Text of Plan #970
  WEEK 2  


Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Master Cherry Gives a Present to Geppetto

Master Cherry makes a present of the piece of wood to his friend Geppetto, who takes it to make for himself a wonderful puppet, that shall know how to dance, and to fence, and to leap like an acrobat.

A T that moment some one knocked at the door.

"Come in," said the carpenter, without having the strength to rise to his feet.


A lively little old man immediately walked into the shop. His name was Geppetto, but when the boys of the neighbourhood wished to put him in a passion they called him by the nickname of Polendina, because his yellow wig greatly resembled a pudding made of Indian corn.

Geppetto was very fiery. Woe to him who called him Polendina! He became furious, and there was no holding him.

"Good Day, Master Antonio," said Geppetto; "what are you doing there on the floor?"

"I am teaching the alphabet to the ants."

"Much good may that do you."

"What has brought you to me, neighbour Geppetto?"

"My legs. But to say the truth, Master Antonio, I am come to ask a favour of you."

"Here I am, ready to serve you," replied the carpenter, getting on to his knees.

"This morning an idea came into my head."

"Let us hear it."

"I thought I would make a beautiful wooden puppet; but a wonderful puppet that should know how to dance, to fence, and to leap like an acrobat. With this puppet I would travel about the world to earn a piece of bread and a glass of wine. What do you think of it?"

"Bravo, Polendina!" exclaimed the same little voice, and it was impossible to say where it came from.

Hearing himself called Polendina Geppetto became as red as a turkey-cock from rage, and turning to the carpenter he said in a fury:

"Why do you insult me?"

"Who insults you?"

"You called me Polendina! . . ."

"It was not I!"

"Would you have it, then, that it was I? It was you, I say!"





And becoming more and more angry, from words they came to blows, and flying at each other they bit, and fought, and scratched manfully.

When the fight was over Master Antonio was in possession of Geppetto's yellow wig, and Geppetto discovered that the grey wig belonging to the carpenter had remained between his teeth.


When the fight was over.

"Give me back my wig," screamed Master Antonio.

"And you, return me mine, and let us make friends."

The two old men having each recovered his own wig shook hands, and swore that they would remain friends to the end of their lives.

"Well then, neighbour Geppetto," said the carpenter, to prove that peace was made, "what is the favour that you wish of me?"

"I want a little wood to make my puppet; will you give me some?"

Master Antonio was delighted, and he immediately went to the bench and fetched the piece of wood that had caused him so much fear. But just as he was going to give it to his friend the piece of wood gave a shake, and wriggling violently out of his hands struck with all its force against the dried-up shins of poor Geppetto.

"Ah! is that the courteous way in which you make your presents, Master Antonio? You have almost lamed me! . . ."

"I swear to you that it was not I! . . ."

"Then you would have it that it was I? . . ."

"The wood is entirely to blame! . . ."

"I know that it was the wood; but it was you that hit my legs with it! . . ."

"I did not hit you with it! . . ."


"Geppetto, don't insult me or I will call you Polendina! . . ."







On hearing himself called Polendina for the third time Geppetto, blind with rage, fell upon the carpenter and they fought desperately.

When the battle was over, Master Antonio had two more scratches on his nose, and his adversary had two buttons too little on his waistcoat. Their accounts being thus squared they shook hands, and swore to remain good friends for the rest of their lives.

Geppetto carried off his fine piece of wood and, thanking Master Antonio, returned limping to his house.



Viking Tales  by Jennie Hall

The Tooth Thrall


W HEN Harald was seven months old he cut his first tooth. Then his father said:

"All the young of my herds, lambs and calves and colts, that have been born since this baby was born I this day give to him. I also give to him this thrall, Olaf. These are my tooth-gifts to my son."

The boy grew fast, for as soon as he could walk about he was out of doors most of the time. He ran in the woods and climbed the hills and waded in the creek. He was much with his tooth thrall, for the king had said to Olaf:

"Be ever at his call."

Now this Olaf was full of stories, and Harald liked to hear them.

"Come out to Aegir's Rock, Olaf, and tell me stories," he said almost every day.

So they started off across the hills. The man wore a long, loose coat of white wool, belted at the waist with a strap. He had on coarse shoes and leather leggings. Around his neck was an iron collar welded together so that it could not come off. On it were strange marks, called runes, that said:

"Olaf, thrall of Halfdan."

But Harald's clothes were gay. A cape of gray velvet hung from his shoulders. It was fastened over his breast with great gold buckles. When it waved in the wind, a scarlet lining flashed out, and the bottom of a little scarlet jacket showed. His feet and legs were covered with gray woolen tights. Gold lacings wound around his legs from his shoes to his knees. A band of gold held down his long, yellow hair.

It was a wild country that these two were walking over. They were climbing steep, rough hills. Some of them seemed made all of rock, with a little earth lying in spots. Great rocks hung out from them, with trees growing in their cracks. Some big pieces had broken off and rolled down the hill.

"Thor broke them," Olaf said. "He rides through the sky and hurls his hammer at clouds and at mountains. That makes the thunder and the lightning and cracks the hills. His hammer never misses its aim, and it always comes back to his hand and is eager to go again."

When they reached the top of the hill they looked back. Far below was a soft, green valley. In front of it the sea came up into the land and made a fiord. On each side of the fiord high walls of rock stood up and made the water black with shadow. All around the valley were high hills with dark pines on them. Far off were the mountains. In the valley were Halfdan's houses around their square yard.

"How little our houses look down there!" Harald said. "But I can almost—yes, I can see the red dragon on the roof of the feast hall. Do you remember when I climbed up and sat on his head, Olaf?"

He laughed and kicked his heels and ran on.

At last they came to Aegir's Rock and walked up on its flat top. Harald went to the edge and looked over. A ragged wall of rock reached down, and two hundred feet below was the black water of the fiord. Olaf watched him for a while, then he said:

"No whitening of your cheek, Harald? Good! A boy that can face the fall of Aegir's Rock will not be afraid to face the war flash when he is a man."

"Ho, I am not afraid of the war flash now," cried Harald.

He threw back his cape and drew a little dagger from his belt.


"He threw back his cape and drew a little dagger from his belt."

"See!" he cried; "does this not flash like a sword? And I am not afraid. But after all, this is a baby thing! When I am eight years old I will have a sword, a sharp tooth of war."

He swung his dagger as though it were a long sword. Then he ran and sat on a rock by Olaf.

"Why is this Aegir's Rock?" he asked.

"You know that Asgard is up in the sky," Olaf said. "It is a wonderful city where the golden houses of the gods are in the golden grove. A high wall runs all around it. In the house of Odin, the All-father, there is a great feast hall larger than the whole earth. Its name is Valhalla. It has five hundred doors. The rafters are spears. The roof is thatched with shields. Armor lies on the benches. In the high seat sits Odin, a golden helmet on his head, a spear in his hand. Two wolves lie at his feet. At his right hand and his left sit all the gods and goddesses, and around the hall sit thousands and thousands of men, all the brave ones that have ever died.

"Now it is good to be in Valhalla; for there is mead there better than men can brew, and it never runs out. And there are skalds that sing wonderful songs that men never heard. And before the doors of Valhalla is a great meadow where the warriors fight every day and get glorious and sweet wounds and give many. And all night they feast, and their wounds heal. But none may go to Valhalla except warriors that have died bravely in battle. Men who die from sickness go with women and children and cowards to Niflheim. There Hela, who is queen, always sneers at them, and a terrible cold takes hold of their bones, and they sit down and freeze.

"Years ago Aegir was a great warrior. Aegir the Big-handed, they called him. In many a battle his sword had sung, and he had sent many warriors to Valhalla. Many swords had bit into his flesh and left marks there, but never a one had struck him to death. So his hair grew white and his arms thin. There was peace in that country then, and Aegir sorrowed, saying:

" 'I am old. Battles are still. Must I die in bed like a woman? Shall I not see Valhalla?'

"Now thus did Odin say long ago:

" 'If a man is old and is come near death and cannot die in fight, let him find death in some brave way and he shall feast with me in Valhalla.'

"So one day Aegir came to this rock.

" 'A deed to win Valhalla!' he cried.

"Then he drew his sword and flashed it over his head and held his shield high above him, and leaped out into the air and died in the water of the fiord."

"Ho!" cried Harald, jumping to his feet. "I think that Odin stood up before his high seat and welcomed that man gladly when he walked through the door of Valhalla."

"So the songs say," replied Olaf, "for skalds still sing of that deed all over Norway."



Ralph Waldo Emerson

The Mountain and the Squirrel

The mountain and the squirrel

Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter "Little prig!"

Bun replied,

"You are doubtless very big,

But all sorts of things and weather

Must be taken in together

To make up a year,

And a sphere;

And I think it no disgrace

To occupy my place.

If I'm not so large as you,

You are not so small as I,

And not half so spry;

I'll not deny you make

A very pretty squirrel track.

Talents differ, all is well and wisely put.

If I cannot carry forests on my back,

Neither can you crack a nut."


  WEEK 2  


Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

King Alfred and the Beggar

A T one time the Danes drove King Alfred from his kingdom, and he had to lie hidden for a long time on a little island in a river.

One day, all who were on the island, except the king and queen and one servant, went out to fish. It was a very lonely place, and no one could get to it except by a boat. About noon a ragged beggar came to the king's door, and asked for food.

The king called the servant, and asked, "How much food have we in the house?"

"My lord," said the servant, "we have only one loaf and a little wine."

Then the king gave thanks to God, and said, "Give half of the loaf and half of the wine to this poor man."

The servant did as he was bidden. The beggar thanked the king for his kindness, and went on his way.

In the afternoon the men who had gone out to fish came back. They had three boats full of fish, and they said, "We have caught more fish to-day than in all the other days that we have been on this island."

The king was glad, and he and his people were more hopeful than they had ever been before.

When night came, the king lay awake for a long time, and thought about the things that had happened that day. At last he fancied that he saw a great light like the sun; and in the midst of the light there stood an old man with black hair, holding an open book in his hand.

It may all have been a dream, and yet to the king it seemed very real indeed. He looked and wondered, but was not afraid.

"Who are you?" he asked of the old man.

"Alfred, my son, be brave," said the man; "for I am the one to whom you gave this day the half of all the food that you had. Be strong and joyful of heart, and listen to what I say. Rise up early in the morning and blow your horn three times, so loudly that the Danes may hear it. By nine o'clock, five hundred men will be around you ready to be led into battle. Go forth bravely, and within seven days your "enemies shall be beaten, and you shall go back to your kingdom to reign in peace."

Then the light went out, and the man was seen no more.

In the morning the king arose early, and crossed over to the mainland. Then he blew his horn three times very loudly; and when his friends heard it they were glad, but the Danes were filled with fear.

At nine o'clock, five hundred of his bravest soldiers stood around him ready for battle. He spoke, and told them what he had seen and heard in his dream; and when he had finished, they all cheered loudly, and said that they would follow him and fight for him so long as they had strength.

So they went out bravely to battle; and they beat the Danes, and drove them back into their own place. And King Alfred ruled wisely and well over all his people for the rest of his days.


Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Suet Pudding for Woodpeckers

§ 2. Suet Puddings for Woodpeckers

The next time Don and Nan went out to the tree the chickadees were not there.

Another kind of bird was eating suet. He had a warm black-and-white coat and some red feathers on the back of his head.

Don and Nan said, "Happy New Year, Mr. Woodpecker!"

The woodpecker was happy but he did not sing. He had a good time with the suet.

His bill was big and strong. He tore off parts of the suet and pulled out some nuts.


The woodpecker pulled so hard that the suet fell off the branch.

Don and Nan ran into the house.

"Mother," said Nan, "the hungry woodpecker pulled the suet and it fell to the ground. What shall we give the birds for their party?"

"Would you like to make some suet puddings and put them into holes in the tree?" asked Mother. "I will show you how to make them."

So they warmed some suet on the back of the stove. They did not let it get too soft. They took it off the stove when they could shape it with their hands.

They put nuts with the suet. Then they shaped it into little puddings.

Don and Nan found some holes in an old tree. They filled these holes with little puddings.

"I do not think the woodpeckers can throw those to the ground," said Mother.

The woodpecker with the red on his head came for more suet.


His mate came, too. She had a warm black-and-white feather coat but she had no red feathers on her head.

Mr. and Mrs. Woodpecker had a happy time at the party. They could reach the suet and it did not fall to the ground.

After the woodpeckers went away, the chickadees came back to the party. They found the suet and nuts in the holes and ate some.

"I think that is a good way for them to have the suet," said Uncle Tom. "It will last many days."


Eugene Field

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one night

Sailed off in a wooden shoe—

Sailed on a river of crystal light,

Into a sea of dew.

"Where are you going, and what do you wish?"

The old moon asked the three.

"We have come to fish for the herring-fish

That live in this beautiful sea;

Nets of silver and gold have we!"

Said Wynken,


And Nod.

The old moon laughed and sang a song,

As they rocked in the wooden shoe,

And the wind that sped them all night long

Ruffled the waves of dew.

The little stars were the herring-fish

That lived in the beautiful sea—

"Now cast your nets wherever you wish,—

Never afeard are we!"

So cried the stars to the fishermen three:



And Nod.

All night long their nets they threw

To the stars in the twinkling foam,—

Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe,

Bringing the fishermen home;

'Twas all so pretty a sail, it seemed

As if it could not be,

And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed

Of sailing that beautiful sea—

But I shall name you the fishermen three:



And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,

And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies

Is a wee one's trundle-bed.

So shut your eyes while Mother sings

Of wonderful sights that be,

And you shall see the beautiful things

As you rock in the misty sea,

Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three—



And Nod.


  WEEK 2  


The Seasons: Winter  by Jane Marcet

The Snowball

When he got home, Willy was in a hurry to set down his snowball, which was very heavy: he was going to place it on the table, but Mamma cried out, "Oh no, not upon my table; it will make it all wet!" Then Willy offered to set it down on the floor—"No, that will spoil my carpet."

"Well, then, Mamma, what am I to do with it?"

Mamma got a soup plate, and Willy put it in, and it looked like a large pudding in a dish.

"Is it good to eat, Mamma?"

"It tastes like what it is, my dear, water,—which, you know, has not much taste."

"Then I think, Mamma, it is better to drink than to eat."

"You cannot drink it when it is frozen into snow," said Mamma; "but I will mix something with it, which will make it good to eat." So Mamma went to the closet where the sweetmeats were kept, and she took out a pot of currant jelly, and mixed some of it with a little of the snow from the snowball, and then bade Willy taste it. It was very cold, so that Willy began by making a wry face; but as soon as he had tasted the sweet jelly, he thought it very nice.

"How chilled your hands are, my dear," said his Mamma.

"Oh yes, indeed, my hands are almost frozen like the snowball; it was holding that ball, Mamma; it took all the warmth out of my hands. I am glad, however, it did not melt the snowball."

"It has melted some of the outside;" replied his mother; "for see, your little hands are quite wet, and your gloves, I fear, quite spoiled."

"Then you see, Mamma, the warmth of my hands got through the gloves to melt the snow, though the warmth of my feet could not get through my boots."

"Your boots are much thicker than your gloves, my love."

Willy could talk of nothing else all day long but the snow: he thought the trees looked beautiful, with the boughs laden with snow; and when the wind blew some of it off, he thought it looked like the powdered sugar that was strewed over his pudding. When he was sent into the nursery, he took his snowball with him, and begged Ann to take care that nobody meddled with it, for he meant to take it out with him to-morrow to play with. When he went to bed, he put the snowball in the plate on the chimney-piece, thinking it would be safer there than on the table, and he kept looking at it till his eyelids were so heavy that he could keep them open no longer; but his thoughts were so bent on his dear snowball, that I make no doubt but that he dreamt of it. When he awoke next morning, however, he had forgotten it; but the sight of the plate on the corner of the chimney-piece nearest his bed soon recalled it to his memory, and he jumped up in his bed, crying out, "Oh where is my snowball? who has taken away my snowball? The plate is empty." Ann declared no one had meddled with it. Willy was sure that since she had not, the dog or the cat, or some one or other, must have taken it. He began to be out of temper, and very near fell a crying. His mother, hearing the child speaking in an angry tone of voice, came into the nursery to know what was the matter. As soon as he saw her, he burst into tears, and said—"Oh, Mamma, my nice snowball, my great big snowball that you let me make yesterday, and I liked so much, is gone, and I cannot tell who has run away with it."

"I shall not let you make another," said his Mamma, looking very serious, "if, after amusing yourself with it one day, you cry about it the next. Come, dry up your tears, and I will show you what is become of your snowball."

Willy quickly dried his eyes, for he thought his Mamma had found the snowball; but that was not the case,—she could only explain to him how it had disappeared. She took the plate down from the chimney-piece, and showed him that it was full of water. "Where do you think this water comes from, Willy?"

He looked very blank, and after a little thought answered, "From my snowball. I suppose it is melted? but how came it to be melted? I dare say somebody has been holding it in his warm hands. Have not you, Ann?"

"Not I," replied Ann; "I am not so fond of handling cold wet snowballs."

Then who can have done it?"

"Nobody, my dear," said his Mamma. "Is there no warmth in any thing but hands that can melt a snowball? Look at that blazing fire, Willy, and tell me whether it is not hotter than anybody's hands."

"Oh, much hotter," cried Willy; "but then it does not lay hold of the snowball—I mean, it did not touch it."

"That is true, my dear; but tell me, when you warm yourself by the fire, do you touch it?"

"No, indeed," replied Willy; "for if I did I should burn myself; besides, you know, Mamma, you do not let me go close to the fire; and you say I shall get warm enough if I go no nearer than the border of the rug."

"Though you do not touch the fire that burns in the grate, heat comes out of the fire and touches you, and warms you, and every thing else that it touches."

"Oh yes, Mamma, it warms all the room; and when I go into the passage, where there is no fire, it feels so cold."

"Well, if the heat from the fire warms all the room, I suppose it warms every thing in the room; does not it, Willy?"

"Oh yes," said Willy; "only feel the chimney-piece, Mamma, how hot it is!"

"And what was it stood upon the chimney-piece, Willy?"

Willy blushed, for all at once he thought that it was the heated chimney-piece which had melted his snowball; and he thought he had been very foolish to put it so near the fire, and very wrong to complain so much of its being melted, when it was all his own fault. "Another time," said he, "I will place it at the furthest corner of the room, as far from the fire as possible."

"That will not do, Willy."

"Then; Mamma, I will hang my great coat on a chair before the fire for a screen, and the heat will never be able to get through that thick cloth."

"That will not do either, Willy," repeated his Mamma. "You said that the fire warmed the whole room, and there will be warmth enough in any part of the room to melt your snowball."

"Then, Mamma, I will put it out in the passage, where there is no fire at all, and it is so cold it cannot be melted there, I am sure;" and Willy began to jump about, quite pleased, and not a little proud, that he had at length found out a place where his ball would not melt. But when he was quiet, and looked at his Mamma for approbation, he saw her smile; but from the look of her eyes, he began to think that perhaps he might still be wrong. "Why, Mamma, it's quite cold in the passage—as cold as possible!"

"Do you remember, Willy, how much colder it was when you opened the street door? Out of doors it is so cold that water freezes and snow will not melt; but in doors it is warmer, so that water will not freeze, and snow will melt. Your snowball would not have melted so soon as it did on the chimney-piece, if you had placed it at the furthest corner of the room."

"And it would have been still longer in melting, if I had put it out in the passage," said Willy.

"Yet it would have melted," continued his mother, "unless——" there his Mamma stopped to let Willy finish the sentence.

"Unless," cried he, "I had put it out of doors."

"You are right now," said his Mamma.

"Oh then, dear Mamma, let us go out, and I will make another snowball, and bring it home, and keep it out of doors."

"In doors and out of doors at the same time, Willy?" asked Mamma.

"Not out of doors, then, but out at the window; will not that do as well?"

"Quite as well," Mamma replied, "for it will be in the open air. Whether you put it out by the door or out by the window can make no difference, so as it is out of the warm house."

This being settled, they went to breakfast.


The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Tortoise and the Ducks

The Tortoise, you know, carries his house on his back. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot leave home. They say that Jupiter punished him so, because he was such a lazy stay-at-home that he would not go to Jupiter's wedding, even when especially invited.

After many years, Tortoise began to wish he had gone to that wedding. When he saw how gaily the birds flew about and how the Hare and the Chipmunk and all the other animals ran nimbly by, always eager to see everything there was to be seen, the Tortoise felt very sad and discontented. He wanted to see the world too, and there he was with a house on his back and little short legs that could hardly drag him along.

One day he met a pair of Ducks and told them all his trouble.

"We can help you to see the world," said the Ducks. "Take hold of this stick with your teeth and we will carry you far up in the air where you can see the whole countryside. But keep quiet or you will be sorry."

The Tortoise was very glad indeed. He seized the stick firmly with his teeth, the two Ducks took hold of it one at each end, and away they sailed up toward the clouds.


Just then a Crow flew by. He was very much astonished at the strange sight and cried:

"This must surely be the King of Tortoises!"

"Why certainly—" began the Tortoise.

But as he opened his mouth to say these foolish words he lost his hold on the stick, and down he fell to the ground, where he was dashed to pieces on a rock.

Foolish curiosity and vanity often lead to misfortune.


Lewis Carroll

How Doth the Little Crocodile

How doth the little crocodile

Improve his shining tail,

And pour the waters of the Nile

On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin,

How neatly spreads his claws,

And welcomes little fishes in

With gently smiling jaws!


  WEEK 2  


The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes  by Padraic Colum

Fruit for the King's Son



N ow when Girl-go-with-the-Goats came back from the stepping-stones with a shining star on her forehead (and how that star came to be there will be told to you afterwards), when she came back to the house of her step-mother, lo and behold! A surprising thing was coming to happen.

For the King's son, no less! Had come as far as the garden fornenst that house, and sitting upon his white jennet, he was looking across the ditch into the Garden. And there was Buttercup and Berry-bright standing on the doorstep and making curtseys to him. Girl-go-with-the-Goats stood one side of the garden ditch, letting a bush hide her from the King's son and from her two step-sisters.

"Give me berries out of your garden, fair maids," said the King's son to Berry-bright and to Buttercup. One came towards him, and one went back into the house. To the one who came to him, he handed a cup of silver. "Take it into your hand, damsel," he said, "and fill it with berries."


It was Buttercup who had come towards him. She took the silver cup from the King's son and went into the garden. Berry-bright had gone into the house for a vessel, and she came back with an earthenware cup in her hands. When she saw her sister holding the silver cup in her hands she bit her lips in rage.

Buttercup went into the garden. She went to the raspberry bush to pick the berries. But as soon as she came near it, a flock of birds flew at her; sparrows and starlings they were, and they pecked at her eyes and her arms and drove her back to the door of the house.

"Unlucky wench," cried the King's son. "Let the other maid come now and gather me berries in her earthenware cup."

Berry-bright ran towards the red-currant bush to pick from it the full of her earthenware cup of berries. But the swallows of the air darted down upon her. With their fierce eyes and wicked mouths they drove Berry-bright out of the garden.

"Unlucky wenches, both," cried the King's son. "Will I not be able to get from your garden a cup full of berries?"

Then Girl-go-with-the-Goats slipped from behind the bush and darted into the garden. She took up an old shoe that lay on the ground. She went towards the black-currant bush, and no bird darted in anger at her. Instead two starlings flew down and lighting, one on each shoulder, sang to her. Then Girl-go-with-the-Goats gathered the black currants into the old shoe and brought them to the King's son.

"Oh, to be served with black currants out of an old shoe and by a girl as ragged as this wench," cried the King's son. "Out of my sight," he cried when he ate the berries. He took up the old shoe and he struck Girl-go-with-the-Goats on the arm with it.

Still she did not move, but stood looking up at him, her mouth trembling, but her eyes steady, and the two starlings resting, on each shoulder.

"Gawk of a girl, out of my way," cried the King's son. Saying this, he rode his jennet forward and pushed Girl-go-with-the-Goats against the garden ditch.


Then he rode down the road, and the birds that had pecked at Berry-bright and Buttercup flew up into the air.

And there stood Buttercup on the step of the house with the silver cup in her hands, and there stood Berry-bright inside the garden gate with the earthenware cup in her hands, and each one saying to herself, "Who was it that put bad luck on me to-day?"

And there was Girl-go-with-the-Goats crouching against the garden ditch with the two starlings upon her shoulders, thinking that the very trees around her were singing and that their songs were like the light and like the darkness.

And there was her step-mother, Dame Dale, coming up the path from the stepping-stones.

But now we have to tell you how it was that Girl-go-with-the-Goats came to get that shining star upon her forehead:

A shining star

Like a lonely blossom.

It was the Old Woman in the Crow-feather Cloak who had placed it there for her. They had come together to the stepping-stones, the Old Woman, holding under her arm the cake that Girl-go-with-the-Goats had kneaded and made and given her. "There is not much I can do for you, Maid-alone," said the Old Woman (for the Girl had not called herself "Girl-go-with-the-Goats" but "Maid-alone"). "There is not much I can do for you," she said, "except let the world see what I see in you." And saying that, she took water from the stream and splashed it on the girl's forehead. And then came out the shining star. She told the Girl to bend down and look at herself in the water of the stream. The Girl-go-with-the-Goats bent down and saw the shining star on her forehead. Oh, long and in wonder did she look on it. And when she lifted her face from the flowing stream the Old Woman in the Crow-feather Cloak was not to be seen.


Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Make My First Voyage

I SOON found that my mother's words were true. A sailor's life is indeed a hard life.

There was no time for play on board of our ship. Even in the fairest weather there was much work to be done.

On the very first night the wind began to blow. The waves rolled high. The ship was tossed this way and that. Never had I seen such a storm.

All night long the wind blew. I was so badly frightened that I did not know what to do. I thought the ship would surely go to the bottom.


Then I remembered my pleasant home and the words of my kind mother.

"If I live to reach dry land," I said to myself, "I will give up this thought of being a sailor. I will go home and stay with my father and mother. I will never set my foot in another ship."

Day came. The storm was worse than before. I felt sure that we were lost. But toward evening the sky began to clear. The wind died away. The waves went down. The storm was over.

The next morning the sun rose bright and warm upon a smooth sea. It was a beautiful sight.

As I stood looking out over the wide water, the first mate came up. He was a kind man, and always friendly to me.

"Well, Bob," he said, "how do you like it? Were you frightened by that little gale?"

"I hope you don't call it a little gale," I said. "Indeed it was a terrible storm."

The mate laughed.

"Do you call that a storm?" he asked. "Why, it was nothing at all. You are only a fresh-water sailor, Bob. Wait till we have a real storm."

And so I soon forgot my fears.

Little by little, I gave up all thoughts of going home again. "A sailor's life for me," I said.

My first voyage was not a long one.

I visited no new lands, for the ship went only to London. But the things which I saw in that great city seemed very wonderful to me.

Nothing would satisfy me but to make a long voyage. I wished to see the whole world.


Charles Edward Carryl

The Plaint of the Camel

Canary birds feed on sugar and seed,

Parrots have crackers to crunch;

And as for the poodles, they tell me the noodles

Have chickens and cream for their lunch.

But there's never a question

About my digestion—

Anything does for me!

Cats, you're aware, can repose in a chair,

Chickens can roost upon rails;

Puppies are able to sleep in a stable,

And oysters can slumber in pails.

But no one supposes

A poor Camel dozes—

Any place does for me!

Lambs are inclosed where it's never exposed,

Coops are constructed for hens;

Kittens are treated to houses well heated,

And pigs are protected by pens.

But a Camel comes handy

Wherever it's sandy—

Anywhere does for me!

People would laugh if you rode a giraffe

Or mounted the back of an ox;

It's nobody's habit to ride on a rabbit

Or try to bestraddle a fox.

But as for a Camel, he's

Ridden by families—

Any load does for me!

A snake is as round as a hole in the ground,

And weasels are wavy and sleek;

And no alligator could ever be straighter

Than lizards that live in a creek,

But a Camel's all lumpy

And bumpy and humpy—

Any shape does for me!


  WEEK 2  


On the Shores of the Great Sea  by M. B. Synge

Julius Caesar

"Veni, vidi, vici"—"I came, I saw, I conquered."


L ET us take a look at this Cæsar, whose name and deeds are talked of still, though nearly two thousand years have rolled away, since he lived and died in far-off Rome. He was now growing up, in his father's house, a tall handsome youth, with dark piercing eyes, a sallow face, somewhat thick lips, and a high forehead.

As quite a young boy, he must have seen and heard much, about his country. He must have known well, his uncle Marius, who was a great soldier and did much for Rome, till he was exiled in disgrace, by those he had tried to serve. Sulla, the rival of Marius, he knew well too, for had not this powerful Dictator uttered the ominous words—"I charge you to look after this youth with the loose girdle, for in this young Cæsar, there is many a Marius"?

Having incurred Sulla's wrath, Cæsar joined the Roman army and left Italy. He distinguished himself in the field, both in Asia and in Spain, and returned to Rome to find the work of his life.

He was now a marked man; he had spoken in the Senate; he had been consul; he had pleaded in favour of the appointment of Pompey to his high commands, and Pompey had married his daughter Julia. It was to him the Romans now looked, to rid them of a great danger, which threatened them in the north. Gaul and Germany were once more in a state of great unrest, and might at any time let loose their wild armies, in the plains of North Italy. Cæsar was forty-two, when he left Rome to take up his military command in Gaul.

As a younger man, reading the life of Alexander the Great, he had burst into tears, and on being asked the reason he had answered, "Do you not think I have just cause to weep, when I consider that Alexander at my age, had conquered so many nations, and I have all this time done nothing that is memorable?"

He was yet to make himself a name as great, if not greater, than his hero. To subdue these restless tribes beyond the Alps—the country we now know as Switzerland, France, and Germany—was Cæsar's object in life, and to establish the power of Rome over them.

New countries, undreamt of by Rome, were now discovered, by the ever-advancing army under Cæsar. Across the great German Rhine, and over the French Seine, he passed, conquering and subduing the fierce tribes, which fell back before the trained Roman legions, under their great commander. Arrived at the north of France, Cæsar looked across the Channel from Calais and saw the white cliffs on the English coast.

No one could tell him anything of that country, so, one calm evening, he sailed from the coast of France, and morning found him off the coast of Dover. The white cliffs were lined with painted warriors, waving lances, and ready to hurl large stones into Cæsar's ship, if he attempted to land. Calling his officers round him, while his fleet collected, he ordered them to move along the coast with the tide. The Britons followed by the cliffs, scrambling along with their cars and horses. It was evident they meant to oppose any landing.

Cæsar anchored near the shore, but the water was up to the shoulders of the Roman soldiers. Then an officer sprang into the sea, waving the standard of the Roman eagle, and cried to his men to follow. With a great cheer the men sprang overboard. The Britons rode their horses into the waves and for a time stopped their progress, but the Romans managed to land and the Britons galloped away. Some sharp fighting took place on land, but the wild tribes were no match for the Romans.

It was now nine years since Cæsar had left Rome. Now he had made a name indeed for himself. He was returning to lay at his country's feet, a province larger than Spain, new lands of which the Romans had never heard, warriors devoted to himself, and a detailed history of all his doings. His countrymen had watched his career steadily. The Senate had listened to every story of his marches and battles, his perils and victories, as they were recited one by one.

"Cæsar has not only repulsed the Gauls, he has conquered them," cried Cicero, one of the greatest of Romans. "The Alps were once the barrier between Italy and the barbarians; the gods placed them there, for that very purpose—to shelter Rome in the weakness of her infancy. Now let them sink and welcome; from the Alps to the ocean she has no enemy to fear."

But there was one man in Rome who watched Cæsar's growing power with dismay. It was Pompey, now consul of Rome. He dreaded the return and triumph of this great conqueror, whose name was on every lip, of whose genius none could speak too highly. The return of Cæsar would mean the fall of Pompey, for Cæsar had been promised the consulship. The state of Rome was very corrupt at this time. Men were afraid of offending Pompey; they were yet more afraid of Cæsar, with his legions in the north. Day by day matters grew worse; was it to be peace or war?

The answer was not long in coming. It was war.


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

Cupid and Apollo

C UPID was the baby son of Venus. Although his mother fed him daily with nectar and ambrosia, the food of the gods, he never seemed to grow. The years passed by, and still Cupid remained a tiny, dimpled, laughing child, although he could fly and run wherever he wished and care for himself on earth as well as on Mount Olympus.

When Apollo was not driving his chariot, Cupid loved to follow him around, for he was more fond of Apollo than of any of the other gods. He was much interested in Apollo's bow and arrows and longed to take them in his hand.

Once he saw Apollo take his strongest bow and his sharpest arrows and set out to kill a huge, dark monster called the Python.

The Python was a gloomy creature that breathed heavy black smoke from his nostrils. This filled the air for miles around with darkness, and the shadows were so heavy that no one standing in the valley could see the mountain tops.

As Apollo was the god of light, he did not like the darkness, so he went straight into the shadowy valley, found the terrible Python, and killed him.

Cupid followed him so quietly that Apollo did not know he was there until after the Python was killed, and the darkness had lifted from the valley. Then he saw the boy standing beside him.

"Oh, your arrows are wonderful!" cried Cupid. "Give me one! I'll do anything you say if you will only let me hold your bow."

But Apollo laughed, and taking Cupid's hand in his led him back to his mother.

Cupid was greatly disappointed and decided that if he could not have Apollo's bow and arrows he would get some for himself. He knew that almost anything he wished for, Vulcan could make at his anvil, and so one day he asked for a bow like Apollo's, and a quiver of golden arrows.

Vulcan fashioned a little bow, perfect and smooth and slender, and a quiver full of the sharpest, lightest arrows.

Venus, who was watching, gave to these darts a power no large arrows had ever possessed. When any one was touched ever so lightly by one of the golden arrows, he at once fell in love with the first person he saw.

Cupid was so delighted with his bow and arrows that he played with them from morning until night.


The Baby Son of Venus

One day Apollo did not drive his chariot, but left it in the heavens behind the clouds.

"It is a good thing," he said, "for people to have some gray days." So he spent the day hunting through the forest.

In a little glade he came upon Cupid sitting on a mossy rock, playing with his bow and arrows. Apollo was much vexed to think that Cupid could handle so cleverly the same kind of weapons that he had used to kill the Python. He frowned, and spoke harshly to him.

"What have you to do with warlike weapons, saucy boy?" said Apollo. "Put them down and leave such things for grown people."


"What have you to do with warlike weapons, saucy boy?"

Cupid was hurt and angry. He had hoped Apollo would praise him for his skill, as Venus had done.

"Your arrows may kill the Python," said Cupid, "but mine shall wound you."

As he spoke he let fly an arrow, which struck Apollo so lightly it barely scratched him. Apollo laughed at him and walked on, not knowing what the wound really meant.

Soon he noticed a beautiful nymph gathering flowers in the forest. Her name was Daphne. Apollo had often seen her before, but she had never seemed so beautiful as now. He ran forward to speak to her. She saw him coming and was startled.

"Let me help you gather flowers," begged Apollo, but Daphne was so shy she ran away. Apollo wanted so much to be with her and talk to her that he ran after her.


Daphne was so shy she ran away.

Poor Daphne, terrified, ran faster and faster. When she was breathless and could run no more, she cried loudly to Peneus, the river god, for help.

Peneus was her father and, hearing his daughter's voice from far away, he thought she was in some terrible danger. Swiftly he sent his magic power over the forest, and to protect her changed her into a tree.

Daphne's feet clung to the earth and took root. She felt the rough bark creeping over her shoulders and limbs. From her arms sprang branches, and her hands were filled with leaves. When Apollo reached out his hand to touch her, the fair maiden had vanished. In her place stood a beautiful laurel tree.


"What have I done?" mourned Apollo.

He was so grieved and sad because he had brought this change on Daphne that he stayed by the tree all the afternoon, talking to it and begging Daphne to forgive him.

He asked for some of her laurel leaves that he might wear them on his head. Daphne shook her branches, and a little shower of leaves fell around Apollo. By this he knew that Daphne forgave him, and he gathered the leaves tenderly in his hands and wove them into a wreath.

Throwing aside a drooping wreath of flowers which he wore about his brow, Apollo placed the laurel on his head, where it remained forever fresh and green.


Walter de la Mare

Tired Tim

Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.

He lags the long bright morning through,

Ever so tired of nothing to do;

He moons and mopes the livelong day,

Nothing to think about, nothing to say;

Up to bed with his candle to creep,

Too tired to yawn, too tired to sleep:

Poor Tired Tim! It's sad for him.


  WEEK 2  


Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Aunt Harriet Has a Cough

Part 2 of 3

There was one dream, however, that even conscientious Aunt Frances never tried to analyze, because it was too sad. Elizabeth Ann dreamed sometimes that she was dead and lay in a little white coffin with white roses over her. Oh, that made Aunt Frances cry, and so did Elizabeth Ann. It was very touching. Then, after a long, long time of talk and tears and sobs and hugs, the little girl would begin to get drowsy, and Aunt Frances would rock her to sleep in her arms, and lay her down ever so quietly, and slip away to try to get a little nap herself before it was time to get up.

At a quarter of nine every week-day morning Aunt Frances dropped whatever else she was doing, took Elizabeth Ann's little, thin, white hand protectingly in hers, and led her through the busy streets to the big brick school-building where the little girl had always gone to school. It was four stories high, and when all the classes were in session there were six hundred children under that one roof. You can imagine, perhaps, the noise there was on the playground just before school! Elizabeth Ann shrank from it with all her soul, and clung more tightly than ever to Aunt Frances's hand as she was led along through the crowded, shrieking masses of children. Oh, how glad she was that she had Aunt Frances there to take care of her, though as a matter of fact nobody noticed the little thin girl at all, and her very own classmates would hardly have known whether she came to school or not. Aunt Frances took her safely through the ordeal of the playground, then up the long, broad stairs, and pigeonholed her carefully in her own schoolroom. She was in the third grade,—3A, you understand, which is almost the fourth.

Then at noon Aunt Frances was waiting there, a patient, never-failing figure, to walk home with her little charge; and in the afternoon the same thing happened over again. On the way to and from school they talked about what had happened in the class. Aunt Frances believed in sympathizing with a child's life, so she always asked about every little thing, and remembered to inquire about the continuation of every episode, and sympathized with all her heart over the failure in mental arithmetic, and triumphed over Elizabeth Ann's beating the Schmidt girl in spelling, and was indignant over the teacher's having pets. Sometimes in telling over some very dreadful failure or disappointment Elizabeth Ann would get so wrought up that she would cry. This always brought the ready tears to Aunt Frances's kind eyes, and with many soothing words and nervous, tremulous caresses she tried to make life easier for poor little Elizabeth Ann. The days when they had cried they could neither of them eat much luncheon.

After school and on Saturdays there was always the daily walk, and there were lessons, all kinds of lessons—piano-lessons of course, and nature-study lessons out of an excellent book Aunt Frances had bought, and painting lessons, and sewing lessons, and even a little French, although Aunt Frances was not very sure about her own pronunciation. She wanted to give the little girl every possible advantage, you see. They were really inseparable. Elizabeth Ann once said to some ladies calling on her aunts that whenever anything happened in school, the first thing she thought of was what Aunt Frances would think of it.

"Why is that?" they asked, looking at Aunt Frances, who was blushing with pleasure.

"Oh, she is so interested in my school work! And she understands  me!" said Elizabeth Ann, repeating the phrases she had heard so often.

Aunt Frances's eyes filled with happy tears. She called Elizabeth Ann to her and kissed her and gave her as big a hug as her thin arms could manage. Elizabeth Ann was growing tall very fast. One of the visiting ladies said that before long she would be as big as her auntie, and a troublesome young lady. Aunt Frances said: "I have had her from the time she was a little baby and there has scarcely been an hour she has been out of my sight. I'll always have her confidence. You'll always tell Aunt Frances everything,  won't you, darling?" Elizabeth Ann resolved to do this always, even if, as now, she often had to invent things to tell.

Aunt Frances went on, to the callers: "But I do wish she weren't so thin and pale and nervous. I suppose it is the exciting modern life that is so bad for children. I try to see that she has plenty of fresh air. I go out with her for a walk every single day. But we have taken all the walks around here so often that we're rather tired of them. It's often hard to know how to get her out enough. I think I'll have to get the doctor to come and see her and perhaps give her a tonic." To Elizabeth Ann she added, hastily: "Now don't go getting notions in your head, darling. Aunt Frances doesn't think there's anything very  much the matter with you. You'll be all right again soon if you just take the doctor's medicine nicely. Aunt Frances will take care of her precious little girl. She' ll make the bad sickness go away." Elizabeth Ann, who had not known before that she was sick, had a picture of herself lying in the little white coffin, all covered over with white. . . . In a few minutes Aunt Frances was obliged to excuse herself from her callers and devote herself entirely to taking care of Elizabeth Ann.

So one day, after this had happened several times, Aunt Frances really did send for the doctor, who came briskly in, just as Elizabeth Ann had always seen him, with his little square black bag smelling of leather, his sharp eyes, and the air of bored impatience which he always wore in that house. Elizabeth Ann was terribly afraid to see him, for she felt in her bones he would say she had galloping consumption and would die before the leaves cast a shadow. This was a phrase she had picked up from Grace, whose conversation, perhaps on account of her asthma, was full of references to early graves and quick declines.

And yet—did you ever hear of such a case before?—although Elizabeth Ann when she first stood up before the doctor had been quaking with fear lest he discover some deadly disease in her, she was very much hurt indeed when, after thumping her and looking at her lower eyelid inside out, and listening to her breathing, he pushed her away with a little jerk and said: "There's nothing in the world the matter with that child. She's as sound as a nut! What she needs is . . ."—he looked for a moment at Aunt Frances's thin, anxious face, with the eyebrows drawn together in a knot of conscientiousness, and then he looked at Aunt Harriet's thin, anxious face with the eyebrows drawn up that very same way, and then he glanced at Grace's thin, anxious face peering from the door waiting for his verdict—and then he drew a long breath, shut his lips and his little black case very tightly, and did not go on to say what it was that Elizabeth Ann needed.


Elizabeth Ann stood up before the doctor.

Of course Aunt Frances didn't let him off as easily as that, you may be sure. She fluttered around him as he tried to go, and she said all sorts of fluttery things to him, like, "But Doctor, she hasn't gained a pound in three months . . . and her sleep . . . and her appetite . . . and her nerves. . . ."

The doctor said back to her, as he put on his hat, all the things doctors always say under such conditions: "More beefsteak . . . plenty of fresh air . . . more sleep . . . she' ll be all right . . ." but his voice did not sound as though he thought what he was saying amounted to much. Nor did Elizabeth Ann. She had hoped for some spectacular red pills to be taken every half-hour, like those Grace's doctor gave her whenever she felt low in her mind.

And just then something happened which changed Elizabeth Ann's life forever and ever. It was a very small thing, too. Aunt Harriet coughed. Elizabeth Ann did not think it at all a bad-sounding cough in comparison with Grace's hollow whoop; Aunt Harriet had been coughing like that ever since the cold weather set in, for three or four months now, and nobody had thought anything of it, because they were all so much occupied in taking care of the sensitive, nervous little girl who needed so much care.

And yet, at the sound of that little discreet cough behind Aunt Harriet's hand, the doctor whirled around and fixed his sharp eyes on her, with all the bored, impatient look gone, the first time Elizabeth Ann had ever seen him look interested. "What's that? What's that?" he said, going over quickly to Aunt Harriet. He snatched out of his little bag a shiny thing with two rubber tubes attached, and he put the ends of the tubes in his ears and the shiny thing up against Aunt Harriet, who was saying, "It's nothing, Doctor . . . a little teasing cough I've had this winter. And I meant to tell you, too, but I forgot it, that that sore spot on my lungs doesn't go away as it ought to."

The doctor motioned her very impolitely to stop talking, and listened very hard through his little tubes. Then he turned around and looked at Aunt Frances as though he were angry at her. He said, "Take the child away and then come back here yourself."

And that was almost all that Elizabeth Ann ever knew of the forces which swept her away from the life which had always gone on, revolving about her small person, exactly the same ever since she could remember.


The Adventures of Prickly Porky  by Thornton Burgess

The Stranger from the North

T HE Merry Little Breezes of Old Mother West Wind were excited. Yes, Sir, they certainly were excited. They had met Happy Jack Squirrel and Peter Rabbit, and they were full of the news of the queer things that Happy Jack and Peter Rabbit had found over in the Green Forest. They hurried this way and that way over the Green Meadows and told every one they met. Finally they reached the Smiling Pool and excitedly told Grandfather Frog all about it.

Grandfather Frog smoothed down his white and yellow waistcoat and looked very wise, for you know that Grandfather Frog is very old.

"Pooh," said Grandfather Frog. "I know what they are."

"What?" cried all the Merry Little Breezes together. "Happy Jack says he is sure they do not grow, for there are no strange plants over there."

Grandfather Frog opened his big mouth and snapped up a foolish green fly that one of the Merry Little Breezes blew over to him.

"Chug-a-rum," said Grandfather Frog. "Things do not have to be on plants in order to grow. Now I am sure that those things grew, and that they did not grow on a plant."

The Merry Little Breezes looked puzzled. "What is there that grows and doesn't grow on a plant?" asked one of them.

"How about the claws on Peter Rabbit's toes and the hair of Happy Jack's tail?" asked Grandfather Frog.

The Merry Little Breezes looked foolish. "Of course," they cried. "We didn't think of that. But we are quite sure that these queer things that prick so are not claws, and certainly they are not hair."

"Don't you be too sure," said Grandfather Frog. "You go over to the Green Forest and look up in the treetops instead of down on the ground; then come back and tell me what you find."

Away raced the Merry Little Breezes to the Green Forest and began to search among the treetops. Presently, way up in the top of a big poplar, they found a stranger. He was bigger than any of the little meadow people, and he had long sharp teeth with which he was stripping the bark from the tree. The hair of his coat was long, and out of it peeped a thousand little spears just like the queer things that Happy Jack and Peter Rabbit had told them about.

"Good morning," said the Merry Little Breezes politely.

"Mornin'," grunted the stranger in the treetop.

"May we ask where you come from?" said one of the Merry Little Breezes politely.

"I come from the North Woods," said the stranger and then went on about his business, which seemed to be to strip every bit of the bark from the tree and eat it.


Eugene Field

Norse Lullaby

The sky is dark and the hills are white

As the storm-king speeds from the north to-night;

And this is the song the storm-king sings,

As over the world his cloak he flings:

"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep";

He rustles his wings and gruffly sings:

"Sleep, little one, sleep."

On yonder mountain-side a vine

Clings at the foot of a mother pine;

The tree bends over the trembling thing,

And only the vine can hear her sing:

"Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep—

What shall you fear when I am here?

Sleep, little one, sleep."

The king may sing in his bitter flight,

The tree may croon to the vine to-night,

But the little snowflake at my breast

Liketh the song I  sing the best—

Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep;

Weary thou art, a-next my heart,

Sleep, little one, sleep.


  WEEK 2  


Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

How the River Jordan Became Dry

Joshua iii: 1, to vi: 27

dropcap image FTER the two spies had come back from Jericho to the camp of Israel, Joshua commanded the people to take down their tents and remove from their camping place to the bank of the river Jordan. Then the priests took apart the Tabernacle, and covered the ark and all the furniture in the Holy Place; and ran the poles through the rings for carrying the altar, and made ready for leaving the camp. At the same time the people took down their tents, and rolled them up, and brought together their flocks and cattle, and stood ready to march.

Then Joshua gave the word, and they marched down toward the river, which was rolling high and strong in front of them. Joshua said:

"Let the priests carry the ark of the covenant in front, and let there be a space between it and the rest of the people of three thousand feet. Do not come nearer than that space to the ark."

And all the people stood still, wondering, while the ark was brought on the shoulders of the priests far out in front of the ranks of men, until it came down to the very edge of the water. They could not see the ark, for it was covered, but they knew that it was under its coverings on the shoulders of the priests.

Then said Joshua to the priests, "Now walk into the water of the river."

Then a most wonderful thing took place. As soon as the feet of the priests touched the water by the shore, the river above stopped flowing, and far away, up the river, they could see the water rising and piling up like a great heap. And below the place where they were standing the water ran on, until it left a great place dry, and the stones on the river's bed were uncovered. Then, at Joshua's command, the priests carried the ark down to the middle of the dry bed of the river, and stood there with it on their shoulders.

And Joshua gave order to the people to march across the river. In front came the soldiers from Reuben, Gad, and the half-tribe of Manasseh, who had already received their homes on the east of the river, but were with the other tribes to help in the war (see Story 33). After them came all the other tribes, each by itself, until they had all passed over the river; and all this time the priests stood on the river's dry bed holding the ark.

Then Joshua called for twelve men, one man from each tribe; and he said to them:

"Go down into the river and bring up from it twelve stones, as large stones as you can carry, from the place where the priests are standing."

They did so; and with these stones Joshua made a stone-heap on the bank; and he said:

"Let this heap of stones stand here to keep in memory what has taken place to-day. When your children shall ask you, 'Why are these stones here?' you shall say to them, 'Because here the Lord God made the river dry before the ark of the covenant, so that the people could cross over into the land that God had promised to their fathers.' "

And Joshua told these twelve men to take also twelve other stones, and heap them up in the bed of the river where the priests stood, with the ark, so that these stones also might stand to remind all who should see them of God's wonderful help to his people.

When all this had been done, and the two heaps of stone had been piled up, one on the bank, the other in the bed of the river, Joshua said to the priests, "Come now up from the river, and bring the ark to the shore."

They did so; and then the waters began to flow down from above, until soon the river Jordan was rolling by as it had rolled before. So now at last the children of Israel were safely in the land which God had promised to their fathers more than five hundred years before.

They set up a new camp, with the Tabernacle in the middle, the altar before it, and the tents of the tribes around it in order. The place of the camp was near the river, on the plain of Jordan, and was called Gilgal. And there the main camp of the Israelites was kept all the time that they were carrying on the war to win the land of Canaan.

When they came into the land, it was the time of the early harvest; and in the fields they found grain and barley in abundance. They gathered it, and ground it, and made bread of it; and some of it they roasted in the ear; and on that day the manna which God had sent them from the sky through forty years ceased to fall, now that it was needed no more. (See Story 24.)

There, in full view of the new camp, stood the strong walls of Jericho. Joshua went out to look at the city; and he saw a man all armed coming toward him. Joshua walked boldly up to the man, and said to him, "Are you on our side, or are you one of our enemies?"

And he said, "No; but as captain of the Lord's host have I come."

Then Joshua saw that he was the angel of the Lord; and as he bowed down before him, said, "What word has my Lord to his servant?"

And the captain of the Lord's host said to Joshua, "Take off your shoes from your feet, for it is holy ground where you are standing."

Joshua did so; for the one who was speaking to him was not merely an angel, but the Lord himself appearing as a man. And the Lord said to Joshua, "I have given to you Jericho, and its king, and its mighty men of war; and I will destroy the city of Jericho before you."

Then the Lord told Joshua the way in which the city should be taken; and Joshua went back to the camp at Gilgal, and made ready to march as God commanded. During the next seven days all that was done was according to the word spoken by the Lord to Joshua.

They drew out the army as if to fight against the city. In front came the soldiers from the tribes on the east of the river. Then came a company of priests with trumpets made of rams' horns, which they blew long and loud. Then came the ark of the covenant, borne on the shoulders of the priests. And, last of all, came the host of Israel, marching in order. No one shouted, nor was any noise heard, except the sound of the rams'-horn trumpets. They marched around the walls of Jericho once on that day, and then all marched back to the camp.


The priests blowing their horns.

The next morning they all formed in the same order, and again marched around the walls of the city; and so they did again and again, marching once each day for six days.

On the seventh day, by God's command, they rose very early in the morning, and did not stop when they had marched around the walls once; but kept on marching round and round, until they had gone about the walls seven times. As they went by they saw at one window on the wall a scarlet cord hanging down; and they knew that this was the house of Rahab, who had saved the lives of the two spies.

When the seventh march was ended, they all stood still. Even the trumpets ceased, and there was a great silence for a moment, until the voice of Joshua rang out, "Shout, for the Lord has given you the city!"

Then a great shout went up from the host; and they looked at the wall, and saw that it was trembling, and shaking, and falling! It fell down flat at every place but one. There was one part of the wall left standing, where the scarlet cord was hanging from the window.

And Joshua said to the two spies, "Go and bring out Rahab and her family, and take them to a safe place."

They went into Rahab's house on the wall and brought her out, and with her her father and mother, and all their family. They cared for them, and kept them safely in the camp of the Israelites until all the war against the people of the land was ended.

While some of the soldiers were taking care of Rahab, all the rest of the army was climbing up over the ruined wall. The people in the city were so filled with fear when they saw the walls falling down on every side, that they did not try to defend it, but sank down helpless and were slain or taken prisoners by the Israelites.

Thus the city was taken, with all that was within it. But the Israelites were forbidden to use for themselves any of the treasures in the city. Joshua said to them, "Nothing in this city belongs to you. It is the Lord's, and is to be destroyed as an offering to the Lord."

So they brought together all the gold, and silver, and precious things, and all that was in the houses. They took nothing for themselves, but kept the gold and silver and the things made of brass and iron for the Tabernacle. All the rest of what they found in the city they burned and destroyed, leaving of the city of Jericho nothing but a waste and a desolation. And Joshua said:

"Let the Lord's curse rest on any man who shall ever build again the city of Jericho. With the loss of his oldest born shall he lay its foundation, and with the loss of his youngest son shall he set up the gates of it."

After this Rahab, the woman who had saved the spies, was taken among the people of Israel just as though she had been an Israelite born. And one of the nobles of the tribe of Judah, whose name was Salmon, took her for his wife. And from her line of descendants, of those who came from her, many years after this, was born David the king. She was saved and blessed, because she had faith in the God of Israel.


The Sandman: His Ship Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Blacksmith Story

O NCE upon a time there was a wide river that ran into the ocean, and beside it was a little city. And in that city was a wharf where great ships came from far countries. And a narrow road led down a very steep hill to that wharf, and anybody that wanted to go to the wharf had to go down the steep hill on the narrow road, for there wasn't any other way. And because ships had come there for a great many years, and all the sailors and all the captains and all the men who had business with the ships had to go on that narrow road, the flagstones that made the sidewalks were much worn. That was a great many years ago.

The river and the ocean are there yet, as they always have been and always will be; and the city is there, but it is a different kind of a city from what it used to be. And the wharf is slowly falling down, for it is not used now; and the narrow road down the steep hill is all grown up with weeds and grass.

A great many years ago, when the ships still came to the wharf, a man had begun to make a shipyard beside that wide river. First he built a blacksmith shop in one corner of the shipyard. The other things that he did are told about in another story. And in building the blacksmith shop, he didn't make any inside to it, at first, but just the walls and the roof. The floor was the ground, because that wouldn't catch fire.

In the middle of the blacksmith shop he built a chimney straight up through the roof. And on each side of the chimney, on the ground, he built a kind of square table of brick about as high as a regular table. For the chimney and the tables of brick, he dug down into the ground, first, and built a foundation, just like a foundation for a stone wall. Each of these tables had a hollowed-out place in the top, just like a basin, and in the bottom of each hollowed-out place was a hole. In this hole was a pipe that curved around and came out at the back, beside the chimney. And into the end of the pipe, where it came out beside the chimney, the nozzle of a great enormous bellows fitted. The table of brick is called a forge, and a fire is built in the hollowed-out place.

Then, when the blacksmith wants the fire to burn fiercely, he leans on the long wooden bar which makes the bellows blow, and the bellows blows a lot of air through the pipe into the bottom of the hollowed-out place, and the air comes out through the fire and the fire gets very hot. All the smoke is caught by a hood, which sticks out over the forge just above the blacksmith's head, and the smoke is sent into the chimney by the hood, and out at the top. Some forges didn't have hoods, nor even chimneys; but then the blacksmith's shop would be a very smoky place.

While the men were building the brig Industry  in the shipyard, the blacksmith got a lot of iron bars. And these iron bars were almost as long as the blacksmith shop, and some were round and some were square, and some were flat and some were eight sided; and some of each kind were large and some were small, and some were middle sized.

And when the blacksmith was ready, he built a fire in the hollowed-out place of one of the forges. And he made the bellows blow, and the fire got hot, and he stuck into the fire the end of one of the large flat iron bars; but first he had to cut it off, for it was much too long to handle. And, pretty soon, he took the iron bar out of the fire, and the end, where it had been in the fire, was all hot and glowing white, and spitting sparks. And he laid it on his great anvil, and he took his small hammer; and the man who helped him took a great heavy hammer, that he had to hold in his two hands.


He stuck into the fire the end of one of the large flat iron bars.

Then the blacksmith tapped with his small hammer to show the helper where to strike. And the small hammer made a small sound, ting. And the helper struck with his great hammer in exactly that place where the small hammer had struck. And the great hammer made a great sound, TING. And the blacksmith held the iron with a pair of long iron tongs, and turned it when it needed to be turned. And there was a merry sound of the hammers on the hot iron: ting—TING, ting—TING, ting—TING, ting—TING. But at last the iron bar was all black, and too cold to hammer. So the blacksmith put it back into the fire and he made the bellows blow again; and again he took it out, and they hammered it again.

And, at last, it was all done, and when the iron had got black, but was still hot, the blacksmith stuck it into a tub full of water and held it there a minute, and then he threw it on the ground. It was one of the great iron straps that would hold the bowsprit of the brig Industry  in place.

And, in this way, they made all the other straps and the plates to hold the rigging that would hold up the masts and the great iron things that fasten the rudder to the ship, like hinges; and everything that is of iron that belongs to a ship, even to the straps and the rings and the hooks that would fasten the ropes to the yards. But the anchors they did not make, for they are too large to be made easily in a blacksmith shop. But the chains for the anchors they made in the blacksmith shop.


For the anchor chains the blacksmith took round iron, of a middle size, and he bent each link and welded the ends together, taking great care in the heating of the iron not to get it too hot, for that burns the iron, and makes it weak. And the blacksmith remembered that the master of the shipyard had promised Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob that everything about the Industry  should be strong. And each link, before it was welded, was put through the last link of the chain, so that the chain kept getting longer. To weld the ends together, he heated them in the fire until they were just hot enough, and then he hammered them together until they were like one piece, and they were as strong as one piece.

In this way the blacksmith made three anchor chains; one for each anchor and one to spare. And he made the little short chains that go at the bottom of the rigging, and the chains that go underneath the bowsprit. But the anchor chains he made the last of all.

And the work of the blacksmith for the brig Industry  was done, and the blacksmith was well pleased, for he knew that it was good.

And that's all.


James Whitcomb Riley


Granny's come to our house,

And ho! my lawzy-daisy!

All the childern round the place

Is ist a-runnin' crazy!

Fetched a cake fer little Jake,

And fetched a pie fer Nanny,

And fetched a pear fer all the pack

That runs to kiss their Granny!

Lucy Ellen's in her lap,

And Wade and Silas Walker

Both's a-ridin' on her foot,

And 'Pollos on the rocker;

And Marthy's twins, from Aunt Marinn's,

And little Orphant Annie,

All's a-eatin' gingerbread

And giggle-un at Granny!

Tells us all the fairy tales

Ever thought er wundered—

And 'bundance o' other stories—

Bet she knows a hunderd!—

Bob's the one fer "Whittington,"

And "Golden Locks" fer Fanny!

Hear 'em laugh and clap their hands,

Listenin' at Granny!

"Jack the Giant-Killer" 's good;

And "Bean-Stalk" 's another!—

So's the one of "Cinderell' "

And her old godmother;—

That-un's best of all the rest—

Bestest one of any—

Where the mices scampers home

Like we runs to Granny!

Granny's come to our house,

Ho! my lawzy-daisy!

All the childern round the place

Is ist a-runnin' crazy!

Fetched a cake fer little Jake,

And fetched a pie fer Nanny,

And fetched a pear fer all the pack

That runs to kiss their Granny!