Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Is in Danger of Being Fried

T HERE came a moment in this desperate race—a terrible moment when Pinocchio thought himself lost: for you must know that Alidoro—for so the mastiff was called—had run so swiftly that he had nearly come up with him.

The puppet could hear the panting of the dreadful beast close behind him; there was not a hand's breadth between them, he could even feel the dog's hot breath.

Fortunately the shore was close and the sea but a few steps off.

As soon as he reached the sands the puppet made a wonderful leap—a frog could have done no better—and plunged into the water.

Alidoro, on the contrary, wished to stop himself; but carried away by the impetus of the race he also went into the sea. The unfortunate dog could not swim, but he made great efforts to keep himself afloat with his paws; but the more he struggled the farther he sank head downwards under the water.

When he rose to the surface again his eyes were rolling with terror, and he barked out:

"I am drowning! I am drowning!"

"Drown!" shouted Pinocchio from a distance, seeing himself safe from all danger.

"Help me, dear Pinocchio! . . . save me from death! . . ."

At that agonising cry the puppet, who had in reality an excellent heart, was moved with compassion, and turning to the dog he said:

"But if I save your life, will you promise to give me no further annoyance, and not to run after me?"

"I promise! I promise! Be quick, for pity's sake, for if you delay another half-minute I shall be dead."

Pinocchio hesitated: but remembering that his father had often told him that a good action is never lost, he swam to Alidoro, and taking hold of his tail with both hands brought him safe and sound on to the dry sand of the beach.

The poor dog could not stand. He had drunk, against his will, so much salt water that he was like a balloon. The puppet, however, not wishing to trust him too far, thought it more prudent to jump again into the water. When he had swum some distance from the shore he called out to the friend he had rescued:

"Good-bye, Alidoro; a good journey to you, and take my compliments to all at home."

"Good-bye, Pinocchio," answered the dog; "a thousand thanks for having saved my life. You have done me a great service, and in this world what is given is returned. If an occasion offers I shall not forget it."

Pinocchio swam on, keeping always near the land. At last he thought that he had reached a safe place. Giving a look along the shore he saw amongst the rocks a kind of cave from which a cloud of smoke was ascending.

"In that cave," he said to himself, "there must be a fire. So much the better. I will go and dry and warm myself, and then? . . . and then we shall see."

Having taken this resolution he approached the rocks; but as he was going to climb up, he felt something under the water that rose higher and higher and carried him into the air. He tried to escape, but it was too late, for to his extreme surprise he found himself enclosed in a great net, together with a swarm of fish of every size and shape, who were flapping and struggling like so many despairing souls.

At the same moment a fisherman came out of the cave; he was so ugly, so horribly ugly, that he looked like a sea monster. Instead of hair his head was covered with a thick bush of green grass, his skin was green, his eyes were green, his long beard that came down to the ground was also green. He had the appearance of an immense lizard standing on its hind-paws.

When the fisherman had drawn his net out of the sea, he exclaimed with great satisfaction:

"Thank Heaven! Again to-day I shall have a splendid feast of fish!"

"What a mercy that I am not a fish!" said Pinocchio to himself, regaining a little courage.

The net full of fish was carried into the cave, which was dark and smoky. In the middle of the cave a large frying-pan full of oil was frying, and sending out a smell of mushrooms that was suffocating.

"Now we will see what fish we have taken!" said the green fisherman; and putting into the net an enormous hand, so out of all proportion that it looked like a baker's shovel, he pulled out a handful of mullet.

"These mullet are good!" he said, looking at them and smelling them complacently. And after he had smelt them he threw them into a pan without water.

He repeated the same operation many times; and as he drew out the fish, his mouth watered and he said, chuckling to himself:

"What good whiting! . . ."

"What exquisite sardines! . . ."

"These soles are delicious! . . ."

"And these crabs excellent! . . ."

"What dear little anchovies! . . ."

I need not tell you that the whiting, the sardines, the soles, the crabs, and the anchovies were all thrown promiscuously into the pan to keep company with the mullet.

The last to remain in the net was Pinocchio.

No sooner had the fisherman taken him out than he opened his big green eyes with astonishment, and cried, half-frightened:

"What species of fish is this? Fish of this kind I never remember to have eaten!"

"What species of fish is this?"

And he looked at him again attentively, and having examined him well all over, he ended by saying:

"I know: he must be a craw-fish."

Pinocchio, mortified at being mistaken for a craw-fish, said in an angry voice:

"A craw-fish indeed! do you take me for a craw-fish? what treatment! Let me tell you that I am a puppet."

"A puppet?" replied the fisherman. "To tell the truth, a puppet is quite a new fish for me. All the better! I shall eat you with greater pleasure."

"Eat me! but will you understand that I am not a fish? Do you hear that I talk and reason as you do?"

"That is quite true," said the fisherman; "and as I see that you are a fish possessed of the talent of talking and reasoning as I do, I will treat you with all the attention that is your due."

"And this attention? . . ."

"In token of my friendship and particular regard, I will leave you the choice of how you would like to be cooked. Would you like to be fried in the frying-pan, or would you prefer to be stewed with tomato sauce?"

"To tell the truth," answered Pinocchio, "if I am to choose, I should prefer to be set at liberty and to return home."

"You are joking! Do you imagine that I would lose the opportunity of tasting such a rare fish? It is not every day, I assure you, that a puppet fish is caught in these waters. Leave it to me. I will fry you in the frying-pan with the other fish, and you will be quite satisfied. It is always consolation to be fried in company."

At this speech the unhappy Pinocchio began to cry and scream and to implore for mercy; and he said, sobbing: "How much better it would have been if I had gone to school! . . . I would listen to my companions and now I am paying for it! Ih! . . . Ih! . . . Ih! . . ."

And he wriggled like an eel, and made indescribable efforts to slip out of the clutches of the green fisherman. But it was useless: the fisherman took a long strip of rush, and having bound his hands and feet as if he had been a sausage, he threw him into the pan with the other fish.

He then fetched a wooden bowl full of flour and began to flour them each in turn, and as soon as they were ready he threw them into the frying-pan.

The first to dance in the boiling oil were the poor whiting; the crabs followed, then the sardines, then the soles, then the anchovies, and at last it was Pinocchio's turn. Seeing himself so near death, and such a horrible death, he was so frightened, and trembled so violently, that he had neither voice nor breath left for further entreaties.

But the poor boy implored with his eyes! The green fisherman, however, without caring in the least, plunged him five or six times in the flour, until he was white from head to foot, and looked like a puppet made of plaster.

The green fisherman . . . plunged him five or six times in the flour.

He then took him by the head, and . . .

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Exploring the Country

When the shallop had been taken out of the hold of the Susan Constant, and put together by the Carpenters, our people explored the shores of the bay and the broad streams running into it, meeting with savages here and there, and holding some little converse with them. A few were found to be friendly, while others appeared to think we were stealing their land by thus coming among them.

One of the most friendly of the savages, so Nathaniel said, having shown by making marks on the ground with his foot that he wished to tell our people about the country, and having been given a pen and paper, drew a map of the river with great care, putting in the islands and waterfalls and mountains that our men would come to, and afterward he even brought food to our people such as wheat and little sweet nuts and berries.

I myself would have been pleased to go on shore and see these strange people, but not being able to do so save at the cost of leaving my master, I can only repeat some of the curious things which Nathaniel Peacock told me.

It must be known that there was more than one nation, or tribe, of savages in this new land of Virginia, and each had its king or chief, who was called the werowance. I might set down the names of these tribes, and yet it would be so much labor lost, because they are more like fanciful than real words. As, for example, there were the Paspaheghes, whose werowance was seemingly more friendly to our people than were the others.

Again, there were the Rapahannas, who wore the legs of birds through holes in their ears, and had all the hair on the right side of their heads shaven closely.

It gives them much pleasure to dance, so Nathaniel said, he having seen them jumping around more like so many wolves, rather than human beings, for the space of half an hour, shouting and singing all the while.

All the Indians smoked an herb called tobacco, which grows abundantly in this land, and I have Nathaniel's word for it that one savage had a tobacco pipe nearly a yard long, with the device of a deer carved at the great end of it big enough to dash out one's brains with.

There is very much more which might be said about these savages that would be of interest; but I am minded now to leave such stories for others to tell, and come to the day when Captain Newport was ready to sail with the Susan Constant and the Goodspeed back to England, for his share in the adventure was only to bring us over from England, after which he had agreed to return.

The pinnace was to be left behind for the use of us who remained in the strange land.

Before this time, meaning the thirteenth day of May, the members of the Council had decided upon the place where we were to build our village. It was to be in the country of the Paspahegh Indians, at a certain spot near the shore where the water runs so deep that our ships can lie moored to the trees in six fathoms.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

People Land from the Ships

Then it was that all the people went on shore, some to set up the tents of cloth which we had brought with us to serve as shelters before houses could be built; others to lay out a fort, which it was needed should be made as early as possible because of the savages, and yet a certain other number being told off to stand guard against the brown men, who had already shown that they could be most dangerous enemies.

My master went ashore, as a matter of course, with the others, I sticking close to his side; but neither of us taking any part in the work which had been begun, because the charges of wickedness were still hanging over his head.

Had Captain Smith been allowed a voice in the Council, certain it is he never would have chosen this place in which to make the town, for he pointed out to me that the land lay so low that when the river was at its height the dampness must be great, and, therefore, exceeding unhealthful, while there was back of it such an extent of forest, as made it most difficult to defend, in case the savages came against us.

Captain Smith aided me in building for ourselves a hut in front of an overhanging rock, with the branches of trees. It was a poor shelter at the best; but he declared it would serve us until such time as he was given his rightful place among the people, or had been sent back a prisoner to England.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Captain Smith Proven Innocent

This served us as a living place for many days, or until my master was come into his own, as he did before the fort was finished, when, on one certain morning, he demanded of the other members of the Council that they put him on trial to learn whether the charges could be proven or not, and this was done on the day before Captain Newport was to take the ships back to England.

There is little need for me to say that Captain Kendall's stories of the plot, in which he said my master was concerned, came to naught. There were none to prove that he had ever spoken of such a matter, and the result of the trial was that they gave him his rightful place at the head of the company.

Before many months were passed, all came to know that but for him the white people in Jamestown would have come to their deaths.

 

Thomas Hood

Queen Mab

A little fairy comes at night, Her eyes are blue, her hair is brown, With silver spots upon her wings, And from the moon she flutters down. She has a little silver wand, And when a good child goes to bed She waves her wand from right to left, And makes a circle round its head. And then it dreams of pleasant things, Of fountains filled with fairy fish, And trees that bear delicious fruit, And bow their branches at a wish: Of arbors filled with dainty scents From lovely flowers that never fade; Bright flies that glitter in the sun, And glow-worms shining in the shade, And talking birds with gifted tongues, For singing songs and telling tales, And pretty dwarfs to show the way Through fairy hills and fairy dales. But when a bad child goes to bed, From left to right she weaves her rings, And then it dreams all through the night Of only ugly horrid things! Then lions come with glaring eyes, And tigers growl, a dreadful noise, And ogres draw their cruel knives, To shed the blood of girls and boys. Then stormy waves rush on to drown, Or raging flames come scorching round; Fierce dragons hover in the air, And serpents crawl along the ground. Then wicked children wake and weep, And wish the long black gloom away; But good ones love the dark, and find The night as pleasant as the day.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

Horatius at the Bridge

O NCE there was a war between the Roman people and the E-trus´cans who lived in the towns on the other side of the Ti-ber River. Por´se-na, the King of the E-trus-cans, raised a great army, and marched toward Rome. The city had never been in so great danger.

The Romans did not have very many fighting men at that time, and they knew that they were not strong enough to meet the Etruscans in open battle. So they kept themselves inside of their walls, and set guards to watch the roads.

One morning the army of Por-se-na was seen coming over the hills from the north. There were thousands of horsemen and footmen, and they were marching straight toward the wooden bridge which spanned the river at Rome.

"What shall we do?" said the white-haired Fathers who made the laws for the Roman peo-ple. "If they once gain the bridge, we cannot hinder them from crossing; and then what hope will there be for the town?"

Now, among the guards at the bridge, there was a brave man named Ho-ra´ti-us. He was on the farther side of the river, and when he saw that the Etruscans were so near, he called out to the Romans who were behind him.

"Hew down the bridge with all the speed that you can!" he cried. "I, with the two men who stand by me, will keep the foe at bay."

Then, with their shields before them, and their long spears in their hands, the three brave men stood in the road, and kept back the horsemen whom Porsena had sent to take the bridge.

On the bridge the Romans hewed away at the beams and posts. Their axes rang, the chips flew fast; and soon it trembled, and was ready to fall.

"Come back! come back, and save your lives!" they cried to Ho-ra-ti-us and the two who were with him.

But just then Porsena's horsemen dashed toward them again.

"Run for your lives!" said Horatius to his friends. "I will keep the road."

They turned, and ran back across the bridge. They had hardly reached the other side when there was a crashing of beams and timbers. The bridge toppled over to one side, and then fell with a great splash into the water.

When Horatius heard the sound, he knew that the city was safe. With his face still toward Porsena's men, he moved slowly back-ward till he stood on the river's bank. A dart thrown by one of Porsena's soldiers put out his left eye; but he did not falter. He cast his spear at the fore-most horseman, and then he turned quickly around. He saw the white porch of his own home among the trees on the other side of the stream;

"And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the walls of Rome: 'O Tiber! father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, A Roman's life, a Roman's arms, Take thou in charge to-day.' "

He leaped into the deep, swift stream. He still had his heavy armor on; and when he sank out of sight, no one thought that he would ever be seen again. But he was a strong man, and the best swimmer in Rome. The next minute he rose. He was half-way across the river, and safe from the spears and darts which Porsena's soldiers hurled after him.

Soon he reached the farther side, where his friends stood ready to help him. Shout after shout greeted him as he climbed upon the bank. Then Porsena's men shouted also, for they had never seen a man so brave and strong as Horatius. He had kept them out of Rome, but he had done a deed which they could not help but praise.

As for the Romans, they were very grateful to Horatius for having saved their city. They called him Horatius Co´cles, which meant the "one-eyed Horatius," because he had lost an eye in defending the bridge; they caused a fine statue of brass to be made in his honor; and they gave him as much land as he could plow around in a day. And for hundreds of years afterwards—

"With weeping and with laughter, Still was the story told, How well Horatius kept the bridge In the brave days of old."

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Helping Mother Oriole

Mother Oriole wove her nest on a branch of an elm tree in the park. It was almost June before the nest was all ready for her eggs.

Father and Mother Oriole came to the park in May. They came from a place far away in the South.

Father Oriole came first. He sat on a high branch and sang.

When Mother Oriole came she heard the song. So she went near the tree where Father Oriole sat. They were glad to see each other.

Father Oriole was bright orange and black. There were some white feathers on his wings.

Mother Oriole had brown and gray and black feathers on her head and back. Most of her under feathers were a dull orange color.

Don and Nan heard the oriole in the park.

Mr. Gray told them, "Father Oriole whistles while Mother Oriole makes the nest. It hangs from a branch."

"How does she make a hanging kind of nest?" asked Nan.

"She weaves it with fibers," said Mr. Gray. "She hunts for strong stems of old brown grass. She takes fibers from stems of milkweeds and some other plants. If she finds a short string she is very happy.

"A long string is not good for her to use. If it is too long it may be caught around her neck or legs."

"I have some string," said Don.

Mr. Gray cut Don's string into pieces ten or twelve inches long.

Nan put them on bushes near the elm tree.

Mother Oriole found the string and wove it into her nest.

After Mother Oriole wove her nest, she put a soft bed in it and laid her eggs.

When the young birds hatched they called for food. Then Father Oriole had no time to sit and sing. He helped Mother Oriole hunt for caterpillars for the baby birds.

In September all these Orioles started South. They had a long way to go to their winter home.

After the leaves fell from the elm tree, Don and Nan could see the hanging nest.

Nan said, "We helped Mother Oriole when she made that nest. We gave her short string for fibers."

 

Eugene Field

The Fly-Away Horse

Oh, a wonderful horse is the Fly-Away Horse— Perhaps you have seen him before; Perhaps, while you slept, his shadow has swept Through the moonlight that floats on the floor. For it's only at night, when the stars twinkle bright, That the Fly-Away Horse, with a neigh And a pull at his rein and a toss of his mane, Is up on his heels and away! The Moon in the sky, As he gallopeth by, Cries: "Oh! what a marvellous sight!" And the Stars in dismay Hide their faces away In the lap of old Grandmother Night. It is yonder, out yonder, the Fly-Away Horse Speedeth ever and ever away— Over meadows and lanes, over mountains and plains, Over streamlets that sing at their play; And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, While the ships they go sailing below, And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast Adjudge him some portent of woe. "What ho there!" they cry, As he flourishes by With a whisk of his beautiful tail; And the fish in the sea Are as scared as can be, From the nautilus up to the whale! And the Fly-Away Horse seeks those far-away lands You little folk dream of at night— Where candy-trees grow, and honey-brooks flow, And corn-fields with popcorn are white; And the beasts in the wood are ever so good To children who visit them there What glory astride of a lion to ride, Or to wrestle around with a bear! The monkeys, they say: "Come on, let us play," And they frisk in the cocoa-nut trees: While the parrots, that cling To the peanut-vines, sing Or converse with comparative ease! Off! scamper to bed—you shall ride him tonight! For, as soon as you've fallen asleep, With a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away Over forest and hillside and deep! But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear In those beautiful lands over there, Where the Fly-Away Horse wings his far-away course With the wee one consigned to his care. Then Grandma will cry In amazement: "Oh, my!" And she'll think it could never be so; And only we two Shall know it is true— You and I—little precious!—shall know!

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

A Fishing Party

P ETER RABBIT sat on the edge of the Old Briar-patch trying to make up his mind whether to stay at home, which was the wise and proper thing to do, or to go call on some of the friends he had not yet visited. A sharp, harsh rattle caused him to look up to see a bird about a third larger than Welcome Robin, and with a head out of all proportion to the size of his body. He was flying straight towards the Smiling Pool, rattling harshly as he flew. The mere sound of his voice settled the matter for Peter. "It's Rattles the Kingfisher," he cried. "I think I'll run over to the Smiling Pool and pay him my respects."

So Peter started for the Smiling Pool as fast as his long legs could take him, lipperty-lipperty-lip. He had lost sight of Rattles the Kingfisher, and when he reached the bank of the Smiling Pool he was in doubt which way to turn. It was very early in the morning and there was not so much as a ripple on the surface of the Smiling Pool. As Peter sat there trying to make up his mind which way to go, he saw coming from the direction of the Big River a great, broad-winged bird, flying slowly. He seemed to have no neck at all, but carried straight out behind him were two long legs.

"Longlegs the Great Blue Heron! I wonder if he is coming here," exclaimed Peter. "I do hope so."

Peter stayed right where he was and waited. Nearer and nearer came Longlegs. When he was right opposite Peter he suddenly dropped his long legs, folded his great wings, and alighted right on the edge of the Smiling Pool across from where Peter was sitting. If he seemed to have no neck at all when he was flying, now he seemed to be all neck as he stretched it to its full length. The fact is, his neck was so long that when he was flying he carried it folded back on his shoulders. Never before had Peter had such an opportunity to see Longlegs.

He stood quite four feet high. The top of his head and throat were white. From the base of his great bill and over his eye was a black stripe which ended in two long, slender, black feathers hanging from the back of his head. His bill was longer than his head, stout and sharp like a spear and yellow in color. His long neck was a light brownish-gray. His back and wings were of a bluish color. The bend of each wing and the feathered parts of his legs were a rusty-red. The remainder of his legs and his feet were black. Hanging down over his breast were beautiful long pearly-gray feathers quite unlike any Peter had seen on any of his other feathered friends. In spite of the length of his legs and the length of his neck he was both graceful and handsome.

"I wonder what has brought him over to the Smiling Pool," thought Peter.

He didn't have to wait long to find out. After standing perfectly still with his neck stretched to its full height until he was sure that no danger was near, Longlegs waded into the water a few steps, folded his neck back on his shoulders until his long bill seemed to rest on his breast, and then remained as motionless as if there were no life in him. Peter also sat perfectly still. By and by he began to wonder if Longlegs had gone to sleep. His own patience was reaching an end and he was just about to go on in search of Rattles the Kingfisher when like a flash the dagger-like bill of Longlegs shot out and down into the water. When he withdrew it Peter saw that Longlegs had caught a little fish which he at once proceeded to swallow head-first. Peter almost laughed right out as he watched the funny efforts of Longlegs to gulp that fish down his long throat. Then Longlegs resumed his old position as motionless as before.

RATTLES THE KINGFISHER His voice sounds like a watchman's rattle. TEETER THE SPOTTED SANDPIPER You can tell him by the way he bobs or teeters. LONGLEGS THE GREAT BLUE HERON He stands nearly four feet high.

It was no trouble now for Peter to sit still, for he was too interested in watching this lone fisherman to think of leaving. It wasn't long before Longlegs made another catch and this time it was a fat Pollywog. Peter thought of how he had watched Plunger the Osprey fishing in the Big River and the difference in the ways of the two fishermen.

"Plunger hunts for his fish while Longlegs waits for his fish to come to him," thought Peter. "I wonder if Longlegs never goes hunting."

As if in answer to Peter's thought Longlegs seemed to conclude that no more fish were coming his way. He stretched himself up to his full height, looked sharply this way and that way to make sure that all was safe, then began to walk along the edge of the Smiling Pool. He put each foot down slowly and carefully so as to make no noise. He had gone but a few steps when that great bill darted down like a flash, and Peter saw that he had caught a careless young Frog. A few steps farther on he caught another Pollywog. Then coming to a spot that suited him, he once more waded in and began to watch for fish.

Peter was suddenly reminded of Rattles the Kingfisher, whom he had quite forgotten. From the Big Hickory-tree on the bank, Rattles flew out over the Smiling Pool, hovered for an instant, then plunged down head-first. There was a splash, and a second later Rattles was in the air again, shaking the water from him in a silver spray. In his long, stout, black bill was a little fish. He flew back to a branch of the Big Hickory-tree that hung out over the water and thumped the fish against the branch until it was dead. Then he turned it about so he could swallow it head-first. It was a big fish for the size of the fisherman and he had a dreadful time getting it down. But at last it was down, and Rattles set himself to watch for another. The sun shone full on him, and Peter gave a little gasp of surprise.

"I never knew before how handsome Rattles is," thought Peter. He was about the size of Yellow Wing the Flicker, but his head made him look bigger than he really was. You see, the feathers on top of his head stood up in a crest, as if they had been brushed the wrong way. His head, back, wings and tail were a bluish-gray. His throat was white and he wore a white collar. In front of each eye was a little white spot. Across his breast was a belt of bluish-gray, and underneath he was white. There were tiny spots of white on his wings, and his tail was spotted with white. His bill was black and, like that of Longlegs, was long, and stout, and sharp. It looked almost too big for his size.

Presently Rattles flew out and plunged into the Smiling Pool again, this time, very near to where Longlegs was patiently waiting. He caught a fish, for it is not often that Rattles misses. It was smaller than the first one Peter had seen him catch, and this time as soon as he got back to the Big Hickory-tree, he swallowed it without thumping it against the branch. As for Longlegs, he looked thoroughly put out. For a moment or two he stood glaring angrily up at Rattles. You see, when Rattles had plunged so close to Longlegs he had frightened all the fish. Finally Longlegs seemed to make up his mind that there was room for but one fisherman at a time at the Smiling Pool. Spreading his great wings, folding his long neck back on his shoulders, and dragging his long legs out behind him, he flew heavily away in the direction of the Big River.

Rattles remained long enough to catch another little fish, and then with a harsh rattle flew off down the Laughing Brook. "I would know him anywhere by that rattle," thought Peter. "There isn't any one who can make a noise anything like it. I wonder where he has gone to now. He must have a nest, but I haven't the least idea what kind of a nest he builds. Hello! There's Grandfather Frog over on his green lily pad. Perhaps he can tell me."

So Peter hopped along until he was near enough to talk to Grandfather Frog. "What kind of a nest does Rattles the Kingfisher build?" repeated Grandfather Frog. "Chug-arum, Peter Rabbit! I thought everybody knew that Rattles doesn't build a nest. At least I wouldn't call it a nest. He lives in a hole in the ground."

"What!" cried Peter, and looked as if he couldn't believe his own ears.

Grandfather Frog grinned and his goggly eyes twinkled. "Yes," said he, "Rattles lives in a hole in the ground."

"But—but—but what kind of a hole?" stammered Peter.

"Just plain hole," retorted Grandfather Frog, grinning more broadly than ever. Then seeing how perplexed and puzzled Peter looked, he went on to explain. "He usually picks out a high gravelly bank close to the water and digs a hole straight in just a little way from the top. He makes it just big enough for himself and Mrs. Rattles to go in and out of comfortably, and he digs it straight in for several feet. I'm told that at the end of it he makes a sort of bedroom, because he usually has a good-sized family."

"Do you mean to say that he digs it himself?" asked Peter.

Grandfather Frog nodded. "If he doesn't, Mrs. Kingfisher does," he replied. "Those big bills of theirs are picks as well as fish spears. They loosen the sand with those and scoop it out with their feet. I've never seen the inside of their home myself, but I'm told that their bedroom is lined with fish bones. Perhaps you may call that a nest, but I don't."

"I'm going straight down the Laughing Brook to look for that hole," declared Peter, and left in such a hurry that he forgot to be polite enough to say thank you to Grandfather Frog.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Oak and the Reeds

A Giant Oak stood near a brook in which grew some slender Reeds. When the wind blew, the great Oak stood proudly upright with its hundred arms uplifted to the sky. But the Reeds bowed low in the wind and sang a sad and mournful song.

"You have reason to complain," said the Oak. "The slightest breeze that ruffles the surface of the water makes you bow your heads, while I, the mighty Oak, stand upright and firm before the howling tempest."

"Do not worry about us," replied the Reeds. "The winds do not harm us. We bow before them and so we do not break. You, in all your pride and strength, have so far resisted their blows. But the end is coming."

As the Reeds spoke a great hurricane rushed out of the north. The Oak stood proudly and fought against the storm, while the yielding Reeds bowed low. The wind redoubled in fury, and all at once the great tree fell, torn up by the roots, and lay among the pitying Reeds.

Better to yield when it is folly to resist, than to resist stubbornly and be destroyed.

 

The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said  by Padraic Colum

The Hen-wife's Son and the Princess Bright Brow

Part 2 of 3

III

The Hen-wife's son went through the Eastern and the Western Worlds and he came back to where his mother's hut was. He rode round the walls of the King's Castle. Everything that he thought was magnificent before seemed small to him now. The trees that grew within the walls seemed not much bigger than the bushes the old women put clothes to dry on.

Sitting on his black horse he looked across the wall that he once thought was so high and he saw the Hen-wife's hut. His mother came out to feed the hens and to count them and to gather up the eggs and put them in a basket. "She's alive and I'll see her again," said Mell. He rode round the wall to the King's Garden to try to get sight of the Princess Bright Brow. He saw no sight of her. He rode on and he came to the gate at the other side and he saw outside the Cook-house the horse-boys and dog-boys and grooms that he used to know.

He saw them and he knew them, but they did not know him. He was surprised to see that they had not learnt to straighten up their shoulders nor to walk as if there was a fine thought in their heads. They were all around the Cook-house, and a great noise of rattling was coming from within it.

"What noise is that in the Cook-house?" Mell asked a groom.

"The Cook's son is going out to fight," said the groom, "and he is striking the pot-lids with the ladles to let everyone in the Cook-house know how fierce he is."

"And who is the Cook's son going to fight?" asked Mell the Henwife's son.

"He is going to fight a great Champion that has come up from the sea in a boat that moves itself. This Champion demands that the King pay tribute to him. And the King has offered his daughter and half his kingdom to the youth who will go down to the sea-shore and defeat this Champion. And to-day the Cook's son is going out to make trial."

And while the groom was saying all this the Cook's son came out of the Cook-house. His big face was all gray. His knees were knocking each other. The breastplate of iron he had on was slipping to one side and the big sword he had put in his belt was trailing on the ground.

"I would like to see what sort of a fight this Champion will make," said Mell, the Hen-wife's son. He followed the Cook's son to the sea-shore. But the Cook's son, when he had come to the shore, looked round and found a little cave in the face of the rock and climbed into it.

Then a boat that moved of itself came in from the sea, and a Champion all in red sprang out of it. And when he had touched the shingles he struck his sword on his shield and he shouted "If the King of this Land has a Champion equal to the fray let him forth against me. And if the King of the Land has no such Champion, let him pay me tribute from his Kingdom."

Mell looked to the cave where the Cook's son had hidden himself and all he saw there was a bush being pulled towards the opening to hide it.

Then Mell the Hen-wife's son drew his sword and went down the beach towards the Red Champion. They fought for half the day. At the end of that time the Red Champion said "Good is the champion that the King of this Land has sent against me. I did not know he had such a good champion."

They fought all over the strand making the places that were stony, wet, and the places that were wet, stony, and then, when the sun was going down, the Red Champion was not able to do anything more than guard himself from the strokes of Mell's sword while he drew towards his boat.

"You will have the honors of the fight to-day," said he to Mell.

"I shall have the honors and something else beside," said Mell. Then he struck at the red plume that was on his enemy's cap. He cut it off as the Red Champion sprang into the boat that moved of itself. As the sun was sinking the Champion in the boat went over the sea.

Now the Cook's son had been watching the whole fight from the cave. When he saw the Red Champion going off in his boat he came running down to the shore. The Hen wife's son was lying with his hands and his face in the water trying to cool himself after the combat and the red plume that he had struck off the Champion's cap was lying near him. The Cook's son took up the plume.

"Let me keep this as a remembrance of your fight, brave warrior," said he to the Hen-wife's son.

"You may keep it," said Mell. Then with the red plume in his hands the Cook's son ran back towards the Castle.

IV

Mell the Hen-wife's son put on his best garments and he went to the Castle that evening and he was received by the King as a champion from foreign parts and the King invited him to supper for three nights.

Princess Bright Brow was at the supper and Mell watched and watched her. He saw that she was pale and that she kept sighing. And of the damsel who came to sit beside him at the table Mell asked "Why is the King's daughter so sad and troubled looking?"

She has reason for being sad and troubled, said the damsel who was called Sea Swan, "for she thinks she may have to marry one whom she thinks little of."

"Why should that be?" said Mell.

Because her father has promised to give her and half his Kingdom to the one who will defeat the Red Champion who has come from across the sea and who demands that the King give him tribute from the land. And the only one who has gone forth against the Champion is the Cook's son—a gray-faced fellow that only a kitchen-maid would marry. And if it happens that the Cook's son overcomes the Red Champion, well then Princess Bright Brow will have to marry him."

And later on Sea Swan said to Mell "The King's daughter is so troubled that she would go away to the Island of the Shadow of the Stars if she had the jewel that would bring her there. She had it once, but a Fairy Woman came out of the green rath and made Bright Brow give it to her."

When the feast was at its height the King stood up and bade the Cook's son come near the High Chair and tell how he had fought with the Red Champion that day. And the Cook's son came up holding the red plume in his hand. He told a story of how he had fought with the Red Champion all the day and how he had beaten him to his boat and how he had made him take his boat out to sea, and how, as the Champion had sprung into the boat, he had struck at him and had cut the red plume from his cap. "And I shall go down the sea-shore to-morrow," said the Cook's son very bravely, "and if the Red Champion dares come back I shall take off his head instead of his plume." Then he left the red plume beside the King's daughter and her father made Bright Brow hold up her forehead for the Cook's son to kiss. And all in the supper-room clapped their hands for the Cook's son.

The next day Mell the Hen-wife's son stood outside the Cook-house and he heard a tremendous rattling within. "That is the Cook's son preparing to go out to battle," said one of the grooms. "He is striking the ladles upon the pot-lids to show how fierce he is." Just as that was being said the Cook's son walked out of the Cook-house. He looked around him very haughtily. Then he walked away with his big sword trailing behind him and his breast-plate all to one side. Mell the Hen-wife's son followed him.

When he came to the seashore he stood for a while looking out to sea with his knees knocking together. Then he went where he had gone the day before. He climbed into a cave in the face of the cliff and he drew the bush to the entrance of it so that it was quite hidden.

Mell the Hen-wife's son looked out to sea and he saw the boat that moved of itself come towards the shore. The Red Champion was in it. He sprang out on the strand, struck his sword on his shield and made proclamation: Unless the King of the Land sent a champion who could overthrow him he would make him pay tribute for his Kingdom.

Then down to meet him came Mell the Hen-wife's son, his sword in his hand. He and the Red Champion saluted each other and then they fought together trampling over the beach, making the soft places hard and the hard places soft with the dint of their trampling. "A good champion, by my faith you are," said the Red Champion to Mell, when three-quarters of the day had been spent in fighting. And after that the Red Champion tried only to guard himself from the thrusts and the strokes of Mell's sword. He drew away from Mell and towards his boat. He put his two feet in it and pushed away. "You have the honors of the day's fight, champion," said he. "I shall have something beside the honors," said Mell and he struck at the Red Champion's belt. Down on the shingles fell the silver-studded belt and the Red Champion pushed off in his boat.

When the Cook's son saw from his cave that the Red Champion had gone he came down to the water's edge where Mell was lying with his face and hands in the water to cool himself after the combat. The silver-studded belt was lying beside Mell. The Cook's son took it up without saying a word and he went off towards the Castle.

That night Mell the Hen-wife's son sat by himself in the supper room of the King's Castle. He watched and watched the face of the Princess Bright Brow. She looked more pale and troubled than on the night before. And after the harpers had played the King called upon the Cook's son to come up to the High Chair and tell how he had battled with the Red Champion. He came up with the silver-studded belt in his hand and he told a story of how he had beaten the Red Champion back into the sea. And when the story was told the King bade Bright Brow go over to him and kiss the Cook's son on his heavy gray cheek.

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Have a Perilous Adventure

I HAD never given up the idea of having a canoe.

My first trial, as you have seen, was a failure. I had made too big a boat, and I had made it too far from the water. I could do better another time.

One day after I had harvested my grain, I set to work.

There was no tree near the river that was fit for a canoe. But I found a fine one nearly half a mile away.

Before I began to chop the tree, I made all my plans for taking the canoe to the water.

I worked now with a will, for I felt sure that I would succeed.

In a few weeks the little vessel was finished. It was a very pretty canoe, and large enough for only two or three persons.

Small as it was, it was quite heavy. For you must remember that it was a part of the tree, hollowed out and shaped like a boat. It was as much as I could do to lift one end of it.

How should I ever get it to the river?

I have already told you that I had made plans for this.

Through the soft ground between the river and the canoe I dug a big ditch. It was four feet deep and six feet wide and nearly half a mile long.

I worked at this ditch for nearly two years. When it was done and filled with water from the river, I slid my canoe into it. It floated, as I knew it would.

As I pushed it along to the end of the great ditch and out into the river, it looked very small. I could never hope to make a long voyage in it!

But I could sail round the island, and make little journeys close to the shore.

Before starting out, I put up a mast in the prow of the canoe and made a sail for it of a piece of the ship's sail that I had kept with great care.

Then at each end of the little vessel I made lockers or small boxes, in which I put a supply of food and other things that I would need on my voyage.

On the inside of the vessel I cut a little, long, hollow place or shelf where I could lay my gun; and above this I tacked a long flap of goatskin to hang down over it and keep it dry.

In the stern I set up my umbrella, so that it would keep the hot sun off of me while I was steering the canoe.

Then every day I made short trips down the river to the sea and back again. Sometimes, when the wind was fair, I sailed a little way out; but I was afraid to go far.

At last I made up my mind for a voyage around the island.

I filled my lockers with food. In one I put two dozen barley cakes and a pot full of parched rice. In the other I stored the hind quarters of a goat.

I also put in powder and shot enough to kill as much game as I would need.

On a day in November I set sail on my voyage. It proved to be a harder voyage than I had bargained for.

In the first place, there were so many rocks along the shore that I sometimes had to sail for miles out into the sea to get around them.

Then, when I was on the farther side of the island, I struck a furious current of water that was pouring round a point of land like the sluice of mill.

I could do nothing in such a current. My canoe was whirled along like a leaf in a whirlwind. The sail was of no use. The little vessel spun round and round in the eddies and was carried far out to sea.

I gave myself up for lost. I was so far out that I could hardly see the low shores of my island.

Suddenly I noticed that the canoe was only a little way from the edge of the current. Just beyond it the water was quite calm and smooth.

I took up my paddle again and paddled with all my might. With great joy I soon found myself floating in quiet water.

The wind was fair for the shore, and I set my sail again. The canoe sped swiftly back toward the island.

I saw then that I was sailing midway between two strong currents. If I should be caught in either, I would again be carried out to sea.

I needed all the skill I had to steer the canoe aright. At last, when the sun was almost down, I brought it into a quiet little cove where the shore was green with grass.

 

Margaret Johnson

A Sad Little Lass

"Why sit you here, my lass?" said he. "I came to see the king," said she,— "To see the king come riding by, While all the eager people cry, 'God bless the king, and long live he!' And therefore sit I here," said she. "Why do you weep, my lass?" said he. "Because that I am sad," said she. "For when the king came riding by, And all the people raised a cry, I was so small I could not see; And therefore do I weep," said she. "Then weep no more, my lass," said he. "And pray, good sir, why not?" said she. "Lift up your eyes of bonnie blue, And look and look me through and through; Nor say the king you could not see. I  am the king, my lass," said he.

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

Queen of the Adriatic

"Where Venice sate in state throned on her hundred isles." —Byron.

A NOTHER result of the Crusades was the great stimulus given to commerce and trade in Europe. Let us take a look at the centre of Europe's trade at this time.

Away in the far north of the Adriatic Sea, which washes the shores of Eastern Italy, are some seventy-two small islands or mud-banks. They are surrounded by the shallow water of the sea, which laps peacefully round their shores—a very network of channels, and pools, and lagoons as they are called. On these islands, and amid this waste of waters, arose Venice, a city famous in the Middle Ages for the genius and industry of her people who had built up for themselves a commercial greatness of which the world was justly proud.

"There is a glorious city in the sea. The sea is in the broad, the narrow streets, Ebbing and flowing: and the salt seaweed Clings to the marble of her palaces. No track of men, no footsteps to and fro Lead to her gates. The path lies o'er the sea— Invisible."

It seemed an unpromising foundation for such a city; but quantities of salt from the lagoons and unlimited fish from the sea supplied the people with articles of trade, in exchange for which they got timber for their ships among other things. To such a race, life on the water was yet more natural than life on land, and they soon became daring and expert sailors. With each age their ships increased in size and number, until they became the chief carriers of Europe.

The spirit of the Crusades reached this city of the waters, and she sent no less than 207 ships to help Godfrey de Bouillon on the First Crusade. It was to Venice, then, that the future crusaders looked, when they wanted to cross the Mediterranean Sea for the Holy Land. This traffic brought the Venetians into contact with the rich stores of the boundless East, and costly cargoes returned with the returning ships.

This little sea-girt state was ruled over by a duke, or doge, as he was called; and there is a curious old story about one of these doges in the olden days.

Venice had joined the League of Lombardy against Frederick Barbarossa, and had gained a sea victory over the German fleet. In command of the Venetian fleet was the doge. As soon as he touched land on his return from victory, the Pope himself hastened to the shore and presented him with a ring of gold.

"Take this ring," he said, "and with it the sea as your subject. Every year, on the return of this happy day, you and your successors shall make known to all that the right of conquest has made subject the Adriatic to Venice, as a bride to her husband."

The Venetians brought forth their state ship, glorious with new scarlet and gold, its decks and seats inlaid with costly woods and rowed with long banks of burnished oars. Seated on a magnificent throne was the doge. Gliding through the silent canals, now ringing with festal music and the shouts of the triumphant Venetians, this gorgeous ship reached the harbour.

Here the doge dropped the golden ring into the clear still waters of the Adriatic, plighting the troth of Venice in these words: "We wed thee, O Sea, in token of our true and eternal dominion over thee." For six hundred years the Venetians repeated this ceremony, until Venice fell, unable to compete longer with the trade of the New World.

But these were the days of her glory, when as Queen of the Adriatic she ruled the seas of southern Europe. With the start of the Fifth Crusade she showed her full strength. It would take too long to tell how the blind old Doge Dandolo led his countrymen to the wars; of the glorious fleet that sailed so proudly down the Adriatic, with gay streamers, blazoned with the cross, flying in the wind; of the lords and knights of France who sailed from Venice on their way to the Holy Land. But they turned aside from the object of the expedition and sailed to Constantinople instead. When the crusaders beheld the lofty walls and goodly towers of this "Queen of the Earth" there was not a man whose heart did not tremble within him, for "since the creation of the world," says the old chronicler, "never had such an enterprise been attempted by a handful of men."

It was mainly owing to the dauntless ardour of the old doge that Constantinople fell into the hands of the Venetians. Old and blind as he was, he stood upon the prow of his galley, with the standard of St Mark spread before him, urging his people to push on to the shore. Then, the first to leap out, he reassured the fainting hearts of his warriors; and soon the Venetian standard was flying from one of the towers of Constantinople. From the days of Constantine treasure had been collected from all parts of the world and stored in this queen of cities. She had been the seat of learning for centuries, the storehouse and home of all that was beautiful. Now all was swept away: marbles, pictures, statues, prizes from Egypt, Greece, and Rome, which had made Constantine's city the wonder of nations,—all disappeared under the cruel hands of the crusaders.

Dandolo became Doge of Venice and lord of one-eighth of the Roman Empire, and the triumph of Venice was complete.

Still to-day may be seen in Venice the famous bronze horses taken from Constantinople in this thirteenth century by Dandolo, still the streets of water ebb and flow as the silent boats (gondolas) glide from house to house, and still the winged lions of St Mark command this city of the waters, though her ships no longer dominate the sea.

 

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

Lambikin

Once upon a time there was a wee, wee Lambikin who frisked about on his little legs and was happy all day long.

One day Lambikin set off to visit his Granny. As he went along he jumped for joy to think of all the good things Granny would give him to eat.

On the way he met a jackal, who looked at him and said,

"Lambikin, Lambikin, I'm going to eat you."

But Lambikin frisked about and said,

"To Granny's house I go, Where I shall fatter grow; Then you may eat me so."

"You'll be better to eat when you are fatter, Lambikin. I'll wait," said the jackal. So he let Lambikin go on.

By and by Lambikin met a tiger, looked at him and said,

"Lambikin, Lambikin, I'm going to eat you."

But Lambikin frisked about and said,

"To Granny's house I go, Where I shall fatter grow; Then you may eat me so."

"You'll be better to eat when you fatter, Lambikin. I'll wait," said the tiger. So he let Lambikin go on.

By and by he met a wolf, and then he met a dog, and then he met an eagle. Each one of these said to him,

"Lambikin, Lambikin, I'm going to eat you."

But to each one Lambikin said,

"To Granny's house I go, Where I shall fatter grow; Then you may eat me so."

On Lambikin went until he reached Granny's house. He said to her, "Granny, dear, I've promised that I shall fatter grow, so please put me into the corn-bin at once."

"Well," said Granny, "you're a good little Lambikin. Into the corn-bin you shall go at once."

There he stayed seven days. He ate and ate and ate. He grew so fat he could scarcely walk.

You are fat enough now, Lambikin, and you must go home."

But cunning Lambikin said, "Oh, Granny, that will never do. I'm so plump and tender that some animal will eat me. I will tell you what to do. Make me a wee drumikin out of an old skin. I can sit inside and trundle along nicely, for I'm as tight as a drum myself."

So Granny made a wee drumikin with the wool inside. Lambikin curled himself up snug and warm in the middle and trundled away.

By and by he met the eagle, who called out,

"Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And wee Lambikin, curled up in his wee drumikin, called out,

"Fallen into the fire, And so will you. On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"

"Dear me! Dear me!" said the eagle." "What a tender bit I've missed!"

Away trundled Lambikin laughing and singing to himself,

"Tum-pa, tum-too! Tum-pa, tum-too!"

Each animal he met asked,

"Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And wee Lambikin, curled up in his wee drumikin, called out,

"Fallen into the fire, And so will you. On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"

"Dear me! Dear me!" said each animal. "What a tender bit I've missed!"

Away trundled Lambikin, laughing and singing to himself.

At last he met the jackal, limping along and looking very sad. When he saw the wee drumikin, he called out,

"Drumikin! Drumikin! Have you seen Lambikin?"

And wee Lambikin, curled up in his wee drumikin, called out,

"Fallen into the fire, And so will you. On, little Drumikin! Tum-pa, tum-too!"

But the jackal knew his voice.

"Oho! Lambikin!" he called out. "So you have turned yourself inside out, have you?"

Then he tore open wee drumikin And gobbled up wee Lambikin!

East Indian Nursery Tale

 

Walter de la Mare

King David

King David was a sorrowful man: No cause for his sorrow had he; And he called for the music of a hundred harps, To ease his melancholy. They played till they all fell silent: Played—and play sweet did they; But the sorrow that haunted the heart of King David They could not charm away. He rose; and in his garden Walked by the moon alone, A nightingale hidden in a cypress-tree Jargoned on and on. King David lifted his sad eyes Into the dark-boughed tree— 'Tell me, thou little bird that singest, Who taught my grief to thee?' But the bird in no wise heeded And the king in the cool of the moon Hearkened to the nightingale's sorrowfulness, Till all his own was gone.

 

Understood Betsy  by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

"Understood Aunt Frances"

Part 2 of 4

They read it there, looking over each other's shoulders, with grave faces. Then, still silently, they all turned and went back into the house, leaving their forgotten bags and barrels and baskets out under the trees. When they found themselves in the kitchen—"Well, it's supper-time, anyhow," said Cousin Ann hastily, as if ashamed of losing her composure, "or almost time. We might as well get it now."

"I'm a-going out to milk," said Uncle Henry gruffly, although it was not nearly his usual time. He took up the milk pails and marched out toward the barn, stepping heavily, his head hanging.

Shep woke up with a snort and, getting off the couch, gamboled clumsily up to Betsy, wagging his tail and jumping up on her, ready for a frolic. That was almost too much for Betsy! To think that after tomorrow she would never see Shep again—nor Eleanor! Nor the kittens! She choked as she bent over Shep and put her arms around his neck for a great hug. But she mustn't cry, she mustn't hurt Aunt Frances's feelings, or show that she wasn't glad to go back to her. That wouldn't be fair, after all Aunt Frances had done for her!

That night she lay awake after she and Molly had gone to bed and Molly was asleep. They had decided not to tell Molly until the last minute, so she had dropped off peacefully, as usual. But poor Betsy's eyes were wide open. She saw a gleam of light under the door. It widened; the door opened. Aunt Abigail stood there, in her night cap, mountainous in her long white gown, a candle shining up into her serious old face.

"You awake, Betsy?" she whispered, seeing the child's dark eyes gleaming at her over the covers. "I just—I just thought I'd look in to see if you were all right." She came to the edge of the bed and set the candle down on the little stand. Betsy reached her arms up longingly and the old woman stooped over her. Neither of them said a single word during the long embrace which followed. Then Aunt Abigail straightened up hastily, took her candle very quickly and softly, and heavily padded out of the room.

Betsy turned over and flung one arm over Molly—no Molly, either, after tomorrow!

She gulped hard and stared up at the ceiling, dimly white in the starlight. A gleam of light shone under the door. It widened, and Uncle Henry stood there, a candle in his hand, peering into the room. "You awake, Betsy?" he said cautiously.

"Yes. I'm awake, Uncle Henry."

The old man shuffled into the room. "I just got to thinking," he said, hesitating, "that maybe you'd like to take my watch with you. It's kind of handy to have a watch on the train. And I'd like real well for you to have it."

He laid it down on the stand, his own cherished gold watch, that had been given him when he was twenty-one.

Betsy reached out and took his hard, gnarled old fist in a tight grip. "Oh, Uncle Henry!" she began, and could not go on.

"We'll miss you, Betsy," he said in an uncertain voice. "It's been . . . it's been real nice to have you here. . . . "

And then he too snatched up his candle very quickly and almost ran out of the room.

Betsy turned over on her back. "No crying, now!" she told herself fiercely. "No crying, now!" She clenched her hands together tightly and set her teeth.

Something moved in the room. Somebody leaned over her. It was Cousin Ann, who didn't make a sound, not one, but who took Betsy in her strong arms and held her close and closer, till Betsy could feel the quick pulse of the other's heart beating all through her own body.

Then she was gone—as silently as she came.

But somehow that great embrace had taken away all the burning tightness from Betsy's eyes and heart. She was very, very tired, and soon after this she fell sound asleep, snuggled up close to Molly.

In the morning, nobody spoke of last night at all. Breakfast was prepared and eaten, and the team hitched up directly afterward. Betsy and Uncle Henry were to drive to the station together to meet Aunt Frances's train. Betsy put on her new wine-colored cashmere that Cousin Ann had made her, with the soft white collar of delicate old embroidery that Aunt Abigail had given her out of one of the trunks in the attic.

She and Uncle Henry said very little as they drove to the village, and even less as they stood waiting together on the platform. Betsy slipped her hand into his and he held it tight as the train whistled in the distance and came slowly and laboriously puffing up to the station.

Just one person got off at the little station, and that was Aunt Frances, looking ever so dressed up and citified, with a fluffy ostrich-feather boa and kid gloves and a white veil over her face and a big blue one floating from her gay-flowered velvet hat. How pretty she was! And how young—under the veil which hid so kindly all the little lines in her sweet, thin face. And how excited and fluttery! Betsy had forgotten how fluttery Aunt Frances was! She clasped Betsy to her, and then started back crying—she must see to her suit-case—and then she clasped Betsy to her again and shook hands with Uncle Henry, whose grim old face looked about as cordial and welcoming as the sourest kind of sour pickle, and she fluttered back and said she must have left her umbrella on the train. "Oh, Conductor! Conductor! My umbrella—right in my seat—a blue one with a crooked-over—oh, here it is in my hand! What am I thinking of!"

The conductor evidently thought he'd better get the train away as soon as possible, for he now shouted, "All aboard!" to nobody at all, and sprang back on the steps. The train went off, groaning over the steep grade, and screaming out its usual echoing warning about the next road crossing.

Uncle Henry took Aunt Frances's suit-case and plodded back to the surrey. He got into the front seat and Aunt Frances and Betsy in the back; and they started off.

And now I want you to listen to every single word that was said on the back seat, for it was a very, very important conversation, when Betsy's fate hung on the curl of an eyelash and the flicker of a voice, as fates often do.

Aunt Frances hugged Betsy again and again and exclaimed about her having grown so big and tall and fat—she didn't say brown too, although you could see that she was thinking that, as she looked through her veil at Betsy's tanned face and down at the contrast between her own pretty, white fingers and Betsy's leather-colored, muscular little hands. She exclaimed and exclaimed and kept on exclaiming! Betsy wondered if she really always had been as fluttery as this. And then, all of a sudden it came out, the great news, the reason for the extra flutteriness.

Aunt Frances was going to be married!

Yes! Think of it! Betsy fell back open-mouthed with astonishment.

"Did Betsy think her Aunt Frances a silly old thing?"

"Oh, Aunt Frances, no!"  cried Betsy fervently. "You look just as young,  and pretty! Lots younger than I remembered you!"

Aunt Frances flushed with pleasure and went on, "You'll love your old Aunt Frances just as much, won't you, when she's Mrs. Plimpton?"

Betsy put her arms around her and gave her a great hug. "I'll always love you, Aunt Frances!" she said.

"You'll love Mr. Plimpton, too. He's so big and strong, and he just loves to take care of people. He says that's why he's marrying me. Don't you wonder where we are going to live?" she asked, answering her own question quickly. "We're not going to live anywhere. Isn't that a joke? Mr. Plimpton's business keeps him always moving around from one place to another, never more than a month anywhere."

"What'll Aunt Harriet do?" asked Betsy wonderingly.

"Why, she's ever and ever so much better," said Aunt Frances happily. "And her own sister, my Aunt Rachel, has come back from China, where she's been a missionary for ever so long, and the two old ladies are going to keep house together out in California, in the dearest little bungalow, all roses and honeysuckle. But you're  going to be with me. Won't it be jolly fun, darling, to go traveling all about everywhere, and see new places all the time!"

Now those are the words Aunt Frances said, but something in her voice and her face suggested a faint possibility to Betsy that maybe Aunt Frances didn't really think it would be such awfully jolly fun as her words said.

Her heart gave a big jump up, and she had to hold tight to the arm of the surrey before she could ask, in a quiet voice, "But, Aunt Frances, won't I be awfully in your way, traveling around so?"

Now, Aunt Frances had ears of her own, and though that was what Betsy's words said, what Aunt Frances heard was a suggestion that possibly Betsy wasn't as crazy to leave Putney Farm as she had supposed of course she would be.

They both stopped talking for a moment and peered at each other through the thicket of words that held them apart. I told you this was a very momentous conversation. One sure thing is that the people on the back seat saw the inside of the surrey as they traveled along, and nothing else. Red sumac and bronzed beech-trees waved their flags at them in vain. They kept their eyes fixed on each other intently, each in an agony of fear lest she hurt the other's feelings.

After a pause Aunt Frances came to herself with a start, and said, affectionately putting her arm around Betsy, "Why, you darling, what does Aunt Frances care about trouble if her own dear baby-girl is happy?"

And Betsy said, resolutely, "Oh, you know, Aunt Frances, I'd love  to be with you!" She ventured one more step through the thicket. "But honestly, Aunt Frances, won't  it be a bother . . . ?"

Aunt Frances ventured another step to meet her, "But dear little girls must be somewhere  . . . "

And Betsy almost forgot her caution and burst out, "But I could stay here! I know they would keep me!"

Even Aunt Frances's two veils could not hide the gleam of relief and hope that came into her pretty, thin, sweet face. She summoned all her courage and stepped out into the clearing in the middle of the thicket, asking right out, boldly, "Why, do you like it here, Betsy? Would you like to stay?"

And Betsy—she never could remember afterward if she had been careful enough not to shout too loudly and joyfully—Betsy cried out, "Oh, I love  it here!" There they stood, face to face, looking at each other with honest and very happy eyes.

Aunt Frances threw her arm around Betsy and asked again, "Are you sure,  dear?" and didn't try to hide her relief. And neither did Betsy.

"I could visit you once in a while, when you are somewhere near here," suggested Betsy, beaming.

"Oh, yes,  I must have some  of the time with my darling!" said Aunt Frances. And this time there was nothing in their hearts that contradicted their lips.

 

The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum  by Thornton Burgess

Bobby Coon Is Waked Up

"Dey's a-coming, dey's a-coming, dey's a-coming mighty soon. But dey can't come soon enuff fo' me! Dey's a-coming, dey's a-coming at de turning ob de moon, Whar Ah waits in mah ol' holler tree!"

U NC' BILLY POSSUM was singing to himself, as he slowly trudged home from Farmer Brown's hen-house. He was feeling very good, very good indeed, was Unc' Billy Possum. No one appreciates strictly fresh eggs more than Unc' Billy does, and he had found more than he could eat waiting for him in Farmer Brown's hen-house. Now his stomach was full, his house had been cleaned and put to rights, ready for his family when they should arrive from "Ol' Virginny," and he had nothing to do but wait for them. So he trudged along and sang in a funny, cracked voice.

Presently he came to his big hollow tree and started to climb up to the door of his house. Half way up he broke off short in the middle of his song and sat down on a convenient branch. He put one ear against the trunk of the tree and listened. Then he put the other ear against the tree and listened. There certainly was a funny noise, and it seemed to come from right inside his hollow tree. Unc' Billy turned and looked up at his doorway, scratching his head thoughtfully with one hand.

"Mah goodness!" said Unc' Billy, "it cert'nly sounds like there was somebody in mah house!"

Then very softly Unc' Billy crept up to his doorway and peeped in. It was dark inside, so that Unc' Billy could see little else than that his nice, freshly made, comfortable bed was all mussed up. But if he couldn't see, he could hear. Oh, yes, indeed, Unc' Billy could hear perfectly well, and what he heard was a snore! There was some one in Unc' Billy's house, and more than that, they were fast asleep in Unc' Billy's bed.

"Mah goodness! Mah goodness!" exclaimed Unc' Billy Possum, and his two sharp little eyes began to snap. Then he stuck his head in at the door and shouted:

"Hi, yo'all! What yo' doing in mah house?"

The only answer was another snore. Unc' Billy waited a minute. Then he put his head in once more.

"Yo' better come out of mah house, Mr. Who-ever-yo'-are, before Ah comes in and puts yo' out!" shouted Unc' Billy.

The only answer was a snore louder than before. Then Unc' Billy quite lost his temper. Some one who had no business there was in his house! He didn't know who it was, and he didn't care. They were going to come out or he would know why not. Unc' Billy gritted his teeth and in he went.

My! my! my! such a rumpus as there was right away in that hollow tree! Peter Rabbit happened to be coming along that way and heard it.

My! my! my! Such a rumpus as there was right away in that hollow tree!

Peter stopped and gazed at the hollow tree with eyes and mouth wide open. Such a snarling and growling! Then out of the doorway began to fly leaves and moss. They were part of Unc' Billy's bed. Then Peter saw a big ringed tail hanging out of the doorway. Peter recognized it right away. No one possessed a tail like that but Bobby Coon.

In a minute Bobby followed his tail, hastily backing down the tree. Then Unc' Billy's sharp little old face appeared at the doorway. Unc' Billy looked down at Peter Rabbit and grinned.

"Ah guess Mistah Coon done make a mistake when he went to bed in mah house," said he.

And Bobby Coon sheepishly admitted that he did.

 

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Hiawatha's Sailing

"Give me of your bark, O Birch Tree! Of your yellow bark, O Birch Tree! Growing by the rushing river, Tall and stately in the valley! I a light canoe will build me, Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing, That shall float upon the river, Like a yellow leaf in autumn, Like a yellow water lily! "Lay aside your cloak, O Birch Tree! Lay aside your white skin wrapper, For the summer time is coming, And the sun is warm in heaven, And you need no white skin wrapper!" Thus aloud cried Hiawatha In the solitary forest, By the rushing Taquamenaw, When the birds were singing gaily, In the Moon of Leaves were singing, And the Sun, from sleep awaking, Started up and said, "Behold me! Geezis, the great Sun, behold me!" And the tree with all its branches Rustled in the breeze of morning, Saying, with a sigh of patience, "Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!" With his knife the tree he girdled; Just beneath its lowest branches, Just above the roots, he cut it, Till the sap came oozing outward; Down the trunk, from top to bottom, Sheer he cleft the bark asunder, With a wooden wedge he raised it, Stripped it from the trunk unbroken. "Give me of your boughs, O Cedar! Of your strong and pliant branches, My canoe to make more steady, Make more strong and firm beneath me!" Through the summit of the Cedar Went a sound, a cry of horror, Went a murmur of resistance; But it whispered, bending downward, "Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!" Down he hewed the boughs of cedar, Shaped them straightway to a framework, Like two bows he formed and shaped them, Like two bended bows together. "Give me of your roots, O Tamarack! Of your fibrous roots, O Larch Tree! My canoe to bind together, So to bind the ends together That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me!" And the Larch with all its fibers, Shivered in the air of morning, Touched his forehead with its tassels, Said, with one long sigh of sorrow, "Take them all, O Hiawatha!" From the earth he tore the fibers, Tore the tough roots of the Larch Tree, Closely sewed the bark together, Bound it closely to the framework. "Give me of your balm, O Fir Tree! Of your balsam and your resin, So to close the seams together That the water may not enter, That the river may not wet me!" And the Fir Tree, tall and somber, Sobbed through all its robes of darkness, Rattled like a shore with pebbles, Answered wailing, answered weeping, "Take my balm, O Hiawatha!" And he took the tears of balsam, Took the resin of the Fir Tree, Seamed therewith each seam and fissure, Made each crevice safe from water. "Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog! All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog! I will make a necklace of them, Make a girdle for my beauty, And two stars to deck her bosom!" From a hollow tree the Hedgehog With his sleepy eyes looked at him, Shot his shining quills, like arrows, Saying, with a drowsy murmur, Through the tangle of his whiskers, "Take my quills, O Hiawatha!" From the ground the quills he gathered, All the little shining arrows, Stained them red and blue and yellow, With the juice of roots and berries; Into his canoe he wrought them, Round its waist a shining girdle, Round its bows a gleaming necklace, On its breast two stars resplendent. Thus the Birch Canoe was builded, In the valley, by the river, In the bosom of the forest; And the forest's life was in it, All its mystery and its magic, All the lightness of the birch tree, All the toughness of the cedar, All the larch's supple sinews; And it floated on the river Like a yellow leaf in autumn, Like a yellow water lily. Paddles none had Hiawatha, Paddles none he had or needed, For his thoughts as paddles served him, And his wishes served to guide him; Swift or slow at will he glided, Veered to right or left at pleasure.

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

Saul's Great Sin and His Great Loss

I Samuel xv: 1 to 35.

FTER the great victory over the Philistines, Saul led his men against the enemies of Israel on every side of the land. He drove back the Moabites to their country east of the Dead Sea, and the Ammonites to the desert regions across the Jordan. He fought the Edomites on the south and the kings of Zobah in the far north. For a time the land of Israel was free from its oppressors.

On the south of the land, in the desert where the Israelites had journeyed for forty years, were living the wild and wandering Amalekites, a people who had sought to harm the Israelites soon after they came out of Egypt, and had killed many of their people when they were helpless on their journey. (See Story 25.) For this God had said that Israel should have war against the Amalekites until they were destroyed.

The time had now come for God's word against the Amalekites to be fulfilled, and Samuel said to Saul, "Thus says the Lord, the God of hosts, go down and make war against the Amalekites, and destroy them utterly."

Then Saul called out the men of war in all the tribes, and they marched southward into the desert where many years before their fathers had lived for forty years. There Saul made war on the Amalekites, and took their city and destroyed it. But he did not do what God had commanded him. He brought Agag, the king of the Amalekites, and many of his people as prisoners, and a great train of their sheep and oxen, intending to keep them.

Then the word of the Lord came to Samuel, saying, "It would have been better never to have chosen Saul as king, for he does not obey my commands."

All that night Samuel prayed to the Lord, and the next day he went to meet Saul. When Saul saw him, he said, "May the blessing of the Lord be upon you. I have done what the Lord commanded me to do."

Then said Samuel, "If you have obeyed God's command and destroyed all the Amalekites and all that they possessed, what is the meaning of this bleating of the sheep and the bellowing of the oxen which I hear?"

"They have bought them from the Amalekites," answered Saul, "for the people spared the best of the sheep and of the oxen, to offer in sacrifice to the Lord your God. All the rest we have utterly destroyed." This he said to excuse his wrong-doing and to put the blame for his disobedience to God's command on the people.

Then Samuel said, "I will tell you what God said to me last night. When you were humble in your own sight, God chose you to be king over Israel. He sent you on a long journey to the southward into the desert and said to you, 'Go and utterly destroy the Amalekites and leave nothing of them.' Why did you not obey God's word but did seize their oxen and sheep and save many of their people alive, disobeying God's voice?"

And Saul said, "I have done as God commanded, and have destroyed the Amalekites. But the people took some things that should have been destroyed, to offer in sacrifice to the Lord."

And Samuel said, "Is the Lord as well pleased with offerings as he is with obeying his words? To obey is better than sacrifice, and to listen to God's word is more precious than to place offerings on his altar. To disobey God's word is as evil as to worship idols. You have refused to obey the voice of the Lord, and the Lord will take away your kingdom from you."

Saul saw now how great was the harm that he had done, and he said, "I have sinned in not obeying God's word; but I was afraid of the people, and yielded to them. Now forgive my sin. Come with me, and I will worship the Lord."

"No," said Samuel, "I will not go with you, for God will refuse you as king."

As Samuel turned away, Saul took hold of his garment, and it tore in his hand. And Samuel said, "Even so has God torn the kingdom away from you; and he will give it to a man that is better than you are. And God is not like a man, to say one thing and do another. What God has said shall surely come to pass."

Saul begged Samuel so hard not to leave him, but to give him honor in presence of the people, that Samuel went with Saul, and Saul worshipped the Lord with Samuel.

After this Samuel went to his house at Ramah, and he never again met Saul as long as he lived; but he mourned and wept for Saul, because he had disobeyed the Lord, and the Lord had rejected him as king.

Samuel turns away from Saul.

 

The Boxcar Children  by Gertrude Chandler Warner

Ginseng

W HAT Dr. McAllister ever did before Henry began to work for him would be hard to guess.

There were certainly as many duties always waiting for him as he had time to do. And it made no difference to the industrious boy what the job was. Nothing was too hard or too dirty for him to attempt.

One day the doctor set him at the task of clearing out his little laboratory. The boy washed bottles, pasted labels, and cleaned instruments for one whole morning. And more than one broken flask on its way to the rubbish heap was carefully carried up the hill to the hidden family.

While Henry was busy carefully lettering a sticky label, he noticed a young man in the outer office who was talking with the doctor.

"Can you tell me if this is real ginseng?" Henry heard him say.

"It certainly is," returned Dr. McAllister. "They will give you two dollars a pound for the root at any of the drug stores."

Henry ventured to steal a peep, and found he could readily see the plant the man was holding. It was about a foot high with branching leaves and a fine feathery white flower. Henry knew it was exactly the same white puffball that he had noticed in Violet's vase that very morning.

When the young man had gone, Henry said, "I know where I can find a whole lot of that plant."

"Is that so?" replied the doctor kindly. "It's only the root, you know, that is valuable. But any one who wants the bother of digging it up can sell any quantity of that."

When Henry went home at noon he related enough of this incident to set his sisters to work in good earnest. They started out with both knives and two strong iron spoons, and the kettle. And with Benny to run about finding every white flower he could, the girls succeeded, with a great deal of hard digging, in finding enormous quantities of ginseng root. In fact that first afternoon's work resulted in a kettle full, not counting a single leaf or stem. Henry was delighted when he saw the result of their work, and took it next day to the largest drug store, where he received three dollars for the roots.

Without any hesitation Henry paid a visit to the dry-goods store, and came home with a pair of new brown stockings for Benny. That was a great day in the woods. Benny gave them no peace at all until they had admired his wonderful new stockings, and felt of each rib.

There had been one other thing that Benny had given them no peace about. On the night when the children had crept so quietly away from the baker's wife, Jess had forgotten to take Benny's bear. This bear was a poor looking creature, which had once been an expensive bright-eyed Teddy-bear made of brown plush. But Benny had taken it to bed every single night for three years, and had loved it by day, so that it was not attractive to any one but himself. Both eyes were gone, and its body was very limp, but Benny had certainly suffered a great deal trying to sleep in a strange bed without his beloved bear.

Jess, therefore, had plans on foot, the moment she saw Benny's new stockings. She washed the old brown stockings with their many neat darns, and hung them up to dry. And early in the afternoon she and Violet sat with the workbag between them, each with a stocking.

With Benny sitting by to watch proceedings, Jess mapped out a remarkable Teddy-bear. One stocking, carefully trimmed, made the head and body, while the other furnished material for two arms, two legs, and the stuffing. Jess worked hard over the head, pushing the padding well into the blunt nose. Violet embroidered two beautiful eyes in black and white, and a jet black nose-tip.

"You must make a tail, too, Jessy," said Benny, watching her snip the brown rags.

"Bears don't have tails, Benny," argued Jess—although she wasn't exactly sure she was right. "Your old bear didn't have any tail, you know."

"But this  bear has a tail, though," returned Benny, knowing that Jess would put on two tails if he insisted.

And it was true. His bear finally did have a tail.

"What kind  of tail?" asked Jess helplessly at last. "Bushy, long and slim, or cotton-tail?"

"Long and slim," decided Benny with great satisfaction, "so I can pull it."

"Benny!" cried Jess, laughing in spite of herself. But she made a tail, long and slim, exactly as Benny ordered, and sewed it on very tightly, so that it might be "pulled" if desired. She fastened on the legs and arms with flat hinges, so the bear might sit down easily, and added at last a pair of cunning flappy ears and a gay collar of braided red string from a bundle.

"What's his name, Jessy?" inquired Benny, when the wonderful bear was finally handed over to him.

"His name?" repeated Jess. "Well, you know he's a new  bear; he isn't your old one, so I wouldn't call him Teddy."

"Oh, no," said Benny, shocked. "This is not Teddy. This has a pretty tail."

"Of course," agreed Jess, trying not to laugh. "Well, you know we sold that ginseng to pay for your new stockings. And if you hadn't had your new ones, we couldn't have made this bear out of your old ones."

"You want his name to be Stockings?" asked Benny politely.

"Stockings? No," answered Jess. "I was thinking of 'Ginseng. ' "

"Ginseng?" echoed Benny, thinking deeply. "That's a nice name. All right, I think Ginseng will be a good bear, if Watchie doesn't bark at him." And from that moment the bear's name was Ginseng as long as he lived, and he lived to be a very old bear indeed.

W HAT Dr. McAllister ever did before Henry began to work for him would be hard to guess.

There were certainly as many duties always waiting for him as he had time to do. And it made no difference to the industrious boy what the job was. Nothing was too hard or too dirty for him to attempt.

One day the doctor set him at the task of clearing out his little laboratory. The boy washed bottles, pasted labels, and cleaned instruments for one whole morning. And more than one broken flask on its way to the rubbish heap was carefully carried up the hill to the hidden family.

While Henry was busy carefully lettering a sticky label, he noticed a young man in the outer office who was talking with the doctor.

"Can you tell me if this is real ginseng?" Henry heard him say.

"It certainly is," returned Dr. McAllister. "They will give you two dollars a pound for the root at any of the drug stores."

Henry ventured to steal a peep, and found he could readily see the plant the man was holding. It was about a foot high with branching leaves and a fine feathery white flower. Henry knew it was exactly the same white puffball that he had noticed in Violet's vase that very morning.

When the young man had gone, Henry said, "I know where I can find a whole lot of that plant."

"Is that so?" replied the doctor kindly. "It's only the root, you know, that is valuable. But any one who wants the bother of digging it up can sell any quantity of that."

When Henry went home at noon he related enough of this incident to set his sisters to work in good earnest. They started out with both knives and two strong iron spoons, and the kettle. And with Benny to run about finding every white flower he could, the girls succeeded, with a great deal of hard digging, in finding enormous quantities of ginseng root. In fact that first afternoon's work resulted in a kettle full, not counting a single leaf or stem. Henry was delighted when he saw the result of their work, and took it next day to the largest drug store, where he received three dollars for the roots.

Without any hesitation Henry paid a visit to the dry-goods store, and came home with a pair of new brown stockings for Benny. That was a great day in the woods. Benny gave them no peace at all until they had admired his wonderful new stockings, and felt of each rib.

There had been one other thing that Benny had given them no peace about. On the night when the children had crept so quietly away from the baker's wife, Jess had forgotten to take Benny's bear. This bear was a poor looking creature, which had once been an expensive bright-eyed Teddy-bear made of brown plush. But Benny had taken it to bed every single night for three years, and had loved it by day, so that it was not attractive to any one but himself. Both eyes were gone, and its body was very limp, but Benny had certainly suffered a great deal trying to sleep in a strange bed without his beloved bear.

Jess, therefore, had plans on foot, the moment she saw Benny's new stockings. She washed the old brown stockings with their many neat darns, and hung them up to dry. And early in the afternoon she and Violet sat with the workbag between them, each with a stocking.

With Benny sitting by to watch proceedings, Jess mapped out a remarkable Teddy-bear. One stocking, carefully trimmed, made the head and body, while the other furnished material for two arms, two legs, and the stuffing. Jess worked hard over the head, pushing the padding well into the blunt nose. Violet embroidered two beautiful eyes in black and white, and a jet black nose-tip.

"You must make a tail, too, Jessy," said Benny, watching her snip the brown rags.

"Bears don't have tails, Benny," argued Jess—although she wasn't exactly sure she was right. "Your old bear didn't have any tail, you know."

"But this  bear has a tail, though," returned Benny, knowing that Jess would put on two tails if he insisted.

And it was true. His bear finally did have a tail.

"What kind  of tail?" asked Jess helplessly at last. "Bushy, long and slim, or cotton-tail?"

"Long and slim," decided Benny with great satisfaction, "so I can pull it."

"Benny!" cried Jess, laughing in spite of herself. But she made a tail, long and slim, exactly as Benny ordered, and sewed it on very tightly, so that it might be "pulled" if desired. She fastened on the legs and arms with flat hinges, so the bear might sit down easily, and added at last a pair of cunning flappy ears and a gay collar of braided red string from a bundle.

"What's his name, Jessy?" inquired Benny, when the wonderful bear was finally handed over to him.

"His name?" repeated Jess. "Well, you know he's a new  bear; he isn't your old one, so I wouldn't call him Teddy."

"Oh, no," said Benny, shocked. "This is not Teddy. This has a pretty tail."

"Of course," agreed Jess, trying not to laugh. "Well, you know we sold that ginseng to pay for your new stockings. And if you hadn't had your new ones, we couldn't have made this bear out of your old ones."

"You want his name to be Stockings?" asked Benny politely.

"Stockings? No," answered Jess. "I was thinking of 'Ginseng. ' "

"Ginseng?" echoed Benny, thinking deeply. "That's a nice name. All right, I think Ginseng will be a good bear, if Watchie doesn't bark at him." And from that moment the bear's name was Ginseng as long as he lived, and he lived to be a very old bear indeed.

 

Alice Cary

A Lesson of Mercy

A boy named Peter Found once in the road All harmless and helpless, A poor little toad; And ran to his playmate, And all out of breath Cried, "John, come and help, And we'll stone him to death!" And picking up stones, The two went on a run, Saying, one to the other, "Oh, won't we have fun?" Thus primed and all ready, They'd got nearly back, When a donkey came Dragging a cart on the track. Now the cart was as much As the donkey could draw, And he came with his head Hanging down; so he saw, All harmless and helpless, The poor little toad, A-taking his morning nap Right in the road. He shivered at first, Then he drew back his leg, And set up his ears, Never moving a peg. Then he gave the poor toad, With his warm nose a dump, And he woke and got off With a hop and a jump, And then with an eye Turned on Peter and John, And hanging his homely head Down, he went on. "We can't kill him now, John," Says Peter, "that's flat, In the face of an eye and An action like that!" "For my part, I haven't The heart to," says John; "But the load is too heavy The donkey has on: "Let's help him;" so both lads Set off with a will And came up with the cart At the foot of the hill. And when each a shoulder Had put to the wheel, They helped the poor donkey A wonderful deal. When they got to the top Back again they both run, Agreeing they never Had had better fun.