Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Goes To See the Dog-Fish

T HE following day Pinocchio went to the government school.

Imagine the delight of all the little rogues when they saw a puppet walk into their school! They set up a roar of laughter that never ended. They played him all sorts of tricks. One boy carried off his cap, another pulled his jacket behind; one tried to give him a pair of inky mustachios just under his nose, and another attempted to tie strings to his feet and hands to make him dance.

They played him all sorts of tricks.

For a short time Pinocchio pretended not to care and got on as well as he could; but at last, losing all patience, he turned to those who were teasing him most and making game of him, and said to them, looking very angry:

"Beware, boys: I am not come here to be your buffoon. I respect others, and I intend to be respected."

"Well said, boaster! You have spoken like a book!" howled the young rascals, convulsed with mad laughter; and one of them, more impertinent than the others, stretched out his hand intending to seize the puppet by the end of his nose.

But he was not in time, for Pinocchio stuck his leg out from under the table and gave him a great kick on his shins.

"Oh, what hard feet!" roared the boy, rubbing the bruise that the puppet had given him.

"And what elbows! . . . even harder than his feet . . ." said another, who for his rude tricks had received a blow in the stomach.

But nevertheless the kick and the blow acquired at once for Pinocchio the sympathy and the esteem of all the boys in the school. They all made friends with him and liked him heartily.

And even the master praised him, for he found him attentive, studious, and intelligent—always the first to come to school, and the last to leave when school was over.

But he had one fault: he made too many friends; and amongst them were several young rascals well known for their dislike to study and love of mischief.

The master warned him every day, and even the good Fairy never failed to tell him, and to repeat constantly:

"Take care, Pinocchio! Those bad schoolfellows of yours will end sooner or later by making you lose all love of study, and perhaps even they may bring upon you some great misfortune."

"There is no fear of that!" answered the puppet, shrugging his shoulders and touching his forehead as much as to say: "There is so much sense here!"

Now it happened that one fine day, as he was on his way to school, he met several of his usual companions who, coming up to him, asked:

"Have you heard the great news?"

"No."

"In the sea near here a Dog-fish has appeared as big as a mountain."

"Not really? Can it be the same Dog-fish that was there when my poor papa was drowned?"

"We are going to the shore to see him. Will you come with us?"

"No; I am going to school."

"What matters school? We can go to school tomorrow. Whether we have a lesson more or a lesson less, we shall always remain the same donkeys."

"But what will the master say?"

"The master may say what he likes. He is paid on purpose to grumble all day."

"And my mamma? . . ."

"Mammas know nothing," answered those bad little boys.

"Do you know what I will do?" said Pinocchio. "I have reasons for wishing to see the Dog-fish, but I will go and see him when school is over."

"Poor donkey!" exclaimed one of the number. "Do you suppose that a fish of that size will wait your convenience? As soon as he is tired of being here he will start for another place, and then it will be too late."

"How long does it take from here to the shore?" asked the puppet.

"We can be there and back in an hour."

"Then away!" shouted Pinocchio, "and he who runs fastest is the best!"

Having thus given the signal to start, the boys, with their books and copy-books under their arms, rushed off across the fields, and Pinocchio was always the first—he seemed to have wings to his feet.

From time to time he turned to jeer at his companions, who were some distance behind, and seeing them panting for breath, covered with dust and their tongues hanging out of their mouths, he laughed heartily. The unfortunate boy little knew what terrors and horrible disasters he was going to meet with! . . .

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

The Leader Not Known

There could be no doubt but that Captain Kendall and Captain Martin both believed that when the will of the London Company was made known, it would be found they stood in high command; but there was in my heart a great hope that my master might have been named.

Yet when I put the matter to him in so many words, he treated the matter lightly, saying it could hardly be, else they had not dared to treat him thus shamefully.

However, it was soon to be known, if the commands of the London Company were obeyed, for now we had come to this new land of Virginia, and the time was near at hand when would be opened the box containing the names of those who were to be officers in the town we hoped soon to build.

As for myself, I was so excited it seemed impossible to remain quiet many seconds in one place, and I fear that my duties, which consisted only in waiting upon the prisoner, my master, were sadly neglected because of the anxiety in my mind to know who the merchants in London had named as rulers of the settlement about to be made in the new world.

One would have believed from Captain Smith's manner that he had no concern whatsoever as to the result of all this wickedness and scheming, for it was neither more nor less than such, as I looked at the matter, on the part of Captain Kendall and Captain Martin.

Here we were in sight of the new world, at a place where we were to live all the remainder of our lives, and he a prisoner in chains; but yet never a word of complaint came from his lips.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Arrival at Chesapeake Bay

When the day had fully dawned, and the fleet stood in toward the noble bay, between two capes, which were afterward named Cape Henry and Cape Comfort, Captain Smith directed me to go on deck, in order to keep him informed of what might be happening.

He told me there was no question in his mind but that we were come to the mouth of Chesapeake Bay, where it had been agreed with the London merchants we were to go on shore.

Standing at the head of the companionway, but not venturing out on deck lest I should be sent to some other part of the ship, and thus be unable to give my master the information which he desired, I looked out upon what seemed to me the most goodly land that could be found in all the wide world.

Trees there were of size fit for masts to the king's ships; flowers bordered the shore until there were seemingly great waves of this color, or of that, as far as eye could reach, and set within this dazzling array of green and gold, and of red and yellow, was a great sea, which Captain Smith said was called the Chesapeake Bay.

We entered for some distance, mayhap three or four miles, before coming to anchor, and then Master Wingfield, Captain Gosnold, and Captain Newport went on shore with a party of thirty, made up of seamen and gentlemen, and my master, who had not so much as stretched his legs since we sailed from Martinique, was left in his narrow cabin with none but me to care for him!

I had thought they would open the box containing the instructions from London, before doing anything else; but Captain Smith was of the mind that such business could wait until they had explored sufficiently to find a place where the new town might be built.

It was a long, weary, anxious day for me. The party had left the ship in the morning, remaining absent until nightfall, and at least four or five times every hour did I run up from the cabin to gaze shoreward in the hope of seeing them return, for I was most eager to have the business pushed forward, and to know whether my master's enemies were given, by the London Company, permission to do whatsoever they pleased.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

An Attack by the Savages

Just after sunset, and before the darkness of night closed in, those who had been on shore came back very hurriedly and in disorder, bringing with them in the foremost boat, two wounded men.

"They have had a battle with some one, Master," I reported, before yet the boats were come alongside, and for the first time that day did Captain Smith appear to be deeply concerned. I heard him say as if to himself, not intending that the words should reach me:

"Lack of caution in dealing with the savages is like to cost us dearly."

Half an hour later I heard all the story from Nathaniel Peacock, who had believed himself fortunate when he was allowed to accompany the party on shore.

According to his account, the company from the fleet roamed over much of the land during the day, finding fair meadows and goodly trees, with streams of fresh water here and there bespeaking fish in abundance.

Nothing was seen or heard to disturb our people until the signal had been given for all to go on board the boats, that they might return to the ships, and then it was that a number of naked, brown men, creeping upon their hands and knees like animals, with bows and arrows held between their teeth, came out suddenly from amid the foliage to the number, as Nathaniel declared, of not less than an hundred.

While the white men stood dismayed, awaiting some order from those who chose to call themselves leaders, the savages shot a multitude of arrows into the midst of the company, wounding Captain Gabriel Archer in both his hands, and dangerously hurting one of the seamen.

Captain Gosnold gave command for the firearms to be discharged, whereupon the savages disappeared suddenly, and without delay our people returned to the fleet.

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Daybreak

A wind came up out of the sea, And said, "O mists, make room for me." It hailed the ships, and cried, "Sail on, Ye mariners, the night is gone." And hurried landward far away, Crying, "Awake, it is the day." It said to the forest, "Shout! Hang all your leafy banners out." It touched the wood bird's folded wing, And said, "O bird, awake and sing."

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Cornelia's Jewels

I T was a bright morning in the old city of Rome many hundred years ago. In a vine-covered sum-mer-house in a beautiful garden, two boys were standing. They were looking at their mother and her friend, who were walking among the flowers and trees.

"Did you ever see so handsome a lady as our mother's friend?" asked the younger boy, holding his tall brother's hand. "She looks like a queen."

"Yet she is not so beautiful as our mother," said the elder boy. "She has a fine dress, it is true; but her face is not noble and kind. It is our mother who is like a queen."

"That is true," said the other. "There is no woman in Rome so much like a queen as our own dear mother."

Soon Cor-ne´li-a, their mother, came down the walk to speak with them. She was simply dressed in a plain white robe. Her arms and feet were bare, as was the custom in those days; and no rings nor chains glit-tered about her hands and neck. For her only crown, long braids of soft brown hair were coiled about her head; and a tender smile lit up her noble face as she looked into her sons' proud eyes.

"Boys," she said, "I have something to tell you."

They bowed before her, as Roman lads were taught to do, and said, "What is it, mother?"

"You are to dine with us to-day, here in the gar-den; and then our friend is going to show us that wonderful casket of jewels of which you have heard so much."

The brothers looked shyly at their mother's friend. Was it possible that she had still other rings besides those on her fingers? Could she have other gems besides those which sparkled in the chains about her neck?

When the simple out-door meal was over, a servant brought the casket from the house. The lady opened it. Ah, how those jewels dazzled the eyes of the wondering boys! There were ropes of pearls, white as milk, and smooth as satin; heaps of shining rubies, red as the glowing coals; sap-phires as blue as the sky that summer day; and di-a-monds that flashed and sparkled like the sunlight.

The brothers looked long at the gems.

"Ah!" whis-pered the younger; "if our mother could only have such beautiful things!"

At last, how-ever, the casket was closed and carried care-ful-ly away.

"Is it true, Cor-ne-li-a, that you have no jewels?" asked her friend. "Is it true, as I have heard it whis-pered, that you are poor?"

"No, I am not poor," answered Cornelia, and as she spoke she drew her two boys to her side; "for here are my jewels. They are worth more than all your gems."

I am sure that the boys never forgot their mother's pride and love and care; and in after years, when they had become great men in Rome, they often thought of this scene in the garden. And the world still likes to hear the story of Cornelia's jewels.

 

Seaside and Wayside, Book One  by Julia McNair Wright

The Crab's Enemies

C RABS have many enemies. Fish and birds eat crabs. Men eat some kinds of crabs. Crabs eat each other.

With so many enemies, soon no crabs would be left if they did not lay so many eggs. Mrs. Crab, each year, lays more eggs than you could count.

Crabs do not always have hard shells. When they first come from the egg they have long tails, four legs, and no claws. The crab's body then has a thin cover.

At this time of his life he is very helpless, like a baby. He can swim well, and so can escape some of his enemies. When he gets claws and a hard shell, he is safer.

A little pink crab, named Pea Crab, or Pinna Crab, goes to live in the shell of the oyster. The oyster does not seem to mind it. You may see this little crab in your oyster soup. He turns orange color when he is cooked. The Pinna, or Pea Crab, has a very soft shell.

Little Pinna Crab

The Spider Crab has a brown shell, rough like sand. Little thorns grow all over it. The Spider Crab cuts off fine seaweed with her little sharp claws, and hangs it like ribbons on these thorns or hooks.

Spider Crab

Then she looks like a little green grove! Who can tell why she does that? Is it to hide?

Do you see the wide hind feet of the crab in this picture?

His home is on the sea.

Those are his paddles, or oars. They are his swimming feet. His shell is wide and light. He can float on the waves like a boat. He goes far out on the sea.

Some crabs can dig into the sand very fast. They go in backwards. They slip out of sight like a flash. Or, they leave out the tips of their heads and their eye-pegs, to look about.

Sand Crabs do this.

The shells of Sand Crabs are a pale brown or sand color. These shells are wide and round behind, and come to a point in the front. They are very rough. The crabs' heads are in the narrow part of the shell. Sand Crabs are swift runners.

Some crabs hide in holes in the rocks. Often their color protects them. When they are afraid, they lie flat on the sand, and it is hard to see them. Some birds have long, thin bills, with which to pick Mr. Crab out of his sand house.

 

Robert Louis Stevenson

My Shadow

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me, And what can be the use of him is more than I can see. He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head; And I see him jump before me, when I jump into my bed. The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow— Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow; For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball, And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all. He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play, And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way. He stays so close beside me, he's a coward, you can see; I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me! One morning, very early, before the sun was up, I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup; But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head, Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

A Maker of Thunder and a Friend in Black

P ETER RABBIT'S intentions were of the best. Once safely away from that lonesome part of the Green Forest where was the home of Redtail the Hawk, he intended to go straight back to the dear Old Briar-patch. But he was not halfway there when from another direction in the Green Forest there came a sound that caused him to stop short and quite forget all about home. It was a sound very like distant thunder. It began slowly at first and then went faster and faster. Boom—Boom—Boom—Boom-Boom-Boom Boo-Boo-B-B-B-B-b-b-b-b-boom! It was like the long roll on a bass drum.

Peter laughed right out. "That's Strutter the Ruffed Grouse!" he cried joyously. "I had forgotten all about him. I certainly must go over and pay him a call and find out where Mrs. Grouse is. My, how Strutter can drum!"

Peter promptly headed towards that distant thunder. As he drew nearer to it, it sounded louder and louder. Presently Peter stopped to try to locate exactly the place where that sound, which now was more than ever like thunder, was coming from. Suddenly Peter remembered something. "I know just where he is," said he to himself. "There's a big, mossy, hollow log over yonder, and I remember that Mrs. Grouse once told me that that is Strutter's thunder log."

Very, very carefully Peter stole forward, making no sound at all. At last he reached a place where he could peep out and see that big, mossy, hollow log. Sure enough, there was Strutter the Ruffed Grouse. When Peter first saw him he was crouched on one end of the log, a fluffy ball of reddish-brown, black and gray feathers. He was resting. Suddenly he straightened up to his full height, raised his tail and spread it until it was like an open fan above his back. The outer edge was gray, then came a broad band of black, followed by bands of gray, brown and black. Around his neck was a wonderful ruff of black. His reddish-brown wings were dropped until the tips nearly touched the log. His full breast rounded out and was buff color with black markings. He was of about the size of the little Bantam hens Peter had seen in Farmer Brown's henyard.

STRUTTER THE RUFFED GROUSE The black ruff around his neck gives him his name.

In the most stately way you can imagine Strutter walked the length of that mossy log. He was a perfect picture of pride as he strutted very much like Tom Gobbler the big Turkey cock. When he reached the end of the log he suddenly dropped his tail, stretched himself to his full height and his wings began to beat, first slowly then faster and faster, until they were just a blur. They seemed to touch above his back but when they came down they didn't quite strike his sides. It was those fast moving wings that made the thunder. It was so loud that Peter almost wanted to stop his ears. When it ended Strutter settled down to rest and once more appeared like a ball of fluffy feathers. His ruff was laid flat.

Peter watched him thunder several times and then ventured to show himself. "Strutter, you are wonderful! simply wonderful!" cried Peter, and he meant just what he said.

Strutter threw out his chest proudly. "That is just what Mrs. Grouse says," he replied. "I don't know of any better thunderer if I do say it myself."

"Speaking of Mrs. Grouse, where is she?" asked Peter eagerly.

"Attending to her household affairs, as a good housewife should," retorted Strutter promptly.

"Do you mean she has a nest and eggs?" asked Peter.

Strutter nodded. "She has twelve eggs," he added proudly.

"I suppose," said Peter artfully, "her nest is somewhere near here on the ground."

"It's on the ground, Peter, but as to where it is I am not saying a word. It may or it may not be near here. Do you want to hear me thunder again?"

Of course Peter said he did, and that was sufficient excuse for Strutter to show off. Peter stayed a while longer to gossip, but finding Strutter more interested in thundering than in talking, he once more started for home.

"I really would like to know where that nest is," said he to himself as he scampered along. "I suppose Mrs. Grouse has hidden it so cleverly that it is quite useless to look for it."

On his way he passed a certain big tree. All around the ground was carpeted with brown, dead leaves. There were no bushes or young trees there. Peter never once thought of looking for a nest. It was the last place in the world he would expect to find one. When he was well past the big tree there was a soft chuckle and from among the brown leaves right at the foot of that big tree a head with a pair of the brightest eyes was raised a little. Those eyes twinkled as they watched Peter out of sight.

"He didn't see me at all," chuckled Mrs. Grouse, as she settled down once more. "That is what comes of having a cloak so like the color of these nice brown leaves. He isn't the first one who has passed me without seeing me at all. It is better than trying to hide a nest, and I certainly am thankful to Old Mother Nature for the cloak she gave me. I wonder if every one of these twelve eggs will hatch. If they do, I certainly will have a family to be proud of."

Meanwhile Peter hurried on in his usual happy-go-lucky fashion until he came to the edge of the Green Forest. Out on the Green Meadows just beyond he caught sight of a black form walking about in a stately way and now and then picking up something. It reminded him of Blacky the Crow, but he knew right away that it wasn't Blacky, because it was so much smaller, being not more than half as big.

"It's Creaker the Grackle. He was one of the first to arrive this spring and I'm ashamed of myself for not having called on him," thought Peter, as he hopped out and started across the Green Meadows towards Creaker. "What a splendid long tail he has. I believe Jenny Wren told me that he belongs to the Blackbird family. He looks so much like Blacky the Crow that I suppose this is why they call him Crow Blackbird."

Just then Creaker turned in such a way that the sun fell full on his head and back. "Why! Why-ee!" exclaimed Peter, rubbing his eyes with astonishment. "He isn't just black! He's beautiful, simply beautiful, and I've always supposed he was just plain, homely black."

It was true. Creaker the Grackle with the sun shining on him was truly beautiful. His head and neck, his throat and upper breast, were a shining blue-black, while his back was a rich, shining brassy-green. His wings and tail were much like his head and neck. As Peter watched it seemed as if the colors were constantly changing. This changing of colors is called iridescence. One other thing Peter noticed and this was that Creaker's eyes were yellow. Just at the moment Peter couldn't remember any other bird with yellow eyes.

"Creaker," cried Peter, "I wonder if you know how handsome you are!"

"I'm glad you think so," replied Creaker. "I'm not at all vain, but there are mighty few birds I would change coats with."

"Is—is—Mrs. Creaker dressed as handsomely as you are?" asked Peter rather timidly.

Creaker shook his head. "Not quite," said he. "She likes plain black better. Some of the feathers on her back shine like mine, but she says that she has no time to show off in the sun and to take care of fine feathers."

"Where is she now?" asked Peter.

"Over home," replied Creaker, pulling a white grub out of the roots of the grass. "We've got a nest over there in one of those pine-trees on the edge of the Green Forest and I expect any day now we will have four hungry babies to feed. I shall have to get busy then. You know I am one of those who believe that every father should do his full share in taking care of his family."

"I'm glad to hear you say it," declared Peter, nodding his head with approval quite as if he was himself the best of fathers, which he isn't at all. "May I ask you a very personal question, Creaker?"

"Ask as many questions as you like. I don't have to answer them unless I want to," retorted Creaker.

"Is it true that you steal the eggs of other birds?" Peter blurted the question out rather hurriedly.

Creaker's yellow eyes began to twinkle. "That is a very personal question," said he. "I won't go so far as to say I steal  eggs, but I've found that eggs are very good for my constitution and if I find a nest with nobody around I sometimes help myself to the eggs. You see the owner might not come back and then those eggs would spoil, and that would be a pity."

"That's no excuse at all," declared Peter. "I believe you're no better than Sammy Jay and Blacky the Crow."

Creaker chuckled, but he did not seem to be at all offended. Just then he heard Mrs. Creaker calling him and with a hasty farewell he spread his wings and headed for the Green Forest. Once in the air he seemed just plain black. Peter watched him out of sight and then once more headed for the dear Old Briar-patch.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Owl and the Grasshopper

The Owl always takes her sleep during the day. Then after sundown, when the rosy light fades from the sky and the shadows rise slowly through the wood, out she comes ruffling and blinking from the old hollow tree. Now her weird "hoo-hoo-hoo-oo-oo" echoes through the quiet wood, and she begins her hunt for the bugs and beetles, frogs and mice she likes so well to eat.

Now there was a certain old Owl who had become very cross and hard to please as she grew older, especially if anything disturbed her daily slumbers. One warm summer afternoon as she dozed away in her den in the old oak tree, a Grasshopper nearby began a joyous but very raspy song. Out popped the old Owl's head from the opening in the tree that served her both for door and for window.

"Get away from here, sir," she said to the Grasshopper. "Have you no manners? You should at least respect my age and leave me to sleep in quiet!"

But the Grasshopper answered saucily that he had as much right to his place in the sun as the Owl had to her place in the old oak. Then he struck up a louder and still more rasping tune.

The wise old Owl knew quite well that it would do no good to argue with the Grasshopper, nor with anybody else for that matter. Besides, her eyes were not sharp enough by day to permit her to punish the Grasshopper as he deserved. So she laid aside all hard words and spoke very kindly to him.

"Well sir," she said, "if I must stay awake, I am going to settle right down to enjoy your singing. Now that I think of it, I have a wonderful wine here, sent me from Olympus, of which I am told Apollo drinks before he sings to the high gods. Please come up and taste this delicious drink with me. I know it will make you sing like Apollo himself."

The foolish Grasshopper was taken in by the Owl's flattering words. Up he jumped to the Owl's den, but as soon as he was near enough so the old Owl could see him clearly, she pounced upon him and ate him up.

Flattery is not a proof of true admiration.

Do not let flattery throw you off your guard against an enemy.

 

The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said  by Padraic Colum

Bloom-of-Youth and the Witch of the Elders

Part 2 of 2

Bloom-of-Youth went with the twelve balls of wool to her step-mother's house, and every person she met on the way she asked if he or she knew the name of the black and crooked woman. But no one could tell her the hag's real name. All they could tell was that she was the Witch of the Elders and that she lived beside the Big Stones that were at the other side of the wood.

Bloom-of-Youth was afraid: her face lost its color and her eyes grew wide and her heart would beat from one side of her body to the other. And every day the Witch of the Elders would come to the door and say "Have you my name yet, Bloom-of-Youth, have you my name yet? Two days gone, five to come on; three days gone, four to come on; four days gone, three to come on; five days gone, two to come on." Six days went by and on the seventh she would have to go to the Big Stones at the other side of the wood and let the Witch of the Elders take twelve drops of her heart's blood.

The night before the week's end her husband, when he sat down by the fire said "I saw something and I heard something very strange when I was at the other side of the wood this evening." "What was it you saw?" said Bloom-of-Youth. "Lights were all round the Big Stones and there was a noise of spinning inside the ring they make. That's what I saw." "And what was it you heard?" said Bloom-of-Youth. "Someone singing to the wheels," said her husband. "And this is what I heard sung.—"

Spin, wheel, spin; sing, wheel, sing; Every stone in my yard, spin, spin, spin; The thread is hers, the wool is mine; Twelve drops from her heart will make my leaves shine! How little she knows, the foolish thing, That my name is Bolg and Curr and Carr, That my name is Lurr and Lappie.

"O sing that song again," said Bloom-of-Youth, "Sing that song again."

Her husband sang it again, and Bloom-of-Youth went to bed, singing to herself—

My name is Bolg and Curr and Carr, My name is Lurr and Lappie.

The next day as soon as her husband had gone to his hunting Bloom-of-Youth went through the wood and towards the Big Stones that were at the other side of it. And as she went through the wood she sang—

Spin, wheel, spin; sing, wheel, sing; Every branch on the tree, spin, spin, spin; The wool is hers, the thread is fine; For loss of my heart's blood I'll never dwine; Her name is Bolg and Curr and Carr, Her name is Lurr and Lappie.

She went singing until she was through the wood and near the Big Stones. She went within the circle. There, besides a flat stone that was on the ground, she saw the black and crooked old woman.

"You have come to me, Bloom-of-Youth," said she. "Do you see the hollow that is in this stone? It is into this hollow that the drops of your heart's blood will have to run."

"The drops of my heart's blood may remain my own."

"No, no, they won't remain your own any longer than when it is plain you can't tell my name."

"Is it Bolg?" said Bloom-of-Youth.

"Bolg is one of my names," screamed the Witch of the Elders, "but one of my names won't let you go free."

"Is it Curr?"

"Curr is another of my names, but two of my names won't let you go free."

"Is it Carr?"

"Carr is another of my names, but three of my names will not let you go free."

"I know your other names too," said Bloom-of-Youth.

"Say them, say them," screamed the Witch of the Elders.

But when she tried to think of them Bloom-of-Youth found that the last two names had gone out of her mind. Not for all the drops that were in her heart could she remember them.

"No, no, you can't say them," said the Witch of the Elders. "And now bend your breast over the hollow in the stone. I'll let out twelve drops of your heart's blood with my pointed rod. Bend your breast over the hollow."

But just as the Witch was dragging her to the stone a robin began to sing on a branch outside the Stones. It was the same tune as Bloom-of-Youth had sung her song to as she went through the wood. Now all the words in her song came back to her.—

Spin, wheel, spin; sing, wheel, sing; Every branch on the tree, spin, spin, spin; The wool is hers, the thread is mine; For loss of my heart's blood I'll never dwine! Her name is Bolg and Curr and Carr, Her name is Lurr and Lappie.

She said the last two names and as she did the Witch of the Elders screamed and ran behind the stones. Bloom-of-Youth saw no more of her.

That evening her husband brought home the web of cloth that her step-mother had woven. The next day Bloom-of-Youth began to make clothes for him out of it. Never again did she make delays at the well but she came straight home with her pails of water. The fire was always clear upon the hearth and she had never to light it the second time and then sweep away the ashes that had gathered on the floor. She made good clothes for her husband out of the web of cloth her step-mother had woven. And every evening she spun on her wheel and there was never a time afterwards when she had not a dozen balls of thread in the house.

The wool is hers and the thread is mine; For loss of my heart's blood I never will dwine, And I throw my ball over to you.

It was the Woodpecker that told this story to the Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Build a Big Canoe

WHILE I was doing these things I was always trying to think of some way to escape from the island.

True, I was living there with much comfort. I was happier than I had ever been while sailing the seas.

But I longed to see other men. I longed for home and friends.

You will remember that when I was over at the farther side of the island I had seen land in the distance. Fifty or sixty miles of water lay between me and that land. Yet I was always wishing that I could reach it.

It was a foolish wish. For there was no telling what I might find on that distant shore.

Perhaps it was a far worse place than my little island. Perhaps there were savage beasts there. Perhaps wild men lived there who would kill me and eat me.

I thought of all these things; but I was willing to risk every kind of danger rather than stay where I was.

At last I made up my mind to build a boat. It should be large enough to carry me and all that belonged to me. It should be strong enough to stand a long voyage over stormy seas.

I had seen the great canoes which Indians sometimes make of the trunks of trees. I would make one of the same kind.

In the woods I found a cedar tree which I thought was just the right thing for my canoe.

It was a huge tree. Its trunk was more than five feet through at the bottom.

I chopped and hewed many days before it fell to the ground. It took two weeks to cut a log of the right length from it.

Then I went to work on the log. I chop and hewed and shaped the outside into the form of a canoe. With hatchet and chisel I hollowed out the inside.

For full three months I worked on that cedar log. I was both proud and glad when the canoe was finished. I had never seen so big a boat made from a single tree.

It was well shaped and handsome. More than twenty men might find room to sit in it.

But now the hardest question of all must answered.

How was I to get my canoe into the water?

It lay not more than three hundred feet from the little river where I had first landed with my raft.

But how was I to move it three hundred feet, or even one foot? It was so heavy that I could not even roll it over.

I thought of several plans. But when I came to reckon the time and the labor, I found that even by the easiest plan it would take twenty years to get the canoe into the water.

What could I do but leave it in the woods where it lay?

How foolish I had been! Why had I not thought of the weight of the canoe before going to the labor of making it?

The wise man will always look before he leaps. I certainly had not acted wisely.

I went back to my castle, feeling sad and thoughtful.

Why should I be discontented and unhappy?

I was the master of all that I saw. I might call myself the king of the island.

I had all the comforts of life.

I had food in plenty.

I might raise shiploads of grain, but there was no market for it.

I had thousands of trees for timber and fuel, but no one wished to buy.

I counted the money which I had brought from the ship. There were above a hundred pieces of gold and silver; but of what use were they?

I would have given all for a handful of peas or beans to plant. I would have given all for a bottle of ink.

 

Mary Howitt

The Fairies of the Caldon Low

"And where have you been, my Mary, And where have you been from me?" "I have been to the top of the Caldon Low, The midsummer night to see." "And what did you see, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Low?" "I saw the glad sunshine come down, And I saw the merry winds blow." "And what did you hear, my Mary, All up on the Caldon Hill?" "I heard the drops of water made, And the ears of the green corn fill." "Oh, tell me all, my Mary— All, all that ever you know; For you must have seen the fairies, Last night, on the Caldon Low." "Then take me on your knee, mother; And listen, mother of mine; A hundred fairies danced last night, And the harpers they were nine; "And their harp strings rung so merrily To their dancing feet so small; But oh, the words of their talking Were merrier far than all." "And what were the words, my Mary, That then you heard them say?" "I'll tell you all, my mother; But let me have my way. "Some of them played with the water, And rolled it down the hill; 'And this,' they said, 'shall speedily turn The poor old miller's mill; " 'For there has been no water Ever since the first of May; And a busy man will the miller be At dawning of the day. " 'Oh, the miller, how he will laugh When he sees the mill dam rise! The jolly old miller, how he will laugh Till the tears fill both his eyes.' "And some they seized the little winds That sounded over the hill; And each put a horn into his mouth, And blew both loud and shrill; " 'And there,' they said, 'the merry winds go Away from every horn; And they shall clear the mildew dank From the blind old widow's corn. " 'Oh, the poor, blind widow, Though she has been blind so long, She'll be blithe enough when the mildew's gone, And the corn stands tall and strong.' "And some they brought the brown lint seed, And flung it down from the Low; 'And this,' they said, 'by the sunrise, In the weaver's croft shall grow. " 'Oh, the poor, lame weaver, How he will laugh outright, When he sees his dwindling flax field All full of flowers by night!' "And then outspoke a brownie, With a long beard on his chin: 'I have spun up all the tow,' said he, 'And I want some more to spin. " 'I 've spun a piece of hempen cloth, And I want to spin another; A little sheet for Mary's bed, And an apron for her mother.' "With that I could not help but laugh, And I laughed out loud and free; And then on the top of the Caldon Low There was no one left but me. "And all on the top of the Caldon Low The mists were cold and gray, And nothing I saw but the mossy stones, That round about me lay. "But, coming down from the hilltop, I heard afar below, How busy the jolly miller was, And how the wheel did go. "And I peeped into the widow's field, And, sure enough, were seen The yellow ears of the mildewed corn All standing stout and green. "And down by the weaver's croft I stole, To see if the flax were sprung; And I met the weaver at his gate, With the good news on his tongue! "Now this is all I heard, mother, And all that I did see; So, pr'ythee, make my bed, mother, For I'm tired as I can be."

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

The Third Crusade

"For all that they hold holiest, they died that died that day, And to the Holy Sepulchre their blood hath won a way." —Neale.

S TORY and romance have crowned the Third Crusade, in which Frederick Barbarossa perished, with a halo of glory. It was less disastrous than the Second, forty years before, but it fell far short of the splendid results of the First Crusade.

Nevertheless the story of the lion-hearted Richard of England, and how he fought Saladin, the famous Mohammedan chief, is always worth hearing, mixed though it be with legend.

Both were brave men. If Richard was not the ideal Christian knight, he was a brave Northman, like his ancestor Rollo, with a warm zeal for the cause of Christ and a thirst for military glory. He threw his whole heart into the expedition, and alike by land and sea he knew better than any other leader how to conduct the war.

Saladin, too, was as brave as a lion. By sheer force of genius he had risen from one of the strong mountain-tribes beyond Arabia to be the greatest Mohammedan ruler of his age. Master of Egypt, Syria, and Arabia, he had included Jerusalem in his conquests. This is what roused Europe to action, and the three leading rulers of Germany, France, and England at once began preparations for marching against this powerful Eastern ruler.

Richard joined his fleet on the coast of Italy, but it was not till the spring of 1191 that he sailed from Sicily for the Holy Land, conquering the island of Cyprus and marrying a wife on the way. He found the crusaders besieging Acre, a town on the coast of Syria. The siege had lasted for two years. In the plain was gathered the crusading host, now suffering greatly from a plague that had broken out in their midst; on the heights of the city were the followers of Mohammed under the black banner of Saladin. Richard, though prostrated with fever, was overwhelmed by remorse for having loitered so long on the road.

A fiery zeal seized him. He was carried on a mattress to conduct operations. Before long Saladin sued for peace, and the banners of France and England floated from the ramparts of Acre.

But the old spirit of the crusaders was gone, and the French king now slipped home to plot against Richard, who soon found that every French and German crusader was banded against him.

The rest of the Crusade was in the hands of Richard now. The Emperor of Germany was dead. The King of France had gone home. He marched southward towards Jerusalem—the object of his goal—but he never reached the Holy City. Discords broke out, disputes took place among the leaders of the army, and, almost within sight of Jerusalem, the crusading army was obliged to turn back.

Richard himself was led to the top of a hill from which he could get a view of the Holy City. But when his guide pointed out the white buildings dimly visible in the distance, the lion-hearted king put his shield before his face, for he could not bear to see the city which he had failed to take from Saladin. So Jerusalem remained in the hands of the Mohammedans in whose hands it is still to-day.

Sadly and sorrowfully Richard sailed away from the Holy Land. As its shores slowly faded from his sight, he stretched out his arms, exclaiming, "Most holy land, may God grant me life to return and deliver thee from the yoke of the infidels."

His name was feared and honoured by the Mohammedans for long after he had gone, and the Arab of Syria would exclaim to his horse when it started or pricked its ears, "Dost think it is King Richard?"

But many an adventure was in store for the English king. His ship was wrecked on the coast near Venice, and he found himself wandering about in Austria, the country of his enemy, one of the leaders of the crusaders with whom he had quarrelled. For a while he wandered from place to place disguised as a pilgrim, but at last he fell into the hands of his enemy and was placed in a castle, strongly guarded, for some months. There is a story told of how, when the people of England were weeping over the disappearance of their king, his faithful minstrel set out to find his master.

One day the minstrel, Blondel, was resting outside the walls of a castle in Austria, wearied with his wanderings, when he heard the notes of an old French song, which Richard used to sing, floating on the air. Eagerly he took up the song, and then listened with beating heart. Again the voice within took up the strain, and Blondel knew he had found his master, Richard of the lion's heart.

So the king returned home on the payment of a large sum of money, but he did not live to lead another Crusade into the Holy Land.

 

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

Frolic of the WiId Things

Out on the prairie in a buffalo skull live the little field-mice.

Merry little field-mice All snug and warm.

At night they build a big bright fire and dance and sing.

Merry little field-mice All snug and warm, Dance and sing, "We—oh, We—oh, Wo—oh."

The snow falls white and fast but the fire bright, and they are warm and dry as they sing,

"We—oh, We—oh, We—oh."

But what is this strange thing we see hopping and hopping over the snow? It is Big White Rabbit. He hops and hops. Each time his hind feet come together they make one track in the snow—a funny, funny track.

He sits up straight on his strong hind legs and his fore paws hang down. His long ears stand up high and his big eyes see all around. He calls and wriggles his funny nose and more rabbits come, and more, and more! They dance around the buffalo skull when

Merry little field-mice All snug and warm, Dance and sing, "We—oh, We—oh, Wo—oh."

What strange sound comes on the wind? It is not the song of the merry little field-mice. Big White Rabbit sits up straight and gives a cry. Away to the east, south, and west they all go.

Lean Gray Wolf comes creeping, creeping, creeping up. He smells in the snow the tracks of the little white rabbits. He sniffs, and sniffs, and sniffs. Dragging his long tail over the snow, around and around he goes. Then he sits and howls to the moon. He wants the little white rabbits for his supper. But they have gone hopping, hopping, hopping while in the buffalo skull out on the prairie

Merry little field-mice All snug and warm, Dance and sing, "We—oh, We—oh, Wo—oh."

Hark! What other strange sound comes on the wind?

"Hoot—ta—hoot—ta—hoo—a, Hoot—ta—hoot—to—hoo,"

says Big Owl.

Away to the woods runs Lean Gray Wolf. Out go the fires in the buffalo skull and the mice creep away to bed.

"Quick! Quick! Quick!" says Mother Mouse. She knows that Big Owl is fond of mice. She knows, too, that Big Owl watches over the prairie for fires in the buffalo skull.

Now the the merry little field-mice are snug in bed all covered up tight. No longer they sing,

"We—oh, We—oh, We—oh!"

Morning comes. Big Owl goes to sleep with his head under his wing and his big eyes are shut up tight. He cannot see the merry little field-mice come out of the buffalo skull and scamper away to hunt for dried seeds. All day they sing,

"Wo—oh, We—oh, We—oh!"

Hark! Another strange sound comes on the wind.

"Hi—oh, ki—oh, Hi—oh, ki—oh!"

call the little Indian boys and girls. They come running over the hill with a net on a pole. They catch Big Owl and carry him home to the camp. He is tied to the lodge-pole. All day he sits and blinks in the sun. All night he calls out,

"Hoot—ta—hoot—ta—hoo—a, Hoot—ta—hoot—ta hoo!"

The little Indian boys and girls are wrapped in a buffalo-skin. With their heads to the fire they sleep and dream while the snow falls fast and white.

The white rabbits hop, the lean wolf howls, and the merry little field-mice sing,

"We—oh, We—oh, We—oh!"

North American Indian Nursery Tale

 

Walter de la Mare

A Widow's Weeds

A poor old Widow in her weeds Sowed her garden with wild-flower seeds; Not too shallow, and not too deep, And down came April—drip—drip—drip. Up shone May, like gold, and soon Green as an arbour grew leafy June. And now all summer she sits and sews Where willow herb, comfrey, bugloss blows, Teasle and pansy, meadowsweet, Campion, toadflax, and rough hawksbit; Brown bee orchis, and Peals of Bells; Clover, burnet, and thyme she smells; Like Oberon's meadows her garden is Drowsy from dawn to dusk with bees. Weeps she never, but sometimes sighs, And peeps at her garden with bright brown eyes; And all she has is all she needs— A poor Old Widow in her weeds.

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

Betsy Has a Birthday

Part 3 of 3

Molly and Betsy hurried along out of the gate into the main street of the town and down to the station. Molly was eating doughnuts as she went. They were both quite hungry by this time, but Betsy could not think of eating till she had those tickets in her hand.

She pushed her quarter and a nickel into the ticket-seller's window and said "Hillsboro" in as confident a tone as she could; but when the precious bits of paper were pushed out at her and she actually held them, her knees shook under her and she had to go and sit down on the bench.

"My! Aren't these doughnuts good?" said Molly. "I never in my life had enough  doughnuts before!"

Betsy drew a long breath and began rather languidly to eat one herself; she felt, all of a sudden, very, very tired.

She was tireder still when they got out of the train at Hillsboro Station and started wearily up the road toward Putney Farm. Two miles lay before them, two miles which they had often walked before, but never after such a day as now lay back of them. Molly dragged her feet as she walked and hung heavily on Betsy's hand. Betsy plodded along, her head hanging, her eyes all gritty with fatigue and sleepiness. A light buggy spun round the turn of the road behind them, the single horse trotting fast as though the driver were in a hurry, the wheels rattling smartly on the hard road. The little girls drew out to one side and stood waiting till the road should be free again. When he saw them the driver pulled the horse back so quickly it stood almost straight up. He peered at them through the twilight and then with a loud shout sprang over the side of the buggy.

It was Uncle Henry—oh, goody, it was Uncle Henry come to meet them! They wouldn't have to walk any further!

But what was the matter with Uncle Henry? He ran up to them, exclaiming, "Are ye all right? Are ye all right?" He stooped over and felt of them desperately as though he expected them to be broken somewhere. And Betsy could feel that his old hands were shaking, that he was trembling all over. When she said, "Why, yes, Uncle Henry, we're all right. We came home on the cars," Uncle Henry leaned up against the fence as though he couldn't stand up. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead and he said—it didn't seem as though it could be Uncle Henry talking, he sounded so excited—"Well, well—well, by gosh! My! Well, by thunder! Now! And so here ye are! And you're all right! Well!" 

He couldn't seem to stop exclaiming, and you can't imagine anything stranger than an Uncle Henry who couldn't stop exclaiming.

After they all got into the buggy he quieted down a little and said, "Thunderation! But we've had a scare! When the Wendells come back with their cousins early this afternoon, they said you were coming with the Vaughans. And then when you didn't come and didn't  come, we telephoned to the Vaughans, and they said they hadn't seen hide nor hair of ye, and didn't even know you were to  the Fair at all. I tell you, your Aunt Abigail and I had an awful turn! Ann and I hitched up quicker'n scat and she put right out with Prince up toward Woodford and I took Jessie down this way; thought maybe I'd get trace of ye somewhere here. Well, land!" He wiped his forehead again. "Wa'n't I glad to see you standin' there . . . get along, Jess! I want to get the news to Abigail soon as I can!"

"Now tell me what in thunder did  happen to you!"

Betsy began at the beginning and told straight through, interrupted at first by indignant comments from Uncle Henry, who was outraged by the Wendells' loose wearing of their responsibility for the children. But as she went on he quieted down to a closely attentive silence, interrupting only to keep Jess at her top speed.

Now that it was all safely over, Betsy thought her story quite an interesting one, and she omitted no detail, although she wondered once or twice if perhaps Uncle Henry were listening to her, he kept so still. "And so I bought the tickets and we got home," she ended, adding, "Oh, Uncle Henry, you ought to have seen the prize pig! He was too  funny!"

They turned into the Putney yard now and saw Aunt Abigail's bulky form on the porch.

"Got 'em, Abby! All right! No harm done!" shouted Uncle Henry.

Aunt Abigail turned without a word and went back into the house. When the little girls dragged their weary legs in they found her quietly setting out some supper for them on the table, but she was wiping away with her apron the joyful tears which ran down her cheeks, such white cheeks! It seemed so strange to see rosy Aunt Abigail with a face like paper.

"Well, I'm glad to see ye," she told them soberly. "Sit right down and have some hot milk. I had some all ready."

The telephone rang, she went into the next room, and they heard her saying, in an unsteady voice: "All right, Ann. They're here. Your father just brought them in. I haven't had time to hear about what happened yet. But they're all right. You'd better come home."

"That's your Cousin Ann telephoning from the Marshalls'."

She herself went and sat down heavily, and when Uncle Henry came in a few minutes later she asked him in a rather weak voice for the ammonia bottle. He rushed for it, got her a fan and a drink of cold water, and hung over her anxiously till the color began to come back into her pale face. "I know just how you feel, Mother," he said sympathetically. "When I saw 'em standin' there by the roadside I felt as though somebody had hit me a clip right in the pit of the stomach."

The little girls ate their supper in a tired daze, not paying any attention to what the grown-ups were saying, until rapid hoofs clicked on the stones outside and Cousin Ann came in quickly, her black eyes snapping.

"Now, for mercy's sake, tell me what happened," she said, adding hotly, "and if I don't give that Maria Wendell a piece of my mind!"

Uncle Henry broke in: "I'm  going to tell what happened. I want  to do it. You and Mother just listen, just sit right down and listen." His voice was shaking with feeling, and as he went on and told of Betsy's afternoon, her fright, her confusion, her forming the plan of coming home on the train and of earning the money for the tickets, he made, for once, no Putney pretense of casual coolness. His old eyes flashed fire as he talked.

Betsy, watching him, felt her heart swell and beat fast in incredulous joy. Why, he was proud of her! She had done something to make the Putney cousins proud of her!

When Uncle Henry came to the part where she went on asking for employment after one and then another refusal, Cousin Ann reached out her long arms and quickly, almost roughly, gathered Betsy up on her lap, holding her close as she listened. Betsy had never before sat on Cousin Ann's lap.

And when Uncle Henry finished—he had not forgotten a single thing Betsy had told him—and asked, "What do you think of that  for a little girl ten years old today?" Cousin Ann opened the flood-gates wide and burst out, "I think I never heard of a child's doing a smarter, grittier thing . . . and I don't care if she does hear me say so!" 

It was a great, a momentous, an historic moment!

Betsy, enthroned on those strong knees, wondered if any little girl had ever had such a beautiful birthday.

 

The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum  by Thornton Burgess

Unc' Billy Possum Sends for His Family

T HE news that Unc' Billy Possum wasn't dead at all but was back in his hollow tree in the Green Forest soon spread through all the Green Forest and over the Green Meadows. Everybody hastened to pay their respects, that is everybody but Reddy Fox. Unc' Billy and his partner, Jimmy Skunk, told every one who called how Reddy Fox had thought that Unc' Billy was a ghost and had been frightened almost to death, so that he ran away as fast as his legs could take him. Unc' Billy grinned as he told how Reddy had sat under the hollow tree and tried to sing because he was so glad that Unc' Billy was dead, and all the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows laughed until their sides ached when in a funny, cracked voice Unc' Billy sang the song for them.

Thereafter whenever one of them caught sight of Reddy Fox at a safe distance, he would shout:

"Ol' Bill Possum, he's gone before! Ol' Bill Possum, he is no more!"

It got so that Reddy never came down on the Green Meadows in the daytime, and at night he avoided meeting any one if possible, even his old friend, Bobby Coon. And of course Reddy Fox hated Unc' Billy Possum more than ever.

But Unc' Billy didn't care, not he! He knew that all the rest of the little people of the Green Forest and the Green Meadows thought him the smartest of them all, because of the way in which he had fooled Bowser the Hound and Farmer Brown's boy. He liked his neighbors, he liked the Green Forest, and so he made up his mind that this was the place for him to stay.

But in spite of all his friends, Unc' Billy was lonesome. The longer he stayed, the more lonesome he grew. Unc' Billy wanted his family, whom he had left way down in "Ol' Virginny." Finally he told Jimmy Skunk all about it, and for once Unc' Billy had forgotten how to grin. Yes, Sir, Unc' Billy had forgotten how to grin. Instead he just wept, wept great big tears of lonesomeness.

"Ah reckon Ah'll have to go back to Ol' Virginny, Ah cert'nly do," said Unc' Billy Possum.

Jimmy Skunk grew very thoughtful. Since he and Unc' Billy Possum had been in partnership, Jimmy had had more eggs to eat than ever before in his whole life. Now Unc' Billy was talking about going away. Jimmy thought very hard. Then he had a bright idea.

"Why not send for your family to come here and live in the Green Forest, Uncle Billy?" he asked.

Unc' Billy stopped crying. His two little eyes looked up sharply. "How do yo'all reckon Ah can send word?" he asked.

Jimmy scratched his head. "There's Mr. Skimmer the Swallow; he's fixing to go South. Perhaps he'll take the message to your family," said he.

"The very thing!" cried Unc' Billy Possum, wiping his eyes. "Ah thanks yo', Sah. Ah does, indeed. Ah'll see Mistah Skimmer at once."

And without another word Unc' Billy Possum started down the Crooked Little Path for the Green Meadows to look for Skimmer the Swallow.

 

Robert Herrick

To Violets

Welcome, maids of honor, You do bring In the Spring, And wait upon her. She has virgins many, Fresh and fair; Yet you are More sweet than any. You're the maiden posies, And, so graced, To be placed 'Fore damask roses. Yet, though thus respected, By and by Ye do lie, Poor girls, neglected.

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

How Saul Saved the Eyes of the Men of Jabesh

I Samuel xi: 1, to xii: 25.

AUL was now the king of all the twelve tribes of Israel, but he did not at once in his manner of life set up the state of a king. He lived at home, and worked in the fields on his father's farm, just as he had always done.

One day, while Saul was plowing in the field with a yoke of oxen, a man came running with sad news. He said that the Ammonites, a fierce people living near the desert on the east, beyond the Jordan, had come up against Jabesh in Gilead, led by their king, Nahash. The people in that city were too few to fight the Ammonites, and they said, "We will submit to your rule, if you will promise to spare our lives."

And Nahash, the king of the Ammonites, said to the people of Jabesh, "You shall live, but within seven days I will come with my soldiers, and I will put out the right eye of every man in your city."

When a city was taken by its enemies in those times, such cruel deeds were common. Often all the people in it, young and old, were slain without mercy. The men of Jabesh sent a messenger to go to Saul as swiftly as possible, and to tell him of the terrible fate that was hanging over them.

A messenger brings Saul sad news.

When Saul heard of it the spirit of a king rose within him. He killed the oxen that he was driving, cut them into twelve pieces, and sent swift messengers through all the land, to say to every fighting man in the twelve tribes, "Whoever will not come out after Saul and after Samuel, so shall it be done to his oxen."

And the Lord gave to all the people the spirit of obedience to their king. At once a great army gathered at a place called Bezek, and he sent word to Jabesh, saying, "To-morrow, by the time the sun is hot, you will be set free from all fear of the Ammonites."

Saul and his men marched swiftly over the mountains of Benjamin and down into the Jordan valley. They walked across the river where it was shallow and climbed the mountains of Gilead. There they fell furiously upon the Ammonites early in the morning, killed many of them and scattered the rest, so that not even two of their men could be found together.

We read in the last Story that when Saul was made king some men were not pleased and were unwilling to submit to him. Now that a great victory had been won under Saul as leader, the people said with one voice, "Where are those men who would not honor our king? Bring them out, and let them be put to death."

But King Saul said, "There shall not a man be put to death this day, for to-day the Lord has set his people free from their enemies." Samuel was with Saul, and he said, "Let us go to Gilgal, where Joshua encamped long ago when our fathers crossed the Jordan; and there let us set up the kingdom again."

They came to Gilgal, and offered sacrifices to the Lord and worshipped. There Samuel gave up to the new king the rule over the land and spoke words of farewell. He said to the people:

"I have done as you asked me, and have given you a king. Your king stands before you now. I am old and gray-headed, and I have lived before you from my youth up to this day. Here I am; now, in the presence of the Lord and of his anointed king, is there any man whom I have wronged? Have I taken any man's ox or ass? Have I taken a present from any man to make me favor him as judge? If I have robbed any man, let him speak, and I will pay him all that I have taken."

And all the people said to Samuel, "You have ruled justly, and have wronged no man, and have robbed no man."

And Samuel said, "The Lord is witness, and his anointed, the king, is witness, that I have taken nothing from any man."

And all the people said, "He is witness."

Then Samuel called to their minds all that God had done for his people since he had led them out of Egypt; how he had saved them from their enemies, and had given them judges. And he said, "Now the Lord has set a king over you. If you will fear the Lord, and will serve him, then it shall be well with you. But if you disobey the Lord, then God will punish you, as he punished your fathers."

Then Samuel called upon God, and God sent thunder and rain on that day, showing his power. The people were filled with fear, and they cried to Samuel, "Pray to the Lord for us, for we have done wrong in asking for a king."

"Yes," said Samuel, "you have done wrong; but if you from this time do right, and seek the Lord, God will not forsake you. He will forgive you and bless you. I will always pray for you, and will teach you the right way. But if you do evil, God will destroy you and your king. So fear the Lord, and serve him in truth with all your heart."

After this Samuel went again to his own house at Ramah, and Saul ruled the people from Gibeah, the home of his family.

 

The Boxcar Children  by Gertrude Chandler Warner

The Race

T HE Cordyce Steel Mills stood a little aside from the city of Greenfield, as if they were a little too good to associate with common factories. James Henry Cordyce sat in a huge leather chair in his private office. He was a man nearly sixty years of age whose dark brown hair was still untouched by gray. He had rather hard lines around his mouth, but softer ones around his eyes. Printed on the ground-glass top of his door were these words in black and gold:

J. H. Cordyce—President
Private

Once a year J. H. Cordyce allowed himself a holiday. If he had a weakness, it was for healthy boys—boys running without their hats, boys jumping, boys throwing rings, boys swimming, boys vaulting with a long pole. And in company with three other extremely rich men he arranged, once a year, a Field Day for the town of Intervale. The men attended it in person, and supplied all the money. This was Field Day.

All through the spring and early summer months, boys were in training for miles around, getting ready for Intervale's Field Day. And not only boys, but men also, old and young, and girls of all ages into the bargain. Prizes were offered for tennis, baseball, rowing, swimming, running, and every imaginable type of athletic feat. But usually the interest of the day centered on a free-for-all race of one mile, which everyone enjoyed, and a great many people entered. A prize of twenty-five dollars was offered to the winner of this race, and also a silver trophy cup with little wings on its handles. Sometimes this cup was won by a middle-aged man, sometimes by a girl, and sometimes by a trained athlete. Mr. Cordyce smiled about his eyes as he closed his desk, ordered his limousine, and went out and locked the door of his office. The mill had been closed down for the day. Everyone attended Field Day.

Henry was washing the concrete drives at Dr. McAllister's at this moment. He heard the doctor call to him from the road, so he promptly turned off the hose and ran out to see what was wanted.

"Hop in," commanded the doctor, not stopping his engine. "You ought to go to see the stunts at the athletic meet. It's Field Day."

Henry did not wish to delay the doctor, so he "hopped in."

"Can't go myself," said Dr. McAllister. "I'll just drop you at the grounds. There's no charge for admittance. You just watch all the events and report to me who wins."

Henry tried to explain to his friend that he ought to be working, but there was actually no time. And when he found himself seated on the bleachers and the stunts began, he forgot everything in the world except the exciting events before his eyes.

Henry had no pencil, but he had an excellent memory. He repeated over and over, the name of each winner as it appeared on the huge signboard.

It was nearly eleven o'clock when the free-for-all running race was announced.

"What do they mean—free-for-all?" asked Henry of a small boy at his side.

"Why, just anybody," explained the boy, curiously. "Didn't you ever see one? Didn't you see the one last year?"

"No," said Henry.

The boy laughed. "That was a funny one," he said. "There was a college runner in it, and a couple of fat men, and some girls—lots of people. And the little colored boy over there won it. You just ought to have seen that boy run! He went so fast you couldn't see his legs. Beat the college runner, you know."

Henry gazed at the winner of last year's race. He was smaller than Henry, but apparently older. In a few minutes Henry had quietly left his place on the bleachers. When the boy turned to speak to him again, he was gone.

He had gone, in fact, to the dressing room, where boys of all sizes were putting on sandals and running trunks.

A man stepped up to him quickly.

"Want to enter?" he asked. "No time to waste."

"Yes," replied Henry.

The man tossed him a pair of white shoes and some blue trunks. He liked the look of Henry's face as he paused to ask in an undertone, "Where did you train?"

"Never trained," replied Henry.

"I suppose you know these fellows have been training all the year?" observed the man. "You don't expect to win?"

"Oh, no!" replied Henry, apparently shocked at the idea. "But it's lots of fun to run, you know." He was dressed and ready by this time. How light he felt! He felt as if he could almost fly. Presently the contestants were all marshalled out to the running track. Henry was Number 4.

Now, Henry had never been trained to run, but the boy possessed an unusual quantity of common sense. "It's a mile race," he thought to himself, "and it's the second half mile that counts." So it happened that this was the main thought in his mind when the starter's gong sounded and the racers shot away down the track. In almost no time, Henry was far behind the first half of the runners. But strangely enough, he did not seem to mind this greatly.

"It's fun to run, anyhow," he thought.

It was fun, certainly. He felt as if his limbs were strung together on springs. He ran easily, without effort, each step bounding into the next like an elastic.

After a few minutes of this, Henry had a new thought.

"Now you've tried how easy  you can run, let's see how fast  you can run!"

And then not only Henry himself, but the enormous crowd as well, began to see how fast he could run. Slowly he gained on the fellow ahead of him, and passed him. With the next fellow as a goal, he gradually crept alongside, and passed him with a spurt. The crowd shouted itself hoarse. The field all along the course was black with people. Henry could hear them cheering for Number 4, as he pounded by. Six runners remained ahead of him. Here was the kind of race the crowd loved; not an easily won affair between two runners, but a gradual victory between the best runner and overpowering odds. Henry could see the finish-flag now in the distance. He began to spurt. He passed Numbers 14 and 3. He passed 25, 6, and 1 almost in a bunch. Number 16 remained ahead. Then Henry began to think of winning. How much the twenty-five dollar prize would mean to Jess and the rest! Number 16 must  be passed.

"I'm going to win this race!" he said quietly in his own mind. "I'll bet you I am!" The thought lent him speed.

"Number 4! Number 4!" yelled the crowd. Henry did not know that the fellow ahead had been ahead all the way, and just because he—Henry—had slowly gained over them all, the crowd loved him best.

Henry waited until he could have touched him. He was within three yards of the wire. He bent double, and put all his energy into the last elastic bound. He passed Number 16, and shot under the wire.

Then the crowd went wild. It scrambled over and under the fence, cheering and blowing its horns. Henry felt himself lifted on many shoulders and carried panting up to the reviewing stand. He bowed laughing at the sea of faces, and took the silver cup with its little wings in a sort of dream. It is a wonder he did not lose the envelope containing the prize, for he hardly realized when he took it what it was.

Then someone said, "What's your name, boy?"

Henry felt himself lifted on many shoulders

That called him to earth. He had to think quickly under cover of getting his breath.

"Henry James," he replied. This was perfectly true, as far as it went. In a moment the enormous signboard flashed out the name:

HENRY JAMES No. 4. AGE 13
WINNER OF FREE-FOR-ALL

Meanwhile the man of the dressing room was busy locating Mr. Cordyce of the Cordyce Mills. He knew that was exactly the kind of story that old James Henry would like.

"Yes, sir," he said smiling. "I says to him, 'You don't expect to win, of course.' And he says to me, 'Oh, no, but it's lots of fun to run, you know. ' "

"Thank you, sir," returned Mr. Cordyce. "That's a good story. Bring the youngster over here, if you don't mind."

When Henry appeared, a trifle shaken out of his daze and anxious only to get away, Mr. Cordyce stretched out his hand. "I like your spirit, my boy," he said. "I like your running, too. But it's your spirit that I like best. Don't ever lose it."

"Thank you," said Henry, shaking hands. And there was only one in the whole crowd that knew who was shaking hands with whom, least of all James Henry and Henry James.

 

Alice Cary

Fairy-Folk

The story-books have told you Of the fairy-folk so nice, That make them leather aprons Of the ears of little mice; And wear the leaves of roses, Like a cap upon their heads, And sleep at night on thistle-down, Instead of feather-beds! These stories, too, have told you, No doubt to your surprise, That the fairies ride in coaches That are drawn by butterflies; And come into your chambers, When you are locked in dreams, And right across your counterpanes Make bold to drive their teams; And that they heap your pillows With their gifts of rings and pearls; But do not heed such idle tales, My little boys and girls. There are no fairy-folk that ride About the world at night, Who give you rings and other things, To pay for doing right. But if you do to others what You'd have them do to you, You'll be as blest as if the best Of story-books were true.