Text of Plan #970
  WEEK 19  


Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Is Robbed

Pinocchio is robbed of his money, and as a punishment he is sent to prison for four months.

T HE puppet returned to the town and began to count the minutes one by one; and when he thought that it must be time he took the road leading to the Field of miracles.

And as he walked along with hurried steps his heart beat fast tic, tac, tic, tac, like a drawing-room clock when it is really going well. Meanwhile he was thinking to himself:

"And if instead of a thousand gold pieces, I was to find on the branches of the tree two thousand? . . . And instead of two thousand supposing I found five thousand? and instead of five thousand that I found a hundred thousand? Oh! what a fine gentleman I should then become! . . . I would have a beautiful palace, a thousand little wooden horses and a thousand stables to amuse myself with, a cellar full of currant-wine and sweet syrups, and a library quite full of candies, tarts, plum-cakes, macaroons, and biscuits with cream."

Whilst he was building these castles in the air he had arrived in the neighbourhood of the field, and he stopped to look if by chance he could perceive a tree with its branches laden with money: but he saw nothing. He advanced another hundred steps—nothing: he entered the field . . . he went right up to the little hole where he had buried his sovereigns—and nothing. He then became very thoughtful, and forgetting the rules of society and good manners he took his hands out of his pocket and gave his head a long scratch.

At that moment he heard an explosion of laughter close to him, and looking up he saw a large Parrot perched on a tree, who was pruning the few feathers he had left.

"Why are you laughing?" asked Pinocchio in an angry voice.

"I am laughing because in pruning my feathers I tickled myself under my wings."

The puppet did not answer, but went to the canal and, filling the same old shoe full of water, he proceeded to water the earth afresh that covered his gold pieces.

Whilst he was thus occupied another laugh, and still more impertinent than the first, rang out in the silence of that solitary place.

"Once for all," shouted Pinocchio in a rage, "may I know, you ill-educated Parrot, what you are laughing at?"


"You ill-educated Parrot."

"I am laughing at those simpletons who believe in all the foolish things that are told them, and who allow themselves to be entrapped by those who are more cunning than they are."

"Are you perhaps speaking of me?"

"Yes, I am speaking of you, poor Pinocchio—of you who are simple enough to believe that money can be sown and gathered in fields in the same way as beans and gourds. I also believed it once, and to-day I am suffering for it. To-day—but it is too late—I have at last learnt that to put a few pennies honestly together it is necessary to know how to earn them, either by the work of our own hands or by the cleverness of our own brains."

"I don't understand you," said the puppet, who was already trembling with fear.

"Have patience! I will explain myself better," rejoined the Parrot. "You must know, then, that whilst you were in the town the Fox and the Cat returned to the field: they took the buried money and then fled like the wind. And now he that catches them will be clever."

Pinocchio remained with his mouth open, and not choosing to believe the Parrot's words he began with his hands and nails to dig up the earth that he had watered. And he dug, and dug, and dug, and made such a deep hole that a rick of straw might have stood upright in it: but the money was no longer there.

He rushed back to the town in a state of desperation, and went at once to the Courts of Justice to denounce the two knaves who had robbed him to the judge.

The judge was a big ape of the gorilla tribe—an old ape respectable for his age, his white beard, but especially for his gold spectacles without glasses that he was always obliged to wear, on account of an inflammation of the eyes that had tormented him for many years.


Pinocchio related in the presence of the judge all the particulars of the infamous fraud of which he had been the victim. He gave the names, the surnames, and other details, of the two rascals, and ended by demanding justice.

The judge listened with great benignity; took a lively interest in the story; was much touched and moved; and when the puppet had nothing further to say he stretched out his hand and rang a bell.

At this summons two mastiffs immediately appeared dressed as gendarmes. The judge then, pointing to Pinocchio, said to them:

"That poor devil has been robbed of four gold pieces; take him up, and put him immediately into prison."

The puppet was petrified on hearing this unexpected sentence, and tried to protest; but the gendarmes, to avoid losing time, stopped his mouth, and carried him off to the lock-up.

And there he remained for four months—four long months—and he would have remained longer still if a fortunate chance had not released him. For I must tell you that the young Emperor who reigned over the town of "Trap for blockheads," having won a splendid victory over his enemies, ordered great public rejoicings. There were illuminations, fire-works, horse races, and velocipede races, and as a further sign of triumph he commanded that the prisons should be opened and all the prisoners liberated.

"If the others are to be let out of prison, I will go also," said Pinocchio to the jailor.

"No, not you," said the jailor, "because you do not belong to the fortunate class."

"I beg your pardon," replied Pinocchio, "I am also a criminal."

"In that case you are perfectly right," said the jailor; and taking off his hat and bowing to him respectfully he opened the prison doors and let him escape.


Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Who I Am

Y ES, my name is Richard Mutton. Sounds rather queer, doesn't it? The lads in London town used to vex me sorely by calling, "Baa, baa, black sheep," whenever I passed them, and yet he who will may find the name Richard Mutton written in the list of those who were sent to Virginia, in the new world, by the London Company, on the nineteenth day of December, in the year of Our Lord, 1606.

Whosoever may chance to read what I am here setting down, will, perhaps, ask how it happened that a lad only ten years of age was allowed to sail for that new world in company with such a band of adventurous men as headed the enterprise.

Therefore it is that I must tell a certain portion of the story of my life, for the better understanding of how I came to be in this fair, wild, savage beset land of Virginia.

Yet I was not the only boy who sailed in the Susan Constant, as you may see by turning to the list of names, which is under the care, even to this day, of the London Company, for there you will find written in clerkly hand the names, Samuel Collier, Nathaniel Peacock, James Brumfield, and Richard Mutton.

Nathaniel Peacock has declared more than once that my name comes last in the company at the very end of all, because I was not a full-grown mutton; but only large enough to be called a sheep's tail, and therefore should be hung on behind, as is shown by the list.


Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Left Alone in the World

The reason of my being in this country of Virginia at so young an age, is directly concerned with that brave soldier and wondrous adventurer, Captain John Smith, of whom I make no doubt the people in this new world, when the land has been covered with towns and villages, will come to know right well, for of a truth he is a wonderful man.

In the sixth month of Grace, 1606, I Was living as best I might in that great city of London, which is as much a wilderness of houses, as this country is a wilderness of trees.

My father was a soldier of fortune, which means that he stood ready to do battle in behalf of whatsoever nation he believed was in the right, or, perhaps, on the side of those people who would pay him the most money for risking his life.

He had fought with the Dutch soldiers under command of one Captain Miles Standish, an Englishman of renown among men of arms, and had been killed.

My mother died less than a week before the news was brought that my father had been shot to death. Not then fully understanding how great a disaster it is to a young lad when he loses father or mother, and how yet more sad is his lot when he has lost both parents, I made shift to live as best I might with a sore heart; but yet not so sore as if I had known the full extent of the misfortune which had overtaken me.


Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

An Idle Boy


At first it was an easy matter for me to get food at the home of this lad, or of that, among my acquaintances, sleeping wherever night overtook me; but, finally, when mayhap three months had gone by, my welcome was worn threadbare, and I was told by more than one, that a hulking lad of ten years should have more pride than to beg his way from door to door.

It is with shame I here set down the fact, that many weeks passed before I came to understand, in ever so slight a degree, what a milksop I must be, thus eating the bread of idleness when I should have won the right, by labor, to a livelihood in this world.

This last thought had just begun to take root in my heart when Nathaniel Peacock, whose mother had been a good friend of mine during a certain time after I was made an orphan, and I, heard that a remarkably brave soldier was in the city of London, making ready to go into the new world, with the intent to build there a town for the king.


Alfred Lord Tennyson

Sweet and Low

Sweet and low, sweet and low,

Wind of the western sea,

Low, low, breathe and blow,

Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,

Come from the dying moon and blow,

Blow him again to me;

While my little one, while my pretty one sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,

Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother's breast,

Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,

Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:

Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.


  WEEK 19  


Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Grace Darling

I T was a dark Sep-tem-ber morning. There was a storm at sea. A ship had been driven on a low rock off the shores of the Farne Islands. It had been broken in two by the waves, and half of it had been washed away. The other half lay yet on the rock, and those of the crew who were still alive were clinging to it. But the waves were dashing over it, and in a little while it too would be carried to the bottom.

Could any one save the poor, half-drowned men who were there?

On one of the islands was a light-house; and there, all through that stormy night, Grace Darling had listened to the storm.

Grace was the daughter of the light-house keeper, and she had lived by the sea as long as she could re-mem-ber.

In the darkness of the night, above the noise of the winds and waves, she heard screams and wild cries. When day-light came, she could see the wreck, a mile away, with the angry waters all around it. She could see the men clinging to the masts.

"We must try to save them!" she cried. "Let us go out in the boat at once!"

"It is of no use, Grace," said her father. "We cannot reach them."

He was an old man, and he knew the force of the mighty waves.

"We cannot stay here and see them die," said Grace. "We must at least try to save them."

Her father could not say, "No."

In a few minutes they were ready. They set off in the heavy lighthouse boat. Grace pulled one oar, and her father the other, and they made straight toward the wreck. But it was hard rowing against such a sea, and it seemed as though they would never reach the place.

At last they were close to the rock, and now they were in greater danger than before. The fierce waves broke against the boat, and it would have been dashed in pieces, had it not been for the strength and skill of the brave girl.

But after many trials, Grace's father climbed upon the wreck, while Grace herself held the boat. Then one by one the worn-out crew were helped on board. It was all that the girl could do to keep the frail boat from being drifted away, or broken upon the sharp edges of the rock.

Then her father clam-bered back into his place. Strong hands grasped the oars, and by and by all were safe in the lighthouse. There Grace proved to be no less tender as a nurse than she had been brave as a sailor. She cared most kindly for the ship-wrecked men until the storm had died away and they were strong enough to go to their own homes.

All this happened a long time ago, but the name of Grace Darling will never be forgotten. She lies buried now in a little church-yard by the sea, not far from her old home. Every year many people go there to see her grave; and there a mon-u-ment has been placed in honor of the brave girl. It is not a large mon-u-ment, but it is one that speaks of the noble deed which made Grace Darling famous. It is a figure carved in stone of a woman lying at rest, with a boat's oar held fast in her right hand.


Seaside and Wayside, Book One  by Julia McNair Wright

Mr. Crab and His House

T HE water of the sea comes and goes in tides.

The water rises twice each day.—That is high tide. The water goes back after each high tide.—That is ebb tide. Each tide lasts six hours.

When the snow melts in the spring, or when much rain falls, the water rises high in the brook. In the dry, hot days the water is low in the bed of the stream. If the stream or brook were full and low twice each day, the change would be like the high and low tides of the sea.

When the tide is low, Mr. Crab digs out his house. He scoops out the sand with his big claw. Then he folds his claw to carry the sand, as you can carry grass or leaves on your arm. Some kinds of crabs carry the sand in three of their feet, bent to form a basket.

Mr. Crab takes the sand to the top of his hole. Then, with a jerk, he throws the sand into a heap.

Mr. Crab is very strong. He can lift and carry things larger than his body.

He digs out a long hall. He makes rooms in his house.

Then he goes with his wife to look for food. They keep near their home.

Crabs eat flies, gnats, ants, lady-birds, and other little insects. They eat seaweed also.

When beach-flies light on the sand or on seaweed, the crabs jump at them, and catch them as cats catch mice.

But the cats do not move so quickly as the crabs.


Mr. Crab makes his house.

Mr. and Mrs. Crab put the bugs they catch into their pantry.

For six hours, while the tide is high, they stay in their house; and while they stay in the house they eat insects and seaweed they have stored away.

Mr. Crab acts as though he knew about the tide. He knows when it will be high over his house. He knows when it will be low, so that he can come out.


Jean Ingelow

Seven Times One

There's no dew left on the daisies and clover,

There's no rain left in heaven;

I've said my "seven times" over and over,

Seven times one are seven.

I am old! so old I can write a letter;

My birthday lessons are done;

The lambs play always, they know no better;

They are only one times one.

O Moon! in the night I have seen you sailing,

And shining so round and low;

You were bright! ah, bright! but your light is failing,—

You are nothing now but a bow.

You Moon! have you done something wrong in heaven,

That God has hidden your face?

I hope, if you have, you will soon be forgiven,

And shine again in your place.

O velvet Bee, you're a dusty fellow,

You've powdered your legs with gold!

O brave marsh Mary-buds, rich and yellow!

Give me your money to hold.

O Columbine! open your folded wrapper,

Where two twin turtle-doves dwell;

O Cuckoo-pint! toll me the purple clapper,

That hangs in your clear, green bell!

And show me your nest with the young ones in it—

I will not steal them away;

I am old! you may trust me, Linnet, Linnet—

I am seven times one to-day.


  WEEK 19  


The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

Some Unlike Relatives

H AVING other things to attend to, or rather having other things to arouse his curiosity, Peter Rabbit did not visit the Old Orchard for several days. When he did it was to find the entire neighborhood quite upset. There was an indignation meeting in progress in and around the tree in which Chebec and his modest little wife had their home. How the tongues did clatter! Peter knew that something had happened, but though he listened with all his might he couldn't make head or tail of it.

Finally Peter managed to get the attention of Jenny Wren. "What's happened?" demanded Peter. "What's all this fuss about?"

Jenny Wren was so excited that she couldn't keep still an instant. Her sharp little eyes snapped and her tail was carried higher than ever. "It's a disgrace! It's a disgrace to the whole feathered race, and something ought to be done about it!" sputtered Jenny. "I'm ashamed to think that such a contemptible creature wears feathers! I am so!"

"But what's it all about?" demanded Peter impatiently. "Do keep still long enough to tell me. Who is this contemptible creature?"

"Sally Sly," snapped Jenny Wren. "Sally Sly the Cowbird. I hoped she wouldn't disgrace the Old Orchard this year, but she has. When Mr. and Mrs. Chebec returned from getting their breakfast this morning they found one of Sally Sly's eggs in their nest. They are terribly upset, and I don't blame them. If I were in their place I simply would throw that egg out. That's what I'd do, I'd throw that egg out!"

Peter was puzzled. He blinked his eyes and stroked his whiskers as he tried to understand what it all meant. "Who is Sally Sly, and what did she do that for?" he finally ventured.

"For goodness' sake, Peter Rabbit, do you mean to tell me you don't know who Sally Sly is?" Then without waiting for Peter to reply, Jenny rattled on. "She's a member of the Blackbird family and she's the laziest, most good-for-nothing, sneakiest, most unfeeling and most selfish wretch I know of!" Jenny paused long enough to get her breath. "She laid that egg in Chebec's nest because she is too lazy to build a nest of her own and too selfish to take care of her own children. Do you know what will happen, Peter Rabbit? Do you know what will happen?"

Peter shook his head and confessed that he didn't. "When that egg hatches out, that young Cowbird will be about twice as big as Chebec's own children," sputtered Jenny. "He'll be so big that he'll get most of the food. He'll just rob those little Chebecs in spite of all their mother and father can do. And Chebec and his wife will be just soft-hearted enough to work themselves to skin and bone to feed the young wretch because he is an orphan and hasn't anybody to look after him. The worst of it is, Sally Sly is likely to play the same trick on others. She always chooses the nest of some one smaller than herself. She's terribly sly. No one has seen her about. She just sneaked into the Old Orchard this morning when everybody was busy, laid that egg and sneaked out again."

"Did you say that she is a member of the Blackbird family?" asked Peter.

Jenny Wren nodded vigorously. "That's what she is," said she. "Thank goodness, she isn't a member of my  family. If she were I never would be able to hold my head up. Just listen to Goldy the Oriole over in that big elm. I don't see how he can sing like that, knowing that one of his relatives has just done such a shameful deed. It's a queer thing that there can be two members of the same family so unlike. Mrs. Goldy builds one of the most wonderful nests of any one I know, and Sally Sly is too lazy to build any. If I were in Goldy's place I—"

"Hold on!" cried Peter. "I thought you said Sally Sly is a member of the Blackbird family. I don't see what she's got to do with Goldy the Oriole."

"You don't, eh?" exclaimed Jenny. "Well, for one who pokes into other people's affairs as you do, you don't know much. The Orioles and the Meadow Larks and the Grackles and the Bobolinks all belong to the Blackbird family. They're all related to Redwing the Blackbird, and Sally Sly the Cowbird belongs in the same family."

Peter gasped. "I—I—hadn't the least idea that any of these folks were related," stammered Peter.

"Well, they are," retorted Jenny Wren. "As I live, there's Sally Sly now!"

Peter caught a glimpse of a brownish-gray bird who reminded him somewhat of Mrs. Redwing. She was about the same size and looked very much like her. It was plain that she was trying to keep out of sight, and the instant she knew that she had been discovered she flew away in the direction of the Old Pasture. It happened that late that afternoon Peter visited the Old Pasture and saw her again. She and some of her friends were busily walking about close to the feet of the cows, where they seemed to be picking up food. One had a brown head, neck and breast; the rest of his coat was glossy black. Peter rightly guessed that this must be Mr. Cowbird. Seeing them on such good terms with the cows he understood why they are called Cowbirds.

Sure that Sally Sly had left the Old Orchard, the feathered folks settled down to their personal affairs and household cares, Jenny Wren among them. Having no one to talk to, Peter found a shady place close to the old stone wall and there sat down to think over the surprising things he had learned. Presently Goldy the Baltimore Oriole alighted in the nearest apple-tree, and it seemed to Peter that never had he seen any one more beautifully dressed. His head, neck, throat and upper part of his back were black. The lower part of his back and his breast were a beautiful deep orange color. There was a dash of orange on his shoulders, but the rest of his wings were black with an edging of white. His tail was black and orange. Peter had heard him called the Firebird, and now he understood why. His song was quite as rich and beautiful as his coat.



He is almost wholly black and orange and nearly the size of a Robin.


His blue and gray coat with black and white markings makes the Blue Jay one of the easiest of all birds to recognize.

Shortly he was joined by Mrs. Goldy. Compared with her handsome husband she was very modestly dressed. She wore more brown than black, and where the orange color appeared it was rather dull. She wasted no time in singing. Almost instantly her sharp eyes spied a piece of string caught in the bushes almost over Peter's head. With a little cry of delight she flew down and seized it. But the string was caught, and though she tugged and pulled with all her might she couldn't get it free. Goldy saw the trouble she was having and cutting his song short, flew down to help her. Together they pulled and tugged and tugged and pulled, until they had to stop to rest and get their breath.

"We simply must have this piece of string," said Mrs. Goldy. "I've been hunting everywhere for a piece, and this is the first I've found. It is just what we need to bind our nest fast to the twigs. With this I won't have the least bit of fear that that nest will ever tear loose, no matter how hard the wind blows."

Once more they tugged and pulled and pulled and tugged until at last they got it free, and Mrs. Goldy flew away in triumph with the string in her bill. Goldy himself followed. Peter watched them fly to the top of a long, swaying branch of a big elm-tree up near Farmer Brown's house. He could see something which looked like a bag hanging there, and he knew that this must be the nest.

"Gracious!" said Peter. "They must get terribly tossed about when the wind blows. I should think their babies would be thrown out."

"Don't you worry about them," said a voice.

Peter looked up to find Welcome Robin just over him. "Mrs. Goldy makes one of the most wonderful nests I know of," continued Welcome Robin. "It is like a deep pocket made of grass, string, hair and bark, all woven together like a piece of cloth. It is so deep that it is quite safe for the babies, and they seem to enjoy being rocked by the wind. I shouldn't care for it myself because I like a solid foundation for my home, but the Goldies like it. It looks dangerous but it really is one of the safest nests I know of. Snakes and cats never get 'way up there and there are few feathered nest-robbers who can get at those eggs so deep down in the nest. Goldy is sometimes called Golden Robin. He isn't a Robin at all, but I would feel very proud if he were a member of my family. He's just as useful as he is handsome, and that's saying a great deal. He just dotes on caterpillars. There's Mrs. Robin calling me. Good-by, Peter."

With this Welcome Robin flew away and Peter once more settled himself to think over all he had learned.


The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Gnat and the Bull

A Gnat flew over the meadow with much buzzing for so small a creature and settled on the tip of one of the horns of a Bull. After he had rested a short time, he made ready to fly away. But before he left he begged the Bull's pardon for having used his horn for a resting place.

"You must be very glad to have me go now," he said.

"It's all the same to me," replied the Bull. "I did not even know you were there."

We are often of greater importance in our own eyes than in the eyes of our neighbor.

The smaller the mind the greater the conceit.



  WEEK 19  


The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said  by Padraic Colum

How He Came To Know What the Birds Said



T HERE is one thing that all the Birds are afraid of, and that is the thing that will happen when the Bird That Follows the Cuckoo flies into the Cuckoo's mouth.

And what will happen then, asks my kind foster-child.

When the Bird that Follows the Cuckoo flies into the Cuckoo's mouth the World will come to an end.

All the Birds know that, but not all the People know it.

Well, one day the Cuckoo was sitting on a bush and her Mouth was open. The Bird That Follows the Cuckoo flew straight at it. And into it he must have flown only for the Boy. . . .

The Boy was in the tree and he flung his cap at the Cuckoo and he covered the Cuckoo and the Cuckoo's open mouth.

The Bird That Follows the Cuckoo flew into the Crow's mouth instead, and the Crow gave that bird a squeeze, I can tell you. The Cuckoo pushed off the Boy's cap with her wings and flew into the forest.

All the Birds of the King's Garden were there at the time. There were.—

The Crow, the Woodpecker,

The Wren and the Eagle,

The Blackbird and Swallow,

The Jackdaw and Starling,

And the wonderful Peacock;

The Lapwing and Peewit,

The bold Yellowhammer,

The bad Willy-wagtail,

The Raven so awful,

And the Cock with his Hens;

Stone-checker, Hedge-sparrow,

And Lint-white and Lark,

The Tom-tit and Linnet,

And brisk little Sparrow,

The King-fisher too,

And my own little Goldfinch.

All the Birds in the King's Garden were overjoyed that the Bird that Follows the Cuckoo did not get into the Cuckoo's Mouth.

"What shall we do for the Boy who prevented the World from coming to an End?" asked the good-natured Corncrake. She was there too, but I forgot to mention her.

"Nothing," said the Willy-wagtail. "The Boy who would throw a cap would throw a stone. Do nothing at all for him."

"I'll sing for him," said the Goldfinch.

"I'll teach him what the Birds say," said the Crow.

"If he knew the Language of the Birds he would be like King Solomon," said the Raven.

"Let us make him like King Solomon," said the Goldfinch.

"Yes, yes, yes," said all the Birds in the King's Garden.

The Boy had not gone far when the Crow flew after him and lighted on his shoulder. The Crow spoke to him in the Boy's own language. The Boy was surprised. The Crow flew to a standing stone and went on speaking plain words to him.

"O," said the Boy, "I didn't know you could speak?"

"Why shouldn't I know how to speak," said the Crow, "haven't I, for a hundred years and more, been watching men and listening to their words? Why shouldn't I be able to speak?"

"And you can speak well, ma'am," said the Boy, not forgetting his manners.

"You know one language, but I know many languages," said the Crow, "for I know what People say, and I know what all the Birds say.

The old Crow sat there looking so wise and so friendly that the Boy began to talk to her at his ease. And after a while the Boy said "Ma'am, do you think I could ever learn what the Birds say?"

"You would, if you had me to teach you," said the Crow.

"And will you teach me, ma'am?" said the Boy.

"I will," said the Crow.

Then every day after that the Crow would sit upon the Standing Stone and the Boy would stand beside it. When the Crow had eaten the boiled potato that the Boy always brought she would tell him about the languages of the different Birds. The two were teaching and learning from day to day, and indeed you might say that the Boy went to school to the Crow. He learnt the language of this Bird and that Bird, and as he learnt their languages, many's and many's the good story he heard them tell each other.



Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Get Ready for Winter

I WAS so much pleased with the valley I had discovered that I spent much of my time there.

At last I built me a small summer house close by a grove of orange trees.

It was but little more than a bower, made of the branches of trees.

I built a strong fence around it. This was made of two rows of tall stakes with brushwood between.

There was no gate in this fence, but only a short ladder, just as at my castle.


Here I sometimes stayed two or three nights together.

I gathered about two hundred clusters of grapes and hung them up to dry. In due time they made the finest of raisins. I took them down and carried them to my castle.

Thus little by little I gathered food for winter.

The winters there were not cold. But the rain fell every day, and often all the day.

I had just finished my bower, and was beginning to enjoy myself when the rainy season, or winter, began.

What could I do but hurry back to my castle and its dry, warm cave?

For weeks I could not stir out without getting wet. My store of food began to grow small.

One day, in spite of the rain, I went out and killed a goat. The next day I found a very large turtle among the rocks.

This was all good luck, for I had now enough to eat for many a day.

My meals were simple and plain.

For breakfast, I had a bunch of raisins and a bit of biscuit.

For dinner, I had broiled turtle. I could not have turtle soup, for I had no vessel in which to cook it.

For supper, I ate two or three turtle's eggs.

Although I was kept close indoors by the rain, I was never idle.

Every day I worked at making my cave larger. I dug far in, behind the rock, and made a fine, large room there.

Then I made another door or way out, which opened on the outside of my wall. So now I could come into the castle through the cellar, or kitchen, and without climbing the ladder.

This was much handier and easier than the other way. But it did not seem so safe. I feared now lest some wild beast might get into my house; and yet the biggest animal I had seen on the island was a goat.

Soon after this I put a roof over my whole inclosure. I took a number of long poles for rafters and laid one end of each on the wall, while the other end leaned against the rock above the cave.

These I covered with boughs of trees, long grass, and such other things as I could get. In this way I made a very good roof which turned the rain and kept everything dry.

My castle was now a very roomy place. It was quite warm and dry even in the worst of weather.


Bliss Carman

Mr. Moon

A Song of the Little People

O Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

Down on the hilltop,

Down in the glen,

Out in the clearin',

To play with little men?

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

Hurry up your stumps!

Don't you hear Bullfrog

Callin' to his wife,

And old black Cricket

A-wheezin' at his fife?

Hurry up your stumps,

And get on your pumps!

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

Hurry up along!

The reeds in the current

Are whisperin' slow;

The river's a-wimplin'

To and fro.

Hurry up along,

Or you 'll miss the song!

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

We're all here!

Honey-bug, Thistledrift,

White-imp, Weird,

Wryface, Billiken,

Quidnunc, Queered;

We're all here,

And the coast is clear!

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

We're the little men!

Dewlap, Pussymouse,

Ferntip, Freak,

Drink-again, Shambler,

Talkytalk, Squeak;

Three times ten

Of us little men!

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

We're all ready!

Tallenough, Squaretoes,

Amble, Tip,

Buddybud, Heigho,

Little Black Pip;

We're all ready,

And the wind walks steady!

Moon, Mr. Moon

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

We're thirty score;

Yellowbeard, Piper,

Lieabed, Toots,

Meadowbee, Moonboy,


Three times more

Than thirty score.

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

Keep your eye peeled;

Watch out to windward,

Or you'll miss the fun,

Down by the acre

Where the wheat-waves run;

Keep your eye peeled

For the open field.

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

There's not much time!

Hurry, if you 're comin',

You lazy old bones!

You can sleep to-morrow

While the Buzbuz drones;

There's not much time

Till the church bells chime.

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Mr. Moon,

Just see the clover!

Soon we 'll be going

Where the Gray Goose went

When all her money

Was spent, spent, spent!

Down through the clover,

When the revel's over!

Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

O Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?

Down where the Good Folk

Dance in a ring,

Down where the Little Folk


Moon, Mr. Moon,

When you comin' down?


  WEEK 19  


The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

King Arthur and His Knights

"A glorious company, the flower of men

To serve as model for the mighty world."


T HE story of King Arthur belongs to this period, when the barbarians were swarming over the Western world.

When the Romans left Britain to return to their falling capital, the heathen hosts poured over the seas and swept all before them in that fair island with its open tracts of country, its winding rivers, and its sheltering coast, till the inhabitants had to take refuge in the western part known as Wales.

And the Britons groaned for the Roman legions there again and Cæsar's eagle, till Arthur came.

Now so much story and fable hang round this mysterious King Arthur that it is hard to know what is history and what is romance. Perhaps it does not much matter in this case, for we can accept him as the poets have sung of him—as one of the noblest, purest, grandest of men, who will ever serve as a "model for the mighty world."

Let us hear the story as the poet Tennyson tells it, in all its beauty and in all its strength.

One night, as the old Welsh magician Merlin stood on the sea-shore, a wave washed to his feet an infant, who was none other than the future King Arthur.

"From the great deep to the great deep he goes."

Merlin took the babe, who grew to manhood in solitude, until the time came when he should be discovered and crowned King of Britain. But he had to conquer the barbarians, known as Saxons, many times before his people would believe in him.

Then he formed a brave band of knights to help him in his work, to break the heathen and uphold the Christ, to ride abroad redressing human wrongs, to fulfill the boundless purpose of their King. They were known as the Knights of the Round Table, because Arthur, not wishing to honour one above another, had a round table made at which all sat at meals.

It would take too long to tell of all the famous deeds wrought by the king and his knights: how Arthur was ever fighting, his armour shining with gold and jewels, his helmet glistening with a golden dragon at the top, his precious sword Excalibur ever in his right hand.

Again and again he waged war against the heathen tribes as well as against the evils of the times. The story of the Quest for the Holy Grail—a cup supposed to have been used by Christ—is one of the most beautiful in connection with King Arthur.

"Lords and fair knights," said the king one day when sitting at the Round Table, "as ye well know, there is a cup which hath ever been held the holiest treasure of the world. Heaven hath hidden it, none knows where. Yet somewhere in the world it still may be. And may be it is left to this noble order of the Table Round to find and bring it home. Many great quests and perilous adventures have ye all taken, but this high quest he only shall attain who hath clean hands and a pure heart, and valour and hardihood beyond all other men."

The knights set off on the quest for the Holy Grail, but only Sir Galahad—the bright boy-knight—Sir Percival, and one other among the many knights, were good enough and brave enough to see the vision.

This time-worn story has taken such hold upon the minds of men, that to this very day, in the little town of Bayreuth in the heart of Bavaria, the Quest for the Holy Grail is still acted, music and words being composed by Wagner, one of the world's great musicians.

But the day came when Arthur was wounded in that last dim, weird battle of the West, with a death-white mist sleeping over sand and sea—wounded unto death.

"So all day long the noise of battle rolled

Among the mountains by the winter sea

Until King Arthur's Table, man by man,

Had fallen."

One faithful knight, Sir Bedevere, was left; and finding his king was deeply wounded, he carried him to a little chapel near the battlefield.

It was evening, and the moon was full. Arthur felt he was dying. The men he had loved were sleeping their last sleep on the battlefield; never more should they all delight their souls with talk of knightly deeds. The time had come to part with the jewelled sword Excalibur. The story runs that this sword was the gift of a mysterious Lady of the Lake; that in the old days, one summer noon, an arm rose from out a lake holding the sword, which Arthur rowed across the water and took. Now Excalibur must be thrown back into the lake, and Sir Bedevere must do the deed.

Obedient to the king's commands the knight took the sword, and climbing by zigzag paths came on the lake. The beautiful jewels sparkled in the moonlight, and Bedevere could not make up his mind to throw it away, so he hid it among the reeds and returned to the king. But Arthur soon discovered his deceit and sent him again to do his bidding. Again Sir Bedevere went; again his courage failed; again he returned to the dying king.

"Ah, miserable and unkind, untrue, unknightly, traitor-hearted," cried Arthur; "authority forgets a dying king. Get thee hence, and if thou spare to fling Excalibur I will arise and slay thee with my hands."

Then the knight rose quickly, hastened to the lake, and shutting his eyes flung the good sword into the water. The arm rose up, grasped it firmly, brandished it three times, and drew it down into the water. Then Arthur was content. With the help of Sir Bedevere he managed to get to the lake himself. There a barge was waiting for him.

"I am going a long way," said the dying king to his weeping knight, "to the island valley of Avilion, where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, nor ever wind blows loudly, but it lies deep-meadowed, happy, fair with orchard lawns, where I will heal me of my grievous wound."

Then the barge, with oar and sail, moved slowly away over the cold moonlit lake, and Sir Bedevere watched it till it was out of sight.

"The king is gone," he moaned at last. "From the great deep to the great deep he goes."

Such is the story the poet tells. It may not be true, but the fact remains that there once lived a king of early Britain who fought against the barbarians known as Saxons, and that though they finally conquered and gave their name to the new country, King Arthur did not live and fight in vain.


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

The Pear Tree


      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

      Child:     What else is there on this big tree?

      Mother:     A wonderful branch!

      Child:     A branch on the tree,
A tree in the earth;
Out in the green meadow!

      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

      Child:     What else is there on this big tree?

      Mother:     A beautiful twig!

      Child:     A twig on the branch,
A branch on the tree,
A tree in the earth;
Out in the green meadow!

      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

      Child:     What else is there on this big tree?

      Mother:     A soft cozy nest!

      Child:     A nest on the twig,
A twig on the branch
A branch on the tree,
A tree in the earth;
Out in the green meadow!


      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

      Child:     Who made that wee soft cozy nest?

      Mother:     A little brown bird.

      Child:     A bird in the nest,
A nest on the twig,
A twig on the branch
A branch on the tree,
A tree in the earth;
Out in the green meadow!

      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

      Child:     What grows on the little brown bird?

      Mother:     Some soft shining feathers!

      Child:     Feathers on the bird,
A bird in the nest,
A nest on the twig,
A twig on the branch
A branch on the tree,
A tree in the earth;
Out in the green meadow!

      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

      Child:     What becomes of the soft shining feathers?

      Mother:     They make a warm bed!

      Child:     A bed made of feathers,
Feathers from the bird,
A bird in the nest,
A nest on the twig,
A twig on the branch
A branch on the tree,
A tree in the earth;
Out in the green meadow!

      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

      Child:     Who sleeps in the warm little bed?

      Mother:     A mother's dear child!

      Child:     Mother's dear in the bed,
A bed made of feathers,
Feathers from the bird,
A bird in the nest,
A nest on the twig,
A twig on the branch
A branch on the tree,
A tree in the earth;
Out in the green meadow!

      Mother:     Out in the meadow,
There grows a big pear tree,
A pear tree covered with leaves!

German Nursery Tale

Walter de la Mare

Some One

Some one came knocking

At my wee, small door;

Some one came knocking,

I'm sure—sure—sure;

I listened, I opened,

I looked to left and right,

But naught there was a-stirring

In the still dark night;

Only the busy beetle

Tap-tapping in the wall,

Only from the forest

The screech-owl's call,

Only the cricket whistling

While the dewdrops fall,

So I know not who came knocking,

At all, at all, at all.


  WEEK 19  


Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Betsy Starts a Sewing Society

Part 1 of 3

Betsy and Molly had taken Deborah to school with them. Deborah was the old wooden doll with brown, painted curls. She had lain in a trunk almost ever since Aunt Abigail's childhood, because Cousin Ann had never cared for dolls when she was a little girl. At first Betsy had not dared to ask to see her, much less to play with her, but when Ellen, as she had promised, came over to Putney Farm that first Saturday she had said right out, as soon as she landed in the house, "Oh, Mrs. Putney, can't we play with Deborah?" And Aunt Abigail had answered: "Why, yes,  of course! I knew  there was something I've kept forgetting!" She went up with them herself to the cold attic and opened the little hair-trunk under the eaves. There lay a doll, flat on her back, looking up at them brightly out of her blue eyes.

"Well, Debby dear," said Aunt Abigail, taking her up gently. "It's a good long time since you and I played under the lilac bushes, isn't it? I expect you've been pretty lonesome up here all these years. Never you mind, you'll have some good times again, now." She pulled down the doll's full, ruffled skirt, straightened the lace at the neck of her dress, and held her for a moment, looking down at her silently. You could tell by the way she spoke, by the way she touched Deborah, by the way she looked at her, that she had loved the doll very dearly, and maybe still did, a little.

When she put Deborah into Betsy's arms, the child felt that she was receiving something very precious, almost something alive. She and Ellen looked with delight at the yards and yards of picot-edged ribbon, sewed on by hand to the ruffles of the skirt, and lifted up the silk folds to admire the carefully made, full petticoats and frilly drawers, the pretty, soft old kid shoes and white stockings. Aunt Abigail looked at them with an absent smile on her lips, as though she were living over old scenes.


Betsy and Ellen and the old doll.

Finally, "It's too cold to play up here," she said, coming to herself with a long breath. "You'd better bring Deborah and the trunk down into the south room." She carried the doll, and Betsy and Ellen each took an end of the old trunk, no larger than a modern suitcase. They settled themselves on the big couch, back of the table with the lamp. Old Shep was on it, but Betsy coaxed him off by putting down some bones Cousin Ann had been saving for him. When he finished those and came back for the rest of his snooze, he found his place occupied by the little girls, sitting cross-legged, examining the contents of the trunk, all spread out around them. Shep sighed deeply and sat down with his nose resting on the couch near Betsy's knee, following all their movements with his kind, dark eyes. Once in a while Betsy stopped hugging Deborah or exclaiming over a new dress long enough to pat Shep's head and fondle his ears. This was what he was waiting for, and every time she did it he wagged his tail thumpingly against the floor.

After that Deborah and her trunk were kept downstairs where Betsy could play with her. And often she was taken to school. You never heard of such a thing as taking a doll to school, did you? Well, I told you this was a queer, old-fashioned school that any modern School Superintendent would sniff at. As a matter of fact, it was not only Betsy who took her doll to school; all the little girls did, whenever they felt like it. Miss Benton, the teacher, had a shelf for them in the entry-way where the wraps were hung, and the dolls sat on it and waited patiently all through lessons. At recess time or nooning each little mother snatched her own child and began to play. As soon as it grew warm enough to play outdoors without just racing around every minute to keep from freezing to death, the dolls and their mothers went out to a great pile of rocks at one end of the bare, stony field which was the playground. There they sat and played in the spring sunshine, warmer from day to day. There were a great many holes and shelves and pockets and little caves in the rocks which made lovely places for playing keep-house. Each little girl had her own particular cubby-holes and "rooms," and they "visited" their dolls back and forth all around the pile. And as they played they talked very fast about all sorts of things, being little girls and not boys who just yelled and howled inarticulately as they played ball or duck-on-a-rock or prisoner's goal, racing and running and wrestling noisily all around the rocks.

There was one child who neither played with the girls nor ran and whooped with the boys. This was little six-year-old 'Lias, one of the two boys in Molly's first grade. At recess time he generally hung about the school door by himself, looking moodily down and knocking the toe of his ragged, muddy shoe against a stone. The little girls were talking about him one day as they played. "My! Isn't that 'Lias Brewster the horridest-looking child!" said Eliza, who had the second grade all to herself, although Molly now read out of the second reader with her.

"Mercy, yes! So ragged!" said Anastasia Monahan, called Stashie for short. She was a big girl, fourteen years old, who was in the seventh grade.

"He doesn't look as if he ever  combed his hair!" said Betsy. "It looks just like a wisp of old hay."

"And sometimes," little Molly proudly added her bit to the talk of the other girls, "he forgets to put on any stockings and just has his dreadful old shoes on over his dirty, bare feet."

"I guess he hasn't got   any stockings half the time," said big Stashie scornfully. "I guess his stepfather drinks 'em up."

"How can   he drink up stockings?" asked Molly, opening her round eyes very wide.

"Sh! You mustn't ask. Little girls shouldn't know about such things, should they, Betsy?"

"No, indeed,"  said Betsy, looking mysterious. As a matter of fact, she herself had no idea what Stashie meant, but she looked wise and said nothing.

Some of the boys had squatted down near the rocks for a game of marbles now.

"Well, anyhow," said Molly resentfully, "I don't care what his stepfather does to his stockings. I wish 'Lias would wear 'em to school. And lots of times he hasn't anything on under those horrid old overalls either! I can see his bare skin through the torn places."

"I wish he didn't have to sit so near me," said Betsy complainingly. "He's so   dirty."

"Well, I don't want him near me,  either!" cried all the other little girls at once. Ralph glanced up at them frowning, from where he knelt with his middle finger crooked behind a marble ready for a shot. He looked as he always did, very rough and half-threatening. "Oh, you girls make me sick!" he said. He sent his marble straight to the mark, pocketed his opponent's, and stood up, scowling at the little mothers. "I guess if you had to live the way he does, you'd be dirty! Half the time he don't get anything to eat before he comes to school, and if my mother didn't put up some extra for him in my box he wouldn't get any lunch either. And then you go and jump on him!"

"Why doesn't his own mother put up his lunch?" Betsy challenged their critic.

"He hasn't got any mother. She's dead," said Ralph, turning away with his hands in his pockets. He yelled to the boys, "Come on, fellers, beat-che to the bridge and back!" and was off, with the others racing at his heels.

"Well, anyhow, I don't care; he is   dirty and horrid!" said Stashie emphatically, looking over at the drooping, battered little figure, leaning against the school door, listlessly kicking at a stone.

But Betsy did not say anything more just then.

The teacher, who "boarded 'round," was staying at Putney Farm at that time, and that evening, as they all sat around the lamp in the south room, Betsy looked up from her game of checkers with Uncle Henry and asked, "How can anybody drink up stockings?"

"Mercy, child! what are you talking about?" asked Aunt Abigail.

Betsy repeated what Anastasia Monahan had said, and was flattered by the instant, rather startled attention given her by the grown-ups. "Why, I didn't know that Bud Walker had taken to drinking again!" said Uncle Henry. "My! That's too bad!"

"Who takes care of that child anyhow, now that poor Susie is dead?" Aunt Abigail asked of everybody in general.

"Is he just living there alone,  with that good-for-nothing stepfather? How do they get enough to eat?"  said Cousin Ann, looking troubled.


The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

Jimmy Skunk Takes Word to Mrs. Peter

W HEN old Granny Fox found Prickly Porky, with his thousand little spears all pointing at her, standing between her and Peter Rabbit, she was the angriest old Fox ever seen. She didn't dare touch Prickly Porky, for she knew well enough what it would mean to get one of those sharp, barbed little spears in her skin. To think that she actually had caught Peter Rabbit and then lost him was too provoking! It was more than her temper, never of the best, could stand. In her anger she dug up the leaves and earth with her hind feet, and all the time her tongue fairly flew as she called Prickly Porky, Jimmy Skunk, and Unc' Billy Possum everything bad she could think of. Her yellow eyes snapped so that it seemed almost as if sparks of fire flew from them. It made Peter shiver just to look at her.

Unc' Billy Possum, who, by slipping up behind her and biting one of her heels, had made her let go of Peter, grinned down at her from a safe place in a tree. Jimmy Skunk stood grinning at her in the most provoking manner, and she couldn't do a thing about it, because she had no desire to have Jimmy use his little bag of perfume. So she talked herself out and then with many parting threats of what she would do, she started for home. Unc' Billy noticed that she limped a little with the foot he had nipped so hard, and he couldn't help feeling just a little bit sorry for her.

When she had gone, the others turned to Peter Rabbit to see how badly he had been hurt. They looked him all over and found that he wasn't much the worse for his rough experience. He was rather stiff and lame, and the back of his neck was very sore where Granny Fox had seized him, but he would be quite himself in a day or two.

"I must get home now," said he in a rather faint voice. "Mrs. Peter will be sure that something has happened to me and will be worried almost to death."

"No, you don't!" declared Jimmy Skunk. "You are going to stay right here where we can take care of you. It wouldn't be safe for you to try to go to the Old Briar-patch now, because if you should meet Old Man Coyote or Reddy Fox or Whitetail the Marshhawk, you would not be able to run fast enough to get away. I will go down and tell Mrs. Peter, and you will make yourself comfortable in the old house behind that stump where I was hiding."

Peter tried to insist on going home, but the others wouldn't hear of it, and Jimmy Skunk settled the matter by starting for the dear Old Briar-patch. He found little Mrs. Peter anxiously looking towards the Green Forest for some sign of Peter.

"Oh!" she cried, "you have come to bring me bad news. Do tell me quickly what has happened to Peter!"


"Do tell me quickly what has happened to Peter!"

"Nothing much has happened to Peter," replied Jimmy promptly. Then in the drollest way he told all about the fright of Granny Fox when she first saw the terrible creature rolling down the hill and all that happened after, but he took great care to make light of Peter's escape, and explained that he was just going to rest up there on Prickly Porky's hill for that day and would be home the next night. But little Mrs. Peter wasn't wholly satisfied.

"I've begged him and begged him to keep away from the Green Forest," said she, "but now if he is hurt so that he can't come home, he needs me, and I'm going straight up there myself!"

Nothing that Jimmy could say had the least effect, and so at last he agreed to take her to Peter. And so, hopping behind Jimmy Skunk, timid little Mrs. Peter Rabbit actually went into the Green Forest of which she was so much afraid, which shows how brave love can be sometimes.


William Shakespeare

Lullaby for Titania

You spotted snakes with double tongue,

Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen;

Newts and blind-worms, do not wrong;

Come not near our fairy queen.

Philomel, with melody,

Sing in our sweet lullaby;

Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!

Never harm,

Nor spell nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh;

So, good-night, with lullaby.

Weaving spiders, come not here;

Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence!

Beetles black, approach not near;

Worm, nor snail, do no offence.

Philomel, with melody,

Sing in our sweet lullaby;

Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby!

Never harm,

Nor spell nor charm,

Come our lovely lady nigh;

So, good-night, with lullaby.


  WEEK 19  


Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

How Ruth Gleaned in the Field of Boaz

Ruth i: 1, to iv: 22.

dropcap image N the time of the judges in Israel, a man named Elimelech was living in the town of Bethlehem, in the tribe of Judah, about six miles south of Jerusalem. His wife's name was Naomi, and his two sons were Mahlon and Chilion. For some years the crops were poor, and food was scarce in Judah; and Elimelech, with his family, went to live in the land of Moab, which was on the east of the Dead Sea, as Judah was on the west.

There they stayed ten years, and in that time Elimelech died. His two sons married women of the country of Moab, one woman named Orpah, the other named Ruth. But the two young men also died in the land of Moab, so that Naomi and her two daughters-in-law were all left widows.

Naomi heard that God had again given good harvests and bread to the land of Judah, and she rose up to go from Moab back to her own land and her own town of Bethlehem. Her two daughters-in-law loved her and both would have gone with her, though the land of Judah was a strange land to them, for they were of the Moabite people.

Naomi said to them, "Go back, my daughters, to your own mothers' homes. May the Lord deal kindly with you, as you have been kind to your husbands and to me. May the Lord grant that each of you may yet find another husband and a happy home." Then Naomi kissed them in farewell, and the three women all wept together. The two young widows said to her, "You have been a good mother to us, and we will go with you, and live among your people."

"No, no," said Naomi. "You are young, and I am old. Go back and be happy among your own people."

Then Orpah kissed Naomi and went back to her people; but Ruth would not leave her. She said, "Do not ask me to leave you, for I never will. Where you go, I will go; where you live, I will live; your people shall be my people; and your God shall be my God. Where you die, I will die, and be buried. Nothing but death itself shall part you and me."


Orpah leaves Naomi.

When Naomi saw that Ruth was firm in her purpose, she ceased trying to persuade her; so the two women went on together. They walked around the Dead Sea, and crossed the river Jordan, and climbed the mountains of Judah, and came to Bethlehem.

Naomi had been absent from Bethlehem for ten years, but her friends were all glad to see her again. They said, "Is this Naomi, whom we knew years ago?" Now the name Naomi means "pleasant." And Naomi said:

"Call me not Naomi; call me Mara, for the Lord has made my life bitter. I went out full, with my husband and two sons; now I come home empty, without them. Do not call me 'Pleasant'; call me 'Bitter.' " The name "Mara," by which Naomi wished to be called, means "bitter." But Naomi learned later that "Pleasant" was the right name for her after all.

There was living in Bethlehem at that time a very rich man named Boaz. He owned large fields that were abundant in their harvests; and he was related to the family of Elimelech, Naomi's husband, who had died.

It was the custom in Israel when they reaped the grain not to gather all the stalks, but to leave some for the poor people, who followed after the reapers with their sickles, and gathered what was left. When Naomi and Ruth came to Bethlehem it was the time of the barley harvest; and Ruth went out into the fields to glean the grain which the reapers had left. It so happened that she was gleaning in the field that belonged to Boaz, this rich man.

Boaz came out from the town to see his men reaping, and he said to them, "The Lord be with you;" and they answered him, "The Lord bless you." And Boaz said to his master of the reapers, "Who is this young woman that I see gleaning in the field?"

The man answered, "It is the young woman from the land of Moab, who came with Naomi. She asked leave to glean after the reapers, and has been here gathering grain since yesterday."


Ruth gleaning in the field of Boaz.

Then Boaz said to Ruth, "Listen to me, my daughter. Do not go to any other field, but stay here with my young women. No one shall harm you; and when you are thirsty, go and drink at our vessels of water."

Then Ruth bowed to Boaz, and thanked him for his kindness, all the more kind because she was a stranger in Israel. Boaz said:

"I have heard how true you have been to your mother-in-law, Naomi, in leaving your own land and coming with her to this land. May the Lord, under whose wings you have come, give you a reward!" And at noon, when they sat down to rest and to eat, Boaz gave her some of the food. And he said to the reapers:

"When you are reaping, leave some of the sheaves for her; and drop out some sheaves from the bundles, where she may gather them."

That evening Ruth showed Naomi how much she had gleaned, and told her of the rich man Boaz, who had been so kind to her. And Naomi said, "This man is a near relation of ours. Stay in his fields as long as the harvest lasts." And so Ruth gleaned in the fields of Boaz until the harvest had been gathered.

At the end of the harvest Boaz held a feast on the threshing-floor. And after the feast, by the advice of Naomi, Ruth went to him, and said to him, "You are a near relation of my husband and of his father, Elimelech. Now will you not do good to us for his sake?"

And when Boaz saw Ruth he loved her; and soon after this he took her as his wife. And Naomi and Ruth went to live in his home; so that Naomi's life was no more bitter, but pleasant. And Boaz and Ruth had a son, whom they named Obed; and later Obed had a son named Jesse; and Jesse was the father of David, the shepherd boy who became king. So Ruth, the young woman of Moab, who chose the people and the God of Israel, became the mother of kings.


Ruth will not leave Naomi.


The Boxcar Children  by Gertrude Chandler Warner


W HEN Jess opened her eyes it must have been about ten o'clock in the morning. She sat up and looked all around her. She could see dimly the opening where they had come into the woods. She looked around to see that her family was still safely by her. Then she looked up at the sky. At first she thought it must still be night, and then she realized that the darkness was caused by an approaching storm.

"Whatever, whatever  shall we do now?" demanded Jess of the air.

She got up and looked in every direction for shelter. She even walked quite a little way into the woods, and down a hill. And there she stood, not knowing what to do next.

"I shall have to wake Henry up," she said at last. "Only how I hate to!"

As she spoke she glanced into the forest, and her feet felt as if they were nailed to the ground. She could not stir. Faintly outlined among the trees, Jess saw an old freight or box car. Her first thought was one of fear; her second, hope for shelter. As she thought of shelter, her feet moved, and she stumbled toward it.

It really was a freight car. She felt of it. It stood on rusty broken rails which were nearly covered with dead leaves. Then the thunder cracked overhead. Jess came to her usual senses and started back for Henry, flying like the wind. He was awake, looking anxiously overhead. He had not noticed that Jess was missing.

"Come!" panted Jess. "I've found a place! Hurry! hurry!"

Henry did not stop to ask questions. He picked up Benny, telling Violet to gather up the hay. And then they ran headlong through the thick underbrush in Jess' wake, seeing their way only too well by the sharp flashes of lightning.

"It's beginning to sprinkle!" gasped Henry.

"We'll get there, all right," Jess shouted back. "It's not far. Be all ready to help me open the door when we get there!"

By sheer good fortune a big tree stump stood under the door of the freight car, or the children never could have opened it. As it was, Jess sprang on the stump and Henry, pausing to lay Benny down, did likewise. Together they rolled back the heavy door about a foot.

"That's enough," panted Jess. "I'll get in, and you hand Benny up to me."

"No," said Henry quietly. "I must see first if any one is in there."

"It will rain!" protested Jess. "Nothing will hurt me."

But she knew it was useless to argue with Henry, so she hastily groped in the bag for the matches and handed them to her brother. It must be confessed that Jess held her breath while Henry struck one and peered about inside the car.

"All's well!" he reported. "Come in, everybody!"

Violet passed the hay up to her brother, and crawled in herself. Then Jess handed Benny up like a package of groceries and, taking one last look at the angry sky and waving trees, she climbed in after him.

The two children managed to roll the door back so that the crack was completely closed before the storm broke. But at that very instant it broke with a vengeance. It seemed to the children that the sky would split, so sharp were the cracks of thunder. But not a drop of rain reached them in their roomy retreat. They could see nothing at all, for the freight car was tightly made, and all outside was nearly as black as night. Through it all, Benny slept on.

Presently the thunder grew fainter, and rumbled away down the valley, and the rain spent itself. Only the drip from the trees on the top of the car could be heard. Then Henry ventured to open the door.

He knelt on his hands and knees and thrust his head out.

The warm sunlight was filtering through the trees, making golden pools of light here and there. The beautiful trees, pines and white birches and oaks, grew thickly around and the ground was carpeted with flowers and wonderful ferns more than a yard high. But most miraculous of all was a miniature waterfall, small but perfect, where the same little brown brook fell gracefully over some ledges, and danced away down the glen.

In an instant Jess and Violet were looking over Henry's shoulder at the pretty sight.

"How different everything looks with the sun shining!" exclaimed Jess. "Things will soon be dry at this rate."

"It must be about noon," observed Henry, looking at the sun. And as he spoke the faint echo of mill bells in the distance was heard.

"Henry!" said Jess sharply. "Let's live  here!"

"Live here?" repeated Henry dully.

"Yes! Why not?" replied Jess. "Nobody uses this car, and it's dry and warm. We're quite far away. And yet we are near enough to a town so we can buy things."

"And we're near water," added Violet.

Jess hugged her sister. "So we are, little mouse," she said—"the most important thing of all."

"But—" began Henry.

"Please,  Henry," said Jess excitedly. "I could make this old freight car into the dearest little house, with beds, and chairs, and a table—and dishes—"

"I'd like to live here, too," said a determined little voice from the corner, "but I don't want to, unless—"

"Unless what?" asked Henry, panic-stricken.

"Unless I can have my dinner," Benny finished anxiously.

"We'll have something to eat right away, old fellow," said Henry, thankful it was no worse. For he himself was beginning to see what a cozy home the car really would make.

Jess cut the last loaf of bread into four pieces, but alas! it was very dry. The children were so hungry that they tore it with their teeth like little dogs, but Benny was nearly crying. He did not actually cry, however, for just at the crucial moment Violet started a funny story about Cinnamon Bear eating bread crusts out of the ash can.

"He ought to have milk," said Jess quietly to Henry.

"He shall  have milk," replied Henry. "I'll go down the railroad track to the town and get some."

Jess counted out a dollar in ten dimes and handed it to Henry. "By the time our four dollars are gone, you will have some work to do," she said.

All the same Henry did not like to begin his trip. "How I hate to leave you alone, Jess!" he said miserably.

"Oh, don't you worry," began Jess lightly. "We'll have a surprise for you when you come back. You just wait and see!" And she nodded her head wisely as Henry walked slowly off through the woods.

The moment he was out of sight she turned to Benny and Violet. "Now, children," she said, "what do you think we're going to do? Do you know what I saw over in the sunny part of the woods? I saw some blueberries!"

"Oh, oh!" cried Benny, who knew what blueberries were. "Can't we have some blueberries and milk?"

"We certainly—" began Jess. But the sentence never was finished, for a sharp crackle of dry leaves was heard. Something was moving in the woods.


John Keble

All Things Bright and Beautiful

All things bright and beautiful,

All creatures great and small,

All things wise and wonderful—

The Lord God made them all.

Each little flower that opens,

Each little bird that sings—

He made their glowing colors,

He made their tiny wings.

The purple-headed mountain,

The river running by,

The morning and the sunset

That lighteth up the sky;

The tall trees in the greenwood,

The pleasant summer sun,

The ripe fruits in the garden—

He made them every one.

He gave us eyes to see them,

And lips, that we might tell

How great is God Almighty,

Who hath made all things well.