Roman emperor, for Roman emperor there was none. No legions bearing the Roman Eagle guarded the boundaries of the Rhine and the Danube, for boundary there was none. The last Roman, standing at the stern of his departing vessel, had waved his sad "Farewell, Britain," on his recall to protect the capital against the Goths. The strong arms of Rome were powerless.

And over all her lost country surged the savage hordes of barbarians, fighting their way ever westwards and southwards, settling here, invading there, now driving a weaker tribe before them as the Huns had driven the Goths, now even sailing across the sea to attack some new territory on the outskirts of the empire.

"The barbarians chase us into the sea," groaned the Britons helplessly; "the sea throws us back upon the barbarians, and we have only the hard choice left us of perishing by the sword or the waves."

This was but the expression of many whom the fall of Rome had exposed to the attack of these wild marauders.

These barbarians appeared under various names. There was a powerful tribe, under the name of Vandals, who had already overrun Gaul and crossed the Pyrenees into Spain. From thence they crossed the Mediterranean into Africa. They ravaged the fair coast washed by that great blue inland sea, devastated town after town, and finally took possession of Carthage—the Carthage of Cyprian—which ranked as the Rome of the African world. It was now conquered by the Vandals, and with it the conquest of North Africa was complete.

"Whither shall we sail now?" asked the pilot on board the Vandal ship that was bearing the chief away from Carthage.

"Sail against those with whom God is angry," was the fierce answer.

From time to time during these dark rude ages a savage figure stands out stronger than his fellows to do and dare, a man with more ambition or more determination to conquer and kill.

"For what fortress, what city, can hope to exist if it is our pleasure that it should be erased from the earth?" cried one such man, Attila, in whom the wild Huns had found an able king.

For a time he swept all before him. Passing through Germany to Gaul, he would fain have burst through the barrier of the river Loire, but Theodoric King of the Goths arose and showed himself the equal of Attila the Hun—the Scourge of God, as he was called.

So these wandering nations moved about in search of a home, a fatherland, a city, and a state. All the while they were learning the great lessons that Rome had taught: they were coming into contact with civilised people, and they were becoming civilised themselves. And not only this, but Christian teaching, spreading rapidly now from Constantinople, was playing its part too in the progress of the world's history.

For the moment it seemed as if everything was at a standstill. There were no new schools, the children were untaught. No new highways were forthcoming on land or sea. Everything was dead, lifeless, dreary. "It was as if a torrent of mud had spread over the smiling fields, burying beneath it the fair flowers and rich crops of learning and art so diligently sown by the Greeks."

But a far grander life than Rome could ever have made possible was to spread over the whole of Europe, westward and ever westward, till at length it should reach the yet unknown land beyond the Atlantic. It was with the story of nations as the poet Tennyson tells us it is with the story of man—

"For all we thought and loved and did And hoped and suffered, is but seed Of what in them is flower and fruit."

 

Nursery Tales from Many Lands  by Eleanor L. and Ada M. Skinner

Little White Rabbit

Little White Rabbit lived alone. Her house stood near a cabbage-garden. Every morning when the sun peeped into the window, up she jumped and dressed for the day. Then she would say,

"I must go for a cabbage To make me some soup."

One day she put on her bonnet, took up her basket, and started off. She found a large cabbage and hurried home. Little White Rabbit tried to open her door. It was locked on the inside.

She knocked and thumped and thumped and knocked.

A big voice inside called out, "Who is there?"

"I'm Little White Rabbit, Come home from the garden, Where I found a large cabbage To make me some soup."

Then the big voice inside called out,

"I am Huge Billy Goat. With a spring and a bound I can cut you in three And eat you, I see."

Poor Little White Rabbit ran away. On the road she met Big Ox. She said to him, "Big Ox, please help me.

I'm Little White Rabbit. I went to the garden And took home a cabbage To make me some soup. When I came home I found Huge Billy Goat. With a spring and a bound He will cut me in three And eat me, you see."

Big Ox said, "Oh, I cannot help you! I am afraid of Huge Billy Goat."

Little White Rabbit went on. Soon she met Black Dog. She said to him, "Black Dog, please help me.

I'm Little White Rabbit. I went to the garden And took home a cabbage To make me some soup. When I came home I found Huge Billy Goat. With a spring and a bound He will cut me in three And eat me, you see."

Black Dog said, "Then I cannot help you. I am afraid of Huge Billy Goat."

Little White Rabbit went on and on. Soon she met Red Cock. She said to him, "Red Cock, please help me.

I'm Little White Rabbit. I went to the garden And took home a cabbage To make me some soup. When I came home I found Huge Billy Goat. With a spring and a bound He will cut me in three And eat me, you see."

"Oh, I cannot help you! I am afraid of Huge Billy Goat."

Poor Little White Rabbit said, "No one will help me to drive Huge Billy Goat out of my house. What shall I do? Where can I go?"

On and on and on went Little White Rabbit weeping. Soon a small voice called out, "Good morning, Little White Rabbit! Why do you weep?" It was Busy Little Ant.

Little White Rabbit said,

"Oh, Busy Little Ant, I went to the garden And took home a cabbage To make me some soup. When I came home I found Huge Billy Goat. With a spring and a bound He will cut me in three And eat me, you see."

Busy Little Ant said, "I will go with you and help you, Little White Rabbit."

So they went back together to Little White Rabbit's house. They knocked and thumped on the door. A gruff voice inside called out,

"I am Huge Billy Goat. With a spring and a bound I can cut you in three And eat you, I see."

Then Busy Little Ant called out,

"I am Busy Little Ant. With a creep and a spring I can quickly come in And sting you, I see."

Busy Little Ant crept in through the keyhole. She sprang on Huge Billy Goat's back and stung him.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" cried Huge Billy Goat, and out of Little White Rabbit's house he ran as fast as he could. Then Little White Rabbit cut up the large cabbage and made soup.

"Come, Busy Little Ant," she said. "We will live here together."

Portuguese Nursery Tale

 

Walter de la Mare

Off the Ground

Three jolly Farmers Once bet a pound Each dance the others would Off the ground. Out of their coats They slipped right soon, And neat and nicesome Put each his shoon. One—Two—Three!— And away they go, Not too fast, And not too slow; Out from the elm-tree's Noonday shadow, Into the sun And across the meadow. Past the schoolroom, With knees well bent Fingers a-flicking, They dancing went. Up sides and over, And round and round, They crossed click-clacking, The Parish bound, By Tupman's meadow They did their mile, Tee-to-tum On a three-barred stile. Then straight through Whipham, Downhill to Week, Footing it lightsome, But not too quick, Up fields to Watchet, And on through Wye, Till seven fine churches They'd seen skip by— Seven fine churches, And five old mills, Farms in the valley, And sheep on the hills; Old Man's Acre And Dead Man's Pool All left behind, As they danced through Wool. And Wool gone by, Like tops that seem To spin in sleep They danced in dream: Withy—Wellover— Wassop—Wo— Like an old clock Their heels did go. A league and a league And a league they went, And not one weary, And not one spent. And lo, and behold! Past Willow-cum-Leigh Stretched with its waters The great green sea. Says Farmer Bates, "I puffs and I blows, What's under the water, Why, no man knows!" Says Farmer Giles, "My wind comes weak, And a good man drownded Is far to seek." But Farmer Turvey, On twirling toes Up's with his gaiters, And in he goes: Down where the mermaids Pluck and play On their twangling harps In a sea-green day; Down where the mermaids, Finned and fair, Sleek with their combs Their yellow hair. . . . Bates and Giles— On the shingle sat, Gazing at Turvey's Floating hat. But never a ripple Nor bubble told Where he was supping Off plates of gold. Never an echo Rilled through the sea Of the feasting and dancing And minstrelsy. They called—called—called: Came no reply: Nought but the ripples' Sandy sigh. Then glum and silent They sat instead, Vacantly brooding On home and bed, Till both together Stood up and said:— "Us knows not, dreams not, Where you be, Turvey, unless In the deep blue sea; But excusing silver— And it comes most willing— Here's us two paying Our forty shilling; For it's sartin sure, Turvey, Safe and sound, You danced us square, Turvey, Off the ground!"

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Elizabeth Ann Fails in an Examination

Part 3 of 3

Then Betsy was  frightened and then she did  begin to scream, at the top of her voice, "Molly! Molly!" She was beside herself with terror, and started back hastily to hear Molly's voice, very faint, apparently coming from the ground under her feet.

"Ow! Ow! Betsy! Get me out! Get me out!"

"Where are  you?" shrieked Betsy.

"I don't know!" came Molly's sobbing voice. "I just moved the least little bit out of the road, and slipped on the ice and began to slide and I couldn't stop myself and I fell down into a deep hole!"

Betsy's head felt as though her hair were standing up straight on end with horror. Molly must have fallen down into the Wolf Pit! Yes, they were quite near it. She remembered now that big white-birch tree stood right at the place where the brook tumbled over the edge and fell into it. Although she was dreadfully afraid of falling in herself, she went cautiously over to this tree, feeling her way with her foot to make sure she did not slip, and peered down into the cavernous gloom below. Yes, there was Molly's little face, just a white speck. The child was crying, sobbing, and holding up her arms to Betsy.

"Are you hurt, Molly?"

"No. I fell into a big snow-bank, but I'm all wet and frozen and I want to get out! I want to get out!"

Betsy held onto the birch-tree. Her head whirled. What should  she do! "Look here, Molly," she called down, "I'm going to run back along to the right road and back to the house and get Uncle Henry. He'll come with a rope and get you out!"

At this Molly's crying rose to a frantic scream. "Oh, Betsy, don't leave me here alone! Don't! Don't! The wolves will get me! Betsy, don't  leave me alone!" The child was wild with terror.

"But I can't  get you out myself!" screamed back Betsy, crying herself. Her teeth were chattering with the cold.

"Don't go! Don't go!" came up from the darkness of the pit in a piteous howl. Betsy made a great effort and stopped crying. She sat down on a stone and tried to think. And this is what came to her mind as a guide: "What would Cousin Ann do if she were here? She wouldn't cry. She would think  of something."

Betsy looked around her desperately. The first thing she saw was the big limb of a pine-tree, broken off by the wind, which half lay and half slantingly stood up against a tree a little distance above the mouth of the pit. It had been there so long that the needles had all dried and fallen off, and the skeleton of the branch with the broken stubs looked like . . . yes, it looked like a ladder! That  was what Cousin Ann would have done!

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute, Molly!" she called wildly down the pit, warm all over in excitement. "Now listen. You go off there in a corner, where the ground makes a sort of roof. I'm going to throw down something you can climb up on, maybe."

"Ow! Ow, it'll hit me!" cried poor little Molly, more and more frightened. But she scrambled off under her shelter obediently, while Betsy struggled with the branch. It was so firmly imbedded in the snow that at first she could not budge it at all. But after she cleared that away and pried hard with the stick she was using as a lever she felt it give a little. She bore down with all her might, throwing her weight again and again on her lever, and finally felt the big branch perceptibly move. After that it was easier, as its course was down hill over the snow to the mouth of the pit. Glowing, and pushing, wet with perspiration, she slowly maneuvered it along to the edge, turned it squarely, gave it a great shove, and leaned over anxiously. Then she gave a great sigh of relief! Just as she had hoped, it went down sharp end first and stuck fast in the snow which had saved Molly from broken bones. She was so out of breath with her work that for a moment she could not speak. Then, "Molly, there! Now I guess you can climb up to where I can reach you."

Molly made a rush for any way out of her prison, and climbed, like the little practised squirrel that she was, up from one stub to another to the top of the branch. She was still below the edge of the pit there, but Betsy lay flat down on the snow and held out her hands. Molly took hold hard, and, digging her toes into the snow, slowly wormed her way up to the surface of the ground.

It was then, at that very moment, that Shep came bounding up to them, barking loudly, and after him Cousin Ann striding along in her rubber boots, with a lantern in her hand and a rather anxious look on her face.

She stopped short and looked at the two little girls, covered with snow, their faces flaming with excitement, and at the black hole gaping behind them. "I always told  Father we ought to put a fence around that pit," she said in a matter-of-fact voice. "Some day a sheep's going to fall down there. Shep came along to the house without you, and we thought most likely you'd taken the wrong turn."

Betsy felt terribly aggrieved. She wanted to be petted and praised for her heroism. She wanted Cousin Ann to realize  . . . oh, if Aunt Frances were only there, she  would realize . . . !

"I fell down in the hole, and Betsy wanted to go and get Mr. Putney, but I wouldn't let her, and so she threw down a big branch and I climbed out," explained Molly, who, now that her danger was past, took Betsy's action quite as a matter of course.

"Oh, that was how it happened," said Cousin Ann. She looked down the hole and saw the big branch, and looked back and saw the long trail of crushed snow where Betsy had dragged it. "Well, now, that was quite a good idea for a little girl to have," she said briefly. "I guess you'll do to take care of Molly all right!"

She spoke in her usual voice and immediately drew the children after her, but Betsy's heart was singing joyfully as she trotted along clasping Cousin Ann's strong hand. Now she knew that Cousin Ann realized. . . . She trotted fast, smiling to herself in the darkness.

"What made you think of doing that?" asked Cousin Ann presently, as they approached the house.

"Why, I tried to think what you  would have done if you'd been there," said Betsy.

"Oh!" said Cousin Ann. "Well . . ."

She didn't say another word, but Betsy, glancing up into her face as they stepped into the lighted room, saw an expression that made her give a little skip and hop of joy. She had pleased  Cousin Ann.

That night, as she lay in her bed, her arm over Molly cuddled up warm beside her, she remembered, oh, ever so faintly, as something of no importance, that she had failed in an examination that afternoon.

 

The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

A Friend in Need Is a Friend Indeed

The friendship which is truest, best, Is that which meets the trouble test.

N O one really knows who his best friends are until he gets in trouble. When everything is lovely and there is no sign of trouble anywhere, one may have ever and ever so many friends. At least, it may seem so. But let trouble come, and all too often these seeming friends disappear as if by magic, until only a few, sometimes a very few, are left. These are the real friends, the true friends, and they are worth more than all the others put together. Remember that if you are a true friend to any one, you will stand by him and help him, no matter what happens. Sometimes it is almost worth while getting into trouble just to find out who your real friends are.

Peter Rabbit found out who some of his truest friends are when, because of his own carelessness, old Granny Fox caught him. Peter has been in many tight places and had many terrible frights in his life, but never did he feel quite so helpless and hopeless as when he felt the black paws of old Granny Fox pinning him down and Granny's sharp teeth in the loose skin on the back of his neck. All he could do was to kick with all his might, and kicking was quite useless, for Granny took great care to keep out of the way of those stout hind legs of his.

Many, many times Granny Fox had tried to catch Peter, and always before Peter had been too smart for her, and had just made fun of her and laughed at her. Now it was her turn to laugh, all because he had been careless and foolish. You see, Peter had been so sure that Granny had had such a fright when she ran away from the strange creature that rolled down Prickly Porky's hill at her that she wouldn't think of coming back, and so he had just given himself up to enjoying Granny's fright. At Peter's scream of fright, Unc' Billy Possum scampered for the nearest tree, and Jimmy Skunk dodged behind a big stump. You see, it was so sudden that they really didn't know what had happened. But Prickly Porky, whom some people call stupid, made no move to run away. He happened to be looking at Peter when Granny caught him, and so he knew just what it meant. A spark of anger flashed in his usually dull eyes and for once in his life Prickly Porky moved quickly. The thousand little spears hidden in his coat suddenly stood on end and Prickly Porky made a fierce little rush forward.

"Drop him!" he grunted.

"Drop him!" he grunted.

Granny Fox just snarled and backed away, dragging Peter with her and keeping him between Prickly Porky and herself.

By this time Jimmy Skunk had recovered himself. You know he is not afraid of anybody or anything. He sprang out from behind the stump, looking a wee bit shamefaced, and started for old Granny Fox. "You let Peter Rabbit go!" he commanded in a very threatening way. Now the reason Jimmy Skunk is afraid of nobody is because he carries with him a little bag of very strong perfume which makes everybody sick but himself. Granny Fox knows all about this. For just a minute she hesitated. Then she thought that if Jimmy used it, it would be as bad for Peter as for her, and she didn't believe Jimmy would use it. So she kept on backing away, dragging Peter with her. Then Unc' Billy Possum took a hand, and his was the bravest deed of all, for he knew that Granny was more than a match for him in a fight. He slipped down from the tree where he had sought safety, crept around behind Granny, and bit her sharply on one heel. Granny let go of Peter to turn and snap at Unc' Billy. This was Peter's chance. He slipped out from under Granny's paws and in a flash was behind Prickly Porky.

 

William Shakespeare

Over Hill, Over Dale

Over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier, Over park, over pale, through flood, through fire, I do wander everiewhere, swifter than the moonè's sphere; And I serve the Fairy Queen to dew her orbs upon the green. The cowslips tall her pensioners be, In their gold coats spots you see, Those be rubies, fairy favors, In those freckles live their savors: I must go seek some dewdrops here, And hang a pearl in every cowslip's ear.

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

The Idol Temple at Dan and Its Priest

Judges xvii: 1, to xviii: 31.

HILE the judges were ruling in Israel, at one time there was living in the mountains of Ephraim, near the road which ran north and south, a man named Micah. His mother, who was dwelling with him, found that some one had stolen from her a large sum of money. Now, the money had been taken by her son Micah, and after a time he said to her:

"Those eleven hundred pieces of silver which you lost, and of which you spoke, are with me; for I took them myself."

And his mother answered, "May the blessing of God rest upon you, my son, for bringing again to me my silver. This money shall be the Lord's. I will give it back to you, to be used in the service of the Lord."

But instead of taking the money to the Tabernacle of the Lord at Shiloh, Micah used it to make two images of silver, one carved and the other cast in metal. These he set up in his house to be worshipped. He appointed one of his sons as a priest, and thus made of his house an idol temple.

One day a man on a journey was passing by Micah's house. Micah saw from his dress that he belonged to the tribe of Levi, from which the priests came. He said to him, "Who are you? From what place do you come?"

The young man said, "I am a Levite, from Bethlehem in the land of Judah, and I am trying to find a place where I can earn my living."

"Stay here with me," said Micah, "and be a priest in my house. I will give you your food, and a place to sleep, and for each year a suit of clothes and ten pieces of silver."

The Levite was well pleased at this, and stayed in Micah's house, and became his priest. And Micah said to himself:

"I am sure that now the Lord will be pleased with me, since I have a house with gods and a Levite as my priest."

Already many in Israel had forgotten that God would not bless those who set up idols when they should worship the Lord God.

The tribe of Dan was living at that time between the country of the Philistines and the tribe of Benjamin, having Judah on the south and Ephraim on the north. The Philistines pressed closely upon them, and they sought some place where they could live with more room and at peace.

They sent out from their tribe-land five men as spies, to go through the country and find some better place for the home of their tribe. These five men walked through the land, and they came to the house of Micah. Micah took them into his house, for it was the custom thus to care for people who were on a journey.

These men from Dan, who were called Danites, had seen Micah's priest before in his earlier home. They knew him, and asked him how he came to be there. The young Levite told them that Micah had hired him to become his priest. He took them into the temple-room and showed them the images and the altar, and he offered a sacrifice and a prayer for them.

Then the five men left Micah's house and went on their way. They walked through all the tribes in the north; and far up among the mountains, near one of the great fountains where the river Jordan begins, they found a little city called Laish. The people of Laish were not Israelites, but came from the country of Zidon. The Danites saw that their little city was far from Zidon, and that its people were living alone, with none of their own race to help them.

The men of Dan walked back over the mountains to their own people, near the Philistine country; and they brought back an account of their journey through the land. They said:

"We have found a good place, far up in the north, where there is room for us, and a rich soil, and plenty of water. Come with us, and let us take that place for our home."

A harvest field in the time of the judges.

So a large part of the tribe of Dan, with their wives and their children, went up toward this place. Among them were six hundred men with shields, and swords, and spears for war. As they came near to Micah's house, one of the five men who had been there before said to them:

"Do you know that in one of these houses there is an altar, and a carved image, and another image, both of silver? Now think what you would better do."

Then the five men came again into Micah's temple while the six hundred soldiers stood outside. They were just about to carry away the silver images when the Levite said to them, "What are you doing?"

And the men said to him, "Never mind what we are doing. Keep still and come with us. Is it not better for you to be a priest to a whole tribe than to one man?"

Then the young priest said no more. He took away all the priestly robes, and the silver ornaments, and the images, and went away with the people of Dan. When Micah came home he found that his temple had been robbed and his images and his priest were taken away.

He gathered some of his neighbors, and they hastened after the people of Dan. When they caught up with them Micah cried out aloud to them. The men of Dan turned, and said to Micah:

"What is the matter with you, that you come after us with a company and make such a noise?"

And Micah answered, "You have taken away my gods which I made, and my priest; and now what is left to me? And you say to me, 'What is the matter?' "

Then the men of Dan said, "Be careful what you say, or you may make some of our men angry, and they will fall on you, and then you will lose your life!"

Micah saw that the men of Dan were too strong for him to fight them, so he went back to his house without his priest and without his images. The Danites went up to the little city of Laish, in the north. They took it, and killed all the people who were living there. Then they built the city again, and changed its name to Dan, the name of the father of their tribe.

There, at Dan, they built a temple, and in it they set up the images, and this Levite became their priest. And the strangest part of all the story is, that this Levite was a grandson of Moses, the man of God and the great prophet. So soon did the people of Israel fall into sin, and so deeply, that the grandson of Moses became the priest in a temple of idols. And at this time the house of God was at Shiloh; yet at Dan during those years and for many years afterward was a temple of idols, and within its walls a line of priests descended from Moses were worshipping and offering sacrifices to images.

And as the temple of idols in Dan was much nearer to the people in the northern part of the land than was the house of the Lord, the Tabernacle at Shiloh, very many of those who lived in the north, went to this idol-temple to worship. So the people of Israel were led away from God to serve idols. This was very displeasing to God.

 

The Boxcar Children  by Gertrude Chandler Warner

The Second Night

T HE roosters crowed and the hens clucked; the farmer's wife began to get breakfast, and the four children slept on. Dinner time came and went, and still they slept, for it must be remembered that they had been awake and walking during the whole night. In fact, it was nearly seven o'clock in the evening when they awoke. Luckily, all the others awoke before Benny.

"Can you hear me, Jess?" said Henry, speaking very low through the wall of hay.

"Yes," answered Jess softly. "Let's make one big room of our nests."

No sooner said than done. The boy and girl worked quickly and quietly until they could see each other. They pressed the hay back firmly until they had made their way into Violet's little room. And then she in turn groped until she found Benny.

"Hello, little Cinnamon!" whispered Violet playfully.

And Benny at once made up his mind to laugh instead of cry. But laughing out loud was almost as bad, so Henry took his little brother on the hay beside him and talked to him seriously.

"You're old enough now, Benny, to understand what I say to you. Now, listen! When I tell you to keep still after this, that means you're to stop crying if you're crying, or stop laughing if you're laughing, and be just as still as you possibly can. If you don't mind, you will be in danger. Do you understand?"

"Don't I have to mind Jess and Violet too?" asked Benny.

"Absolutely!" said Henry. "You have to mind us all, every one of us!"

Benny thought a minute. "Can't I ask for what I want any more?" he said.

"Indeed you can!" cried Jess and Henry together. "What is it you want?"

"I'm awful  hungry," said Benny anxiously.

Henry's brow cleared. "Good old Benny," he said. "We're just going to have supper—or is it breakfast?"

Jess drew out the fragrant loaf of bread. She cut it with Henry's jackknife into four quarters, and she and Henry took the two crusty ends themselves.

"That's because we have to be the strongest, and crusts make you strong," explained Jess.

Violet looked at her older sister. She thought she knew why Jess took the crust, but she did not speak.

"We will stay here till dark, and then we'll go on with our journey," said Henry cheerfully.

"I want a drink," announced Benny.

"A drink you shall have," Henry promised, "but you'll have to wait till it's really dark. If we should creep out to the brook now, and any one saw us—" He did not finish his sentence, but Benny realized that he must wait.

He was much refreshed from his long sleep, and felt very lively. Violet had all she could do to keep him amused, even with Cinnamon Bear and his five brothers.

At last Henry peeped out. It was after nine o'clock. There were lights in the farmhouse still, but they were all upstairs.

"We can at least get a drink now," he said. And the children crept quietly to the noisy little brook not far from the haystack.

"Cup," said Benny.

"No, you'll have to lie down and drink with your mouth," Jess explained. And so they did. Never did water taste so cool and delicious as it did that night to the thirsty children.

When they had finished drinking they jumped the brook, ran quickly over the fields to the wall, and once more found themselves on the road.

"If we meet any one," said Jess, "we must all crouch behind bushes until he has gone by."

They walked along in the darkness with light hearts. They were no longer tired or hungry. Their one thought was to get away from their grandfather, if possible.

"If we can find a big town," said Violet, "won't it be better to stay in than a little town?"

"Why?" asked Henry, puffing up the hill.

"Well, you see, there are so many people in a big town, nobody will notice us—"

"And in a little village everyone would be talking about us," finished Henry admiringly. "You've got brains, Violet!"

He had hardly said this, when a wagon was heard behind them in the distance. It was coming from Middlesex. Without a word, the four children sank down behind the bushes like frightened rabbits. They could plainly hear their hearts beat. The horse trotted nearer, and then began to walk up the hill.

"If we hear nothing in Townsend," they heard a man say, "we have plainly done our duty."

It was the baker's voice!

"More than our duty," said the baker's wife, "tiring out a horse with going a full day, from morning until night!"

There was silence as the horse pulled the creaky wagon.

"At least we will go on to Townsend tonight," continued the baker, "and tell them to watch out. We need not go to Intervale, for they never could walk so far."

"We are well rid of them, I should say," replied his wife. "They may not have come this way. The milkman did not see them, did he?"

The baker's reply was lost, for the horse had reached the hilltop, where he broke into a canter.

It was some minutes before the children dared to creep out of the bushes again.

"One thing is sure," said Henry, when he got his breath. "We will not go to Townsend."

"And we will  go to Intervale," said Jess.

With a definite goal in mind at last, the children set out again with a better spirit. They walked until two o'clock in the morning, stopping often this time to rest and to drink from the horses' watering troughs. And then they came upon a fork in the road with a white signpost shining in the moonlight.

"Townsend, four miles; Intervale, six miles," read Henry aloud. "Any one feel able to walk six more miles?"

He grinned. No one had the least idea how far they had already walked.

"We'll go that way at least," said Jess finally.

"That we will," agreed Henry, picking up his brother for a change, and carrying him "pig-back."

Violet went ahead. The new road was a pleasant woody one, with grass growing in the middle. The children could not see the grass, but they could feel it as they walked. "Not many people pass this way, I guess," remarked Violet. Just then she caught her toe in something and almost fell, but Jess caught her.

The two girls stooped down to examine the obstruction.

"Hay!" said Jess.

"Hay!" repeated Violet.

"Hey!" cried Henry, coming up. "What did you say?"

"It must have fallen off somebody's load," said Jess.

"We'll take it with us," Henry decided wisely. "Load on all you can carry, Jess."

"For Benny," thought Violet to herself. So the odd little party trudged on for nearly three hours, laden with hay, until they found that the road ended in a cart path through the woods.

"Oh, dear!" exclaimed Jess, almost ready to cry with disappointment.

"What's the matter?" demanded Henry in astonishment. "Isn't the woods a good place to sleep? We can't sleep in the road, you know."

"It does seem nice and far away from people," admitted Jess, "and it's almost morning."

As they stood still at the entrance to the woods, they heard the rumble of a train. It roared down the valley at a great rate and passed them on the other side of the woods, thundering along toward the city.

"Never mind the train, either," remarked Henry. "It isn't so awfully  near; and even if it were, it couldn't see us."

He set his brother down and peered into the woods. It was very warm.

"Lizzen!" said Benny.

"Listen!" echoed Violet.

"More water!" Benny cried, catching his big brother by the hand.

"It is only another brook," said Henry with a thankful heart. "He wants a drink." The trickle of water sounded very pleasant to all the children as they lay down once more to drink.

Benny was too sleepy to eat. Jess quickly found a dry spot thick with moss between two stones. Upon this moss the three older children spread the hay in the shape of an oval bed. Benny tumbled into it with a great sigh of satisfaction, while his sisters tucked the hay around him.

"Pine needles up here, Jess," called Henry from the slope. Each of them quickly scraped together a fragrant pile for a pillow and once more lay down to sleep, with hardly a thought of fear.

"I only hope we won't have a thunderstorm," said Jess to herself, as she shut her tired eyes.

And she did not open them for a long time, although the dark gray clouds piled higher and more thickly over the sleeping children.

 

James Whitcomb Riley

There Was a Cherry-Tree

There was a cherry-tree. Its bloomy snows Cool even now the fevered sight that knows No more its airy visions of pure joy— As when you were a boy. There was a cherry-tree. The Bluejay set His blue against its white—O blue as jet He seemed there then!—But now— Whoever knew He was so pale a blue! There was a cherry-tree—our child-eyes saw The miracle:—Its pure white snows did thaw Into a crimson fruitage, far too sweet But for a boy to eat. There was a cherry-tree, give thanks and joy!— There was a bloom of snow—There was a boy— There was a bluejay of the realest blue— And fruit for both of you.