Text of Plan #970
  WEEK 43  

  Monday  


The Little Lame Prince  by Dinah Maria Mulock

Stirrings of Ambition

"H APPY as a king." How far kings are happy I cannot say, no more than could Prince Dolor, though he had once been a king himself. But he remembered nothing about it, and there was nobody to tell him, except his nurse, who had been forbidden upon pain of death to let him know anything about his dead parents, or the king his uncle, or indeed any part of his own history.

Sometimes he speculated about himself, whether he had had a father and mother as other little boys had, what they had been like, and why he had never seen them. But, knowing nothing about them, he did not miss them—only once or twice, reading pretty stories about little children and their mothers, who helped them when they were in difficulty, and comforted them when they were sick, he feeling ill and dull and lonely, wondered what had become of his mother, and why she never came to see him.

Then, in his history lessons, of course he read about kings and princes, and the governments of different countries, and the events that happened there. And though he but faintly took in all this, still he did take it in, a little, and worried his young brain about it, and perplexed his nurse with questions, to which she returned sharp and mysterious answers, which only set him thinking the more.

He had plenty of time for thinking. After his last journey in the travelling-cloak, the journey which had given him so much pain, his desire to see the world had somehow faded away. He contented himself with reading his books, and looking out of the tower windows, and listening to his beloved little lark, which had come home with him that day, and never left him again.

True, it kept out of the way; and though his nurse sometimes dimly heard it, and said, "What is that horrid noise outside?" she never got the faintest chance of making it into a lark pie. Prince Dolor had his pet all to himself, and though he seldom saw it, he knew it was near him, and he caught continually, at odd hours of the day, and even in the night, fragments of its delicious song.

All during the winter—so far as there ever was any difference between summer and winter in Hopeless Tower—the little bird cheered and amused him. He scarcely needed anything more—not even his travelling-cloak, which lay bundled up unnoticed in a corner, tied up in its innumerable knots.

Nor did his godmother come near him. It seemed as if she had given these treasures and left him alone—to use them, or lose them, apply them or misapply them, according to his own choice. That is all we can do with children, when they grow into big children, old enough to distinguish between right and wrong, and too old to be forced to do either.

Prince Dolor was now quite a big boy. Not tall—alas! he never could be that, with his poor little shrunken legs; which were of no use, only an encumbrance. But he was stout and strong, with great sturdy shoulders, and muscular arms, upon which he could swing himself about almost like a monkey. As if in compensation for his useless lower limbs, nature had given to these extra strength and activity. His face, too, was very handsome; thinner, firmer, more manly; but still the sweet face of his childhood—his mother's own face.

How his mother would have liked to look at him! Perhaps she did—who knows?

The boy was not a stupid boy either. He could learn almost anything he chose—and he did choose, which was more than half the battle. He never gave up his lessons till he had learnt them all—never thought it a punishment that he had to work at them, and that they cost him a deal of trouble sometimes.

"But," thought he, "men work, and it must be so grand to be a man;—a prince too; and I fancy princes work harder than anybody—except kings. The princes I read about generally turn into kings. I wonder"—the boy was always wondering—"Nurse"—and one day he startled her with a sudden question—"tell me—shall I ever be a king?"

The woman stood, perplexed beyond expression. So long a time had passed by since her crime—if it were a crime—and her sentence, that she now seldom thought of either. Even her punishment—to be shut up for life in Hopeless Tower—she had gradually got used to. Used also to the little lame prince, her charge—whom at first she had hated, though she carefully did everything to keep him alive, since upon him her own life hung. But latterly she had ceased to hate him, and, in a sort of way, almost loved him—at least, enough to be sorry for him—an innocent child, imprisoned here till he grew into an old man, and became a dull, worn-out creature like herself. Sometimes, watching him, she felt more sorry for him than even for herself; and then, seeing she looked a less miserable and ugly woman, he did not shrink from her as usual.

He did not now. "Nurse—dear nurse," said he, "I don't mean to vex you, but tell me—what is a king? shall I ever be one?"

When she began to think less of herself and more of the child, the woman's courage increased. The idea came to her—what harm would it be, even if he did know his own history? Perhaps he ought to know it—for there had been various ups and downs, usurpations, revolutions, and restorations in Nomansland, as in most other countries. Something might happen—who could tell? Changes might occur. Possibly a crown would even yet be set upon those pretty, fair curls—which she began to think prettier than ever when she saw the imaginary coronet upon them.

She sat down, considering whether her oath, never to "say a word" to Prince Dolor about himself, would be broken, if she were to take a pencil and write what was to be told. A mere quibble—a mean, miserable quibble. But then she was a miserable woman, more to be pitied than scorned.

After long doubt, and with great trepidation, she put her fingers to her lips, and taking the Prince's slate—with the sponge tied to it, ready to rub out the writing in a minute—she wrote:

"You are a king."


[Illustration]

After long doubt . . . she put her finger to her lips, and taking the Prince's slate . . . she wrote—"You are a king."

Prince Dolor started. His face grew pale, and then flushed all over; he held himself erect. Lame as he was, anybody could see he was born to be a king.

"Hush!" said his nurse, as he was beginning to speak. And then, terribly frightened all the while—people who have done wrong always are frightened—she wrote down in a few hurried sentences his history. How his parents had died—his uncle had usurped his throne, and sent him to end his days in this lonely tower.

"I, too," added she, bursting into tears. "Unless, indeed, you could get out into the world, and fight for your rights like a man. And fight for me also, my prince, that I may not die in this desolate place."

"Poor old nurse!" said the boy compassionately. For somehow, boy as he was, when he heard he was born to be a king, he felt like a man—like a king—who could afford to be tender because he was strong.

He scarcely slept that night, and even though he heard his little lark singing in the sunrise, he barely listened to it. Things more serious and important had taken possession of his mind.

"Suppose," thought he, "I were to do as she says, and go out in the world, no matter how it hurts me—the world of people, active people, as active as that boy I saw. They might only laugh at me—poor helpless creature that I am; but still I might show them I could do something. At any rate, I might go and see if there were anything for me to do. Godmother, help me!"

It was so long since he had asked her help, that he was hardly surprised when he got no answer—only the little lark outside the window sang louder and louder, and the sun rose, flooding the room with light.

Prince Dolor sprang out of bed, and began dressing himself, which was hard work, for he was not used to it—he had always been accustomed to depend upon his nurse for everything.

"But I must now learn to be independent," thought he. "Fancy a king being dressed like a baby!"

So he did the best he could—awkwardly but cheerily—and then he leaped to the corner where lay his travelling-cloak, untied it as before, and watched it unrolling itself—which it did rapidly, with a hearty good-will, as if quite tired of idleness. So was Prince Dolor—or felt as if he was. He jumped into the middle of it, said his charm, and was out through the skylight immediately.

"Good-bye, pretty lark!" he shouted, as he passed it on the wing, still warbling its carol to the newly-risen sun. "You have been my pleasure, my delight; now I must go and work. Sing to old nurse till I come back again. Perhaps she'll hear you—perhaps she won't—but it will do her good all the same. Good-bye!"

But, as the cloak hung irresolute in air, he suddenly remembered that he had not determined where to go—indeed, he did not know, and there was nobody to tell him.

"Godmother," he cried, in much perplexity, "you know what I want—at least, I hope you do, for I hardly do myself—take me where I ought to go; show me whatever I ought to see—never mind what I like to see," as a sudden idea came into his mind that he might see many painful and disagreeable things. But this journey was not for pleasure—as before. He was not a baby now, to do nothing but play—big boys do not always play. Nor men neither—they work. Thus much Prince Dolor knew—though very little more. As the cloak started off, travelling faster than he had ever known it to do—through sky-land and cloud-land, over freezing mountain-tops, and desolate stretches of forest, and smiling cultivated plains, and great lakes that seemed to him almost as shoreless as the sea—he was often rather frightened. But he crouched down, silent and quiet; what was the use of making a fuss? and, wrapping himself up in his bear-skin, waited for what was to happen.

After some time he heard a murmur in the distance, increasing more and more till it grew like the hum of a gigantic hive of bees. And, stretching his chin over the rim of his cloak, Prince Dolor saw—far, far below him, yet, with his gold spectacles and silver ears on, he could distinctly hear and see—What?

Most of us have sometime or other visited a great metropolis—have wandered through its network of streets—lost ourselves in its crowds of people—looked up at its tall rows of houses, its grand public buildings, churches, and squares. Also, perhaps, we have peeped into its miserable little back alleys, where dirty children play in gutters all day and half the night—or where men reel tipsy and women fight—where even young boys go about picking pockets, with nobody to tell them it is wrong, except the policeman; and he simply takes them off to prison. And all this wretchedness is close behind the grandeur—like the two sides of the leaf of a book.

An awful sight is a large city, seen anyhow from anywhere. But, suppose you were to see it from the upper air, where, with your eyes and ears open, you could take in everything at once? What would it look like? How would you feel about it? I hardly know myself. Do you?

Prince Dolor had need to be a king—that is, a boy with a kingly nature—to be able to stand such a sight without being utterly overcome. But he was very much bewildered—as bewildered as a blind person who is suddenly made to see.

He gazed down on the city below him, and then put his hand over his eyes.

"I can't bear to look at it, it is so beautiful—so dreadful. And I don't understand it—not one bit. There is nobody to tell me about it. I wish I had somebody to speak to."

"Do you? Then pray speak to me. I was always considered good at conversation."

The voice that squeaked out this reply was an excellent imitation of the human one, though it came only from a bird. No lark this time, however, but a great black and white creature that flew into the cloak, and began walking round and round on the edge of it with a dignified stride, one foot before the other, like any unfeathered biped you could name.

"I haven't the honour of your acquaintance, sir," said the boy politely.

"Ma'am, if you please. I am a mother bird, and my name is Mag, and I shall be happy to tell you everything you want to know. For I know a great deal; and I enjoy talking. My family is of great antiquity; we have built in this palace for hundreds—that is to say, dozens of years. I am intimately acquainted with the King, the Queen, and the little princes and princesses—also the maids of honour, and all the inhabitants of the city. I talk a good deal, but I always talk sense, and I dare say I should be exceedingly useful to a poor little ignorant boy like you."

"I am a prince," said the other gently.

"All right. And I am a magpie. You will find me a most respectable bird."

"I have no doubt of it," was the polite answer—though he thought in his own mind that Mag must have a very good opinion of herself. But she was a lady and a stranger, so of course he was civil to her.

She settled herself at his elbow, and began to chatter away, pointing out with one skinny claw, while she balanced herself on the other, every object of interest,—evidently believing, as no doubt all its inhabitants did, that there was no capital in the world like the great metropolis of Nomansland.


[Illustration]

One half the people seemed so happy and busy.

I have not seen it, and therefore cannot describe it, so we will just take it upon trust, and suppose it to be, like every other fine city, the finest city that ever was built. "Mag" said so—and of course she knew. Nevertheless, there were a few things in it which surprised Prince Dolor—and, as he had said, he could not understand them at all. One half the people seemed so happy and busy—hurrying up and down the full streets, or driving lazily along the parks in their grand carriages, while the other half were so wretched and miserable.


[Illustration]

The other half were so wretched and miserable.

"Can't the world be made a little more level? I would try to do it if I were a king." "But you're not the king: only a little goose of a boy," returned the magpie loftily. "And I'm here not to explain things, only to show them. Shall I show you the royal palace?"


[Illustration]

It had terraces and gardens, battlements and towers . . . and had in it rooms enough to accommodate half the city.

It was a very magnificent palace. It had terraces and gardens, battlements and towers. It extended over acres of ground, and had in it rooms enough to accommodate half the city. Its windows looked in all directions, but none of them had any particular view—except a small one, high up towards the roof, which looked on to the Beautiful Mountains. But since the Queen died there it had been closed, boarded up, indeed, the magpie said. It was so little and inconvenient that nobody cared to live in it. Besides, the lower apartments, which had no view, were magnificent—worthy of being inhabited by his Majesty the King.


[Illustration]

Its windows looked in all directions . . . . except a small one, high up towards the roof, which looked on to Beautiful Mountains.

"I should like to see the King," said Prince Dolor.

But what followed was so important that I must take another chapter to tell it in.

 



Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Gazing at the Women

Every man and boy in the settlement pressed forward eager even to touch the garments of these two women as they came ashore in the ship's small boat, and I dare venture to say that we stared at them, Nathaniel and I among the number, even as the savages stared at us when first we landed.


[Illustration]

It would have been more to my satisfaction had there been two maids, instead of only one and her mistress, for it was more than likely servants could tell Nathaniel and me many things about our care of the house, which a great lady would not well know. Therefore, as I viewed the matter, we could well spare fine women, so that we had maids who would understand of what we as house-boys stood mostly in need.

However, it was not with these women, who were only two among seventy, that had come with Captain Newport on this his third voyage, that I was most deeply concerned, and how I learned that which pleased me so greatly shall be set down exactly as it happened.

 



Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Master Hunt Brings Great News

I had been down at the landing place, feasting my eyes upon the ship which had so lately come from the country I might never see again, and was trying to cheer myself by working around the house in the hope of pleasing Captain Smith, when Master Hunt came in with a look upon his face such as I had not seen since the sickness first came among us, and, without thinking to be rude, I asked him if it was the arrival of the women which pleased him so greatly.

"It is nothing of such fanciful nature, Richard Mutton," the good man replied with a smile, "though I must confess that it is pleasing to see women with white faces, when our eyes have beheld none save bearded men for so long a time. What think you has been done in the Council this day, since Captain Newport had speech with President Ratcliffe?"

Verily I could not so much as guess what might have happened, for those worshipful gentlemen were prone at times to behave more like foolish children, than men upon whom the fate of a new country depended, and I said to Master Hunt much of the same purport.

"They have elected your master, Captain John Smith, President of the Council, Richard Mutton, and now for the first time will matters in Jamestown progress as they should."

"My master President of the Council at last!" I cried, and the good preacher added:

"So it is, lad, as I know full well, having just come from there."


[Illustration]

"But how did they chance suddenly to gather their wits?" I cried with a laugh, in which Master Hunt joined.

"It was done after Captain Newport had speech with Master Ratcliffe, and while I know nothing for a certainty, there is in my mind a strong belief that he brought word from the London Company for such an election to be made. At all events, it is done, and now we shall see Jamestown increase in size, even as she would have done from the first month we landed here had Captain John Smith been at the head of affairs."

The good preacher was so delighted with this change in the government that he unfolded all his budget of news, forgetting for the time being, most like, that he was not speaking to his equal, and thus it was I learned what were Captain Newport's instructions from the London Company.

 



Richard of Jamestown  by James Otis

Captain Newport's Instructions

He was ordered, if you please, not to return to England without bringing back a lump of gold, exploring the passageway to the South Sea, or finding some of Sir Walter Raleigh's lost colony, of which I will tell you later.

But whether he did the one or the other, he had been commanded to crown as a king, Powhatan, and had brought with him mock jewels and red robes for such a purpose.

To find a lump of gold, after he had brought to England a shipload of yellow sand!

To crown Powhatan king, when, to our sorrow, he was already showing himself far more of a king than was pleasing or well for our town of James!

Forgetting I was but a lad, and had no right to put blame on the shoulders of my leaders and betters, or even to address Master Hunt as if I were a man grown, I cried out against the foolishness of those people in London for whom we were striving to build up a city, saying very much that had better been left unsaid, until the good preacher cried with a laugh:

"We can forgive them almost anything, Dicky Mutton, since they have made our Captain Smith the head of the government in this land of Virginia."

And now I will tell you, as Master Hunt told me, the story of this lost colony of Roanoke, which the London Company had commanded Captain Newport to find.

You must know that English people had lived in this land of Virginia before we came here in 1606, and while it does not concern us of Jamestown, except as we are interested in knowing the fate of our countrymen, it should be set down, lest we so far forget as to say that those of us who have built this village are the first settlers in the land.

 



Susan Coolidge

How the Leaves Came Down

"I'll tell you how the leaves came down,"

The great tree to his children said:

"You're getting sleepy, Yellow and Brown,

Yes, very sleepy, little Red.

It is quite time to go to bed."


"Ah!" begged each silly, pouting leaf,

"Let us a little longer stay;

Dear Father Tree, behold our grief!

'Tis such a very pleasant day,

We do not want to go away."


So, for just one more merry day

To the great tree the leaflets clung,

Frolicked and danced, and had their way,

Upon the autumn breezes swung,

Whispering all their sports among—


"Perhaps the great tree will forget,

And let us stay until the spring,

If we all beg, and coax, and fret."

But the great tree did no such thing;

He smiled to hear their whispering.


"Come, children, all to bed," he cried;

And ere the leaves could urge their prayer,

He shook his head, and far and wide,

Fluttering and rustling everywhere,

Down sped the leaflets through the air.


I saw them; on the ground they lay,

Golden and red, a huddled swarm,

Waiting till one from far away,

White bedclothes heaped upon her arm,

Should come to wrap them safe and warm.


The great bare tree looked down and smiled.

"Good-night, dear little leaves," he said.

And from below each sleepy child

Replied, "Good-night," and murmured,

"It is so nice to go to bed!"


 


  WEEK 43  

  Tuesday  


Fifty Famous Stories Retold  by James Baldwin

The Blind Men and the Elephant

T HERE were once six blind men who stood by the road-side every day, and begged from the people who passed. They had often heard of el-e-phants, but they had never seen one; for, being blind, how could they?

It so happened one morning that an el-e-phant was driven down the road where they stood. When they were told that the great beast was before them, they asked the driver to let him stop so that they might see him.

Of course they could not see him with their eyes; but they thought that by touching him they could learn just what kind of animal he was.

The first one happened to put his hand on the elephant's side. "Well, well!" he said, "now I know all about this beast. He is ex-act-ly like a wall."

The second felt only of the elephant's tusk. "My brother," he said, "you are mistaken. He is not at all like a wall. He is round and smooth and sharp. He is more like a spear than anything else."

The third happened to take hold of the elephant's trunk. "Both of you are wrong," he said. "Anybody who knows anything can see that this elephant is like a snake."

The fourth reached out his arms, and grasped one of the elephant's legs. "Oh, how blind you are!" he said. "It is very plain to me that he is round and tall like a tree."

The fifth was a very tall man, and he chanced to take hold of the elephant's ear. "The blind-est man ought to know that this beast is not like any of the things that you name," he said. "He is ex-act-ly like a huge fan."

The sixth was very blind indeed, and it was some time before he could find the elephant at all. At last he seized the animal's tail. "O foolish fellows!" he cried. "You surely have lost your senses. This elephant is not like a wall, or a spear, or a snake, or a tree; neither is he like a fan. But any man with a par-ti-cle of sense can see that he is exactly like a rope."

Then the elephant moved on, and the six blind men sat by the roadside all day, and quar-reled about him. Each believed that he knew just how the animal looked; and each called the others hard names because they did not agree with him. People who have eyes sometimes act as foolishly.

 



Outdoor Visits  by Edith M. Patch

Flyaway Seeds

One fall day Nan said, "Don, shall we visit some plants with flyaway seeds?"

"Dandelions have flyaway seeds," said Don. "We played with some in the spring."

"They do not fly with wings as birds do," said Nan.

"No," said Don, "they go away where the wind takes them."

Nan said, "Uncle Tom told me that many plants have seeds that go up in the air like dandelion seeds."

"Perhaps," said Don, "we can find some to visit to-day."

Then Don and Nan went for a walk.

They found different kinds of plants with flyaway seeds.

They watched some of the seeds go away in the air.


[Illustration]

When the wind went fast, the seeds went fast, too. Don and Nan ran but they could not catch the seeds.

"Each flyaway seed is a baby plant," said Nan. "It is going a long, long way from home."

"Perhaps it will come to a good place," said Don. "Perhaps the wind will stop and the seed will fall. Perhaps it will grow and live in a new home. Perhaps we can go to visit it then!"

Don and Nan liked the pretty flat milkweed seeds best of all the flyaway seeds.

The milkweed seeds were in a pod. There were many seeds in one big green pod.

Each milkweed seed had a brown coat. At one end of the coat were many fine white fibers.


[Illustration]

The fibers were like soft hairs. They were as fine as the silk that a spider makes.

The milkweed pod opened when the seeds were ripe.

The sunshine and the dry air touched the seeds in the open pod. Then the fine fibers began to move.

The wind touched the soft fibers and they came out of the pod. The brown seed coats came with them.

A baby milkweed was inside each seed coat. So each baby milkweed had a ride.

The seeds went with the wind in the sunshine. They went high in the air when the wind took them up.

The wind went fast and took the milkweed seeds a long way.

The seeds fell to the ground when the air was still. They could grow in their new homes.

So there were many young milkweeds a long way from their mother plant.

Don broke a leaf from a milkweed stem. Some juice ran out of the broken place. The juice was white.


[Illustration]

He and Nan told Uncle Tom about their visits to the milkweed.

Uncle Tom said, "Some people call the plant milkweed because its juice is as white as milk.

"But some people have a different name for the same plant. They call it silkweed because the fibers on the seeds look like silk."

"I shall call it milkweed because its juice is white," said Don.

"I shall call it silkweed because its fibers look like fine soft silk," said Nan.

 



Richard Monckton Milnes

Lady Moon

"Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?"

"Over the sea."

"Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?"

"All that love me."


"Are you not tired with rolling and never

Resting to sleep?

Why look so pale and so sad, as forever

Wishing to weep?"


"Ask me not this, little child, if you love me;

You are too bold.

I must obey my dear Father above me,

And do as I'm told."


'Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?"

"Over the sea."

"Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?"

"All that love me."

 


  WEEK 43  

  Wednesday  


The Burgess Bird Book for Children  by Thornton Burgess

A Stranger and a Dandy

B UTCHER THE SHRIKE was not the only newcomer in the Old Orchard. There was another stranger who, Peter Rabbit soon discovered, was looked on with some suspicion by all the other birds of the Old Orchard. The first time Peter saw him, he was walking about on the ground some distance off. He didn't hop but walked, and at that distance he looked all black. The way he carried himself and his movements as he walked made Peter think of Creaker the Grackle. In fact, Peter mistook him for Creaker. That was because he didn't really look at him. If he had he would have seen at once that the stranger was smaller than Creaker.

Presently the stranger flew up in a tree and Peter saw that his tail was little more than half as long as that of Creaker. At once it came over Peter that this was a stranger to him, and of course his curiosity was aroused. He didn't have any doubt whatever that this was a member of the Blackbird family, but which one it could be he hadn't the least idea. "Jenny Wren will know," thought Peter and scampered off to hunt her up.

"Who is that new member of the Blackbird family who has come to live in the Old Orchard?" Peter asked as soon as he found Jenny Wren.

"There isn't any new member of the Blackbird family living in the Old Orchard," retorted Jenny Wren tartly.

"There is too," contradicted Peter. "I saw him with my own eyes. I can see him now. He's sitting in that tree over yonder this very minute. He's all black, so of course he must be a member of the Blackbird family."

"Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut!" scolded Jenny Wren. "Tut, tut, tut, tut, tut! That fellow isn't a member of the Blackbird family at all, and what's more, he isn't black. Go over there and take a good look at him; then come back and tell me if you still think he is black."

Jenny turned her back on Peter and went to hunting worms. There being nothing else to do, Peter hopped over where he could get a good look at the stranger. The sun was shining full on him, and he wasn't black at all. Jenny Wren was right. For the most part he was very dark green. At least, that is what Peter thought at first glance. Then, as the stranger moved, he seemed to be a rich purple in places. In short he changed color as he turned. His feathers were like those of Creaker the Grackle—iridescent. All over he was speckled with tiny light spots. Underneath he was dark brownish-gray. His wings and tail were of the same color, with little touches of buff. His rather large bill was yellow.

Peter hurried back to Jenny Wren and it must be confessed he looked sheepish. "You were right, Jenny Wren; he isn't black at all," confessed Peter. "Of course I was right. I usually am," retorted Jenny. "He isn't black, he isn't even related to the Blackbird family, and he hasn't any business in the Old Orchard. In fact, if you ask me, he hasn't any business in this country anyway. He's a foreigner. That's what he is—a foreigner."

"But you haven't told me who he is," protested Peter.

"He is Speckles the Starling, and he isn't really an American at all," replied Jenny. "He comes from across the ocean the same as Bully the English Sparrow. Thank goodness he hasn't such a quarrelsome disposition as Bully. Just the same, the rest of us would be better satisfied if he were not here. He has taken possession of one of the old homes of Yellow Wing the Flicker, and that means one less house for birds who really belong here. If his family increases at the rate Bully's family does, I'm afraid some of us will soon be crowded out of the Old Orchard. Did you notice that yellow bill of his?"

Peter nodded. "I certainly did," said he. "I couldn't very well help noticing it."

"Well, there's a funny thing about that bill," replied Jenny. "In winter it turns almost black. Most of us wear a different colored suit in winter, but our bills remain the same."

"Well, he seems to be pretty well fixed here, and I don't see but what the thing for the rest of you birds to do is to make the best of the matter," said Peter. "What I want to know is whether or not he is of any use."

"I guess he must do some good," admitted Jenny Wren rather grudgingly. "I've seen him picking up worms and grubs, but he likes grain, and I have a suspicion that if his family becomes very numerous, and I suspect it will, they will eat more of Farmer Brown's grain than they will pay for by the worms and bugs they destroy. Hello! There's Dandy the Waxwing and his friends."

A flock of modestly dressed yet rather distinguished looking feathered folks had alighted in a cherry-tree and promptly began to help themselves to Farmer Brown's cherries. They were about the size of Winsome Bluebird, but did not look in the least like him, for they were dressed almost wholly in beautiful, rich, soft grayish-brown. Across the end of each tail was a yellow band. On each, the forehead, chin and a line through each eye was velvety-black. Each wore a very stylish pointed cap, and on the wings of most of them were little spots of red which looked like sealing-wax, and from which they get the name of Waxwings. They were slim and trim and quite dandified, and in a quiet way were really beautiful.


[Illustration]

DANDY THE CEDAR WAXWING, often called  CHERRY BIRD

You can tell him from his cousin the Bohemian Waxwing by his smaller size.

As Peter watched them he began to wonder if Farmer Brown would have any cherries left. Peter himself can do pretty well in the matter of stuffing his stomach, but even he marvelled at the way those birds put the cherries out of sight. It was quite clear to him why they are often called Cherrybirds.

"If they stay long, Farmer Brown won't have any cherries left," remarked Peter.

"Don't worry," replied Jenny Wren. "They won't stay long. I don't know anybody equal to them for roaming about. Here are most of us with families on our hands and Mr. and Mrs. Bluebird with a second family and Mr. and Mrs. Robin with a second set of eggs, while those gadabouts up there haven't even begun to think about housekeeping yet. They certainly do like those cherries, but I guess Farmer Brown can stand the loss of what they eat. He may have fewer cherries, but he'll have more apples because of them."

"How's that?" demanded Peter.

"Oh," replied Jenny Wren, "they were over here a while ago when those little green cankerworms threatened to eat up the whole orchard, and they stuffed themselves on those worms just the same as they are stuffing themselves on cherries now. They are very fond of small fruits but most of those they eat are the wild kind which are of no use at all to Farmer Brown or anybody else. Now just look at that performance, will you?"

There were five of the Waxwings and they were now seated side by side on a branch of the cherry tree. One of them had a plump cherry which he passed to the next one. This one passed it on to the next, and so it went to the end of the row and halfway back before it was finally eaten. Peter laughed right out. "Never in my life have I seen such politeness," said he.

"Huh!" exclaimed Jenny Wren. "I don't believe it was politeness at all. I guess if you got at the truth of the matter you would find that each one was stuffed so full that he thought he didn't have room for that cherry and so passed it along."

"Well, I think that was politeness just the same," retorted Peter. "The first one might have dropped the cherry if he couldn't eat it instead of passing it along." Just then the Waxwings flew away.

It was the very middle of the summer before Peter Rabbit again saw Dandy the Waxwing. Quite by chance he discovered Dandy sitting on the tiptop of an evergreen tree, as if on guard. He was on guard, for in that tree was his nest, though Peter didn't know it at the time. In fact, it was so late in the summer that most of Peter's friends were through nesting and he had quite lost interest in nests. Presently Dandy flew down to a lower branch and there he was joined by Mrs. Waxwing. Then Peter was treated to one of the prettiest sights he ever had seen. They rubbed their bills together as if kissing. They smoothed each other's feathers and altogether were a perfect picture of two little lovebirds. Peter couldn't think of another couple who appeared quite so gentle and loving.

Late in the fall Peter saw Mr. and Mrs. Waxwing and their family together. They were in a cedar tree and were picking off and eating the cedar berries as busily as the five Waxwings had picked Farmer Brown's cherries in the early summer. Peter didn't know it but because of their fondness for cedar berries the Waxwings were often called Cedarbirds or Cedar Waxwings.

 



The Aesop for Children  by Milo Winter

The Birds, the Beasts and the Bat

The Birds and the Beasts declared war against each other. No compromise was possible, and so they went at it tooth and claw. It is said the quarrel grew out of the persecution the race of Geese suffered at the teeth of the Fox family. The Beasts, too, had cause for fight. The Eagle was constantly pouncing on the Hare, and the Owl dined daily on Mice.

It was a terrible battle. Many a Hare and many a Mouse died. Chickens and Geese fell by the score—and the victor always stopped for a feast.

Now the Bat family had not openly joined either side. They were a very politic race. So when they saw the Birds getting the better of it, they were Birds for all there was in it. But when the tide of battle turned, they immediately sided with the Beasts.

When the battle was over, the conduct of the Bats was discussed at the peace conference. Such deceit was unpardonable, and Birds and Beasts made common cause to drive out the Bats. And since then the Bat family hides in dark towers and deserted ruins, flying out only in the night.

The deceitful have no friends.

 

 
  WEEK 43  

  Thursday  


The Forge in the Forest  by Padraic Colum

EARTH: THE SECOND STORY

The King did nothing but lay his hand upon the second piece of special iron he had set upon the anvil. Another of the brothers, ready with his story, began:


[Illustration]

 



The Forge in the Forest  by Padraic Colum

King Solomon and the Servitor of the Lord of Earth

dropcap image ENAIAH, King Solomon's giant captain, spied within the cave where the Servitor of the Lord of Earth had his lair. He saw him lying with his hair in tangles, and all around him were the bones and teeth of dragons. The Servitor did not see King Solomon's giant captain, and Benaiah, after he had looked upon him, went back to his camp in the high grasses.

He had been commanded by King Solomon to seize Sokar, the Servitor of the Lord of Earth, and to bring him to him—Sokar who had the strength of the storm. For King Solomon would have him bear the stones that were for the building of the Temple. Benaiah had brought chains to lay upon the Servitor of the Lord of Earth—chains that even he might not break on account of their being inscribed with the magical names that were known to King Solomon. And now Benaiah, the giant captain, had looked upon him, he went back to his camp in the high grasses, and he and his comrades whispered together as to what they might do.

In a day they saw Sokar come forth from that cave that went deep into the earth. He came forth, crouched towards the ground. But, even crouched, Sokar had great bulk, and when he stood up he was immensely tall. Huge and earth-coloured, the Servitor of the Lord of Earth stood there in the sunset, and was beheld of Benaiah and his comrades. He went to a place, and, stooping down, he took water in his joined hands and drank. They saw that Sokar drank out of a cistern that he had made. And having drunk greatly of the snow-water that came down to that cistern, Sokar went back to his cave.

They went to the cistern, Benaiah and the men sent by Solomon, and they looked into it. It was a great cistern, but Sokar had nearly emptied it of the water it held. When they went back again to their camp in the high grasses they made up a plan by which Sokar, the Servitor of the Lord of Earth, might be taken.

They dug beneath the cistern and they drained off the water that was in it, and they turned away from it the course of the water that came down from the snow of the mountain. They stopped up the hole they had made with a pack of wool. And then they filled up the cistern with wine from their wine-skins, and they went back to their camp in the high grasses.

And Sokar came forth upon another day. He came forth holding in his hand for a staff the mid-bone of a dragon, and he went to the cistern he had made. But coming to it he smelled, not the clear smell of snow-water, but the smell of wine. Then Sokar, fearing that a trap had been set for him, went back to his cave. In a while he came forth again. Leaving the staff that was the mid-bone of a dragon against the cistern, he dipped in his hand, and he drank the wine he had taken up in his hand. He dipped his joined hands in and raised them to his mouth. And then, until the sunset came, he stayed there drinking the wine that he lifted to his mouth with his joined hands. They heard his shouts of exultation as the wine went through his veins. He whirled in his hands the staff that was the mid-bone of a dragon. And then he lay down upon the earth, overcome with the wine he had drunken.

Then Benaiah, the giant captain, and his comrades, went to where Sokar was lying in his stupor. They put the heavy chains upon him, the chains that were inscribed with the magical names that King Solomon knew.

When he awakened from his stupor, Sokar, the Servitor of the Lord of Earth, found himself weighed down with chains. His strength that was the strength of a storm failed him, when he tried to break the chains. And when Benaiah laid against his bones a link that had a magic name inscribed upon it, he shouted out in pain and terror. Benaiah made the Servitor of the Lord of Earth go with him towards the city of King Solomon. He raged, and sometimes in his rages he broke down trees and buildings with his kicks.

And as soon as Sokar was brought before King Solomon he uttered a cry so shrill that the earth quaked to it. But Solomon made him gaze upon his ring, and when he had gazed upon it, Sokar, the Servitor of the King of Earth, knew that Solomon would have to be obeyed.


[Illustration]

Solomon made him gaze upon his ring.

Then Solomon sent him to fetch stones for the building of the Temple. This he did, fetching them down from a far mountain. It was then that an Angel of God made Solomon the King know that on the stones that were for the building of the Temple no tool of iron was to be used.

For iron was used in weapons that were for the killing of men, and for that reason iron might not be used in the making of the Temple that was as a sign of peace between God and mankind. But how, without the iron chisel and the iron sledge, might stones be cut so that they would fit together? King Solomon brought his wise men together and he asked this question of them.

It was then that his wise men spoke to King Solomon, telling him of Samur. Samur, they told him, is a living substance of about the size of a barleycorn; laid upon stone or upon anything harder than stone, it cuts its way through. Solomon, since he might not use iron to shape the stones for his Temple, resolved to use the substance Samur.

And Samur, his wise men told him, was the possession of him who is called the Lord of Earth. When he heard this Solomon pondered in his heart. It might be, he thought, that the Servitor of the Lord of Earth who fetched the stones for the Temple would be able to tell him how he might obtain the substance that would shape the stones.

So once again Sokar was brought before King Solomon. And Solomon told the Servitor of the Lord of Earth that a term would be put to his labours, and that a day would come when he would be set free, if he would tell how Samur might be obtained.

Then Sokar, that one day he might be free from the labour of carrying stones for the building of the Temple, told King Solomon how the substance Samur might be obtained. The Lord of Earth had entrusted Samur to a bird, to the Moorhen. She went upon the high mountains with it, laying the substance upon the rocks, so that they were split open, and seeds that the winds and the birds carried might grow in the openings. And the Moorhen had sworn to the Lord of Earth that she would never let men have Samur from her.

Again Solomon pondered and he thought upon a way by which the Moorhen might be forced to give the substance Samur to his men. He called upon Benaiah, the son of Jehoiada, and he sent him upon this other quest, telling him how, to his mind, the Moorhen might be forced to let Samur pass into the possession of men.

Then Benaiah took a horse and rode up into the mountains. And, finding the nest of the Moorhen, he covered it all over with glass. The Moorhen came back to the nest. Her little ones raised their heads to her. She tried to feed them, but she could not bring food to their mouths on account of the cunning substance that men had made and that Benaiah had placed between her and her nest. She tried again and again, but she could not reach to her young ones who held up their mouths behind the sheet of glass. Then the Moorhen said to herself, "Am I not Naggar Tura, the mountain-carver? I will go and bring Samur to this substance that shuts off my young ones from me, and I will split it as I split the rocks of the mountain."

She hurried away, and Benaiah watched her nest. She returned and she laid something down upon the sheet of glass that covered the nest. Then Benaiah raised a great shout, and the Moorhen, frightened, fled. He ran to the nest and found a substance laid upon the glass that was cutting into the glass. This was Samur, the substance that was the size of a barleycorn and that cut through substances that iron could not cut through. Benaiah took it within the beak of one of the little Moorhens and brought it to King Solomon. And the Moorhen, despairing at having broken her oath to the Lord of Earth, slew herself at the bottom of the mountain.

So Samur was brought to King Solomon. And the stones that were fetched by Sokar were shaped by the cutting made by this substance, and no iron was used upon them. And then, as the Temple was all but finished, Solomon the King died.

He died within the Temple, and he died as he was overlooking the work that Sokar, the Servitor of the Lord of Earth, was doing. It was granted to Solomon that for a while Sokar would not know that he was dead. He leaned upon his staff, and his staff supported him even though he was dead, and the ring with the bright stone in it still shone upon his finger. Sokar went on working, not knowing that he who commanded him was no longer in life. Furiously and still more furiously he worked, raising greater and greater stones. And then, on the fourth day, the ants, who are also the servants of the Lord of Earth, came upon the floor of the Temple, and climbed upon the staff that held dead Solomon upright, and ate into the staff; it became hollow and broke, and the dead King fell stiffly upon the floor of the Temple.

Now at this time the Temple was all but built, and only a few stones remained to be put upon it. Sokar, seeking the King prone upon the ground, let fall the stone he was carrying. He rushed out of the Temple. He shouted as he went through Solomon's city, making his way back to his cavern in the earth. And the people of Solomon's city hid themselves as they heard the noise of his shouting that was like the noise of the storm. As he went on he kicked over great trees and high buildings with his feet. In one of his rages he came before the little house of a poor widow. She begged of him that he would not destroy her house, but Sokar, laughing, kicked it over. Then he fell and broke his leg. He won back to his cavern. But ever since that time Sokar goes limping, with two sticks in his hands to help him along.

 



Robinson Crusoe Written Anew for Children  by James Baldwin

I Make a New Boat

I MADE up my mind to begin the new boat at once.

So, the next day, I went with Friday to find a good tree.

There were trees enough on the island to build a fleet. But, I must find one that was close to the water, so that we could launch the boat when it was made.

At last Friday found one. He knew, better than I, what kind of wood was best for making a boat.

It was an odd-looking tree, and to this day I do not know its name.

Friday chopped it down. He cut off a part of it for the boat.

He wished to build a fire on the top of it and thus burn out the hollow part of the boat.

But I showed him a better way, to chop it out with hatchets and chisels.

In about a month it was finished. With our axes we cut and hewed the outside till it was in a very good shape.


[Illustration]

Then we worked hard for two weeks to get the boat into the water.

But when she was in, how well she floated! She would have carried at least twenty men.

It was wonderful how well Friday could manage her. It was wonderful how fast he could paddle.

"Now, Friday," I said, "do you think she will carry us over the sea?"

"Yes, master," he said, "she will carry us even in the worst wind."

My next care was to make a mast and a sail, and to fit the boat with an anchor and a rudder.

It was easy enough to get the mast. I had Friday cut down a tall young cedar that grew near the place.

He shaped it and smoothed it, and made as pretty a mast as you would wish to see.

As for the sail, that was another thing. I had old sails, or pieces of old sails in plenty.

But they had been lying in this place and in that for six and twenty years. It would be a wonder if they were not all rotten.

After a long search I found two pieces which I thought would do. I set to work, patching and stitching.

It was slow work without needles, you may be sure.

At last I had a three-cornered, ugly thing like a shoulder-of-mutton sail to be put up with a boom at its bottom part.

I had also a little short sprit to run up at the top of the mast.

It took two months to make the sails and the rigging as I wished.

Then I put in a rudder to steer the boat. I was a poor carpenter, and I made a pretty rough job of it.

Friday knew how to paddle a canoe as well as any man.

But he knew nothing about a sail. He had never seen a boat steered by a rudder.

We made several little voyages near the island and I taught him how to manage everything about the boat.

Much as I wished to go back to my own people, I could not make up my mind to try the long voyage across to the mainland.

I had now been on the island twenty-seven years. My man Friday had been with me about two years, and these had been the happiest of my life. I had everything to make me comfortable and happy.

Why should I wish to go away?

I had a great longing to see my native land again, to talk with people of my own race, perhaps to visit my kindred once more. This longing I could not rid myself of, day or night.

But now new thoughts came into mind. I felt that in some way I would soon escape from the island. Indeed, I was quite sure that I would not stay there another year.

I cannot tell you what made me feel that way. But I seemed to know that some great change in my life was near at hand.

Yet I went on with my farming as before. I dug, I planted, I reaped, I gathered my grapes, I did everything just as though I had no such thoughts.

My man Friday was the truest of helpers. He did all the heavy labor. He would not let me lift my hand if he could help it.

The rainy season at last came upon us, and this put an end to most of our outdoor work.

We took our new boat to a safe place some distance up the little river, above the point where I had landed my rafts from the ship.

We hauled her up to the shore at high-water mark, and there Friday dug a little dock for her.

This dock was just big enough to hold her and it was just deep enough to give her water to float in.

When the tide was out we made a strong dam across the end of it, to keep the water out. Thus she lay high and dry on the bank of the river.

To keep the rain off we laid a great many branches of trees upon her till she was covered thickly with them. A thatched roof could not have protected her better.

Little did I think that I should never see our boat floating upon the water again. For all that I know, she is still lying high and dry in her little waterproof dock.

We were now kept indoors a great part of the time, but we kept ourselves occupied pleasantly, and the hours passed swiftly.

My first duty every morning was to read several chapters from the Bible. Then I instructed Friday in some of the truths of religion.

I was but an awkward teacher, but I did my best and was honest.

I began by asking him about the Creator.

I asked him who made the sea, the hills, the woods, the ground we walked on.

He told me it was one great being who lived beyond all.

I confess I could not have given a better answer.

He said that this great being was older than the sea or the land, the moon or the stars.

Then I said, "If this being has made all things, why do not all things worship him?"

He looked very grave, and with eyes full of innocence, answered, "All things say O to him."

Thus he taught me while I was trying to teach him.

 



Robert Frost

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both

And be one traveler, long I stood

And looked down one as far as I could

To where it bent in the undergrowth;


Then took the other, as just as fair,

And having perhaps the better claim,

Because it was grassy and wanted wear;

Though as for that the passing there

Had worn them really about the same,


And both that morning equally lay

In leaves no step had trodden black.

Oh, I kept the first for another day!

Yet knowing how way leads on to way,

I doubted if I should ever come back.


I shall be telling this with a sigh

Somewhere ages and ages hence:

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.

 


  WEEK 43  

  Friday  


The Discovery of New Worlds  by M. B. Synge

Discovery of the New World

"Lord of the lordly sea,

Earth's mightiest captain he."

—Watson.

T HE year 1492 was a proud year for Spain, when the last Moorish stronghold had fallen and Christopher Columbus had started on his great voyage of discovery.

He had had difficulties in making the preparations for his start. The Spanish sailors looked on the expedition with horror, and the commander as a madman. It was early on the morning of August 3 that the little fleet of three ships sailed forth from a southern Spanish port. A more unwilling crew never left land. As the last speck of Spain vanished from their backward gaze, and only the wide waters of the Atlantic stretched before them, the men burst into tears as they thought of the home and friends they never expected to see again.

Ten days' sail brought them to the Canary Islands. And now, instead of turning south, as the Portuguese sailors were doing, Columbus steered to the west, a direction in which no man had steered before.

As day after day, week after week, passed by, bringing no sight of land, but only a wide expanse of waters, the crew grew more and more discontented. They complained and murmured against their admiral, until they nearly broke into open mutiny.

"We are in seas where never yet man ventured before," they said among themselves; "are we to sail till we perish?"

Surely it would be wiser to throw the admiral into his unknown sea and turn the ships for home. And Columbus? He knew all this: but he set his face resolutely forward, he never wavered from his course, his faith in his great plan never left him. He tried to stir his men to interest themselves in the strange land to which he was guiding them, and offered a large reward to the man who should first see land.

So they sailed on, till at last it became evident that land was not very far off. Birds came singing about the ships, weeds were seen floating in the water, and a branch of thorn with red berries was borne past them. All became eager enough now.

It was the evening of October 7—two months since they had left home. When the crews collected as usual to sing their evening hymn, Columbus spoke to them. Land was very near now, he said; God had been good to bring them in safety thus far; let every man watch, for their reward was at hand.

Not an eye closed that night. As darkness came on Columbus took his watch on the highest place in the ship, while his eye searched again and again the dusky horizon. About ten o'clock he saw a glimmering light far away. Every eye was fixed on it, till at two o'clock in the early morning a gun, fired from one of the other ships, proved him right. Land had been seen. Eagerly, impatiently, they awaited daylight.

When the sun rose on the morning of the 8th there stretched before the earnest eyes of the resolute commander a beautiful island, green, cool, and well wooded.

They had reached the Bahama Islands, off the coast of America; but Columbus thought they were off the coast of Asia, never realising that a whole country stretched between him and Asia.

Taking the royal standard of Spain, and throwing a crimson cloak over his coat of mail, he rowed to shore. As he stepped on to the newly found land, he threw himself on to his knees, kissed the strange new earth, and praised God with tears of joy. Then rising, he drew his sword, and took possession of the island in the name of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain.

The men now thronged round him, kissing his hands, begging forgiveness, assuring him of their unbounded trust in him.

And Columbus? He had accomplished the work of his life. The thoughts and plans and dreams of a lifetime had been crowned with success. He had discovered a new world of vast importance. This much he knew and no more.

Natives now came up to the Spaniards. They had gazed for some time at the shining armour, the swarthy skins, long beards, and splendid dress of these strangers to their shores. Now, by signs, they told the Spaniards of more land to the south and west. So away sailed Columbus, finding another island, now called Cuba, just off the coast of Florida, in North America.

It was all so beautiful here. Birds of brilliant colours never ceased to sing, clear streams and rivers flowed to the sea. There were stately forests, sweet-smelling flowers, all under a deep blue sky.

From island to island they cruised, discovering many things of which no man had dreamt before. In Cuba they discovered tobacco and potatoes, two products hitherto unknown in Europe.

But now Columbus wanted to get back to Spain to tell his wondrous news. On the way home a terrible storm burst over the Atlantic, and it seemed for a time as if the little Spanish ships must perish with all on board. But they triumphantly weathered the gales, and sailed into the Spanish harbour of Palos just seven months after their departure.


[Illustration]

Columbus's ship.

 



Merry Tales  by Eleanor L. Skinner

The Clever Turtle

East Indian Tale

A TURTLE lay upon a large rock sunning himself. His eyes were turned toward the palace of the king which overlooked the beautiful river. He could hear the merry voices of the little princes playing in the royal courtyard.

"What happy times they have!" thought the turtle. "I have heard that there is a lovely little lake in the princes' playground, where they have fine fun, swimming and sailing tiny boats. How dull it is living out here on the rocks! I'm sure I should be happier if I lived in a royal courtyard."

At that moment the turtle was startled by the voices of two men who were carrying fishing nets and large buckets to the river. He slipped under the rock and lay very still and listened.

"You see," said one of the men, "we are to put the fishes into the courtyard lake and surprise the young princes. His majesty, the king, heard them wish that fishes swam in their lake, and he decided to surprise them."

"How happy they will be in the morning!" replied the other man. "Come, let us climb to the edge of these rocks and throw our nets into the river. Then we will draw them in, empty the fishes into those buckets, and carry them to the courtyard lake this evening."

When the turtle heard that some of his neighbors were to live in the royal courtyard, he was very jealous indeed!

"Fishes are such stupid creatures!" he said to himself. "How much more delight a turtle would give those young princes. I'll not live on this rock any longer. I'll slip very quietly into one of those buckets, and the men will carry me into the royal courtyard. They will never notice me. Fishes for the delight of royalty! It is absurd!"

The next morning the little princes took their sailboats and ran to the lake in the courtyard.

"See, see!" cried one of them. "Our wish has come true! There are fishes swimming about in the water. Oh, what fun!"

"Come away! Come, come, brother!" shouted the other little prince in terror. "See, there is a demon on the bank! Perhaps the fishes belong to him! Come!"

To the turtle's great surprise off ran the lads, crying out, "A demon has come to live on the bank of our lake!"

When the king saw how frightened the princes were, he ordered an attendant to capture the demon and bring him to the palace. So, before the poor turtle could make up his mind what to do, he was caught and brought before the king.

"How shall we kill him?" asked an attendant.

"Throw him into the fire," said one.

"Drop a large rock on his head and crush him," said another.

"Oh, that would not do," said one of the princes. "See! He has pulled his head inside that shell back of his. Perhaps his back is too strong to be crushed by a rock."

"I have it," said an old servant who was afraid of the water, "let us fling him over the rocks into the river. Then he will be swept away into the sea and drowned."

In a twinkling out came the turtle's head.

"My friends," he said, "pray do not throw me into the river that flows to the great wide sea! Of all your plans to punish me, that is the worst! Burn me, or crush me if you will, but do not throw me into the river that flows to the great wide sea! I shudder at the thought of it."

"Take the demon to the rocks and throw him into the river," said the king.

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the turtle when he whirled about in the water and swam back to the friendly rocks where he had lived so long.

 



Walter de la Mare

The Song of the Secret

Where is beauty?

Gone, gone:

The cold winds have taken it

With their faint moan;

The white stars have shaken it,

Trembling down,

Into the pathless deeps of the sea.

Gone, gone

Is beauty from me.


The clear naked flower

Is faded and dead;

The green-leafed willow,

Drooping her head,

Whispers low to the shade

Of her boughs in the stream,

Sighing a beauty,

Secret as dream.

 


  WEEK 43  

  Saturday  


The Bears of Blue River  by Charles Major

The Fire Bear

One evening in December, a few weeks after Liney had saved Balser's life by means of the borrowed fire, Balser's father and mother and Mr. and Mrs. Fox, went to Marion, a town of two houses and a church, three miles away, to attend "Protracted Meeting." Liney and Tom and the Fox baby remained with Balser and Jim and the Brent baby, at the Brent cabin.

When the children were alone Liney proceeded to put the babies to sleep, and when those small heads of their respective households were dead to the world in slumber, rocked to that happy condition in a cradle made from the half of a round, smooth log, hollowed out with an adze, the other children huddled together in the fireplace to talk and to play games. Chief among the games was that never failing source of delight, "Simon says thumbs up."

Outside the house the wind, blowing through the trees of the forest, rose and sank in piteous wails and moans, by turns, and the snow fell in angry, fitful blasts, and whirled and turned, eddied and drifted, as if it were a thing of life. The weather was bitter cold; but the fire on the great hearth in front of the children seemed to feel that while the grown folks were away it was its duty to be careful of the children, and to be gentle, tender, and comforting to them; so it spluttered, popped, and cracked like the sociable, amiable, and tender-hearted fire that it was. It invited the children to go near it and to take its warmth, and told, as plainly as a fire could,—and a fire can talk, not English perhaps, but a very understandable language of its own,—that it would not burn them for worlds. So, as I said, the children sat inside the huge fireplace, and cared little whether or not the cold north wind blew.

After "Simon" had grown tiresome, Liney told riddles, all of which Tom, who had heard them before, spoiled by giving the answer before the others had a chance to guess. Then Limpy propounded a few riddles, but Liney, who had often heard them, would not disappoint her brother by telling the answers. Balser noticed this, and said, "Limpy, you ought to take a few lessons in good manners from your sister."

"Why ought I?" asked Tom, somewhat indignantly.

"Because she doesn't tell your riddles as you told hers," answered Balser.

"He wants to show off," said Jim.

"No, he doesn't," said Liney. But she cast a grateful glance at Balser, which said, "Thank you" as plainly as if she had spoken the words. Tom hung his head, and said he didn't like riddles anyway.

"Let's crack some nuts," proposed Jim, who was always hungry.

This proposition seemed agreeable to all, so Balser brought in a large gourd filled with nuts, and soon they were all busy cracking and picking.

Then Liney told stories from "The Pilgrim's Progress" and the Bible. She was at the most thrilling part of the story of Daniel in the lions' den, and her listeners were eager, nervous, and somewhat fearful, when the faint cry of "Help!" seemed to come right down through the mouth of the chimney.

"Listen!" whispered Balser, holding up his hands for silence. In a moment came again the cry, "Help!" The second cry was still faint, but louder than the first; and the children sprang together with a common impulse, and clung to Balser in unspoken fear.

"Help! help!" came the cry, still nearer and louder.

"Some one wants help," whispered Balser. "I—must—go—to—him." The latter clause was spoken rather hesitatingly.

"No, no!" cried Liney. "You must not go. It may be Indians trying to get you out there to kill you, or it may be a ghost. You'll surely be killed if you go."

Liney's remark somewhat frightened Balser, and completely frightened the other children; but it made Balser feel all the more that he must not be a coward before her. However much he feared to go in response to the cry for help, he must not let Liney see that he was afraid. Besides, the boy knew that it was his duty to go; and although with Balser the sense of duty moved more slowly than the sense of fear, yet it moved more surely. So he quickly grasped his gun, and carefully examined the load and priming. Then he took a torch, lighted it at the fire, and out he rushed into the blinding, freezing storm.

"Who's there?" cried Balser, holding his torch on high.

"Help! help!" came the cry from a short distance down the river, evidently in the forest back of the barn. Balser hurried in the direction whence the cry had come, and when he had proceeded one hundred yards or so, he met a man running toward him almost out of breath from fright and exhaustion. Balser's torch had been extinguished by the wind, snow, and sleet, and he could not see the man's face.

"Who are you, and what's the matter with you?" asked brave little Balser, meanwhile keeping his gun ready to shoot, if need be.

"Don't you know me, Balser?" gasped the other.

"Is it you, Polly?" asked Balser. "What on earth's the matter?"

"The Fire Bear! The Fire Bear!" cried Poll. "He's been chasin' me fur Lord knows how long. There he goes! There! Don't you see him? He's movin' down to the river. He's crossin' the river on the ice now. There! There!" And he pointed in the direction he wished Balser to look. Sure enough, crossing on the ice below the barn, was the sharply defined form of a large bear, glowing in the darkness of the night as if it were on fire. This was more than even Balser's courage could withstand; so he started for the house as fast as his legs could carry him, and Polly came panting and screaming at his heels.

Polly's name, I may say, was Samuel Parrott. He was a harmless, simple fellow, a sort of hanger-on of the settlement, and his surname, which few persons remembered, had suggested the nickname of Poll, or Polly, by which he was known far and wide.

By the time Balser had reached the house he was ashamed of his precipitate retreat, and proposed that he and Polly should go out and further investigate the Fire Bear.

This proposition met with such a decided negative from Polly, and such a vehement chorus of protests from Liney and the other children, that Balser, with reluctance in his manner, but gladness in his heart, consented to remain indoors, and to let the Fire Bear take his way unmolested.

"When did you first see him?" asked Balser of Polly Parrot.

" 'Bout a mile down the river, by Fox's Bluff," responded Polly. "I've been runnin' every step of the way, jist as hard as I could run, and that there Fire Bear not more'n ten feet behind me, growlin' like thunder, and blazin' and smokin' away like a bonfire."

"Nonsense," said Balser. "He wasn't blazing when I saw him."

"Of course he wasn't," responded Poll. "He'd about burned out. D'ye think a bear could blaze away forever like a volcano?" Poll's logical statement seemed to be convincing to the children.

"And he blazed up, did he?" asked Liney, her bright eyes large with wonder and fear.

"Blazed up!" ejaculated Polly. "Bless your soul, Liney, don't you see how hot I am? Would a man be sweatin' like I am on such a night as this, unless he's been powerful nigh to a mighty hot fire?"

Poll's corroborative evidence was too strong for doubt to contend against, and a depressing conviction fell upon the entire company, including Balser, that it was really the Fire Bear which Polly and Balser had seen. Although Balser, in common with most of the settlers, had laughed at the stories of the Fire Bear which had been told in the settlement, yet now he was convinced, because he had seen it with his own eyes. It was true that the bear was not ablaze when he saw him, but certainly he looked like a great glowing ember, and, with Polly's testimony, Balser was ready to believe all he had heard concerning this most frightful spectre of Blue River, the Fire Bear.

One of the stories concerning the Fire Bear was to the effect that when he was angry he blazed forth into a great flame, and that when he was not angry he was simply aglow. At times, when the forests were burned, or when barns or straw-stacks were destroyed by fire, many persons, especially of the ignorant class, attributed the incendiarism to the Fire Bear. Others, who pretended to more wisdom, charged the Indians with the crimes. Of the latter class had been Balser. But to see is to believe.

Another superstition about the Fire Bear was, that any person who should be so unfortunate as to behold him would die within three months after seeing him, unless perchance he could kill the Fire Bear,—a task which would necessitate the use of a potent charm, for the Fire Bear bore a charmed life. The Fire Bear had been seen, within the memory of the oldest inhabitant, by eight or ten persons, always after night. Each one who had seen the bear had died within the three months following. He had been stalked by many hunters, and although several opportunities to kill him had occurred, yet no one had accomplished that much-desired event.

You may be sure there was no more games, riddles, or nut-cracking that evening in the Brent cabin. The children stood for a few moments in a frightened group, and then took their old places on the logs inside the fireplace. Polly, who was stupid with fright, stood for a short time silently facing the fire, and then said mournfully: "Balser, you and me had better jine the church. We're goners inside the next three months,—goners, just as sure as my name's Polly." Then meditatively, "A durned sight surer than that; for my name ain't Polly at all; but Samuel, or Thomas, or Bill, or something like that, I furgit which; but we're goners, Balser, and we might as well git ready. No livin' bein' ever seed that bear and was alive three months afterwards."

Then Liney, who was sitting next to Balser, touched his arm gently, and said:—

"I saw him too. I followed you a short way when you went out, and I saw something bright crossing the river on the ice just below the barn. Was that the bear?"

"Yes, yes," cried Balser. "For goodness' sake, Liney, why didn't you stay in the house?"

"You bet I stayed in," said Jim.

"And so did I," said Tom.

No one paid any attention to what Jim and Limpy said, and in a moment Liney was weeping gently with her face in her hands.

Jim and Limpy then began to cry, and soon Polly was boohooing as if he were already at the point of death. It required all of Balser's courage and strength to keep back the tears, but in a moment he rose to his feet and said: "Stop your crying, everybody. I'll kill that bear before the three months is half gone; yes, before a month has passed. If Liney saw him, the bear dies; that settles it."

Liney looked up to Balser gratefully, and then, turning to Polly, said:—

"He'll save us, Polly; he killed the one-eared bear, and it was enough sight worse to fight than the Fire Bear. The one-eared bear was a—was a devil."

Polly did not share Liney's confidence, so he sat down upon the hearth, and gazed sadly at the fire awhile. Then, taking his elbow for his pillow, he lay upon the floor and moaned himself to sleep.

The children sat in silence for a short time; and Jim lay down beside Polly, and closed his eyes in slumber. Then Limpy's head began to nod, and soon Limpy was in the land of dreams. Balser and Liney sat upon the spare backlog for perhaps half an hour, without speaking.

The deep bed of live coals cast a rosy glow upon their faces, and the shadows back in the room grew darker, as the flame of the neglected fire died out. Now and then a fitful blaze would start from a broken ember, and the shadows danced for a moment over the floor and ceiling like sombre spectres, but Balser and Liney saw them not.

Despite their disbelief in the existence of the Fire Bear, the overwhelming evidence of the last two hours had brought to them a frightful conviction of the truth of all they had heard about the uncanny, fatal monster. Three short months of life was all that was left to them. Such had been the fate of all who had beheld the Fire Bear. Such certainly would be their fate unless Balser could kill him—an event upon which Liney built much greater hope than did Balser.

After a long time Balser spoke, in a low tone, that he might not disturb the others:—

"Liney, if I only had a charm, I might kill the Fire Bear; but a gun by itself can do nothing against a monster that bears a charmed life. We must have a charm. You've read so many books and you know so much; can't you think of a charm that would help me?"

"No, no, Balser," sighed Liney, "you know more than I, a thousand times."

"Nonsense, Liney. Didn't you spell down everybody—even the grown folks—over at Caster's bee?"

"Yes, I know I did; but spelling isn't everything, Balser. It's mighty little, and don't teach us anything about charms. You might know how to spell every word in a big book, and still know nothing about charms."

"I guess you're right," responded Balser, dolefully. "I wonder how we can learn to make a charm."

"Maybe the Bible would teach us," said Liney. "They say it teaches us nearly everything."

"I expect it would," responded Balser. "Suppose you try it."

"I will," answered Liney. Silence ensued once more, broken only by the moaning wind and the occasional popping of the backlog.

After a few minutes Liney said in a whisper:—

"Balser, I've been thinking, and I'm going to tell you about something I have. It's a great secret. No one knows of it but mother and father and I. I believe it's the very thing we want for a charm. It looks like it, and it has strange words engraved upon it."

Balser was alive with interest.

"Do you promise never to tell any one about it?" asked Liney.

"Yes, yes, indeed. Cross my heart, 'pon honour, hope to die."

Balser's plain, unadorned promise was enough to bind him to secrecy under ordinary circumstances, for he was a truthful boy; but when his lips were sealed by such oaths as "Cross my heart," and "Hope to die," death had no terrors which would have forced him to divulge.

"What is it? Quick, quick, Liney!"

"You'll never tell?"

"No, cross my—"

"Well, I'll tell you. I've a thing at home that's almost like a cross, only the pieces cross each other in the middle and are broad at each end. It's a little larger than a big button. It's gold on the back and has a lot of pieces of glass, each the size of a small pea, on the front side. Only I don't believe they're glass at all. They are too bright for glass. You can see them in the dark, where there's no light at all. They shine and glitter and sparkle, so that it almost makes you blink your eyes. Now you never saw glass like that, did you?"

"No," answered Balser, positively.

Liney continued: "That's what makes me think it's a charm; for you couldn't see it in the dark unless it was a charm, could you, Balser?"

"I should think not."

"There's a great big piece of glass, or whatever it is, in the centre of it—as big as a large pea, and around this big piece are four words in some strange language that nobody can make out,—at least, mother says that nobody in this country can make them out. Mother told me that the charm was given to her for me by a gypsy man, when I was a baby. Mother says there's something more to tell me about it when I become a woman. Maybe that's the charm of it; I'm sure it is." And she looked up to Balser with her soft, bright eyes full of inquiry and hope.

"I do believe that thing is a charm," said Balser. Then meditatively: "I know it's a charm. Don't tell me, Liney, that you don't know a lot of things."

Liney's sad face wore a dim smile of satisfaction at Balser's compliments, and again they both became silent. Balser remained in a brown study for a few moments, and then asked:—

"Where does your mother keep the—the charm?"

"She keeps it in a box under my bed."

"Good! good!" responded Balser. "Now I'll tell you what to do to make it a sure enough charm."

"Yes, yes," eagerly interrupted Liney.

"You take the charm and hold it on your lips while you pray seven times that I may kill the bear. Do that seven times for seven nights, and on the last night I'll get the charm, and Polly, Limpy, and I will go out and kill the bear, just as sure as you're alive."

The plan brought comfort to the boy and girl.

Soon Liney's eyes became heavy, and she fell asleep; and as Balser looked upon her innocent beauty, he felt in his heart that if seven times seven prayers from Liney's lips could not make a charm which would give him strength from on high to kill the bear, there was no strength sufficient for that task to be had any place.

Late in the night—nine o'clock—the parents of the children came home. The sleepers were aroused, and all of them tried to tell the story of the Fire Bear at one and the same time.

"Tell me about it, Balser," said Mr. Fox, seriously; for he, too, was beginning to believe in the story of the Fire Bear. Then Balser told the story, assisted by Polly, and the strange event was discussed until late into the night, without, however, the slightest reference to the charm by either Balser or Liney. That was to remain their secret.

Mr. and Mrs. Fox remained with the Brents all night, and before they left next morning, Liney whispered to Balser:—

"I'll begin to-night, as you told me to do, with the charm. Seven nights from this the charm will be ready—if I can make it."

"And so will I be ready," answered Balser, and both felt that the fate of the Fire Bear was sealed.

 



The Adventures of Unc' Billy Possum  by Thornton Burgess

Unc' Billy Possum Wishes He Had Snowshoes

U NC' BILLY POSSUM didn't know whether he liked the snow more than he hated it or hated it more than he liked it, just now. Usually he dislikes the snow very much, and doesn't go out in it any more than he has to. But this time the snow had done Unc' Billy a good turn, a very good turn, indeed. Once out of the hen-house, Unc' Billy lost no time in starting for the Green Forest. But it was slow, hard work. You see, the snow was newly fallen and very soft. Of course Unc' Billy sank into it almost up to his middle at every step. He huffed and he puffed and he grunted and groaned. You see Unc' Billy had slept so much through the winter that he was not at all used to hard work of any kind, and he wasn't half way to the Green Forest before he was so tired it seemed to him that he could hardly move, and so out of breath that he could only gasp. It was then that he was sure that he hated the snow more than he liked it, even if it had set him free from the hen-house of Farmer Brown.

Now it never does to let one's wits go to sleep. Some folks call it forgetting, but forgetting is nothing but sleepy wits. And sleepy wits get more people into trouble than anything else in the world. Unc' Billy Possum's wits were asleep when he left Farmer Brown's hen-house. If they hadn't been, he would have remembered this little saying:

The wits that live within my head

Must never, never go to sleep,

For if they should I might forget

And Trouble on me swiftly leap.

But Unc' Billy's wits certainly were asleep. He was so tickled over the idea that he could get out of the hen-house, that he couldn't think of anything else, and so he forgot. Yes, Sir, Unc' Billy forgot! What did he forget? Why, he forgot that that nice, soft snow, which so kindly buried the dreadful traps so that they could do no harm, couldn't be waded through without leaving tracks. Unc' Billy forgot all about that, until he was half way to the Green Forest, and then, as he sat down to rest and get his breath, he remembered.

Unc' Billy looked behind him, and he turned pale. Yes, Sir, Unc' Billy Possum turned pale! There, all the way from Farmer Brown's hen-house, was a broad trail in the smooth white snow, where he had plowed his way through. If Farmer Brown's boy should come out to look at his traps, he would see that track at once, and all he would have to do would be to follow it until it led him to Unc' Billy.


[Illustration]

There, all the way from Farmer Brown's hen-house, was a broad trail in the smooth white snow.

"Oh, dear! Oh, dear! Whatever did Ah leave the hen-house for?" wailed Unc' Billy.

His wits were all wide awake now. It wouldn't do to go back. Farmer Brown's boy would see that he had gone back, and then he would hunt that hen-house through until he found Unc' Billy. No, there was nothing to do but to go on, and trust that Farmer Brown's boy was so snowed in and would be kept so busy shovelling out paths, that he would forget all about looking at his traps. Unc' Billy drew a long breath and began to wade ahead toward the Green Forest.

"If Ah only had snowshoes!" he panted. "If Ah only had snowshoes like Mrs. Grouse."

 



Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

The Challenge of Thor

I am the God Thor,

I am the War God,

I am the Thunderer

Here in my Northland,

My fastness and fortress,

Reign I forever!


Here amid icebergs

Rule I the nations;

This is my hammer,

Miölner the mighty;

Giants and sorcerers

Cannot withstand it!


These are the gauntlets

Wherewith I wield it,

And hurl it afar off;

This is my girdle;

Whenever I brace it,

Strength is redoubled!


The light thou beholdest

Stream through the heavens,

In flashes of crimson,

Is but my red beard

Blown by the night-wind,

Affrighting the nations!


Jove is my brother;

Mine eyes are the lightning;

The wheels of my chariot

Roll in the thunder,

The blows of my hammer

Ring in the earthquake!

 


  WEEK 43  

  Sunday  


Hurlbut's Story of the Bible  by Jesse Lyman Hurlbut

Absalom in the Wood; David on the Throne

II Samuel xvii: 24, to xx: 26.

Part 1 of 2


dropcap image HE land on the east of Jordan, where David found a refuge, was called Gilead, a word which means "high," because it is higher than the land opposite on the west of Jordan. There, in the city of Mahanaim, the rulers and the people were friendly to David. They brought food of all kinds and drink for David and those who were with him; for they said, "The people are hungry, and thirsty, and very tired, from their long journey through the wilderness."

And at this place David's friends gathered from all the tribes of Israel, until around him was an army. It was not so large as the army of Absalom, but in it were more of the brave old warriors who had fought under David in other years. David divided his army into three parts, and placed over the three parts Joab, his brother Abishai, and Ittai, who had followed him so faithfully.

David said to the chiefs of his army and to his men, "I will go out with you into the battle."

But the men said to David, "No, you must not go with us; for if half of us should lose our lives, no one will care; but you are worth ten thousand of us, and your life is too precious. You must stay here in the city, and be ready to help us if we need help."

So the king stood by the gate of Mahanaim while his men marched out by hundreds and by thousands. And as they went past the king the men heard him say to the three chiefs, Joab, and Abishai, and Ittai, "For my sake, deal gently with the young man, Absalom."

Even to the last David loved the son who had done to him such great wrong, and David would have them spare his life.

A great battle was fought on that day at a place called "The Wood of Ephraim," though it was not in the tribe of Ephraim, but of Gad, on the east of the Jordan. Absalom's army was under the command of a man named Amasa, who was a cousin of Joab; for his mother, Abigail, and Joab's mother, Zeruiah, were both sisters of David. So both the armies were led by nephews of King David. Absalom himself went into the battle, riding upon a mule, as was the custom of kings.

David's soldiers won a great victory, and killed thousands of Absalom's men. The armies were scattered in the woods, and many men were lost, so that it was said that the woods swallowed up more men than the sword. When Absalom saw that his cause was hopeless he rode away, hoping to escape. But as he was riding under the branches of an oak-tree, his head, with its great mass of long hair, was caught in the boughs of the tree. He struggled to free himself, but could not. His mule ran away, and Absalom was left hanging in the air by his head.


[Illustration]

Absalom fleeing through the forest

One of David's soldiers saw him, and said to Joab, "I saw Absalom hanging in an oak."

"Why did you not kill him?" asked Joab. "If you had killed him I would have given you ten pieces of silver and a girdle."

"If you should offer me a thousand pieces of silver," answered the soldier, "I would not touch the king's son; for I heard the king charge all the generals and the men, 'Let no one harm the young man Absalom.' And if I had slain him, you yourself would not have saved my life from the king's anger."

"I cannot stay to talk with you," said Joab; and with three darts in his hand he hastened to the place where Absalom was hanging. He thrust Absalom's heart through with the darts, and after that his followers, finding that Absalom was still living, pierced his body until they were sure that he was dead. Then they took down his body, and threw it into a deep hole in the forest, and heaped a great pile of stones upon it.

During his life Absalom had built for himself a monument in the valley of the Kidron, on the east of Jerusalem. There he had expected to be buried; but though the monument stood long afterward, and was called "Absalom's pillar," yet Absalom's body lay not there, but under a heap of stones in the wood of Ephraim.


[Illustration]

Absalom's Pillar

After the battle Ahimaaz, the son of the priest Zadok, came to Joab. Ahimaaz was one of the two young men who brought news from Jerusalem to David at the river Jordan, as we read in the last Story. He said to Joab, "Let me run to the king, and take to him the news of the battle."

But Joab knew that the message of Absalom's death would not be pleasing to King David, and he said, "Some other time you shall bear news, but not to-day, because the king's son is dead."

And Joab called a negro who was standing near, and said to him, "Go, and tell the king what you have seen."

The negro bowed to Joab, and ran. But after a time Ahimaaz, the son of Zadok, again said to Joab, "Let me also run after the negro, and take news."

"Why do you wish to go, my son?" said Joab; "the news will not bring you any reward."

"Anyhow, let me go," said the young man; and Joab gave him leave. Then Ahimaaz ran with all his might, and by a better road over the plain, though less direct than the road which the negro had taken over the mountains. Ahimaaz outran the negro, and came first in sight to the watchman who was standing on the wall, while King David was waiting below in the little room between the outer and inner gates, anxious for news of the battle, but more anxious for his son, Absalom.

The watchman on the wall called down to the king, and said, "I see a man running alone."

And the king said, "If he is alone, he is bringing a message." He knew that if men were running away after a defeat in battle there would be a crowd together. Then the watchman called again, "I see another man running alone."

And the king said, "He also is bringing some news."

The watchman spoke again, "The first runner is coming near, and he runs like Ahimaaz, the son of Zadok."

And David said, "He is a good man, and he comes with good news." Ahimaaz came near, and cried out as he ran, "All is well!"

The first words which the king spoke were, "Is it well with the young man Absalom?"

Ahimaaz was too wise to bring to the king the word of Absalom's death. He left that to the other messenger, and said, "When Joab sent me, there was a great noise over something that had taken place, but I did not stop to learn what it was."

A little later came the negro, crying, "News for my lord the king! This day the Lord has given you victory over your enemies!"

And David said again, "Is it well with the young man Absalom?"

Then the negro, who knew nothing of David's feelings, answered, "May all the enemies of my lord the king, and all that try to do him harm, be as that young man is!"

Then the king was deeply moved. His sorrow over Absalom made him forget the victory that had been won. Slowly he walked up the steps to the room in the tower over the gate, and as he walked he said, "O my son Absalom! my son, my son Absalom! I wish before God that I had died for you, O Absalom, my son, my son!"  



The Sandman: His Sea Stories  by Willliam J. Hopkins

The Teak-Wood Story

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

Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob owned the wharf and all the ships that sailed from it. The brig Industry  was one of the ships that used to sail from that wharf, and after Captain Jonathan and Captain Jacob moved to Boston she sailed from a wharf in Boston. And she had sailed from the wharf in Boston on a voyage to the far country, and little Jacob and little Sol had gone in her. And she had sailed through the great ocean and past the country where the monkeys lived and through another ocean to India, and she had anchored in a wide river. And many little boats came off to her from a city that there was on the shore of the river, and they began to take out of the Industry  all the things she had brought to that country.

Little Jacob and little Sol were as quiet as little boys could be expected to be, for they knew that Captain Solomon was very busy at first. But, at last, the things were all out of the Industry;  and Captain Solomon had to go ashore to buy things for the ship to take home again. So he had the sailors let down a boat, and he looked around for the boys. And they were so close behind him that he didn't see them until little Sol touched him.

"Hello, boys!" cried Captain Solomon. "Want to go ashore with me?"

"Yes, sir," called out little Jacob and little Sol, together, so that it sounded as if there was only one boy.

"Well, hop in, then," said Captain Solomon.

And little Sol hopped in, and little Jacob hopped in; and Captain Solomon got in, and the sailors rowed them ashore. And they got out of the boat upon some wide stone steps that went down to the water, and the boys were very glad, for it was the first time that they had set foot upon the ground for a long time. And little Jacob was surprised to find that the ground seemed to be waving around just like the deck of the ship, so that he couldn't walk very well. And he spoke of it to little Sol, and Captain Solomon heard him, and he gave a great laugh.

"So it does," Captain Solomon said. "So it does. And so it will for the next three days, Jacob, if I'm not mistaken. It's queer ground, Jacob, isn't it, to be waving around so? Must be an earthquake."

And little Jacob looked up at Captain Solomon to see whether he was joking or not. For Captain Solomon was very apt to joke, but you couldn't tell whether he was or not unless you looked at him, and you couldn't tell, even then, unless you knew him pretty well.

And little Jacob decided that Captain Solomon was joking, so he smiled. "Yes, sir," he said. "It must be an earthquake. We were very lucky, weren't we, to be just in time for an earthquake?"

It was Captain Solomon's turn to look at little Jacob to see what he meant.

"Ha! Ha! Very lucky, indeed, Jacob," said Captain Solomon. "We're lucky dogs, Jacob."

And little Sol didn't say anything, but only grinned; and he could do that pretty well. And they went, by queer streets, to the office of Captain Jonathan's and Captain Jacob's agent, who sold the things for them. And after that they went about among the shops and saw all the things that the men had to sell, and Captain Solomon went with them. And the men were very polite to Captain Solomon because they thought he might buy some of their things, but he didn't. And so they did all that day, and, late in the afternoon, they were rowed back to the ship. Little Jacob and little Sol were very tired, and went to sleep right after supper.

The next morning the boat was waiting for them, and in it were bundles for little Jacob and little Sol. And, after breakfast, they were rowed ashore again to the stone steps. And, at the head of the steps, two bullock carts were waiting for them. Little Jacob was surprised, and he asked Captain Solomon if they were going to see the elephants that his grandfather had spoken of. And Captain Solomon said that they were going to that place, but he didn't know whether the elephants that Captain Jonathan had spoken of had been obliging enough to wait thirty years or not. And little Jacob smiled and got into the bullock cart.

The bullocks went very slowly indeed; and the little boys saw the villages that they passed through on the way, and they saw the women washing the clothes in the water of the river, and they saw the crocodiles that looked like so many old logs. And, in time, the bullocks got to the place where the elephants were. It was late one afternoon that they got there, so that Captain Solomon thought that they wouldn't go to see the elephants that night. And, just as Captain Solomon said that, they heard a great gong ring. And Captain Solomon said that it wouldn't be any use to go to see them then, anyway, for the elephants stopped work when that gong rang, and nobody could get them to do anything after that. And the little boys thought that was queer.

So, early the next morning, they went to the elephant place. It was a great big place, and a high, strong fence was around it on three sides, and on the fourth side was the river. And, next to the river, were great piles of teak-wood logs, and the logs were piled very nicely and evenly, so that the piles wouldn't fall down. And, far off at the back of the great yard, next to the forest, were a lot of the logs which were not piled, but were just as they had been dumped there, pell-mell, when they had been brought in from the forest. The logs that were all piled up nicely were to be sent down the river.

Little Jacob and little Sol had just time to see all that, when the great gong rang. Then the elephants began to come out of a big shed that was in the back of the yard, and the little boys saw that some of the elephants had mahouts, or drivers, on them but the most of them didn't have any drivers. And the mahouts sat on the necks of their elephants, just back of the heads, and each mahout had an elephant-goad, something like an ox-goad, only that it was shorter and the end that was sharp was bent around so that it was something like the claws of a hammer, but the claws were sharp.

And the elephants that knew their business walked slowly over to the logs that were piled pell-mell, and they made the elephants that didn't know their business go there too; and if any elephant, that didn't know, tried to go another way, the old elephants would butt him and jab him with their tusks. And then there was great squealing and noise. And when the elephants got to the logs, each one knelt down and put his tusks under a log and curled his trunk over and around it, and then he got up and walked slowly to the place where the logs were piled so nicely. And he put his log on the pile so that it wouldn't fall down, and when the pile was so high that he couldn't reach then he began to make a new pile. But some of the elephants didn't have any tusks and they just curled their trunks around the logs and carried them that way.

Little Jacob and little Sol were very much interested in watching the elephants and in seeing how wise they were; for they piled the logs just as well as if a man had told them where to put each one. And Captain Solomon said that they piled the logs better than any man there could have done it. And little Jacob caught sight of one elephant that had his ears torn and had only one tusk.

When he caught sight of that elephant, little Jacob called out. "Look, Captain Solomon!" he cried. "See! There is the elephant that grandfather told about, that will let little boys ride him."

And the elephant was pretty near and he heard little Jacob, but he couldn't understand what he said, for those elephants only understand the language that they speak in India. But the old elephant stopped and turned his head as far as he could, which wasn't very far, for elephants haven't any neck worth mentioning, so he had to turn his whole body before he could see the little boys. And, when he saw them, he began to walk up to the place where they were. And little Jacob was a little bit scared, for the elephant was very big and he didn't know what he might do. But little Jacob didn't run or look scared, and little Sol wasn't frightened at all.

And, when the old elephant had got near the little boys, he stopped and stretched out his trunk toward them. And little Sol gave him a lump of sugar that he had in his pocket, and the elephant ate the sugar and stretched out his trunk again, but he didn't move.

"I know what he wants," cried little Jacob. And he got up from the log where he was sitting, and raised his arms, and the old elephant curled his trunk about little Jacob and put him up high on his back, very gently. And little Jacob grabbed hold of a sort of harness that the elephant had on, and he laughed. Then the elephant stretched out his trunk for little Sol and put him up behind little Jacob. And little Sol held on to the harness, too.

Captain Solomon didn't know what to do while the elephant was putting the little boys up on his back, but then he made up his mind that the boys were well enough off; and the old elephant walked away, very carefully, and he walked all around the great yard with the boys on his back. And the boys laughed and said that it was fun. But Captain Solomon called to them to hold on tight. And they held on tight. And when they had been all around the great yard, the old elephant came back to the place where Captain Solomon was sitting. And he reached up with his trunk and took the boys down, first little Sol and then little Jacob, and he set them down on the ground very carefully. And the boys gave him some more sugar and stroked his trunk, and then he went away to his log piling again.


[Illustration]

He walked all around the great yard with the boys on his back.

And when they had been watching a long while, the gong rang. And the elephants all stopped their work at once and went into the shed. And that amused the boys very much, and the gong reminded them that they were very hungry, so they went away to get their dinner. And, after dinner, they watched the elephants again all the long afternoon, and by that time they were tired of watching elephants.

So, the next morning, they got into the bullock carts again, and they went back to the ship. And the boat was waiting for them at the stone steps, and the sailors rowed them to the Industry. And they were very tired and glad to get back, and they went to bed right after supper.

And that's all.

 



James Whitcomb Riley

Little Orphant Annie

Little Orphant Annie's come to our house to stay,

An' wash the cups and saucers up, an' brush the crumbs away,

An' shoo the chickens off the porch, an' dust the hearth, an' sweep,

An' make the fire, an' bake the bread, an' earn her board-an'-keep;

An' all us other children, when the supper things is done,

We set around the kitchen fire an' has the mostest fun

A-list'nin' to the witch-tales 'at Annie tells about,

An' the Gobble-uns 'at gits you

Ef you

Don't

Watch

Out!


Wunst they was a little boy wouldn't say his pray'rs—

An' when he went to bed at night, away up-stairs,

His mammy heerd him holler, an' his daddy heerd him bawl,

An' when they turn't the kivvers down, he wuzn't there at all!

An' they seeked him in the rafter-room, an' cubby hole, an' press,

An' seeked him up the chimbly flue, an' ever'-wheres, I guess;

But all they ever found was thist his pants an' roundabout!

An' the Gobble-uns'll git you

Ef you

Don't

Watch

Out!


An' one time a little girl 'ud allus laugh an' grin,

An' make fun of ever' one, an' all her blood-an'-kin;

An' wunst, when they was "company," an' ole folks was there,

She mocked 'em an' shocked 'em, an' said she didn't care!

An' thist as she kicked her heels, an' turn't to run an' hide,

They wuz two great big Black Things a-standin' by her side,

An' they snatched her through the ceilin' 'fore she knowed what she's about!

An' the Gobble-uns'll git you

Ef you

Don't

Watch

Out!


An' little Orphant Annie says, when the blaze is blue,

An' the lampwick sputters, an' the wind goes woo-oo! 

An' you hear the crickets quit, an' the moon is gray,

An' the lightnin'-bugs in dew is all squenched away—

You better mind yer parunts, an' yer teachurs fond an' dear,

An' churish them 'at loves you, an' dry the orphant's tear,

An' he'p the pore an' needy ones 'at clusters all about,

Er the Gobble-uns'll git you

Ef you

Don't

Watch

Out!