Pinocchio  by Carlo Collodi

Pinocchio Becomes a Boy at Last

W HILST Pinocchio was swimming quickly towards the shore he discovered that his father, who was on his shoulders with his legs in the water, was trembling as violently as if the poor man had got an attack of ague fever.

Was he trembling from cold or from fear? . . . Perhaps a little from both the one and the other. But Pinocchio, thinking that it was from fear, said to comfort him:

"Courage, papa! In a few minutes we shall be safely on shore."

"But where is this blessed shore?" asked the little old man, becoming still more frightened, and screwing up his eyes as tailors do when they wish to thread a needle. "I have been looking in every direction and I see nothing but the sky and the sea."

"But I see the shore as well," said the puppet.

"You must know that I am like a cat: I see better by night than by day."

Poor Pinocchio was making a pretence of being in good spirits, but in reality . . . in reality he was beginning to feel discouraged: his strength was failing, he was gasping and panting for breath . . . he could do no more, and the shore was still far off.

He swam until he had no breath left; then he turned his head to Geppetto and said in broken words:

"Papa . . . help me . . . I am dying! . . ."

The father and son were on the point of drowning when they heard a voice like a guitar out of tune saying:

"Who is it that is dying?"

"It is I, and my poor father! . . ."

"I know that voice! You are Pinocchio!"

"Precisely: and you?"

"I am the Tunny, your prison companion in the body of the Dog-fish."

"And how did you manage to escape?"

"I followed your example. You showed me the road, and I escaped after you."

"Tunny, you have arrived at the right moment! I implore you to help us, or we are lost."

"Willingly and with all my heart. You must, both of you, take hold of my tail and leave me to guide you. I will take you on shore in four minutes."

Geppetto and Pinocchio, as I need not tell you, accepted the offer at once; but instead of holding on by his tail they thought it would be more comfortable to get on the Tunny's back.

Having reached the shore Pinocchio sprang first on land that he might help his father to do the same. He then turned to the Tunny, and said to him in a voice full of emotion:

"My friend, you have saved my papa's life. I can find no words with which to thank you properly. Permit me at least to give you a kiss as a sign of my eternal gratitude! . . ."

The Tunny put his head out of the water, and Pinocchio, kneeling on the ground, kissed him tenderly on the mouth. At this spontaneous proof of warm affection, the poor Tunny, who was not accustomed to it, felt extremely touched, and ashamed to let himself be seen crying like a child, he plunged under the water and disappeared.

By this time the day had dawned. Pinocchio then offering his arm to Geppetto, who had scarcely breath to stand, said to him:

"Lean on my arm, dear papa, and let us go. We will walk very slowly like the ants, and when we are tired we can rest by the wayside."

"And where shall we go?" asked Geppetto.

"In search of some house or cottage, where they will give us for charity a mouthful of bread, and a little straw to serve as a bed."

They had not gone a hundred yards when they saw by the roadside two villainous-looking individuals begging.

They were the Cat and the Fox, but they were scarcely recognisable. Fancy! the Cat had so long feigned blindness that she had become blind in reality and the Fox, old, mangy, and with one side paralysed, had not even his tail left. That sneaking thief, having fallen into the most squalid misery, one fine day had found himself obliged to sell his beautiful tail to a travelling pedlar, who bought it to drive away flies.

"Oh, Pinocchio!" cried the Fox, "give a little in charity to two poor infirm people."

"Infirm people," repeated the Cat.

"Begone, impostors!" answered the puppet. "You took me in once, but you will never catch me again."

"Believe me, Pinocchio, we are now poor and unfortunate indeed!"

"If you are poor, you deserve it. Recollect the proverb: 'Stolen money never fructifies.' Begone, impostors!"

And thus saying Pinocchio and Geppetto went their way in peace. When they had gone another hundred yards they saw, at the end of a path in the middle of the fields, a nice little straw hut with a roof of tiles and bricks.

"That hut must be inhabited by some one," said Pinocchio. "Let us go and knock at the door."

They went and knocked.

"Who is there?" said a little voice from within.

"We are a poor father and son without bread and without a roof," answered the puppet.

"Turn the key and the door will open," said the same little voice.

Pinocchio turned the key and the door opened. They went in and looked here, there, and everywhere, but could see no one.

"Oh! where is the master of the house?" said Pinocchio, much surprised.

"Here I am up here!"

The father and son looked immediately up to the ceiling, and there on a beam they saw the Talking-cricket.

"Oh, my dear little Cricket!" said Pinocchio, bowing politely to him.

"Ah! now you call me 'Your dear little Cricket.' But do you remember the time when you threw the handle of a hammer at me, to drive me from your house? . . ."

"You are right, Cricket! Drive me away also . . . throw the handle of a hammer at me; but have pity on my poor papa . . ."

"I will have pity on both father and son, but I wished to remind you of the ill treatment I received from you, to teach you that in this world, when it is possible, we should show courtesy to everybody, if we wish it to be extended to us in our hour of need."

"You are right, Cricket, you are right, and I will bear in mind the lesson you have given me. But tell me how you managed to buy this beautiful hut."

"This hut was given to me yesterday by a goat whose wool was of a beautiful blue colour."

"And where has the goat gone?" asked Pinocchio with lively curiosity.

"I do not know."

"And when will it come back? . . ."

"It will never come back. It went away yesterday in great grief and, bleating, it seemed to say: 'Poor Pinocchio . . . I shall never see him more . . . by this time the Dog-fish must have devoured him! . . .' "

"Did it really say that? . . . Then it was she! . . . it was she! . . . it was my dear little Fairy . . ." exclaimed Pinocchio, crying and sobbing.

When he had cried for some time he dried his eyes, and prepared a comfortable bed of straw for Geppetto to lie down upon. Then he asked the Cricket:

"Tell me, little Cricket, where can I find a tumbler of milk for my poor papa?"

"Three fields off from here there lives a gardener called Giangio who keeps cows. Go to him and you will get the milk you are in want of."

Pinocchio ran all the way to Giangio's house and the gardener asked him:

"How much milk do you want?"

"I want a tumblerful."

"A tumbler of milk costs a halfpenny. Begin by giving me the halfpenny."

"I have not even a farthing," replied Pinocchio, grieved and mortified.

"That is bad, puppet," answered the gardener. "If you have not even a farthing, I have not even a drop of milk."

"I must have patience!" said Pinocchio, and he turned to go.

"Wait a little," said Giangio. "We can come to an arrangement together. Will you undertake to turn the pumping machine?"

"What is the pumping machine?"

"It is a wooden pole which serves to draw up the water from the cistern to water the vegetables."

"You can try me. . . ."

"Well, then, if you will draw a hundred buckets of water, I will give you in compensation a tumbler of milk."

"It is a bargain."

Giango then led Pinocchio to the kitchen garden and taught him how to turn the pumping machine. Pinocchio immediately began to work; but before he had drawn up the hundred buckets of water the perspiration was pouring from his head to his feet. Never before had he undergone such fatigue.

"Up till now," said the gardener, "the labour of turning the pumping machine was performed by my little donkey; but the poor animal is dying."

"Will you take me to see him?" said Pinocchio.

"Willingly."

When Pinocchio went into the stable he saw a beautiful little donkey stretched on the straw, worn out from hunger and overwork. After looking at him earnestly he said to himself, much troubled:

"I am sure I know this little donkey! His face is not new to me."

And bending over him he asked him in asinine language:

"Who are you?"

At this question the little donkey opened his dying eyes, and answered in broken words in the same language:

"I am . . . Can . . . dle . . . wick . . ."

And having again closed his eyes he expired.

"Oh, poor Candlewick!" said Pinocchio in a low voice; and taking a handful of straw he dried a tear that was rolling down his face.

"Do you grieve for a donkey that cost you nothing?" said the gardener. "What must it be to me who bought him for ready money?"

"I must tell you . . . he was my friend!"

"Your friend?"

"One of my schoolfellows! . . ."

"How?" shouted Giangio, laughing loudly. "How? had you donkeys for schoolfellows? . . . I can imagine what wonderful studies you must have made! . . ."

The puppet, who felt much mortified at these words, did not answer; but taking his tumbler of milk, still quite warm, he returned to the hut.

And from that day for more than five months he continued to get up at daybreak every morning to go and turn the pumping machine, to earn the tumbler of milk that was of such benefit to his father in his bad state of health. Nor was he satisfied with this; for during the time that he had over he learnt to make hampers and baskets of rushes, and with the money he obtained by selling them he was able with great economy to provide for all the daily expenses. Amongst other things he constructed an elegant little wheel-chair, in which he could take his father out on fine days to breathe a mouthful of fresh air.

By his industry, ingenuity, and his anxiety to work and to overcome difficulties, he not only succeeded in maintaining his father, who continued infirm, in comfort, but he also contrived to put aside forty pence to buy himself a new coat.

He constructed an elegant little wheel chair in which he could take his father out on fine days.

One morning he said to his father:

"I am going to the neighbouring market to buy myself a jacket, a cap, and a pair of shoes. When I return," he added, laughing, "I shall be so well dressed that you will take me for a fine gentleman."

And leaving the house he began to run merrily and happily along. All at once he heard himself called by name, and turning round he saw a big Snail crawling out from the hedge.

"Do you not know me?" asked the Snail.

"It seems to me . . . and yet I am not sure . . ."

"Do you not remember the Snail who was lady's-maid to the Fairy with blue hair? Do you not remember the time when I came downstairs to let you in, and you were caught by your foot which you had stuck through the house door?"

"I remember it all," shouted Pinocchio. "Tell me quickly, my beautiful little Snail, where have you left my good Fairy? What is she doing? has she forgiven me? does she still remember me? does she still wish me well? is she far from here? can I go and see her?"

To all these rapid, breathless questions the Snail replied in her usual phlegmatic manner:

"My dear Pinocchio, the poor Fairy is lying in bed at the hospital! . . ."

"At the hospital? . . ."

"It is only too true. Overtaken by a thousand misfortunes she has fallen seriously ill, and she has not even enough to buy herself a mouthful of bread."

"Is it really so? . . . Oh, what sorrow you have given me! Oh, poor Fairy! poor Fairy! poor Fairy! . . . If I had a million I would run and carry it to her . . . but I have only forty pence . . . here they are: I was going to buy a new coat. Take them, Snail, and carry them at once to my good Fairy."

"And your new coat? . . ."

"What matters my new coat? I would sell even these rags that I have got on to be able to help her. Go, Snail, and be quick; and in two days return to this place, for I hope I shall then be able to give you some more money. Up to this time I have worked to maintain my papa: from to-day I will work five hours more that I may also maintain my good mamma. Good-bye, Snail, I shall expect you in two days."

The Snail, contrary to her usual habits, began to run like a lizard in a hot August sun.

That evening Pinocchio, instead of going to bed at ten o'clock, sat up till midnight had struck; and instead of making eight baskets of rushes he made sixteen.

Then he went to bed and fell asleep. And whilst he slept he thought that he saw the Fairy smiling and beautiful, who, after having kissed him, said to him:

"Well done, Pinocchio! To reward you for your good heart I will forgive you for all that is past. Boys who minister tenderly to their parents, and assist them in their misery and infirmities, are deserving of great praise and affection, even if they cannot be cited as examples of obedience and good behaviour. Try and do better in the future and and you will be happy."

At this moment his dream ended, and Pinocchio opened his eyes and awoke.

But imagine his astonishment when upon awakening he discovered that he was no longer a wooden puppet, but that he had become instead a boy, like all other boys. He gave a glance round and saw that the straw walls of the hut had disappeared, and that he was in a pretty little room furnished and arranged with a simplicity that was almost elegance. Jumping out of bed he found a new suit of clothes ready for him, a new cap, and a pair of new leather boots that fitted him beautifully.

He was hardly dressed when he naturally put his hands in his pockets, and pulled out a little ivory purse on which these words were written: "The Fairy with blue hair returns the forty pence to her dear Pinocchio, and thanks him for his good heart." He opened the purse, and instead of forty copper pennies he saw forty shining gold pieces fresh from the mint.

He then went and looked at himself in the glass, and he thought he was some one else. For he no longer saw the usual reflection of a wooden puppet; he was greeted instead by the image of a bright intelligent boy with chestnut hair, blue eyes, and looking as happy and joyful as if it were the Easter holidays.

In the midst of all these wonders succeeding each other Pinocchio felt quite bewildered, and he could not tell if he was really awake or if he was dreaming with his eyes open.

"Where can my papa be?" he exclaimed suddenly, and going into the next room he found old Geppetto quite well, lively, and in good humour, just as he had been formerly. He had already resumed his trade of wood-carving, and he was designing a rich and beautiful frame of leaves, flowers, and the heads of animals.

"Satisfy my curiosity, dear papa," said Pinocchio, throwing his arms round his neck and covering him with kisses; "how can this sudden change be accounted for?"

"This sudden change in our home is all your doing," answered Geppetto.

"How my doing?"

Because when boys who have behaved badly turn over a new leaf and become good, they have the power of bringing content and happiness to their families."

"And where has the old wooden Pinocchio hidden himself?"

"There he is," answered Geppetto, and he pointed to a big puppet leaning against a chair, with its head on one side, its arms dangling, and its legs so crossed and bent that it was really a miracle that it remained standing.

Pinocchio turned and looked at it; and after he had looked at it for a short time, he said to himself with great complacency:

"How ridiculous I was when I was a puppet! and how glad I am that I have become a well-behaved little boy! . . ."

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

The Second Proclamation

It seemed to me as if no more than half an hour had passed before Nicholas Skot was making another proclamation, and this time to the effect that whosoever, after that moment, was heard uttering profane words, should have a can full of cold water poured down his sleeve.

On hearing this, the unruly ones laughed in derision and straightway began to shout forth such a volley of oaths as I had never heard during a drunken brawl in the streets of London.

It was not long, however, that they were thus allowed to shame decent people. Down from the fort came Captain Smith, with six stout men behind him, and in a twinkling there was as hot a fight within twenty paces of Master Ratcliffe's tent, as could be well imagined.

And the result of it all was, much to the satisfaction of Nathaniel and myself, that every one of these men who had amused themselves by uttering the vilest of oaths, had a full can of the coldest water that could be procured, poured down the sleeve of his doublet.

The method of doing it was comical, if one could forget how serious was the situation. Two of my master's followers would pounce upon the fellow who was making the air blue with oaths, and, throwing him to the ground, hold him there firmly while the third raised his arm and carefully poured the water down the sleeve.

Now you may fancy that this was not very harsh treatment; but I afterward heard those who had been thus punished, say that they would choose five or six stout lashes on their backs, rather than take again such a dose as was dealt out on that day after John Smith was made captain and commander, or whatsoever you choose to call his office, in the village of Jamestown.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Building a Fortified Village

There is little need for me to say that these were not the only reforms which my master brought about, after having waited long enough for our lazy gentlemen to understand that unless they set their hands to labor they could not eat from the general store.

He straightway set these idle ones to work building houses, declaring that if the sickness which had come among us was to be checked, our people must no longer sleep upon the ground, or in caves where the moisture gathered all around them.

He marked out places whereon log dwellings should be placed, in such manner that when the houses had been set up, they would form a square, and, as I heard him tell Master Hunt, it was his intention to have all the buildings surrounded by a palisade in which should be many gates.

Thus, when all was finished, he would have a fort-like village, wherein the people could rest without fear of what the savages might be able to do.

By the time such work was well under way, and our gentlemen laboring as honest men should, after learning that it was necessary so to do unless they were willing to go hungry, Captain Smith set about adding to our store of food, for it was not to be supposed that we could depend for any length of time upon what the Indians might give us, and the winter would be long.

 

Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Trapping Turkeys

The wild turkeys had appeared in the forest in great numbers, but few had been killed by our people because of the savages, many of whom were not to be trusted, even though the chiefs of three tribes professed to be friendly. It was this fact which had prevented us from doing much in the way of hunting.

Now that we were in such stress for food, and since all had turned laborers, whether willingly or no, much in the way of provisions was needed. Captain Smith set about taking the turkeys as he did about most other matters, which is to say, that it was done in a thorough manner.

Instead of being forced to spend at least one charge of powder for each fowl killed, he proposed that we trap them, and showed how it might be done, according to his belief.

Four men were told off to do the work, and they were kept busy cutting saplings and trimming them down until there was nothing left save poles from fifteen to twenty feet long. Then, with these poles laid one above the other, a square pen was made, and at the top was a thatching of branches, so that no fowl larger than a pigeon might go through.

From one side of this trap, or turkey pen, was dug a ditch perhaps two feet deep, and the same in width, running straightway into the thicket where the turkeys were in the custom of roosting, for a distance of twenty feet or more. This ditch was carried underneath the side of the pen, where was an opening hardly more than large enough for one turkey to pass through. Corn was scattered along the whole length of the ditch, and thus was the trap set.

The turkeys, on finding the trail of corn, would follow hurriedly along, like the gluttons they are, with the idea of coming upon a larger hoard, and thus pass through into the pen. Once inside they were trapped securely, for the wild turkey holds his head so high that he can never see the way out through a hole which is at a level with his feet.

It was a most ingenious contrivance, and on the first morning after it had been set at night, we had fifty plump fellows securely caged, when it was only necessary to enter the trap by crawling through the top, and kill them at our leisure.

It may be asked how we made shift to cook such a thing as a turkey, other than by boiling it in a kettle, and this can be told in very few words, for it was a simple matter after once you had become accustomed to it.

 

Alfred Lord Tennyson

The Bee and the Flower

The bee buzzed up in the heat. "I am faint for your honey, my sweet." The flower said, "Take it, my dear, For now is the spring of the year. So come, come!" "Hum!" And the bee buzzed down from the heat. And the bee buzzed up in the cold When the flower was withered and old. "Have you still any honey, my dear?" She said, "It 's the fall of the year, But come, come!" "Hum!" And the bee buzzed off in the cold.

 

Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

The Brave Three Hundred

A LL Greece was in danger. A mighty army, led by the great King of Persia, had come from the east. It was marching along the seashore, and in a few days would be in Greece. The great king had sent mes-sen-gers into every city and state, bidding them give him water and earth in token that the land and the sea were his. But they said,—

"No: we will be free."

And so there was a great stir through-out all the land. The men armed themselves, and made haste to go out and drive back their foe; and the women stayed at home, weeping and waiting, and trembling with fear.

There was only one way by which the Per-sian army could go into Greece on that side, and that was by a narrow pass between the mountains and the sea. This pass was guarded by Le-on´i-das, the King of the Spartans, with three hundred Spartan soldiers.

Soon the Persian soldiers were seen coming. There were so many of them that no man could count them. How could a handful of men hope to stand against so great a host?

And yet Le-on-i-das and his Spartans held their ground. They had made up their minds to die at their post. Some one brought them word that there were so many Persians that their arrows dark-ened the sun.

"So much the better," said the Spartans; "we shall fight in the shade."

Bravely they stood in the narrow pass. Bravely they faced their foes. To Spartans there was no such thing as fear. The Persians came forward, only to meet death at the points of their spears.

But one by one the Spartans fell. At last their spears were broken; yet still they stood side by side, fighting to the last. Some fought with swords, some with daggers, and some with only their fists and teeth.

All day long the army of the Persians was kept at bay. But when the sun went down, there was not one Spartan left alive. Where they had stood there was only a heap of the slain, all bristled over with spears and arrows.

Twenty thousand Persian soldiers had fallen before that handful of men. And Greece was saved.

Thousands of years have passed since then; but men still like to tell the story of Leonidas and the brave three hundred who died for their country's sake.

 

Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Ants with Wings

Ants with wings come out of their homes in the ground. They come from many homes in different places.

All the ants of the same kind come the same day. They fly away together. There are so many ants with wings that they seem like a cloud in the air.

Soon the ants fly down to the ground and take off their wings. They do not need to use them again.

Bees and beetles and butterflies and other insects keep their wings after they are grown. They do not take them off and throw them away.

But ants have habits of their own. When their wings are grown they fly one day. The father and mother ants fly at the same time. After that they never fly again.

The mother ants tear off their own wings. Then they hunt for good places for new homes. They do not go back to their old homes.

The mother ants dig holes in new places and lay eggs. Most of the young ants grow up to be workers.

Worker ants do not have any wings. They can never fly away. They stay at home and help the mother ant. They are busy every day.

Their mother lays many, many eggs. The workers take care of the babies.

The young ants are soft and white. They have no legs. The workers take them to rooms in the ground.

Often there is a stone over one room in the home of an ant. That is a good room for baby ants.

Don picked up a stone that was over some ants. He and Nan saw the white ant babies under the stone. The young ants were in cocoons. They looked like little white eggs.

The worker ants ran very fast to the cocoons. Each worker held one cocoon in her mouth and took it into another room in the ground.

 

Elizabeth Lee Follen

Runaway Brook

"Stop, stop, pretty water!" Said Mary one day, To a frolicsome brook That was running away. "You run on so fast! I wish you would stay; My boat and my flowers You will carry away. "But I will run after; Mother says that I may; For I would know where You are running away." So Mary ran on; But I have heard say, That she never could find Where the brook ran away.

 

The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

The Constant Singers

O VER in a maple-tree on the edge of Farmer Brown's door yard lived Mr. and Mrs. Redeye the Vireos. Peter Rabbit knew that they had a nest there because Jenny Wren had told him so. He would have guessed it anyway, because Redeye spent so much time in that tree during the nesting season. No matter what hour of the day Peter visited the Old Orchard he heard Redeye singing over in the maple-tree. Peter used to think that if song is an expression of happiness, Redeye must be the happiest of all birds.

He was a little fellow about the size of one of the larger Warblers and quite as modestly dressed as any of Peter's acquaintances. The crown of his head was gray with a little blackish border on either side. Over each eye was a white line. Underneath he was white. For the rest he was dressed in light olive-green. The first time he came down near enough for Peter to see him well Peter understood at once why he is called Redeye. His eyes were red. Yes, sir, his eyes were red and this fact alone was enough to distinguish him from any other members of his family.

But it wasn't often that Redeye came down so near the ground that Peter could see his eyes. He preferred to spend most of his time in the tree tops, and Peter only got glimpses of him now and then. But if he didn't see him often it was less often that he failed to hear him. "I don't see when Redeye finds time to eat," declared Peter as he listened to the seemingly unending song in the maple-tree.

"Redeye believes in singing while he works," said Jenny Wren. "For my part I should think he'd wear his throat out. When other birds sing they don't do anything else, but Redeye sings all the time he is hunting his meals and only stops long enough to swallow a worm or a bug when he finds it. Just as soon as it is down he begins to sing again while he hunts for another. I must say for the Redeyes that they are mighty good nest builders. Have you seen their nest over in that maple-tree, Peter?"

Peter shook his head.

"I don't dare go over there except very early in the morning before Farmer Brown's folks are awake," said he, "so I haven't had much chance to look for it."

"You probably couldn't see it, anyway," declared Jenny Wren. "They have placed it rather high up from the ground and those leaves are so thick that they hide it. It's a regular little basket fastened in a fork near the end of a branch and it is woven almost as nicely as is the nest of Goldy the Oriole. How anybody has the patience to weave a nest like that is beyond me."

"What's it made of?" asked Peter.

"Strips of bark, plant down, spider's web, grass, and pieces of paper!" replied Jenny. "That's a funny thing about Redeye; he dearly loves a piece of paper in his nest. What for, I can't imagine. He's as fussy about having a scrap of paper as Cresty the Flycatcher is about having a piece of Snakeskin. I had just a peep into that nest a few days ago and unless I am greatly mistaken Sally Sly the Cowbird has managed to impose on the Redeyes. I am certain I saw one of her eggs in that nest."

A few mornings after this talk with Jenny Wren about Redeye the Vireo Peter once more visited the Old Orchard. No sooner did he come in sight than Jenny Wren's tongue began to fly. "What did I tell you, Peter Rabbit? What did I tell you? I knew it was so, and it is!" cried Jenny.

"What is so?" asked Peter rather testily, for he hadn't the least idea what Jenny Wren was talking about.

"Sally Sly did  lay an egg in Redeye's nest, and now it has hatched and I don't know whatever is to become of Redeye's own children. It's perfectly scandalous! That's what it is, perfectly scandalous!" cried Jenny, and hopped about and jerked her tail and worked herself into a small brown fury.

"The Redeyes are working themselves to feathers and bone feeding that ugly young Cowbird while their own babies aren't getting half enough to eat," continued Jenny. "One of them has died already. He was kicked out of the nest by that young brute."

"How dreadful!" cried Peter. "If he does things like that I should think the Redeyes would throw him  out of the nest."

"They're too soft-hearted," declared Jenny. "I can tell you I wouldn't be so soft-hearted if I were in their place. No, sir-ee, I wouldn't! But they say it isn't his fault that he's there, and that he's nothing but a helpless baby, and so they just take care of him."

"Then why don't they feed their own babies first and give him what's left?" demanded Peter.

"Because he's twice as big as any of their own babies and so strong and greedy that he simply snatches the food out of the very mouths of the others. Because he gets most of the food, he's growing twice as fast as they are. I wouldn't be surprised if he kicks all the rest of them out before he gets through. Mr. and Mrs. Redeye are dreadfully distressed about it, but they will  feed him because they say it isn't his fault. It's a dreadful affair and the talk of the whole Orchard. I suppose his mother is off gadding somewhere, having a good time and not caring a flip of her tail feathers what becomes of him. I believe in being good-hearted, but there is such a thing as overdoing the matter. Thank goodness I'm not so weak-minded that I can be imposed on in any such way as that."

"Speaking of the Vireos, Redeye seems to be the only member of his family around here," remarked Peter.

"Listen!" commanded Jenny Wren. "Don't you hear that warbling song 'way over in the big elm in front of Farmer Brown's house where Goldy the oriole has his nest?"

Peter listened. At first he didn't hear it, and as usual Jenny Wren made fun of him for having such big ears and not being able to make better use of them. Presently he did hear it. The voice was not unlike that of Redeye, but the song was smoother, more continuous and sweeter. Peter's face lighted up. "I hear it," he cried.

"That's Redeye's cousin, the Warbling Vireo," said Jenny. "He's a better singer than Redeye and just as fond of hearing his own voice. He sings from the time jolly Mr. Sun gets up in the morning until he goes to bed at night. He sings when it is so hot that the rest of us are glad to keep still for comfort's sake. I don't know of anybody more fond of the tree tops than he is. He doesn't seem to care anything about the Old Orchard, but stays over in those big trees along the road. He's got a nest over in that big elm and it is as high up as that of Goldy the Oriole; I haven't seen it myself, but Goldy told me about it. Why any one so small should want to live so high up in the world I don't know, any more than I know why any one wants to live anywhere but in the Old Orchard."

"Somehow I don't remember just what Warble looks like," Peter confessed.

"He looks a lot like his cousin, Redeye," replied Jenny. "His coat is a little duller olive-green and underneath he is a little bit yellowish instead of being white. Of course he doesn't have red eyes, and he is a little smaller than Redeye. The whole family looks pretty much alike anyway."

"You said something then, Jenny Wren," declared Peter. "They get me all mixed up. If only some of them had some bright colors it would be easier to tell them apart."

"One has," replied Jenny Wren. "He has a bright yellow throat and breast and is called the Yellow-throated Vireo. There isn't the least chance of mistaking him."

"Is he a singer, too?" asked Peter.

"Of course," replied Jenny. "Every one of that blessed family loves the sound of his own voice. It's a family trait. Sometimes it just makes my throat sore to listen to them all day long. A good thing is good, but more than enough of a good thing is too much. That applies to gossiping just as well as to singing and I've wasted more time on you than I've any business to. Now hop along, Peter, and don't bother me any more to-day."

Peter hopped.

 

The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Ass and the Load of Salt

A Merchant, driving his Ass homeward from the seashore with a heavy load of salt, came to a river crossed by a shallow ford. They had crossed this river many times before without accident, but this time the Ass slipped and fell when halfway over. And when the Merchant at last got him to his feet, much of the salt had melted away. Delighted to find how much lighter his burden had become, the Ass finished the journey very gayly.

Next day the Merchant went for another load of salt. On the way home the Ass, remembering what had happened at the ford, purposely let himself fall into the water, and again got rid of most of his burden.

The angry Merchant immediately turned about and drove the Ass back to the seashore, where he loaded him with two great baskets of sponges. At the ford the Ass again tumbled over; but when he had scrambled to his feet, it was a very disconsolate Ass that dragged himself homeward under a load ten times heavier than before.

The same measures will not suit all circumstances.

The Ass and the Load of Salt

 

The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said  by Padraic Colum

The Treasure of King Labraid Lorc

Part 1 of 2

K INGFISHER-ALL-BLUE used to sit on the branch that went furthest across the stream with his head bent down and looking as if he were trying to think his head off. Only in the most lonesome places, far from where the hens cackled and the geese gabbled and the cocks crew, would the Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said find him. And when he did find him Kingfisher-all-blue would not open his beak to say one word—no, not even when the Boy would say "Where did you get your beautiful color?" and "Why is your beak so big, little Kingfisher-all-Blue?"

Now one day when he had left behind him the hens that cackled, the geese that gabbled and the cocks that crew, and had left behind him too the old raven that built in the lone tree he came where Kingfisher-all-Blue sat upon the slenderest branch that went farthest across the stream. And when Kingfisher-all-Blue saw him he lifted up his head and he fixed his eye upon him and he cried out the one word "Follow." Then he went flying down the stream as if he were not a bird at all but a streak of blue fire.

Kingfisher-all-Blue went flying along the stream and the Boy Who Knew What the Birds said was able to follow him. They went on until the stream they followed came out on the sand of the sea-shore. Then Kingfisher-all-Blue seated himself on a branch that was just above where the grains of sand and the blades of grass mixed with each other and he fixed his eye on a mound of sand and clay. And when the Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said came beside him Kingfisher-all-Blue said the one word "Find."

Then the Boy Who Knew What the Birds said began to take the sand and clay from the mound. He worked all day at it and Kingfisher-all-Blue sat on the branch above and watched him. And at evening, when all the sand and clay had been taken away by him the Boy Who Knew What the Birds said came upon a stone that was as big and as round as the wheel of a cart.

And when he had brushed away the grains of sand that was on the round stone he saw a writing. The writing was in Ogham, but at that time even boys could read Ogham. And the Ogham writing said You Have Luck to Have Seen This Side of The Stone But You Will Have More Luck When You See the Other Side.

When he read that he looked up to where the bird sat, but Kingfisher-all-Blue only said "I am done with you now," and then he flew back along the stream like a streak of blue fire.

The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said stayed near the stone until the dark was coming on. Then he thought he would go home and in the morning he would speak to Pracaun the Crow and ask her about the stone that Kingfisher-all-Blue had brought him to and what good luck there was at the other side of it.

Pracaun the Crow came to the standing stone in the morning and ate the boiled potato that the Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said brought her, and then the Boy spoke to her about the stone that Kingfisher-all-Blue had brought him to, and he asked what good luck there was at the other side of it.

"Kingfisher-all-Blue has brought you to good luck that none of the rest of us could have shown you," said Pracaun the Crow. "Under that round stone is the treasure of King Labraid Lorc."

"Who was King Labraid Lorc and what was his treasure?" said the Boy Who Knew What the Birds said.

"I will tell you first about King Labraid Lorc," said Pracaun the Crow. "He was King of this part of the country and of two lovely Islands that are now sunken deep in the sea. Mananaun Mac Lir who is Lord of the Sea was his friend and Labraid Lorc would have been a happy King only for—well, I'll tell you in a while what troubles he had.

No one knew where the King had come from. He was not born King of this part of the country nor of the lovely Islands that are now deep sunken under the sea. Mananaun who is Lord of the Sea had given him the Islands, or rather he had given him the two keys that had brought the Islands up from the bottom of the sea. Two silver keys they were, O lad. And when they were brought together they struck each other and rang like bells. And "Labraid Lorc is King, King of the two Fair Islands" is what they chimed out. As long as he held the keys the Islands would remain above the water. But if he put the keys away the Islands would sink back into the sea.

Once in every month the King had a man killed. This is how it was. He would have a man to shave his beard and to trim his hair. This man never came alive out of the King's Castle. As soon as the poor barber left the King's chamber and passed down the hall soldiers would fall upon him and kill him with their swords. Every time when the King's beard was shaved and his hair was trimmed a man was killed—twelve men in a year, a hundred and forty-four men in twelve years!

Now a warning came to a woman that her son would be called upon to be the next barber to the King. She was a widow and the young man was her only son. She was wild with grief when she thought that he would be killed by the soldiers' swords as soon as he had shaved the King's beard and trimmed the King's hair.

She went everywhere the King rode. She threw herself before him and asked for the life of her son. And at last the King promised that no harm would befall her son's life if he swore he would tell no person what he saw when he shaved the King's beard and trimmed the King's hair. After that he would be always the King's barber.

The widow's son came before the King and he swore he would tell no person what he saw when he shaved his beard and trimmed his hair. Then he went into the King's Chamber. And when he came out from it the King's soldiers did not fall upon him and kill him with their swords. The widow's son went home out of the Castle.

His mother cried over him with joy at seeing him back. The next day he went to work at his trade and his mother watched him and was contented in her mind. But the day after her son only worked by fits and starts, and the day after that he did no work at all but sat over the fire looking into the burning coals.

And after that the widow's son became sick and lay on his bed and no one could tell what was the matter with him. He became more and more ill and at last his mother thought that he had only escaped the soldiers' swords to come home and die in his house. And when she thought of that she said to herself that she would go see the Druid who lived at the back of the hill and beg him to come to see her son and strive to cure him. The Druid came and he looked into the eyes of the young man and he said "He has a secret upon his mind, and if he does not tell it he will die."

Then his mother told the Druid that he had sworn not to tell any person what he saw when he shaved the King's beard and trimmed the King's hair, and that what he saw was his secret. Said the Druid "If he wants to live he will have to sneak out his secret. But it need not be to any person. Let him go to the meeting of two roads, turn with the sun and tell his secret to the first tree on his right hand. And when he feels he has told his secret your son will get the better of his sickness."

 

Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I See Savages

EARLY one morning in harvest time I went out to my grain fields to cut down some barley. The days were so very hot that it was pleasanter to rise before daylight and do the heavier part of my work before the sun was high.

On this morning of which I am telling you, I started out while it was still quite dark. I had been to the fields so often that I could have found the way with my eyes shut.

As I went along, I was surprised to see a light far over toward my side of the island. I stopped and looked. It was plainly the light of a blazing fire.

Who could have built a fire there?

Surely none but savages.

I was so much surprised that I stood still and wondered.

What if those savages should find my grain fields?

They would know at once that somebody had planted them, and they would never rest till they should find me.

I could now see the blaze quite plainly. As the day dawned, I could also see the smoke rising above the trees. The fire was not more than two miles away.

I hurried back to my castle as fast as I could run. I made everything on the outside of it look as wild as possible.

I climbed over the wall and pulled up the ladder after me.

I loaded all my cannon, as I called the guns, that I had placed in the wall. I put everything in order for a siege.

Then I waited to see if any enemy would come near.

Two hours, three hours passed, and there was no sight nor sound that was at all uncommon. I began to wonder if, after all, the fire had been kindled by some accident and not by strange men.

At last I could wait no longer. I set up my ladder against the side of the rock and climbed up to a flat place above my castle. I pulled the ladder up after me and then mounted to another landing. I pulled it up a second time, and it now reached to the top of the great rock.

Here was the place I called my lookout.

Very carefully I climbed up. I laid myself down upon the rock and through my spyglass looked over toward the place where I had seen the fire.

I could still see the smoke. Yes, and I could see some naked savages sitting around a small fire.

I counted them, and made out that there were no fewer than nine of the wretches.

They surely did not need a fire to warm themselves by, for the day was very hot. No doubt they were cooking something. Perhaps they were cannibals and were getting ready for one of their horrible feasts.

On the beach not far from them I saw the two canoes in which they had arrived.

The tide was now at its lowest. When it returned and floated the canoes, they would probably go away.

This thought made me feel much easier, for I was sure they would not wander far inland.

I waited and watched till the tide was again at the flood.

Then I saw them all get into the boats and paddle away. They seemed to be going around to the other side of the island.

I could now breathe freely again. As soon as they were well gone, I armed myself and hurried across the land to see if I could get another sight of them.

I carried two guns on my shoulder, two pistols in my belt, and a big sword at my side. You would have been frightened, had you seen me.

It was a long, hard walk. But by and by I came to the hill that overlooked the farther shore of the island.

This I climbed. I scanned sea and land with my spyglass.

Yes, there were the two canoes coming slowly around the coast.

But what was my surprise to see three other boats put off from a cove near by and hasten around to meet them!

It seemed, then, that another party of savages had been feasting at the very spot where I had seen the first footprint in the sand.

I watched the canoes until all five were far out to sea, on their way to the low-lying shore in the distant west.

Then I went down to the place where the savages had been feasting.

What a dreadful sight met my eyes! The sand was covered with blood and bones. No doubt some poor captive had been killed there and eaten.

I made up my mind that if any other savages should ever come to my island for such a feast, I would not let them enjoy it.

I gathered up the bones and buried them in the sand. Then I went slowly and sadly back to my castle.

After that I never felt quite safe at any time. I dared not fire a gun; I dared not build a fire; I dared not walk far from home.

While awake, I was always planning how to escape the savages. While asleep, I was always dreaming of dreadful things.

Yet days and months passed by, and still no other savages came.

 

Thomas Westwood

Mine Host of "The Golden Apple"

A goodly host one day was mine, A Golden Apple his only sign, That hung from a long branch, ripe and fine. My host was the bountiful apple tree; He gave me shelter and nourished me With the best of fare, all fresh and free. And light-winged guests came not a few, To his leafy inn, and sipped the dew, And sang their best songs ere they flew. I slept at night, on a downy bed Of moss, and my Host benignly spread His own cool shadow over my head. When I asked what reckoning there might be, He shook his broad boughs cheerily:— A blessing be thine, green Apple tree!

 

The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

The Stormy Cape

"Over the great windy waters, and over the clear crested summits, Unto the sun and the sky. . . come let us go." —Clough.

P RINCE HENRY was dead; but his work did not die with him. At the time of his death, in 1460, his ships had not gone farther than the spot where Hanno had found his gorillas two thousand years before, but he had roused in his countrymen the spirit of adventure, of curiosity in regard to the unknown seas, which should never die.

Some years after his death the equator was at last crossed. Wherever they landed it was the custom of the Portuguese to set up crosses to show that they had taken possession of the country. Sometimes they would also carve Prince Henry's motto on the trees, together with the name they gave to the new land. Later they took out stone pillars, with the royal arms sculptured in front surmounted by a cross.

In 1484 one of these stone pillars was set up by a knight of the king's household at the mouth of a large river known to us now as the Congo. From the river Niger to this river they found the coast very flat, made up of lagoons and swamps, with a bottom of black mud alive with land-crabs,—hot-beds of African fever.

It would take too long to tell how the King of Congo became a Christian, and commanded all the idols throughout his kingdom to be destroyed. How he received the Portuguese, seated on a throne of ivory raised on a lofty platform; his black and shining skin was uncovered, save for bracelets of copper on his arm, a horse's tail hung from his shoulder, and a cap of palm leaves. He was so impressed with the Portuguese that his children and grandchildren were sent to Lisbon to be educated.

We must now pass on to a great expedition which was fitted out by the King of Portugal for further exploration. Two small ships were made ready, and one Bartholomew Diaz, well known as a daring sailor, was given command. It was fitting that a Diaz should fulfill the ruling desire of the Prince's life. A Diaz had been the first to double Cape Bojador, a Diaz had been the first to reach Cape Verde. A member of the same sea-loving race was to sail first round the extremity of the unknown land of South Africa.

The little party reached the farthest limit of Portuguese exploration, and passed the farthest pillar on the coast of West Africa. Southward still they sailed, till they reached the mouth of the Orange River, which flows westwards, dividing the Orange River Colony from Cape Colony.

For the next thirteen days they were driven before the wind, due south, the weather growing colder and colder each day, for they were drifting far to the south of South Africa, though they still imagined the coast line ran north and south, as it had done for some time. When the wind abated a little, Diaz steered in the direction he imagined to find land, and was not a little surprised to find himself on a little island in what we now call Algoa Bay. Here he set up a pillar with its cross and gave it the name of Santa Crux, which name still survives. And this was the first land beyond the Cape which was trodden by European feet.

The crews now began to complain: they were worn out and weary, and they were alarmed at the heavy seas through which they were passing. Diaz, his resolute face set eastward toward the unknown, could not bear the thought of returning without further information to bring home. But with one voice the sailors protested. At last it was agreed that they should sail on for three days in the same direction, and if they found no land at the end of that time they would return.

They soon came to the mouth of a large river, now known as the Great Fish River, and as the eastern boundary of Cape Colony. Notwithstanding the interest of the fresh discovery, the crew began their complaints again. They must turn back: they would go no farther. Sadly Diaz was compelled to turn his back on the unknown. When he reached the little island of Santa Cruz he landed and bade farewell to the cross he had set up there with as much sorrow as if he were leaving his child in that wilderness of waters with no hope of ever seeing it again. It seemed as if they had faced all their dangers, undergone all their hardships in vain; and it was in the deepest grief that he sailed to the west on the way home. But as he sailed onwards to the west he came in sight of the mysterious Cape which had been hidden from the eyes of man all through these long ages.

He had some great news to tell the King of Portugal on his return. He had added to the knowledge of the great world, he had made the name of Diaz famous throughout the ages, though he was yet unconscious how important his discovery really was.

"It shall be called the Cape of Storms," he said, when he reached Portugal and made his report to the king.

But the king foresaw the possibility of this being the longed-for way to the East.

"No," he said, "rather the Cape of Good Hope." And it is the Cape of Good Hope to this day.

 

Merry Tales  by Eleanor L. Skinner

The Fishing Party

Southern Folk Tale

O NE clear, warm evening about sunset Brother Rabbit was walking down a road which led to the old mill. He was saying to himself: "It has been a week or more since I have had any fun. I do wish something would happen to make times a little livelier. I'm—"

"A fine sunset, Brother Rabbit! A penny for your thoughts. I do believe you would have passed me without speaking."

"Good evening, Brother Terrapin," said the rabbit, stopping and holding out his hand in a most cordial way. "I am very glad to see you, for I like your opinion immensely. I'll tell you what I was thinking about, my friend. I was planning a little fishing party. Come, let us sit down here on the roadside and talk it over."

Brother Terrapin replied: "A fishing party! That will be fine sport. We should become very dull indeed in this neighborhood, Brother Rabbit, if it were not for your plans. Have you decided whom to invite?"

"Well," said Brother Rabbit, "I think it unwise to invite too many. Perhaps five, including ourselves, are enough, because, you see, we must keep very quiet, and if the party is large, there is danger of too much merriment. Have you any particular friend who enjoys fishing?"

"Oh, yes, indeed. Brother Bear is very quiet and sensible, and he loves to fish for mud turtles," replied Brother Terrapin.

"Well, I have in mind Brother Fox and Brother Wolf. Look, here they come! What good luck! Let us see what they think about the plan." And the rabbit danced away up the road to meet his friends and tell them about the fishing party.

"Exactly the kind of sport I enjoy most," said Brother Wolf, interrupting Brother Rabbit. "I'll fish for hornyheads. Come, Brother Fox, what do you say?"

"First, I wish to thank Brother Rabbit for his kind invitation," said Brother Fox, politely. "Of course, you all know that I shall fish for perch, and I think I shall use a dip net. Good evening, Brother Terrapin. What an interesting party ours will be. What will you fish for?"

"Oh," laughed Brother Terrapin, "minnows suit my taste very well."

"All right," said Brother Rabbit. "Now let us meet at the mill pond about eight o'clock this evening. Brother Terrapin, may I trouble you to bring the bait? The others will each bring a hook and line, and, Brother Fox, please do not forget your fine dip net. About twelve o'clock you are all invited to a fish supper at my house. Don't forget the time and place of meeting. Farewell."

All hurried away to prepare for the evening's amusement, and, at the appointed time, the five merry brothers met at the mill pond.

Brother Rabbit was very anxious to begin; so he baited his hook and stepped up to the very edge of the water. Then he stopped suddenly, looked straight down into the pond, dropped his fishing pole, and scratched his head.

"Mercy!" said Brother Fox. "What in the world is the matter with Brother Rabbit? Let us slip up to him and see what is the trouble. Come, all together."

But Brother Rabbit turned and walked toward them, shook his head seriously, and said: "No fishing to-night, my friends. We might as well go home."

"What is it? What did you see?" began the bear, the fox, and the wolf. Brother Terrapin crept up to the edge of the pond, looked straight into the water, jumped back, and said, "Tut, tut, tut! To be sure! To be sure!"

"Come, come, tell us. We cannot bear this suspense," snapped the fox.

Then Brother Rabbit said slowly, "The moon has dropped into the mill pond, and if you don't believe me, go and look for yourselves."

"Impossible!" cried Brother Bear.

They all crept up to the edge of the pond and looked in and there they saw the golden moon right down in the clear water.

"Isn't that too bad?" said Brother Wolf.

"Well, well, well," sighed Brother Fox; and Brother Bear shook his head slowly and said, "The impossible has happened!"

"Now, I'll tell you something," began the rabbit, who was not to be easily daunted, "we must get that moon out of the water before we begin to fish. I tell you truly no fish will bite while that great golden ball is near."

"Well, Brother Rabbit," said the wolf, "can't you make a suggestion in this matter? You usually know what to do."

"I have it, my friends," said the rabbit jumping up and down. "I have it! I know where I can borrow a sieve. I'll run and get it and then we can dip up the moon in no time. We'll have our fishing party yet!" and off he ran.

Brother Terrapin was thinking. In a little while he looked up and said, "My friends, I have often heard that there is a pot of gold in the moon."

"What's that?" said Brother Fox, quickly.

"I was saying that my grandmother has often told me that there is a pot of gold in the moon. But here comes Brother Rabbit with the sieve."

"My good friend," said Brother Fox, "you were kind enough to go after that sieve and now you must let Brother Bear, Brother Wolf, and myself do the work. No, don't take off your coat. You are such a little fellow that it would be dangerous for you to go into the water. You and Brother Terrapin stand here on the bank and watch us. Come, give me the sieve."

So Brother Terrapin and Brother Rabbit stood on the bank and watched the others wade into the pond.

They dipped the sieve down once. "No moon," said Brother Bear.

Again they dipped. "No moon," said Brother Wolf.

"Come," said Brother Fox, "we must go farther in."

"Oh, do be careful, my friends," called the rabbit, "you are near a very deep hole."

Buzz, buzz! The water was roaring in Brother Bear's ears and he shook his head violently. Down went the sieve again.

"No moon," sighed Brother Fox. "A little farther out, friends. Now, down again with the sieve."

Splash! Splash! Splash! Down they all went with the sieve. They kicked and tumbled and splashed as if they would throw all the water out of the mill pond. Then they swam for the shore and all came out dripping wet. "No moon," said Brother Fox, sulkily. "What! No moon? Well, well, well!" said Brother Rabbit.

"Too bad! Too bad!" said Brother Terrapin.

"My friends," said the rabbit, seriously, "I think you ought to go home and put on some dry clothes. I do, indeed. And I hope we shall have better luck next time. Good night."

 

Walter de la Mare

Bunches of Grapes

"Bunches of grapes," says Timothy: "Pomegranates pink," says Elaine; "A junket of cream and a cranberry tart For me," says Jane. "Love-in-a-mist," says Timothy: "Primroses pale," says Elaine; "A nosegay of pinks and mignonette For me," says Jane. "Chariots of gold," says Timothy: "Silvery wings," says Elaine; "A bumpity ride in a wagon of hay For me," says Jane.

 

The Bears of Blue River  by Charles Major

Lost in a Forest

Part 2 of 2

"I just felt," said Balser afterward, "that I wanted to lie down and let the bear eat me at once if I could only keep it away from Liney. I shouted and threw clods and sticks at it, but on it went toward her. I reckon it thought she was the nicest and preferred her to me. It was right, too, for she was a heap the nicest, and I didn't blame the bear for wanting her.

"Again I shouted, 'Run, Liney! Run!' My voice seemed to waken her, and she started to run as fast as she could go, with the bear after her, and I after the bear as fast as I could go. I was shouting and doing my best to make the bear run after me instead of Liney; but it kept right on after her, and she kept on running faster and faster into the dark woods. In a short time I caught up with the bear, and kicked it on the side as hard as I could kick. That made it mad, and it turned upon me with a furious growl, as much as to say that it would settle with me pretty quick and then get Liney. After I had kicked it I started to run toward my gun, which was over by the blackberry patch. For a while I could hear the bear growling and puffing right at my heels, and it made me just fly, you may be sure. I never ran so fast in all my life, for I knew that I could not hold out long against the bear, and that if I didn't get my gun quick he would surely get me. I did not care as much as you might think, nor was I very badly frightened, for I was so glad I had saved Liney. But naturally I wanted to save myself too, if possible, so, as I have said, I ran as I never ran before—or since, for that matter.

"Soon the growls of the bear began to grow indistinct, and presently they ceased and I thought I had left it behind. So I kept on running toward my gun, and never stopped to look back until I heard another scream from Liney. Then I looked behind me, and saw that the bear had turned and was again after her, although she was quite a distance ahead of it.

"I thought at first that I should turn back and kick the bear again, and just lie down and let it eat me if nothing else would satisfy it; but I was so near my gun that I concluded to get it and then hurry back and shoot the bear instead of kicking it.

"I heard Liney scream again and heard her call 'B-a-l-s-e-r,' and that made me run even faster than the bear made me go. It was but a few seconds until I had my gun and had started back to help Liney.

"Soon I was at the hollow sycamore, but the bushes into which Liney had run were so thick and dark that I could see neither her nor the bear. I quickly ran into the woods where I thought Liney had gone, and when I was a little way into the thicket I called to her, but she did not answer. I then went on, following the track of the bear as well as I could. Bears, you know, have long flat feet that do not sink into the ground and leave a distinct track like a deer's foot does, so I soon lost the bear tracks and did not know which way to go.

"I kept going, however, calling loudly for Liney every now and then, and soon I was so deep into the forest that it seemed almost night. I could not see far in any direction on account of the thick underbrush, and at a little distance objects appeared indistinct. On I went, knowing not where, calling 'Liney! Liney!' at nearly every step; but I heard no answer, and it seemed that I liked Liney Fox better than anybody in all the world, and would have given my life to save her."

After Balser had gone into the woods to help Liney the other children gathered in a frightened group about the tree under which they had eaten dinner. There they waited in the greatest anxiety and fear until the sun had almost sunk below the horizon, but Balser and Liney did not return. Shortly before dark the children started homeward, very heavy-hearted and sorrowful, you may be sure. When they reached the river they paddled across and told Mr. Brent that Balser and Liney were lost in the woods, and that when last seen a huge bear was in pursuit of Liney. Balser's father lost not a moment, but ran to a hill near the house, upon the top of which stood a large stack of dry grass, leaves, and wood, placed there for the purpose of signalling the neighbours in case of distress. He at once put fire to the dry grass, and soon there was a blaze, the light from which could be seen for miles around.

Mr. Brent immediately crossed the river, and leaving Tom Fox behind to guide the neighbours, walked rapidly in the direction of the place where Balser and Liney had last been seen. He took with him the dogs, and a number of torches which he intended to light from a tinder-box if he should need them.

The neighbours soon hurried to the Brent home in response to the fire signal, and several of them started out to rescue the children, if possible. If help were to be given, it must be done at once. A night in the woods meant almost certain death to the boy and girl; for, besides bears and wolves, there had been for several weeks a strolling band of Indians in the neighbourhood.

Although the Indians were not brave enough to attack a settlement, they would be only too ready to steal the children, did they but have the opportunity.

These Indians slept all day in dark, secluded spots, and roamed about at night, visiting the houses of the settlers under cover of darkness, for the purpose of carrying off anything of value upon which they could lay their hands. Recently several houses had been burned, and some twenty miles up the river a woman had been found murdered near the bank. Two children were missing from another house, and a man while out hunting had been shot by an unseen enemy.

These outrages were all justly attributed to the Indians; and if they should meet Balser and Liney in the lonely forest, Heaven itself only knew what might become of the children,—a bear would be a more merciful enemy.

All night Mr. Brent and the neighbours searched the forest far and near.

Afterward Balser told the story of that terrible night, and I will let him speak:—

"I think it was after six o'clock when I went into the woods in pursuit of Liney and the bear. It was almost dark at that time in the forest, and a little later, when the sun had gone down and a fine drizzle of rain had begun to fall, the forest was so black that once I ran against a small tree because I did not see it.

"I wandered about for what seemed a very long time, calling for Liney; then I grew hopeless and began to realize that I was lost. I could not tell from which direction I had come, nor where I was going. Everything looked alike all about me—a deep, black bank of nothing, and a nameless fear stole over me. I had my gun, but of what use was it, when I could not see my hand before me? Now and then I heard wolves howling, and it seemed that their voices came from every direction. Once a black shadow ran by me with a snarl and a snap and I expected every moment to have the hungry pack upon me, and to be torn into pieces. What if they should attack Liney? The thought almost drove me wild.

"I do not know how long I had wandered through the forest but it must have been eight or nine hours, when I came to the river. I went to the water's edge and put my hand in the stream to learn which way the current ran, for I was so confused and so entirely lost that I did not know which direction was down-stream. I found that the water was running toward my right, and then I climbed back to the bank and stood in helpless confusion for a few minutes.

"Nothing could be gained by standing there watching the water, like a fish-hawk, so I walked slowly down the river. I had been going down-stream for perhaps twenty minutes, when I saw a tall man come out of the woods, a few yards ahead of me, and walk rapidly toward the river bank. He carried something on his shoulder, as a man would carry a sack of wheat, and when he had reached the river bank, where there was more light, I could see from his dress that he was an Indian. I could not tell what it was he carried, but in a moment I thought of Liney and ran toward him. I reached the place where he had gone down the bank just in time to see him place his burden in a canoe. He himself was on the point of stepping in when I called to him to stop, and told him I would shoot him if he did not. My fright was gone in an instant, and I would not have feared all the lions, bears and Indians that roamed the wilderness. I had but one thought—to save Liney, and something told me that she lay at the other end of the canoe.

"The open space of the river made it light enough for me to see the Indian, and I was so close to him that even in the darkness I could not miss my aim. In place of answering my call, he glanced hurriedly at me, in surprise, and quickly lifted his gun to shoot me. But I was quicker than he, and I fired first. The Indian dropped his gun and plunged into the river. I did not know whether he had jumped or fallen in, but he immediately sank. I thought I saw his head a moment afterward above the surface of the water near the opposite bank, and I do not know to this day whether or not I killed him. At the time I did not care, for the one thing on my mind was to rescue Liney.

"I did not take long to climb into the canoe, and sure enough there she was at the other end. I had not taken the precaution to tie the boat to the bank, and I was so overjoyed at finding Liney, and was so eager in my effort to lift her, and to learn if she were dead or alive, that I upset the unsteady thing. I thought we should both drown before we could get out, for Liney was as helpless as if she were dead, which I thought was really the case.

"After a hard struggle I reached shallow water and carried Liney to the top of the bank. I laid her on the ground, and took away the piece of wood which the Indian had tied between her teeth to keep her from crying out. Then I rubbed her hands and face and rolled her over and over until she came to. After a while she raised her head and opened her eyes, and looked about her as if she were in a dream.

"Oh, Balser!" she cried, and then fainted away again. I thought she was dead this time sure, and was in such agony that I could not even feel. Hardly knowing what I was doing, I picked her up to carry her home, dead—as I supposed. I had carried her for perhaps half an hour, when, becoming very tired, I stopped to rest. Then Liney wakened up again, and I put her down. But she could not stand, and, of course, could not walk.

"She told me that after she had run into the woods away from the bear, she became frightened and was soon lost. She had wandered aimlessly about for a long time, how long she did not know, but it seemed ages. She had been so terrified by the wolves and by the darkness, that she was almost unconscious, and hardly knew what she was doing. She said that every now and then she had called my name, for she knew that I would try to follow her. Her calling for me had evidently attracted the Indian, whom she had met after she had been in the woods a very long time.

"The Indian seized her, and placed the piece of wood between her teeth to keep her from screaming. He then threw her over his shoulder, and she remembered very little of what happened after that until she was awakened in the canoe by the flash and the report of my gun. She said that she knew at once I had come, and then she knew nothing more until she awakened on the bank. She did not know of the upsetting of the canoe, nor of my struggle in the water, but when I told her about it, she said:—

" 'Balser, you've saved my life three times in one night.'

"Then I told her that I would carry her home. She did not want me too, though, and tried to walk, but could not; so I picked her up and started homeward.

"Just then I happened to look toward the river and saw the Indian's canoe floating down-stream, bottom upward. I saw at once that here was an opportunity for us to ride home, so I put Liney down, took off my wet jacket and moccasins, and swam out to the canoe. After I had drawn it to the bank and had turned out the water, I laid Liney at the bow, found a pole with which to guide the canoe, climbed in myself, and pushed off. We floated very slowly, but, slow as it was, it was a great deal better than having to walk.

"It was just beginning to be daylight when I heard the barking of dogs. I would have known their voices among ten thousand, for they were as familiar to me as the voice of my mother. It was dear old Tige and Prince, and never in my life was any voice more welcome to my ears than that sweet sound. I whistled shrilly between my fingers, and soon the faithful animals came rushing out of the woods and plunged into the water, swimming about us as if they knew as well as a man could have known what they and their master had been looking for all night." Balser's father had followed closely upon the dogs, and within an hour the children were home amid the wildest rejoicing you ever heard.

When Liney became stronger she told how she had seen the hollow in the sycamore tree, and had hurried toward it to hide; and how, just as she was about to enter the hollow tree, a huge bear raised upon its haunches and thrust its nose almost in her face. She said that the bear had followed her for a short distance, and then for some reason had given up the chase. Her recollection of everything that had happened was confused and indistinct, but one little fact she remembered with a clearness that was very curious: the bear, she said, had but one ear.

When Balser heard this, he arose to his feet, and gave notice to all persons present that there would soon be a bear funeral, and that a one-eared bear would be at the head of the procession. He would have the other ear of that bear if he had to roam the forest until he was an old man to find it.

How he got it, and how it got him, I will tell you in the next chapter.

 

The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum  by Thornton Burgess

Unc' Billy Possum Grows Hungry

U NC' BILLY POSSUM spent the very coldest days of winter curled up in his warm, snug home in the big hollow tree in the Green Forest. Unc' Billy didn't like the cold weather. Sometimes he would stick his head out of his doorway and then, as he heard rough Brother North Wind whooping through the Green Forest, he would turn right around and go back to his bed for another nap. And all the time he would be saying:

"Way down Souf de sun am shinin'— Yas, Sah, dat am so! Fo' dat lan' mah heart am pinin'— Yas, Sah, dat am so! "De mocking-bird he sings all day, De alligators am at play, De flowers dey am bloomin' fair, And mah heart aches to be down there— Yas, Sah, dat am so!"

Now Unc' Billy had prepared for the winter by getting just as fat as he knew how. He was so fat that he could hardly waddle when Jack Frost first came to the Green Forest. You see he knew that if he was very, very fat he wouldn't have to worry about getting anything to eat, not for a long time, anyway. So when the ice and snow came, and Unc' Billy decided that it was more comfortable indoors than outdoors, he was almost as fat as Johnny Chuck was when he went to sleep for the long winter.

Now Johnny Chuck just slept and slept and slept, without waking once the whole winter long. But Unc' Billy Possum couldn't sleep like that. He had to stick his head out every little while to see how the world was getting along without him. When the sun was bright and the air was not too cold, Unc' Billy would sometimes climb down from his hollow tree and walk about a little on the snow. But he didn't enjoy it much. It made his feet cold, and then he didn't like the tracks he made. He scowled at them, for he knew well enough that if Farmer Brown's boy should happen along, he would know right away who had made those tracks, and then he would hunt for Unc' Billy's home in the hollow tree. So Unc' Billy didn't go out very much, and very seldom indeed when the snow was soft.

It seemed to Unc' Billy Possum as if the winter never, never would go. He was beginning to grow thin now, and of course he was getting hungry. He began to think about it, and the more he thought about it, the hungrier he grew. One morning he stuck his head out of his doorway, and whom should he see trotting along below but Jimmy Skunk. Jimmy looked fat and comfortable and as if he did not mind the cold weather at all.

"Good mo'ning, Jimmy Skunk," said Unc' Billy.

Jimmy Skunk looked up. "Hello, Unc' Billy!" he exclaimed. "I haven't seen you for a long time!"

"Whar yo' been, Jimmy Skunk?" asked Unc' Billy.

Jimmy winked one eye. "Getting my breakfast of nice fresh eggs," he replied.

Unc' Billy Possum's mouth began to water. "Did yo' leave any?" he anxiously inquired.

Jimmy Skunk allowed that he did, and Unc' Billy gave a long sigh, as he watched Jimmy Skunk amble off up the Lone Little Path. Unc' Billy couldn't sleep any more now. No, Sir, he couldn't sleep a wink. All he could do was to think how hungry he was. He would shut his eyes, and then it seemed as if he could see right into Farmer Brown's hen-house, and there were eggs, eggs, eggs, everywhere. Finally Unc' Billy made up his mind.

"Ah'm going up there the very first dark night!" said he.

 

Helen Hunt Jackson

September

The golden-rod is yellow; The corn is turning brown The trees in apple orchards With fruit are bending down. The gentian's bluest fringes Are curling in the sun; In dusty pods the milkweed Its hidden silk has spun. The sedges flaunt their harvest. In every meadow nook; And asters by the brook-side Make asters in the brook, From dewy lanes at morning The grapes' sweet odors rise; At noon the roads all flutter With yellow butterflies. By all these lovely tokens September days are here, With summer's best of weather, And autumn's best of cheer. But none of all this beauty Which floods the earth and air Is unto me the secret Which makes September fair. 'Tis a thing which I remember; To name it thrills me yet: One day of one September I never can forget.

 

Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

The Sound in the Treetops

II Samuel v: 1, to vii: 29.

FTER David had reigned as king over the tribe of Judah for seven years, and when Saul's son, Ish-bosheth, was dead, all the men in Israel saw that David was the one man who was fit to be king over the land. So the rulers and elders of all the twelve tribes came to David in Hebron, and said to him, "We are all your brothers; and in time past, when Saul was king, it was you who led the people; and the Lord said, 'David shall be the shepherd of my people, and shall be prince over Israel.' Now we are ready to make you king over all the land."

Then David and the elders of Israel made an agreement together before the Lord in Hebron; and they anointed David as king over all the twelve tribes of Israel, from Dan in the far north to Beersheba in the south. David was now thirty-seven years old, and he reigned over all Israel thirty-three years.

He found the land in a helpless state, everywhere under the power of the Philistines, and with many of its cities still held by the Canaanite people. The city of Jerusalem, on Mount Zion, had been kept as a stronghold by a Canaanite tribe called the Jebusites, ever since the days of Joshua. David led his men of war against it, but the Jebusites, from their high walls and steep rocks, laughed at him.

To mock King David, they placed on the top of the wall the blind and lame people, and they called aloud to David, "Even blind men and lame men can keep you out of our city."

The wall of Jerusalem as it now is.

This made David very angry, and he said to his men, "Whoever first climbs up the wall, and strikes down the blind and the lame upon it, he shall be the chief captain and general of the whole army."

Then all the soldiers of David rushed against the wall, each striving to be first. The man who was able first to reach the enemies and strike them down was Joab, the son of David's sister Zeruiah; and he became the commander of David's army, a place which he held as long as David lived. After the fortress on Mount Zion was taken from the Jebusites, David made it larger and stronger, and chose it for his royal house; and around it the city of Jerusalem grew up as the chief city in David's kingdom.

The Philistines soon found that there was a new king in Israel, and a ruler very different from King Saul. They gathered their army and came against David. He met them in the valley of Rephaim, a little to the south of Jerusalem, and won a great victory over them, and carried away from the field the images of their gods; but that the Israelites might not be led to worship them, David burned them all with fire.

A second time the Philistines came up and encamped in the valley of Rephaim. And when David asked of the Lord what he should do, the Lord said to him, "Do not go against them openly. Turn to one side, and be ready to come against them from under the mulberry-trees; and wait there until you hear a sound overhead in the tops of the trees. When you hear that sound, it will be a sign that the Lord goes before you. Then march forth and fight the Philistines."

And David did as the Lord commanded him; and again a great victory was won over the Philistines. But David did not rest when he had driven the Philistines back to their own land. He marched with his men into the Philistines' country, and took their chief city, Gath, which was called "the mother city of the Philistines." He conquered all their land; and ended the war of a hundred years by making all the Philistine plain subject to Israel.

Now that the land was free, David thought that the time had come to bring the holy ark of the Lord out from its hiding-place, where it had remained all through the rule of Samuel and the reign of Saul. (See Story 51.) This was in Kirjath-jearim, called also Baale, a town on the northern border of Judah. David prepared for the ark a new Tabernacle on Mount Zion; and with the chosen men of all the tribes, he went to bring up the ark to Mount Zion.

They did not have the ark carried by the priests, as it had been taken from place to place in the earlier days; but they stood it on a wagon, to be drawn by oxen, driven by the sons of the man in whose house the ark had been standing, though these men were not priests. And before the ark walked David and the men of Israel, making music upon all kinds of musical instruments.

At one place the road was rough, and the oxen stumbled, and the ark almost fell from the wagon. Uzza, one of the men driving the oxen, took hold of the oxen, took hold of the ark to steady it. God's law forbade any one except a priest from touching the ark, and God was displeased with Uzza for his carelessness; and Uzza fell dead by the ark of the Lord.

This death alarmed David and all the people. David was afraid to have the ark of God come into his city. He stopped the procession and placed the ark in the house near by of a man named Obed-edom. There it stayed three months. They were afraid that it might bring harm to Obed-edom and his family; but instead it brought a blessing upon them all.

When David heard of the blessings that had come to Obed-edom with the ark, he resolved to bring it into his own city on Mount Zion. This time the priests carried it as the law commanded, and sacrifices were offered upon the altar. They brought up the ark into its new home on Mount Zion, where a Tabernacle was standing ready to receive it. Then as of old the priests began to offer the daily sacrifices, and the services of worship were held, after having been neglected through so many years.

David was now living in his palace on Mount Zion, and he thought of building a temple to take the place of the Tabernacle, for the ark and its services. He said to Nathan, who was a prophet, through whom the Lord spoke to the people, "See, now I live in a house of cedar; but the ark of God stands within the curtains of a tent."

"Go, do all that is in your heart," answered Nathan the prophet, "for the Lord is with you."

And that night the voice of the Lord came to Nathan, saying, "Go and tell my servant David, thus saith the Lord, 'Since the time when the children of Israel came out of Egypt, my ark has been in a tent; and I have never said to the people, build me a house of cedar. Say to my servant David, I took you from the sheep-pasture, where you were following the sheep, and I have made you a prince over my people Israel, and I have given you a great name and great power. And now, because you have done my will, I will give you a house. Your son shall sit on the throne after you, and he shall build me a house and a Temple. And I will give you and your children and your descendants, those who shall come from you, a throne and a kingdom that shall last forever.' "

This promise of God, that under David's line should rise a kingdom to last always, was fulfilled in Jesus Christ, who came long afterward from the family of David, and who reigns as King in heaven and in earth.

 

The Sandman: His Sea Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Porpoise Story

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

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

Once, in the long ago, the brig Industry  had sailed away from the wharf and out into the great ocean on a voyage to India. And she had been gone from the wide river three or four days, and she was well out into the ocean and no land was in sight, but only water and once in a while another ship. But they didn't see ships as often as they had at first, and it was good weather and the wind was fair, so that there wasn't anything much for the sailors to do. The mates kept them as busy as they could, washing down the deck and coiling ropes, and doing a lot of other things that didn't need to be done, for the Industry  had just been fixed up and painted and made as clean as she could be made. And that was pretty clean. So the sailors didn't care very much about doing a lot of things that didn't need to be done, but they did them, as slowly as they could, because, if they said that they wouldn't do things that the mates or the captain told them to do, that would be mutiny. And mutiny, at sea, is a very serious thing for everybody. It satisfied Captain Solomon and the mate well enough to have the men do things slowly, so long as they did them. For they knew that the men would do things quickly if there was any need for quickness.

Then, one morning, just as it began to be light, the man who was the lookout thought that he saw something in the water about the ship that didn't look quite like waves. And it got a little lighter so that he could make sure, and he called some others of his watch and told them to look and see the school of porpoises. And they all looked, and those men told others who looked over the side, too, and pretty soon all the men of that watch were leaning on the rail and looking at the porpoises. That made the mate who was on watch look over, too, so that every man on deck was looking over the side into the water. Then the sun came up out of the water.

What they saw was a great many big fishes, all black and shining, and each one had spots of white on its side and a funny-shaped head. Most of them seemed to be about the size of a man, and they swam in a funny sort of way, in and out of the water, so that their backs showed most of the time, and they glistened and shone and their spots of white made them rather a pretty sight. And now and then they spouted little jets of water and spray out of their heads into the air, just as if they were little whales. Porpoises are more like little whales than they are like fishes, for they have to breathe air, just as whales do, and they spout just as whales do, and they are like whales in other ways. They aren't really fishes, at all.

The Industry  was sailing very fast, for the wind was fair and strong, and she had all the sails set that she could set; but the porpoises didn't seem to think she was going very fast, for they had no trouble at all to keep up with her and they could play by the way, too. And so they did, hundreds of them. Some of them kept just ahead of her stem, where it cut through the water, and they leaped and gambolled, but the ship never caught up with them. And they were doing the same thing all about.

Seeing the porpoises that kept just ahead of the Industry  made the sailors think of something and they all thought of the same thing at once. Perhaps it was because it was about breakfast time. Four of the men went aft to speak to the mate, who was standing where the deck is higher. And the mate didn't wait for them to speak, for he knew just what they were going to ask him. The men had their hats in their hands by the time they got near.

The mate smiled. "Yes, you may," he said. "I'll get 'em." And he went into the cabin.

When he had gone the men grinned at each other and looked pleased and each man was thinking that the mate was not so bad, after all, even if he did make them do work that didn't need to be done, just to keep them busy. But they didn't say anything.

Then the mate came out, and he had two harpoons in his hand.

"There!" he said. "Two's enough. You'd only get in each other's way if there were more. Bend a line on to each, and make it fast, somewhere."

Then Captain Solomon came on deck, and he offered a prize of half a pound of tobacco to the best harpooner. And the men cheered when they heard him, and they took the harpoons and ran forward.

They hurried and fastened a rather small rope on to each harpoon, in the way a rope ought to be fastened to a harpoon, and two of the sailors took the two harpoons and went down under the bowsprit, in among the chains that go from the end of the bowsprit to the stem of the ship. They went there so as to be near the water. They might get wet there, but they didn't care about that. And the other end of the rope, that was fastened to each harpoon, was made fast up on deck, so that the harpoon shouldn't be lost if it wasn't stuck into a porpoise, and so that the porpoise shouldn't get away if it was stuck into him.

One of the sailors was so excited that he didn't hit anything with his harpoon, and the sailors up on deck hauled it in. The other sailor managed to hit a porpoise, but he was excited, too, and the harpoon didn't go in the right place. When the sailors up on deck tried to haul the porpoise in, it broke away, and went swimming off.

Then those sailors came back on deck and two others took their places. One of those others had been harpooner on a whaleship before he went on the Industry . He didn't get excited at harpooning a porpoise, but drove his harpoon in at just exactly the right place, and the sailors up on deck hauled that porpoise in. Afterwards, that sailor got the half pound of tobacco that Captain Solomon had offered as a prize, because he harpooned his porpoise just exactly the right way.

The sailor that went with him struck a porpoise, too, but it wasn't quite in the right place, and the men had hard work to get him.

And then other sailors came and tried, and they took turns until they had more porpoises on deck than you would have thought that they could possibly use.

They had more porpoises on deck than you would have thought that they could possibly use.

And all the men had porpoise steak for breakfast that morning and porpoise steak for dinner, and porpoise steak for supper. Sailors call porpoises "puffing pigs," and porpoise steak tastes something like pork steak, and sailors like it. But they had it for every meal until there was only one porpoise left, and that one they had to throw overboard.

And that's all.

 

James Whitcomb Riley

The Funniest Thing in the World

The funniest thing in the world, I know, Is watchin' the monkeys 'at's in the show! Jumpin' an' runnin' an' racin' roun', 'Way up the top o' the pole; nen down! First they're here, an' nen they're there, An' ist a'most any an' ever'where! Screechin' an' scratchin' wherever they go, They're the funniest thing in the world, I know! They're the funniest thing in the world, I think:— Funny to watch'em eat an' drink; Funny to watch'em a-watchin' us, An' actin' 'most like grown folks does! Funny to watch'em p'tend to be Skeerd at their tail 'at they happen to see; But the funniest thing in the world they do Is never to laugh, like me an' you!